Chapter 41

DAMN!

It feels like you have to spend money everywhere.

Indeed, esports clubs, in their early stages with limited monetization options, are difficult to operate unless you're a wealthy second-generation heir.

Since the base is in Jin Ling, the team needs a base vehicle too—even if conditions are tough at first, a Wuling Hongguang minivan, the god of tabletop vans, still costs at least thirty to forty thousand.

“No no!” Jiang Ming shook his head sharply, “Even if it’s professional, I can’t demand present-day conditions based on future esports club standards.”

Cut down on what can be saved, then gradually add more.

First, the personnel structure.

The club is still small; there’s no need to fill every position at once.

As for Lin Xuejie, she’s the manager normally, but she can also double as team captain during competitions.

Amitabha, Xuejie, take on more responsibility!

The assistant coach is Gang Xun; we need to hire someone. Since we’re starting from scratch, the best choice is obviously to find someone from high-ranked public players.

For club logistics, we need a cook—her salary can be slightly raised, and if we can offer room and board, have her handle the club’s and players’ hygiene too.

Mainly cleaning the venue and laundry—just buy a washing machine.

Oh right, we also need a driver. This role can be combined with club logistics management; when not competing, he helps the cook with chores like buying rice, vegetables, and hauling supplies.

During competitions, he becomes the Autumn Mountain Driver God.

Jiang Ming knew the labor market Lin Xuejie mentioned—it’s full of elderly people with nothing but physical strength, waking early every day to work construction sites. For cooking and driving, skills that require no special training, hiring isn’t hard, and wages are as affordable as she said.

Unlike other commercial enterprises, as long as the esports club solves its core issues—the team players and head coach—the rest are relatively easy to handle.

Fortunately, Jiang Ming has a natural advantage no one else has.

“Then there’s the player contracts…”

LPL is fundamentally different from small-time internet cafe teams; once branded as a professional league, player salaries must rise accordingly.

In front of the computer, Jiang Ming hesitated for a while, then slashed the original number with a diagonal line and wrote in 2,800 yuan as base salary, adding bonuses later.

Don’t think it’s low—in 2013, when esports hadn’t yet heated up, apart from a few stars earning around ten thousand, most team players made pitiful wages: one or two thousand yuan was normal, and even that often got delayed or never paid at all—some teams even paid bonuses in instant noodles.

NXG’s advantage is that all players were trained by him personally; there are no star players, so salary increases aren’t too steep.

As for contract duration…

Jiang Ming’s expression shifted, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to emulate that contract king club and screw over these kids.

After all, with his foresight, he knew clearly that in just one year, these game-obsessed kids, now at society’s lowest rung, would become esports players with salaries doubling.

Contract terms range from one to three years, signed entirely on a voluntary basis.

Swish! Swish!

From evening until late night, Jiang Ming finally finalized NXG Club’s next development plan.

…

The team base shouldn’t wait; that night, Jiang Ming didn’t stream late, apologized to his viewers, and signed off early to rest.

The next day, at four a.m.!

“Tch, now that I’ve become successful in the future, I’ve got a Vermeer-worthy story.”

Stepping outside, Jiang Ming gazed at the pitch-black surroundings, feeling a pang of reflection.

I’m now someone who’s seen Jin Ling at four a.m.

Later, when people ask for my secret to success and I want to flex, I’ll just say, “Have you ever seen Jin Ling at four a.m.?”

Just imagining it made his lips twitch upward, barely contained.

“Jiang Zong, I’ve arrived! (Location)”

Ding dong—the phone showed a message from Lin Jingyi, sent five minutes ago!

Damn, I was hasty; didn’t expect my subordinate to be this fierce.

He waited a few minutes on the spot, finally hailing a taxi, and showed the driver the address: “Driver, to Andemen!”

“Andemen?”

The Jin Ling driver, usually quiet, grew curious and glanced at Jiang Ming through the rearview mirror.

“You’re going to Andemen so early? Looking to hire people?”

“Yeah, are you familiar with that area?”

“Familiar? Of course I am—it’s Jin Ling’s largest labor market. Anyone in my line knows it well.”

Jiang Ming’s eyes lit up. “Driver, you go there often—could you help me call out a bit? I need to hire two people, mainly a cook and a driver. Not for free…”

“No problem.” The driver waved his hand, cutting off Jiang Ming’s attempt to offer payment. “Don’t mention payment. Everyone at Andemen are hardworking folks scraping by on physical labor. You, a young guy, coming here to offer them decent work—that’s already great. I came up from this very place; how could I take your money?”

“Th…thank you.”

Jiang Ming’s emotions grew strangely complex.

Offering a livelihood?

He’d only picked this place because the laborers were cheap.

Jin Ling at four a.m. still lay soaked in winter’s damp fog; the outdoor temperature was chilling. The driver parked his taxi beside a corner of the Andemen signboard, the dashboard’s green glow casting over Jiang Ming’s weary face.

He hadn’t felt sleepy when he first woke, but now exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Yet on the cement ground to the right of the Andemen plaza, dozens already squatted—safety helmets and burlap sacks blurred under streetlights.

Jiang Ming stepped out of the car; the morning wind carried the distinct scent of the labor plaza into his nose, and he pulled his down jacket tighter.

“Jiang Zong!”

“Xuejie!”

Among the crowd, Lin Xuejie, who’d already been talking to job seekers for a while, waved.

Following her gaze, Jiang Ming saw hands stretched out under the streetlights—cracked, calloused hands clutching wrinkled, barely legible “resumes,” or gripping chipped thermoses, steaming faint white vapor in the December cold.

Nearby, breakfast carts stood idle, yet most of them could only afford to nibble one or two bites of their own steamed buns, washing them down with lukewarm water from their cups.

He didn’t step forward—he couldn’t bear the atmosphere.

Jiang Ming’s mood, at that moment, was the same as most Chinese people who possess that uniquely Chinese kindness.

Even though his own life wasn’t easy, he couldn’t bear to see others suffer.