Chapter 9: THE TAPE IS SMOKING FROM TEARING!

“Everyone, come here!”

Before preparing to leave, Jiang Ming called all team members before him.

“Big Ming, what…?”

“Huh?”

As the red banknotes were pulled from the kraft paper bag, the rustling sound froze everyone in place—“Big Ming, what’s this?”

“It’s already December, so I’m paying you your November salaries!”

“But today’s only the 1st,” said Xu Tao, the team’s AD, weakly—immediately receiving four death glares from his teammates.

What the hell, are you stupid? It’s early payment, you idiot!

Xu Tao: …

Come to think of it, yeah—I’m being ridiculous complaining about early pay.

Jiang Ming smiled sharply and handed each player their allocated stack of RMB.

“Take it. You’ve earned it.”

“I won’t play any fancy games with you—starting now, our team’s salaries will be paid every month on the 1st, so you won’t have to worry the team might suddenly dissolve and leave you unpaid.”

“But Big Ming, you’re joking—we’d never disband…”

“Nothing’s impossible. If you perform poorly, if results are terrible, should we keep you around to breed?”

Jiang Ming’s expression turned serious. “Your wages won’t be shortchanged. Bonuses promised for qualifying for the preseason and LPL regular season will be paid on time and in full as the team progresses. My only demand: during competition periods, improve self-discipline, maintain basic skills, and ensure proper warm-up training.”

“Only when you enter the LPL can you truly graduate from being a gamer to becoming a professional esports athlete and realize your own value.”

“Understood!!” ×5

When the team was still a basement amateur setup, demanding too much from the players wasn’t realistic.

Not only were the players unlikely to accept it, but the team currently lacked the management infrastructure.

Even just myself—I’m running between livestreaming, the team, the school, and the online store. For now, I can only rely on motivational speeches.

Of course, Jiang Ming wasn’t the type who believed in motivational speeches to conquer the world. On this land of China, he trusted more that if his money-making speed was fast enough and the amounts large enough, he wouldn’t fear his players’ effort levels falling behind.

…

Exiting the team’s underground training room, Jiang Ming, once again covered in dust from the narrow hallway, grumbled bitterly.

“F***, once we enter the LPL, the first thing I’ll do is secure a proper team base.”

Doesn’t have to be fancy—just needs a normal above-ground space. Basements have no windows or doors; winter’s fine, but summer’s unbearable. Forget the stench of sweaty feet—after two matches, you’re drenched in sweat.

“But right now, the biggest problem is funding. I can ask around for venues. Given the current state of esports in China, a club base doesn’t need to be luxurious—no villas. A standard one- or two-story building with a training room, player rest area, and basic living facilities is enough.”

Jiang Ming weighed this in his mind, then walked two steps back to his rented room.

“Alright, tomorrow I’ll go back to school. I can’t waste my title as a model student entrepreneur—see if I can beg the dean for more support…”

After all, the dean himself is listed as my entrepreneurship advisor. If a student is in trouble, how could he refuse to help?

Just from the part-time jobs I’ve provided for underprivileged students through my online store, and the annual scholarships I sponsor for the School of Economics and Management, the dean has no reason to say no.

Once he saw it clearly, Jiang Ming’s mood lifted considerably.

Having been reborn, he understood better than anyone: at this stage, his greatest ally wasn’t anyone else—it was the university everyone thought had almost no connection to him.

There’s a saying: university is the best way for an ordinary person to connect with the top elites in society.

If you feel your university has little to do with you, it’s only because you’re not good enough. When you become powerful enough, you’ll find your alma mater gladly offers you funding, venues, and even connections.

…

The night passed without incident.

The next morning, Jiang Ming woke early and didn’t disturb his teammates, whose schedules differed from normal people’s. Before leaving, he called the restaurant owner and asked him to deliver lunch around noon.

No choice—small business, cut costs where you can. A cook? Wait until we enter the LPL and get two major sponsors.

“Where to?”

The taxi driver rolled down his window as Jiang Ming stopped him.

“Jinling University!”

“Got it.”

The driver didn’t ask more—he focused on traffic, eager to reach the destination and pick up his next fare.

The winter sun was warm, casting tiny golden specks across the white path beyond the campus gate.

Jiang Ming arrived at the Student Entrepreneurship Park and walked up to a small shop named “Mingjing Domain.” A bronze wind chime above the door rang out clearly.

The interior was simple: two rows of shelves in the center held snacks popular among youth; along the side walls, however, the cabinets were unusually filled with various electronic and digital products. A female student in a dark blue apron was restocking snacks.

“Ding!”

“Hey, Lin Jie, new order!”

The part-time front-desk student shouted toward the back of the shop.

“I know, I know… Aaah, when Jiang Ming gets back, I’m going to demand a raise—he’s exploiting us!”

“Five hundred orders a day—I’m tearing tape until it smokes! Is he trying to fly?!”

“Sis, gossiping behind someone’s back isn’t good.”

Jiang Ming stepped up to the counter, took the printed order off the printer before the part-timer could, and headed toward the warehouse.

Inside the warehouse, stacks of goods filled the space. Lin Yidan, who had just complained about Jiang Ming, was now frantically packing with several male part-timers. A rich aroma of sesame cakes wafted from the packages.

Jiang Ming bent down to help pack and only then glanced at the order labels.

Hmm… All sesame cakes.

The shop had three rooms. Besides the front retail section open to campus students, the real operation was the two back warehouses.

Orders placed by customers—except for special items—were all shipped from here.

“Oh? Mr. Busybody, finally got time to inspect your kingdom?”

“Cough, cough—I’ve been busy making videos for the new product promotion. Look, our orders are exploding…”

“Exploding?”

“It’s exploded,” said Lin Yidan, efficiently wrapping a package in five seconds with practiced tape-stripping, her gaze resentful. “Do you know how many packages we’ve packed since yesterday after your video went live?”

“Five hundred orders. Five hundred. Three or four hundred packages!”