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At the age of fifteen, Glory is a world shining bright with possibility.
A burst of chatter explodes around Yu Wenzhou the moment the Boss is killed.
"Wow, how’d you do that?”
“You’re so fast!”
“I can’t believe that worked.”
Yu Wenzhou can hardly believe it either, and it was his plan to begin with. Something about playing Glory comes naturally to him. He sees the patterns behind the obstacles, the way the different classes work together. He knows exactly where—and more importantly, when—he needs to attack so he can do the most damage with the least amount of exposure. Now that he’s playing every day, his accuracy is improving in leaps and bounds. And he’s fast, the fastest of all his friends. The skills fly from his fingers without hesitation, urged on by the ever-rotating calculations in his mind.
It’s an entire world at his fingertips.
When they divide the loot, no one claims the level 30 Orange weapon. They leave it for him to take. Yu Wenzhou picks up the handgun and equips his Spitfire.
“Have you thought about going pro?” one of his friends asks him a month later, after he leads them through a dungeon without anyone getting killed.
“Pro?” Yu Wenzhou scoffs. “My parents would disown me if I didn’t go to college.”
The conversation moves on, but Yu Wenzhou doesn’t. Six months later, he sees an online advertisement for a professional Glory training camp conveniently in his city, and enrolls behind his parents’ back.
At the age of sixteen, Glory is a curse, an insurmountable barrier keeping him from everything he wants.
Yu Wenzhou’s health drops to zero and the emblem flashes up on his screen. Another failure. Training camp isn’t like playing games in his bedroom with his school friends. Here, he isn’t good enough, isn’t fast enough, isn’t smart enough to keep up.
Standing up from his computer, he retreats to the back of the room amidst the jeers of the other trainees.
“Why doesn’t he drop out, he’s so bad.”
“I can’t believe how slow that guy is.”
“What a loser.”
Even Captain Wei, who’s observing today’s elimination matches, doesn’t have any encouraging words for him. He’s deep in conversation with their star trainee, too busy to pay attention to trainees who barely scrape by. Yu Wenzhou doesn’t have it in him to be disappointed. All he feels is a faint relief that at least he doesn’t have to deal with whatever taunts Huang Shaotian would normally throw at him.
He doesn’t need to be called names to know he’s slow.
After practice is over, he eats dinner alone and spends the rest of the evening running through his speed drills. Everyone in the camp has improved except for him and he can’t figure out where his deficiency lies. He never had this problem in school when a subject stumped him and he doesn’t understand why Glory, which has always come easy to him, is giving him so much trouble. When his eyes are red from strain and his monitor begins to blur behind his glasses, he goes back to his room and stretches his hands until he falls asleep.
The next day, he does it all over again, and tries to remember why he loved the game in the first place.
At the age of twenty-one, Glory is his.
The arena roars but Yu Wenzhou barely hears it over the joy singing in his heart.
A high-pitched shout comes from his right, and only years of instinct allow him to turn fast enough to catch Huang Shaotian as he jumps into his arms. Before he can blink, the rest of his team follows, rushing him in a single mass of blue and gray uniforms. Song Xiao. Zheng Xuan. Yu Feng. The people who’ve become his family. It’s impossible to tell whose arms belong to which person, they’re all pressed so tightly together.
“Captain, we did it!”
“Captain, Captain, Captain, can you believe it, look at us we won!”
“Blue Rain is the best!”
It hardly seems real that everything he’s worked for is finally in his hands. The same hands that used to be his curse, now his trademark. All the struggling was worth it. For better or worse, Glory has been the longest constant in his life and now he’s at the top, surrounded by the people who mean the most to him. The game he loves has brought him everything he's ever wanted.
Somewhere in the crowd, beneath the flashing strobe lights, his parents are watching and cheering him on from the audience. He used to feel guilty for choosing Glory over their plans for him, but standing on the championship stage, he knows in his heart he made the right decision. He studies the faces of his teammates where they’re all crushed up against him, their happiness radiating from them like a tangible thing.
“Well done, everyone,” he says.
The arms around him squeeze tighter.
When the championship trophy is presented to them on stage, the team insists that he should be the first to touch it. It’s probably his imagination running wild with the thrill of victory, but the metal seems to hum under his hand, warm and full of life.
At the age of twenty-eight, Glory is his legacy
“...announcing my retirement,” Yu Wenzhou finishes, leaning back in his seat, away from the microphone.
The room of reporters explodes into shouted questions. Yu Wenzhou answers them all, his calm demeanor unbroken. His voice never wavers and his hands don’t shake as he discusses the future of the team he’s leaving behind.
It isn’t until he’s back at Blue Rain that the tears come.
“Captain? I saw the press conference, you were—”
Yu Wenzhou’s head shoots up, but it’s too late to try and pretend he wasn’t crying. In the doorframe stands Lu Hanwen. As a fifteen-year-old, he might have yelped and run away but as a young man of eighteen, he walks into the room and puts a hand on Yu Wenzhou’s back. He’s only a little older than Yu Wenzhou was when he debuted.
“We’ll miss you, Captain.”
Yu Wenzhou will miss them, too. But it’s not just that. Blue Rain is his home and his family, but it's not only them he's leaving behind. He’s leaving Glory.
Glory is so much more than a game. It’s a companion, a retreat, his life’s legacy. And he’s proud—he’s so proud—of what he’s leaving behind, but even the tall list of his accomplishments can’t soothe the sting seeping into his heart.
“Thank you, Hanwen. It’s reassuring to know I’m leaving the team in capable hands.” He dabs at his eyes with the tissues he keeps in his desk while Lu Hanwen pretends not to notice.
And just in time too. The rest of Blue Rain trickles into his office carrying board games and drinks for an impromptu goodbye party, though they insist on calling it a Captain Celebration Party. Half an hour into it, Huang Shaotian shows up, no doubt called in from his own retirement by the team. Yu Wenzhou hears him before he sees him and for a moment it's like old times.
The ache in his heart doesn’t completely disappear, but it lightens. Yu Wenzhou says goodbye to Glory with a smile.
At the age of thirty-four, Glory is his past.
“Do you miss it,” Yu Wenzhou asks.
The table falls quiet, no one willing to speak first. To admit it. Ye Xiu in his sharp business suit, which Yu Wenzhou will never get used to seeing. Wei Chen, just as scruffy and degenerate-looking in his forties as he was at twenty-two. Wang Jiexi, who somehow hasn’t aged a day in over a decade. Han Wenqing and Zhang Xinjie, with their matching inscrutable expressions and matching wedding bands. Su Mucheng, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers and looking oddly pensive.
Their respective lives have scattered them to the winds, and it’s a rare luxury for all of them to be in one place. The home he shares with Huang Shaotian is large enough to seat all of them comfortably.
“Yes.” It’s Ye Xiu who says what Yu Wenzhou can read in their faces.
It isn’t a surprise he’s the one to speak first. As much as they joke about his shameless attitude, both in Glory and his professional life, he’s always been straightforward about what the game means to him. Everything. “But you know that already, Wenzhou. Why don’t you stop being coy and tell us what you called us here to say.”
Same old Ye Xiu. It’s a comfort, especially considering where Yu Wenzhou’s thoughts have taken him.
Glory is his oldest friend and he misses its presence in his life.
“What about the rest of you?” Yu Wenzhou says, looking around the table. His eye catches on a photograph sitting on the sideboard. Team China during the first Glory World Invitational. It feels so long ago and yet like yesterday, all at once.
Next to him, Zhang Xinjie follows his gaze, his serious expression softening at the sight of the old photo. One of the few times they all wore the same uniform. “I’m not unhappy, but yes, I miss it,” he says.
“As if you need to ask,” Wei Chen says, rolling his eyes. "I already retired and came back once."
A flurry of nods follow. Wang Jiexi opens his mouth to speak, and snaps it shut when Huang Shaotian gets there first.
“I’ll always love Glory, even if I can’t—even if we can’t—” Huang Shaotian cuts himself off, visibly pulling himself together before adding, “Glory’s the best.” He’s been doing that more as he gets older, thinking more when he speaks.
Everyone waits a solid minute to make sure Huang Shaotian isn’t about to go off again, before adding their assent.
The old rush sweeps through Yu Wenzhou's veins, reminiscent of how he used to feel when he stepped on stage. “I suspected as much. I’ve been thinking—”
“That’s nothing new,” Han Wenqing interrupts, his face stoic. Years of friendship let Yu Wenzhou read the amusement behind the gruff exterior.
“Well, well, well,” Huang Shaotian prompts, his hands flying in every direction when the silence stretches. “Enough with the dramatic pauses, what brilliant thoughts were you thinking today? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me beforehand! Wenzhou, I’m betrayed.” He clutches his hands to his heart and sways in his chair.
Yu Wenzhou laughs, deep and genuine. Huang Shaotian’s boisterous nature has accompanied him for almost as long as Glory.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” Yu Wenzhou pauses, breathing in deep. He doesn’t know why he hesitates, but the words tangle up on his tongue. Maybe because he doesn’t want to hear them say no. Maybe because he’s afraid it will sound silly if he says it out loud.
If Glory has taught him anything, it’s to keep pressing forward. So he does.
“I was considering starting another Glory league. A smaller, less competitive one. For former pros. I don’t know if it can bring in enough revenue compared to the Pro Alliance, or if anyone would be interested in playing or watching, but I want to try it. It wouldn’t be an elite league like the Pro Alliance, perhaps it would end up being something different altogether or something for charity.” He presses his lips together and waits for judgment. “What do you think?”
Ye Xiu sets down his chopsticks. “You’ve been thinking about this a long time, haven’t you?”
He isn’t scoffing and he doesn’t look disdainful. Yu Wenzhou lets himself hope. Of all of them, Ye Xiu has the most experience running a business, and Yu Wenzhou values his opinion. His own time working at the Glory Pro Alliance headquarters means he knows how the current league is run, but he’s well aware his wider business knowledge is limited.
“Yes,” Yu Wenzhou says. “I miss Glory.” He doesn’t bother to go into all the reasons, there isn’t anyone at the table who doesn’t understand.
“We’ll need investors and ties with the media,” Zhang Xinjie says.
Huang Shaotian’s hand shoots into the air. “I have contacts! So many contacts! They love me.”
“Me too,” Su Mucheng adds. “Have contacts, I mean. Not the part about loving Shaotian.” She laughs at the affronted look Huang Shaotian gives her, sticking her tongue out at him while he rattles off a history of his finer attributes.
The conversation snowballs from there, all of them shooting out ideas and pitfalls and speculations. There’s no guarantee they can make it work, but if anyone can, Yu Wenzhou is convinced it’s them.
Many years later, they’ll tell the story to the media and fans will joke that the Glory Old Pro Retirement Home league started in Yu Wenzhou’s dining room.
At the age of thirty-four, Glory is his future once more.