This wasn’t the first time a club had reached out to Cen Mingchan.
Her account had been sitting in the top twenty of the National Server Golden Leaderboard for ages, and she liked making friends in-game, so plenty of people in high Elo knew her and had her on their friend list.
Only a handful of them were actually close to her, though.
A club had tried to contact her once before, through some acquaintance on her list she barely knew. They’d chatted for a few exchanges, and the moment they learned she was a girl, that was that.
Women were pitifully scarce on the professional esports stage. Clubs didn’t want female players—that, Mingchan understood.
So when Qingfeng mentioned that an assistant coach from CL Club wanted to get in touch, her first thought was: here we go, another club manager who doesn’t know my gender.
You didn’t tell him I’m a girl?
Qingfeng’s reply came instantly.
I did tell him. He insisted on contacting you anyway.
Mingchan thought it over. Qingfeng passing her contact info to someone at a club wasn’t really a big deal.
Then give it to him. We go back far enough—no need to apologize for something this small.
Qingfeng visibly deflated with relief and immediately started pestering her to accept his red packet.
Exactly, we’ve known each other forever. Just take the money and buy yourself a skin.
Mingchan didn’t really want the money, so her refusal was blunt.
Not taking it. No point.
Qingfeng couldn’t care less about such pocket change. If she wouldn’t accept it, he had other ways.
Fine, I’ll gift you a skin instead.
At the mention of skins, Mingchan thought of the one her sister had sent to her main account, and an indescribable warmth swelled in her chest.
Her sister couldn’t see her chat logs with anyone else anyway. So she thickened her skin and referred to her as “wifey.”
Thanks, but my wife already gifted me one.
A whole bucket of dog food, force-fed to me at this hour??
At the words “dog food,” Mingchan propped her chin on her hand and sighed faintly.
Truth is, I’m still chasing. Haven’t won her over yet.
Qingfeng couldn’t resist teasing her.
That’s not your style. Weren’t you the one who claimed you could win anyone over in three days?
Mingchan grew flustered and indignant.
You can’t hold me to something I said to show off!
Go kneel and reflect. I’m off to chase my girlfriend!
Seeing she had no intention of taking the red packet, Qingfeng didn’t push it. They said their goodbyes.
It occurred to Mingchan that she’d been so busy chatting with Qingfeng that she’d neglected her sister. She hurried over to her sister’s chat window.
The moment she arrived, she put on an entirely different face. Over the past few days she’d gotten a decent read on her sister’s temperament, so she went with the most alarmist phrasing she could muster.
Sis, I’m about to be lured away by bad people!
Sure enough, her sister’s reply came at once, full of concern.
What happened? Take your time, tell me.
Mingchan couldn’t tell whether she was luring the snake from its hole or just clambering up its back—either way, she fired back immediately.
Typing is soooo annoying. I want to tell you over the phone, is that okay?
One second after the message went out, just as she’d hoped, her sister called.
Mingchan picked up, and her very first line was a sugary, coquettish whine: “Sis, I missed you so much.”
“Be good, Mingchan.” Her sister’s tone was the same gentle one as always.
Mingchan heard the faint sound of a key turning a lock on the other end. “Are you home yet, Sis?”
“Just got in. Give me a second, let me get the lights.” A few seconds of quiet. “Okay. Go on—who’s trying to lure you away?”
Mingchan felt a little embarrassed. Nobody was luring her anywhere—she’d simply developed a small, vain urge to show off. She just wanted her sister to know how good she was at this game.
“My friend called me just now, that’s why I didn’t reply to your message right away.” She fabricated a tiny lie to explain her delay, then continued, “He told me a club’s assistant coach reached out to him, asking for my contact info, wanting to know if I’d consider going pro.”
She put on a worried tone. “Sis, I’m so scared this person might be a scammer.”
＊
Mingchan knew the gears of fate were still turning.
She’d once had a chance to attend a club tryout. The manager or maybe the coach had contacted her—she couldn’t remember which anymore—but the club’s name she still remembered to this day: CL.
The reason it stuck so vividly was that the person CL sent to contact her had spent the entire conversation force-feeding her motivational chicken soup and painting grand visions, until she—someone who hadn’t been all that interested in going pro—had developed a fierce fascination with becoming a professional player.
So she’d contacted her parents to discuss asking her class advisor for leave to attend the club’s tryouts.
Her family was fairly traditional. Though her parents were open-minded in many respects, back when she was eighteen, society’s understanding of gaming and esports was steeped in prejudice.
To the general public, esports wasn’t a legitimate competition—it was “a bunch of internet-addicted teenagers getting together to play games.”
Her parents, naturally, had no fondness for games. And this leave request would be for half a month, not two or three days. So they advised her against attending the tryouts.
She’d also asked Ran Meidong. Meidong had looked into CL Club’s situation and laid the reality out in front of her.
CL Club’s predecessor had been a small team with only a PC-game Holy Relic division. It had been acquired by capital last winter—less than half a year ago.
The person in charge said they wanted to build a Prosperous Era division, but at that point Prosperous Era Official hadn’t held any official tournaments yet. Whether the division could even get off the ground was an open question—it all sounded thoroughly unreliable.
So Meidong shared her parents’ opinion: she didn’t approve of Mingchan spending her time traveling alone to a distant city for tryouts.
In the end, Mingchan turned the tryout down.
But going pro had never stopped nagging at the back of her mind.
Later, that May, Prosperous Era Official announced it would hold its first official professional league that July and would release ten league franchise slots, to be auctioned off to clubs.
CL was among those ten. CL successfully assembled its Prosperous Era division and brought in the legendary genius mid laner, One.
When she heard the news, Mingchan kicked herself for a while—then she couldn’t help but start following Prosperous Era‘s official tournaments, following CL, following One.
She’d run into One many times on the Ladder. They were roughly even, and she privately thought she was a touch stronger.
If One could be called a genius player, then so was she.
Sometimes she wondered—if she’d gone to that tryout, would it have been her and One fighting for the mid lane? Would she have had a chance to beat One, to make him her defeated foe?
So for those first few seasons, she didn’t miss a single CL match.
Once her interest in the game faded, though, she gradually stopped following the tournaments too.
The next time she saw news of One, it was on trending searches—he’d retired.
Now, her eighteen-year-old self was on the phone, bringing up that a club had contacted her, and Mingchan’s feelings were complicated.
She couldn’t help asking, “Do you know which club is trying to reach you?”
Her eighteen-year-old her answered after a dozen-odd seconds: “It’s CL.”
CL. Mingchan’s heart warmed faintly.
She remembered her old unwillingness to accept it.
Now CL’s olive branch was reaching out to her again. The first time, she’d chosen to refuse.
This time, she wanted eighteen-year-old her to catch it with her own hands.
Even if she failed the tryout. Even if the esports road was a hard one to walk.
She said softly, “Go give it a try, Mingchan.”
＊
Mingchan was stuck.
She had no idea how to reply to her sister.
Her original goal in bringing this up had simply been to show off her expert status—she’d never actually intended to go play in some professional tournament.
But her sister probably assumed she was agonizing over whether to go.
She came up with the most fitting answer: “Once he adds me, I’ll think it over properly, Sis.”
They chatted a while longer. Seeing that her sister seemed tired, she thoughtfully suggested she get some rest, and they wished each other goodnight.
The moment she hung up, a new friend request came in. The verification message read: “Hello, Zangchun. I’m an assistant coach from CL Club. May I ask if you’ve ever considered going pro?”
Mingchan tapped to accept.
The other party used a standard anime avatar—looked like it was from some cartoon or other—and opened with a formal, courteous tone.
Hello, Zangchun.
Mingchan was equally polite.
Hello.
The other party began introducing himself.
I’m Li Ze, assistant coach at CL Club. We’re currently building our Prosperous Era division. I noticed your ranked score is quite high and would like to invite you to attend tryouts. Is now a convenient time to chat?
Mingchan glanced at the time. It was only 8:40 in the evening—plenty of time to talk for a bit before she went back to practicing her speech.
I have time.
May I ask your age, if you don’t mind?
Mingchan answered honestly.
I’m 18 this year.
Have you ever considered going pro?
Sorry, I haven’t.
Mingchan assumed that once she said this, the other party would give up on recruiting her. Instead, he launched straight into motivational pep talk and grand promises.
The script included, but was not limited to: Prosperous Era’s official tournaments will only grow bigger and bigger—eventually they’ll become a true international esports event.
I can really see your talent. You’d be a perfect fit for our club.
I’ve watched videos of your ranked matches—your mechanics are excellent, your game sense is on point. It’d be a real shame for you not to go pro.
At your level, winning a championship would be a walk in the park.
Our coaching team is thoroughly professional. The coach is approachable and actively communicates with the players—you won’t have to worry about a thing.
If you pass the tryout, we can absolutely build the team around you. You could be the captain.
You should know there are very few women on the professional stage right now. Salary and benefits are all negotiable—the club will definitely offer you a number you’re happy with.
Of course, talking about money is so vulgar. Just picture it: you, representing your country, competing abroad.
Win a match overseas, and you’re bringing glory to the nation. What young person of this new era wouldn’t want to bring glory to the nation?
Don’t you want to be a world champion? To be number one in the world?
At that last line, Mingchan finally couldn’t help replying with a single word.
Yes.
Li Ze, CL Club’s assistant coach, immediately sent a “Welcome!” sticker.
So, would you consider coming to our club for tryouts?
Mingchan thought about it.
I need to discuss it with my family. Can you give me some time?
Seeing her soften, the other party instantly transformed into a cute little angel.
Of course! I’ll wait for your news! Get some rest early!
Mingchan was fired up, her blood boiling from phrases like “bring glory to the nation” and “world champion.” She decided she’d call home tomorrow.
Then she set down her phone and settled in to practice her speech.
By the time Mingchan lay down in bed, it was already midnight. She picked up her phone, unable to resist sending her sister a message.
At this hour, she figured her sister was long asleep. Her sister kept her phone on silent at night anyway, so her messages wouldn’t wake her. So she began her rambling monologue.
Sis, someone from the club added me, and we talked for a really really long time.
I honestly didn’t want to go pro that badly before, but I think he kind of talked me into it.
I want to go give it a try.
I get the feeling my family definitely won’t support me. Mom and Dad both think gaming is a waste of time.
But I want to try. At the very least, right now I really want to.
It’s fine if it doesn’t work out. I just want to try.
But the assistant coach said the tryout lasts half a month.
I’ll have to ask for leave too. No idea if my class advisor will approve it.
It’s kind of funny when you think about it. Leave duration: half a month. Reason: I want to go play games.
Tomorrow I’ll have a proper talk with my family, see where they stand.
I really don’t know if I can convince them.
Ugh, can’t sleep. Stressed. And I have a debate competition tomorrow.
No idea if I’ll win tomorrow’s debate.
Wait, not tomorrow—today. It’s past midnight already.
Mingchan kept leaving messages like that. Staring at the chat window with no response, a sudden thread of loneliness rose in her.
Sis, I miss you so much. I wish you could talk to me right now.
I know you’re definitely asleep by now. Goodnight, Sis. Sweet dreams.
And yet, a minute later, she got a reply.
Not asleep. Just got out of the shower, hair’s still wet. Give me a moment, I’m going to dry it.
Another twenty minutes or so passed, until Mingchan was sure her sister had dozed off—and then her sister’s messages appeared again.
A long block of text. Mingchan read it very carefully.
Mingchan, there’s actually something I’ve been wanting to say to you for a while.
From the time we’ve spent together, I can tell you’re a sensible, obedient, good kid.
That’s a wonderful thing. Your parents and teachers have raised you with care, and under your friends’ help and protection, you’ve stayed carefree, pure, and kind.
You’re in the habit of following your parents’ advice, and that’s good—deep down you believe they love you, that they’ll make the best choices for you, that their life experience is enough to point you in the right direction.
But have you ever considered—you’re already an eighteen-year-old adult. To a certain extent, you can be responsible for yourself.
Your parents were born in a different era, with completely different circumstances and experiences, so their way of thinking differs too. What the previous generation sees as “good” isn’t necessarily what your generation sees as “good.”
In your parents’ eyes, you’ll always be a child—someone who needs their care, who needs them to hold your hand, to guide you, to clear obstacles from your path.
Your parents are willing to give everything for you. They’re willing to do all of that.
And you’ve grown used to that kind of life. Deep down, you’ve always treated yourself as a child. When you can’t decide something, you ask your parents. You ask your friends.
Why not ask yourself, Mingchan?
If you want to try out, then go try.
Let’s seriously think through this tryout business today.
What’s the worst possible outcome? At most, you lose half a month of classes, waste half a month of time, fail the tryout, and come back to your studies.
Can you bear that consequence? Absolutely. So then why not give it a try? Life gives you plenty of room to make mistakes. You’re young—you can afford to have more choices.
I’m not telling you to defy your parents. I’m not telling you that you must go to the tryout or anything like that.
I just want to tell you: often, when you can bear the consequences, it’s better to follow your heart.
Trying a few more things won’t hurt.
I also understand—you’re worried that you’ll pass the tryout, worried that you’ll end up walking the path of a professional esports player, a path your parents never planned for you.
So you see this tryout as a fork in the road of your life, and of course you can’t decide easily. Of course you hesitate.
But it’s not actually that hard a choice. Going to the tryout doesn’t mean you have to go pro.
You can treat the tryout as an exam, an experiment—even a trip.
May you be resilient all your life, and never lose your courage.
