In the end, Zong Cheng still didn’t know what exactly had happened with that sweater.
All he knew was that, somehow, he had gotten an invitation—Yin Chen had invited him to a hot spring villa on the Winter Solstice for drinks.
And he had agreed.
Yin Chen was delighted at his immediate acceptance.
Even when the Dongfang Group suddenly announced within a week that they were forming a new team called DF, and even poached a player the new team had been about to sign, Yin Chen’s mood didn’t falter.
The spectacle of a legendary business empire and an old-school enterprise suddenly forming esports teams sent the online spectators into a frenzy of speculation.
“Did some official document come down encouraging esports??? Or is esports finally entering its golden age? Why does it feel like esports news is suddenly everywhere?”
“Don’t get it. But honestly, this means ZWG’s position as the top team this year is unstable, right? Didn’t their main sniper get fired for messing around with the team’s relationships? Losing a key player could make this year’s champion unpredictable.”
“The guy above is talking nonsense. Losing a sniper? Who wins just because of a sniper? It’s still about aim and tactics. I’m telling you, regardless of these new teams, ZWG won’t be affected much—it’s still the top seed.”
“ZWG’s core players are all 22 or so, right? Big deal. Everyone knows esports players peak for only a few years. A sniper just gets extra points, but losing one won’t make ZWG panic—I don’t buy it.”
“Can people stop discussing ZWG here? We’re talking about how strong the two new teams are, not watching ZWG’s drama. And spare me Sima Gu’er’s nonsense.”
The online debates raged, but Yin Chen remained completely unfazed.
He had one goal in forming a team—winning the championship.
Everything else?
Could it make him happy?
No.
So why waste precious time on it?
Increasingly, as he reassessed life, Yin Chen’s transformation became more obvious.
Even the staff at Yin Corporation were gradually adapting. Their formerly stern, cold, impeccably dressed CEO was now effortlessly stylish every day, like he might step into a winter fashion shoot at any moment. He never repeated the same outfit twice.
Those with a keen eye even noticed his accessories—tiny cufflinks, flashy watches, and even the cars he drove to work were always different.
When someone posted about this on the company forum, it caused an internal uproar.
“?? Really?? No way! Even for President Yin, you’re telling me he doesn’t repeat watches daily? A million-dollar watch a day? That’s… uh, 365*1,000,000=??? Too many numbers, I’ve given up.”
“I’ve got this! It’s just over three hundred million. Honestly, for President Yin, it’s a drop in the bucket. Remember the new team he invested in? One hundred million gone, the villa? Priceless, just given to the team as a base. Think about it, really think.”
“Stop thinking or you’ll turn into a bitter lemon! After the founding of the nation, lemons can’t turn into spirits, everyone take note! Seriously, just remove seven or eight zeros, and this world suddenly feels sweet QUQ.”
“I don’t know what to say besides… Dad. Also, has anyone figured out why President Yin changed so much?! How did he suddenly ‘get it’?!”
The thread stopped there. No one dared reply further.
After all—who besides President Yin could answer that?
And indeed, he could.
He efficiently wrapped up company work and left early before 4 PM.
Returning to his newly designed villa, he habitually grabbed a bottle of “Happy Couch Potato Soda.” His gaze flicked to the word “Cola” on the label, and he paused.
Last time, he thought he should try that knockoff soda.
He was curious what kind of flavor could get someone drunk with so little alcohol.
A few sips, a light buzz of happiness, and he instinctively opened his phone to the green app he favored.
He scrolled through his bookmarked novels, happily catching up on several updates. He tipped one author, took a deep breath, and then opened a familiar cover.
Update! Update! Update! Please update!
A tap, and the cover flipped. He froze—right there, a bright, obvious leave request appeared.
…
Trash author! Update already!
He sipped his soda again.
So strange.
All the other authors had updated—just this one hadn’t.
Why did it feel so frustrating, so disappointing?
Sigh.
Staring at the app, a twinge of melancholy touched him. Though the app brought so much joy, it inevitably brought a little sadness too.
If only this author would update sooner.
Yin Chen thought for a moment, quickly screenshotting his soda and the cover.
Three minutes later.
An unassuming Weibo post appeared:
I am a CEO: Suddenly I realize Happy Couch Potato Soda isn’t making me happy anymore. When will this author update? [image][image]
Not long after posting, a reply came:
Qingluan Xinyuan: Hahaha, I remember you said this book scared you countless times. You not scared anymore?
Yin Chen raised an eyebrow and replied instantly:
“Scared QUQ, but—it’s too good!”
Qingluan Xinyuan: 2333, reality! Honestly, this book is super good. Too bad the author isn’t full-time; real life keeps them busy, can’t guarantee updates. So sad.
Full-time author?
Yin Chen had a dangerous thought—find the author, pay them to update nonstop.
But the thought lasted only a second before he dismissed it.
Not stupid!
If the author updated daily, he’d have constant joy.
If updates came in chunks every few days, his happiness would be cut short.
Not a worthwhile investment!
“Ah-choo!”
Zong Cheng sneezed heavily. His editor immediately panicked over the call.
“What’s going on? Sick? Or did you forget to mark your leave request? Should I explain to the readers?”
“No need. I’ll just update two chapters this afternoon.”
Zong Cheng glanced at his draft queue—he had it covered.
“Good, good! Can you update now?? Readers have been bugging me. If you do, I can apply for the leaderboard…”
“No need. Just these two chapters today. Might not have time later.”
His editor sighed. Zong Cheng had been busy running company affairs, helping Tang Chen move and sign contracts, plus managing collaborations with Yin Corporation.
Zong Cheng’s eyes swept over the neatly stored sweater.
Every evening, he got invites from Yin Chen to play PUBG. He’d already reached Platinum rank. Before the new season ended, he felt he could bring Yin Chen to Super Ace rank.
Too busy.
Really too busy.
He thought flatly: how could I have time to write consistently? Seven chapters in the drafts? Better do weekly updates.
The editor picked up on the meaning, dejected. He knew Zong Cheng’s updates were irregular—but now he had discovered how good Zong Cheng’s new novel was.
A grown man, terrified at night, shivering under the blanket—but couldn’t stop reading.
That delicious, painful thrill—once tasted, addicting.
Unable to force updates, the editor only reminded Zong Cheng to take care of his health, then hung up.
Jumping up in joy: YES!
Two updates today!
Better news doesn’t exist!
Zong Cheng uploaded the drafts and replaced the leave request with a new one:
Author: Stuck forever, updates irregular.
Readers seeing the updates smiled—until they saw the leave request. Heartbreak.
Yin Chen, freshly showered, got a Weibo notification.
The author he’d been waiting for had posted!
His eyes lit up!
He opened the app—two chapters updated!
Happily read one.
Read another.
???
Wait… his second update? He only saw one chapter? Just a few thousand words missing?
Repeated taps, disbelief.
He really finished the second chapter already?
But he felt like he’d only read one chapter.
…
Ah, whatever. This app had weird magic anyway.
As long as the author updated daily, his happiness—
Then he saw the new leave request.
Yin Chen’s smile faded.
He thought—short-lived happiness is still pretty nice 🙂