Chapter 53

Lin Jingyi distributed the contracts to each of them.

Song Yuan was the most eager, immediately flipping to the second page.

【Party A (Club): NXG Esports Club】

【Party B (Player): ___________】

【Game ID: ___________】

【……】

He skimmed past the above content—he couldn’t understand it anyway—and went straight to the salary section.

“Base salary has increased from 1,600 to 2,800 yuan, with annual adjustments based on the season, plus performance bonuses tied to your league ranking.”

“Champions receive 20,000 yuan per person, runners-up…”

Jiang Ming offered his NXG players a modest base salary; in 2013, LPL regular players typically earned between 2,000 and 10,000 yuan.

Top players with built-in traffic, like Mingkai, could earn up to around 15,000 yuan.

At present, NXG’s contract terms were barely above the bottom tier.

But you couldn’t judge it that way—Jiang Ming kept base pay low while adding performance bonuses, meaning that if NXG players performed well, their actual monthly income—including season-end bonuses—already reached a mid-to-high level among league teams.

Not to mention the generous living conditions NXG players enjoyed.

For example, food: many teams without sponsors, during financial hardship, survived on instant noodles.

Housing was even worse—Jiang Ming’s previous basement rental for NXG was already among the better options; most struggling teams trained in shabby, broken-down spaces, which is why they were called internet cafe teams.

Players only hoped their teams would pay on time—that was considered incredibly lucky, since countless teams disbanded mid-season back then.

Some professional players who weren’t paid at all resorted to farming for others just to survive.

So in terms of benefits, the five NXG players had no complaints.

“The team will arrange streaming contracts; if you stream under the team’s name, you don’t need to sign with any guild—the club will provide promotional resources, with a 7:3 revenue split, the club taking 70% and you keeping 30% as pure profit.”

“Later, if we arrange product promotion streams, the club will reward you with commissions based on your individual stream sales.”

“The contract term is a minimum of two years, with the club holding first right of renewal.”

For rookies with no reputation, team streaming was essentially a personal obligation they had to fulfill.

Normally, you’d just give players a fixed salary and be done with it—but as previously mentioned…

You could do that, but there’s no need.

The same applied to contract length.

Jiang Ming, who understood the future scale of esports, wouldn’t be limited by these petty gains—he only needed to act reasonably and legally, and NXG’s future was already bright.

Thinking of squeezing everything out and running away was dangerous; for an esports club, the initial traditions established were crucial.

Moreover, Jiang Ming, with his foresight, had no fear of the club lacking talented players.

He aimed to build a true esports powerhouse that any talented League of Legends player would consider their top choice.

“Minimum two years—so we can sign for three?” the jungler Shi Tou asked with a dumb grin.

“You can sign three years at once, but I suggest you start with two.”

Song Yuan blurted out, “Hey, Ming-ge, why?”

“You’re an idiot,” Xu Tao scoffed. “Sign two years—if you perform like WE and gain fame, your benefits will rise fastest. After two years, you can transfer.”

“Ah, Ming-ge, I’m not saying I’m gonna quit!”

“Hehe, guess that makes sense.”

“Don’t rush—there are still some clauses you need to pay attention to.”

After Jiang Ming played the good cop, Lin Jingyi, understanding his intent, took over: “Look at Article 3 on page three: each player must strictly fulfill and abide by the following obligations: daily training ≥12 hours (including Rank record verification), obey team tactics and rotation assignments, and register all social media accounts with the club.”

“Especially regarding social media accounts: during your tenure, any post you make must be reported to the club.”

“Article 4, Point 2: commercial activities—players must unconditionally cooperate with the club’s commercial arrangements (≥6 per year); personal commercial collaborations during your tenure require club approval, with a 7:3 split (club takes 70%).”

“Article 5: Special Clause—players must comply with all image and health management arrangements set by the club.”

“Finally, breach of contract: if a player terminates before the contract ends, they must pay a penalty of 2XXXXX yuan, and under the non-compete agreement, they cannot join any of the top six LPL teams for one year.”

Pang Ran and the others didn’t fully understand, but since their boss had previously emphasized the benefit of annual contracts, they didn’t resist these strict requirements.

Song Yuan signed his name at lightning speed, then took the ink pad from Lin Jingyi and pressed his thumbprint.

The other four followed suit, but due to age restrictions, they needed guardian signatures for the contracts to become official.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

With the contracts mostly settled, Jiang Ming clapped lightly, celebrating NXG’s first official signings after entering the LPL.

“Now, next up—this.”

Lin Jingyi pulled a box from under the table. “Ta-da! Our team’s first set of jerseys is ready—come try them on.”

A utility knife sliced through the tape, the plastic bag rustling softly as it opened, revealing five brand-new jerseys neatly arranged inside.

Black, white, and red in alternating patterns, matching the team base’s exterior design.

On the back was the NXG logo; on the front and right shoulder were advertisements for YY and Youchen Meat Pastry.

Lin Jingyi lifted one set.

“Holy shit, this is so cool?” Song Yuan’s thick Sichuan-Chongqing accent echoed in the training room; he immediately stepped forward and snatched the jersey from the manager.

With a sharp rip, he slipped it on without hesitation.

Each jersey set consisted of three pieces: jacket, pants, and a long-sleeve T-shirt.

“Everyone change into yours, check the fit—if anything doesn’t suit, we’ll swap it immediately—we need to shoot the team’s official portrait, and we can’t do that without the jerseys.”

Hearing this, no one hesitated—they rushed forward to find the jersey with their own ID printed on it.

Dressed in the jerseys, the five players—each with vastly different builds—stood in the room, creating a striking visual: the bulky top laner Song Yuan stood in sharp contrast to the slender support Pang Ran.

The meaty top laner and the cash-strapped support!

The jungler Shi Tou was the tallest, perfectly matching the shortest mid laner, A Qiang.

“Hehe, check out how much cooler I look in this gear—did I get hotter?”

Xu Tao, whose build was the most average and whose looks were decent, asked self-consciously.