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Every Thursday after finishing practice, Wang Jiexi reads out the final roster for Team Tiny Herb’s upcoming match.
Gao Yingjie never needs to pay attention - Wang Jiexi has already made meticulous plans for Gao Yingjie’s gradual introduction to the stage. Instead, he watches Qiao Yifan’s face fall a little more with each name called, losing hope each time, until Wang Jiexi puts down his list and Qiao Yifin still hasn’t been chosen.
“Maybe next time,” Qiao Yifan tells Gao Yingie afterward, hiding the disappointment in his eyes.
“Yifan…”
His friend’s smile flickers, brittle at the edges. They’re halfway through the season, and Qiao Yifan hasn’t played in a single match. For a pro player not to play, isn’t that the same as being totally useless? Yesterday, Gao Yingjie had even overheard Xiao Yun calling Qiao Yifan their ‘official water dispenser’ while the other substitutes laughed.
“I just need to improve more,” Qiao Yifan replies, concealing his expression by turning his face away. “Don’t worry about it, Yingjie.”
But Gao Yingjie can’t stop worrying.
While Qiao Yifan goes to bed early that night, an anxious Gao Yingjie stays awake, unable to sleep. Sitting at his desk, he watches his friend’s sleeping figure from his side of their dorm room. Qiao Yifan is curled up as small as possible, huddled under his blankets with his face hidden.
Gao Yingjie’s heart feels distressed at the sight. If only there was something else he could do to help! Gao Yingjie tries to train together with Yifan as often as possible, wanting to help his friend improve, but Yifan remains stuck at his current skill level.
Asking the captain to let Yifan play would be too unreasonable a request. Wang Jiexi is only acting as a captain should by choosing the most suitable players to bring Tiny Herb victory. That is the cruel reality of esports: only those who have skill earn the right to stand on stage.
Gao Yingjie will keep encouraging Qiao Yifan, of course, but he’s only one person and sometimes he feels like the only one left in Tiny Herb who believes in his friend. If only other people could see Qiao Yifan the way Gao Yingjie does - how hard Yifan works, how much potential he has, how loyal and thoughtful and good-spirited he is…
An idea suddenly hits Gao Yingjie. Opening his laptop, the young pro player goes to the official Glory forums and creates a brand new account. Hovering his cursor over one particular subforum he had, before now, avoided out of sheer terror, Gao Yingjie reminds himself that he’s doing this for Qiao Yifan, grabs his determination, and begins browsing.
The pro player fanclub forum is even more embarrassing than he’d thought. How could people say things like that, in front of everyone?!? Post all these pictures...the fanart ...people write stories about them?!? Gao Yingie’s cheeks heat and he hurriedly backs out of his captain’s fanclub post.
No more research, Gao Yingjie decides, and starts a new topic: ‘The Qiao Yifan fanclub.’ Tying up the introductory post, he lists out all of Yifan’s good points (it takes a long time - there are just so many!), and adds in a few especially nice pictures he has of Yifan in his Tiny Herb uniform.
Feeling satisfied, Gao Yingjie reads through the post to make sure he hasn’t made any errors, and then clicks to post. Now everyone will be able to see how great Qiao Yifan is, he thinks to himself, and goes to bed filled with the warm glow of happiness.
When Gao Yingjie wakes up the next morning, he pulls up the player fanclub forum on his phone almost as soon as he’s rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The fans won’t know Yifan since he hasn’t played onstage, but surely at least a few Tiny Herb fans will have commented. Right?
“Who is this guy?”
“Yeah I’ve never heard of him, is he a real pro player?”
“Can’t be, I’ve never seen him play for Tiny Herb.”
“Mods, can we have this topic taken down? Only official pro players are allowed to have their own fanclub topic”
“No, he’s a real pro player. I found him on the official team roster. I can hardly believe it myself, he’s not even featured in any of the team promo materials.”
“Where did OP get this info, it’s not in any of the press releases. I’m a Tiny Herb superfan and I’ve never heard any of this, OP can you not make stuff up like this?”
“I bet this Qiao Yifan guy posted it himself. Wow, desperate much?”
Gao Yingjie closes the forum close to tears.
“Yingjie, are you okay?” Qiao Yifan asks, towling his hair dry as he comes back from the shower room down the hall.
“Fine, I’m fine!” Waving his hands, Gao Yingjie rushes to reassure Yifan, only for his friend to cast a doubtful look in reply.
When Gao Yingjie finds someone’s sneaked an extra egg into his breakfast, he knows who gave it to him. He glances at Qiao Yifan, eating beside him. Qiao Yifan sends his friend a small smile.
It’s only a small act of kindness, but Qiao Yifan is full of such small, thoughtful kindnesses.
Under the table, Gao Yingjie’s hands clench into fists. Yifan deserves appreciation! Gao Yingjie will just need to keep trying to convince other people, and someday everyone will see Yifan as the incredible person he is!
After practice, Gao Yingjie goes straight back to their dorm, opens up his computer, and begins sorting through the responses on the fanclub post.
As part of Glory’s official forums, the pro player fanclub pages are more strictly moderated than normal internet forums. Nasty, mocking responses like the ones those people left aren’t allowed. Gao Yingjie makes sure that what should be reported is reported, and what needs to be corrected is corrected.
He receives a few more responses - all angry, from people he reported - and after that Qiao Yifan’s fanclub is forgotten. Gao Yingjie can only watch his little seedling fanclub sink down in the topics, buried underneath more active, full-grown fanclubs.
Gao Yinjie will never forget this year’s All-stars. Gao Yingjie never believed that he’d beat Wang Jiexi. Never. He drifts in a daze for nearly a week afterward, startled every time he remembers the feeling of standing there, accepting the audience’s cheers for his victory.
Gao Yingjie is even more proud of Qiao Yifan for finally getting the chance to go onstage, even if it didn’t bring a good result. He immediately adds the new pictures and recordings to Yifan’s fanclub post. He even gets a few new responses!
...but all of them are people scolding Qiao Yifan.
Gao Yingjie really does release a few tears this time. He finds it difficult to bear when the reporters scold him, but watching others scold Qiao Yifan is even worse. He’s also a little upset that he didn’t know Qiao Yifan was training a Ghostblade. Lately, Qiao Yifan is always very busy, and they haven't been talking much. Has Gao Yingjie not been paying enough attention? Has he been too caught up in his private training with Wang Jiexi? Is this a sign they’ve grown apart?
Gao Yingjie is too timid to ask directly, but he tries to show his support for Yifan in other ways, like offering to eat together, or spending extra time hanging out in the dorm.
“Thank you, Yingjie,” Qiao Yifan tells him, understanding Gao Yingjie’s intent. “You really don’t have to worry. I’ll still work as hard as I can on my Assassin, but I want to try with my Ghostblade too. This is a decision I’ve made for my future.”
Gao Yingjie is still hesitant. Both of them know that Yifan’s skill with an Assassin isn’t high enough, but pursuing a Ghostblade carries great risks. “If you’re sure…” he trails off.
“Mmm, yes.” Strangely, Qiao Yifan is calmer than Gao Yingjie himself is.
Qiao Yifan leaves Tiny Herb at the end of the season, still without having played a single match. After Qiao Yifan has gotten into his taxi and left for the train station, Gao Yingjie sits on his bed and stares at the empty half of the room.
It’s been months since he looked at Qiao Yifan’s fanclub post, but for some reason Gao Yingjie pulls it up on his phone now. Perhaps if he could talk about Yifan with someone else, he’d feel less lonely?
But there isn’t anything new posted since All-stars. Qiao Yifan is just as forgotten by the fans as he is by his team. Letting his phone fall from his hand, Gao Yingjie lays down quietly, still staring at the half-empty room.
That night, he adds a new post to the fanclub topic. “Sending Brother Qiao good wishes for his future efforts. We’ll see you on stage again!”
No one replies to Gao Yingjie, and the new post is quickly hidden by more popular news.
He’s tried his best, but there’s only so much Gao Yingjie can do, even if he is the founder of Qiao Yifan’s fanclub.
Gao Yingjie doesn’t hear any official news about Qiao Yifan for months, until one day an article appears in Esports Home about a grassroots team defeating the former pro club Everlasting. The team is called Happy, and one of its members is named Qiao Yifan, using the same characters as Gao Yingjie’s best friend.
"When you meet again, it’ll be on the stage," Wang Jiexi tells him, and Gao Yingjie spends the rest of the day frozen by that thought.
After dinner, he sits in his dorm room and stares at the empty half of the room.
The next time Gao Yingjie meets Qiao Yifan, they’ll really be opponents. But they’ll still be friends, won’t they?
Pulling his knees to his chest, Gao Yingjie taps into his phone and searches for the spectator VODs from the two Happy vs. Everlasting matches.
Skipping straight to Qiao Yifan’s fights, Gao Yingjie appreciates his friend’s clever, skilled performance. Yifan...looks really good as a Ghostblade. Better than he ever did as an Assassin.
A tiny smile works its way onto Gao Yingjie’s face as he continues watching, enthusiasm for Qiao Yifan’s performance overtaking him. He wishes there was someone he could talk with, but Tiny Herb isn’t a place to find Qiao Yifan’s fans.
Oh! Of course!
Gao Yingjie rushes to visit Qiao Yifan’s fanclub post, and at the very bottom is a single new comment.
“I watched you in the match against Everlasting! Great job, I’m rooting for you, Little Qiao!”
Gao Yingjie holds his phone in his cupped hands with awe. The first tiny green shoot pushing out of the soil always seems a little miraculous.
Out of all Team Happy’s players, both past and present, Captain Qiao Yifan has the most dedicated fanclub.
Every year, starting from Team Happy's time in the Challenger League - back when nobody even knew who Team Happy was or believed they could enter the pro league, let alone dreamed they would someday be champions - Qiao Yifan’s fanclub has faithfully sent him a package for his birthday. At the time, Qiao Yifan hadn’t appeared in a single official game, and his only public match was his failed rookie challenge. To be fans of a player with so few accomplishments could only be called a pure and honest devotion.
Pro players receiving gifts from their fanclub is quite normal. What makes Qiao Yifan’s fanclub special is their extraordinary, almost uncanny thoughtfulness and consideration of his personal taste. It’s almost as if they know before Qiao Yifan does what he’d enjoy.
One time, Qiao Yifan’s cell phone strap broke, and his next box from his fanclub held an identical replacement. Another time, he’d worn a hole in his favorite, softest jacket, and by coincidence a new one in his favorite color arrived from his fanclub soon afterward. If they send food, it’s always his favorite brand and flavor, and somehow exactly what he was craving.
Such a devoted fanclub isn't satisfied by just sending Qiao Yifan goodies for his birthday. Championships get their own special recognition, of course. Before the finals this year, Qiao Yifan received a banner that was taller than he was with all sorts of handwritten good luck messages on it. Somehow, the cards and messages from his fanclub are always precisely what Qiao Yifan needs to hear, as if they knew his heart.
And the first time Qiao Yifan was elected to All-stars, his fanclub sent him a limited edition One Inch Ash plush toy he’d been trying to buy on his own without success. When he pulled it out of the wrapping, he’d clutched the toy to himself and blinked back tears.
Qiao Yifan loves receiving One Inch Ash items. His Ghostblade means freedom, and accomplishment, and comfort, and receiving presents with his own character’s image feels like an acknowledgement of himself. Qiao Yifan has accumulated many One Inch Ash and Ghostblade memorabilia over the years, but his fanclub always manages to find new ones to add to his collection.
Once, during a Glory fan event, Qiao Yifan had met his fanclub’s president - and been quite embarrassed the whole time - but when he thanked her for the thoughtful presents, his fanclub’s president just shook her head. “It’s not us who thinks up these ideas, it’s our fanclub’s founder who gives us suggestions,” she’d said. When Qiao Yifan asked to meet his fanclub’s founder, she could only answer that she’d never met the person, and they never came to meetups or events, but they’d been a fan longer than anyone else in the club.
It’s a small mystery, but an unimportant one to the greater scheme of things. Qiao Yifan doesn’t think anything of it until he’s chosen to join China’s national team, and ends up sharing a room with Gao Yingjie.
Qiao Yifan’s fanclub - even after all these years thinking that phrase stuns Qiao Yifan, he has fans - had sent a care package when the team gathered for training in Beijing. Qiao Yifan hasn’t opened it yet, but it’s sitting out on his bed while Gao Yingjie relaxes on his own bed.
Having Yingjie nearby reminds Qiao Yifan of their time in Tiny Herb together. They’re both captains now, players acknowledged as the peak of their class, but rooming together like this feels like they're completing a circle that was always meant to be made whole.
“We’re on the same team this time,” Qiao Yifan says, glancing at his friend.
Gao Yingjie smiles. “We are, just like we always hoped. I’m glad, Yifan.”
“Me too.” He smiles back at Gao Yingjie, and then begins opening the box from his fanclub. “Do you want any snacks?” he asks, digging through the box. “Oh! This is the brand of chips you introduced me to at All-stars.”
Frowning at his phone, Gao Yingjie isn’t paying close attention and absently replies, “Sure. Can I have the toasted rice flavor?”
“Isn’t that a limited edition flavor only available in Shanghai? Where would I get…”
Qiao Yifan trails off, staring at the limited edition flavored chips in his hand. Years of coincidences suddenly click into place.
“Yingjie,” Qiao Yifan says. “How did you know what my fanclub sent me before I did?”
Lying on his stomach, Gao Yingjie freezes, then turns to gawk over his shoulder at Qiao Yifan in terror. “I...it was an accident?” he says, trying to cover his slip
Qiao Yifan can’t help it. He laughs, doubling over and clutching his sides in mirth.
Gao Yingjie wilts. Mindful of his friend’s feelings, Qiao Yifan covers his mouth, trying to pretend he isn't still laughing.
Picking up the box once he’s controlled himself, he walks over to Gao Yingjie’s bed and sits cross-legged beside his best friend. Placing the box down between them, Qiao Yifan tosses over the bag of chips that betrayed Gao Yingjie.
“I can’t believe you’re spying on me for my fanclub,” Qiao Yifan says conversationally, smiling to show he’s teasing.
Holding the bag of chips with a guilty face, Gao Yingjie flushes red to his collar, and mutters something in a tiny, inaudible voice.
“What?”
Gao Yingjie looks like he wants to dig a hole and hide himself in it. “I’m not a spy...I...ah...I’m the founder of your fanclub.”
Qiao Yifan’s mouth falls open. “Oh.”
Both of them wallow in mutual embarrassment for a long, silent moment.
Now that Qiao Yifan is thinking about it, creating a fanclub for him was a very sweet thing for his best friend to do. All those gifts and thoughtful, kind gestures over the years...how much time, effort and care had Gao Yingjie spent for Qiao Yifan? Even when they weren’t on the same team any longer, Gao Yingjie had always been thinking about him.
Turning, Qiao Yifan wraps his arms around Gao Yingjie in a firm hug. “You really have been supporting me all this time. Thank you, Yingjie.”
Gao Yingjie blushes again. As Tiny Herb’s captain he’s grown more confident, but part of him is still the shy young man Qiao Yifan knew in training camp. “I don’t do much for your fanclub anymore,” he confesses. “I handed everything over to the fanclub’s president once Happy won their first championship. I just look in on them occasionally and make suggestions.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Qiao Yifan says, hugging his friend tighter. “Thank you for everything, Yingjie.”
Gao Yingjie’s arms come up to hug his friend in return, and he tucks his chin into the curve of Qiao Yifan’s throat.
The next morning, Gao Yingjie’s phone receives a new message: a photo of an official membership card belonging to Gao Yingjie’s fanclub. Qiao Yifan’s message has a beaming, blushing emoji. “Look Yingjie! Now I’m your fan too!”
Gao Yingjie’s face feels hot as he saves the photo to his phone, and replies to Yifan’s message with a single heart.