Anyone who played that game knew about WT.
The commemorative gift box co-released by WT sold out the moment pre-orders opened. But each WT team member had been given three internal customization slots. The game company would personalize each gift box according to the recipient’s preferences, making them distinct from the versions sold to the public.
One version came with a keyboard and mouse, another with a game console and cartridge, and the last—rumored to be a custom plush toy.
Chu Xingxiao would never allow his gift to be ordinary.
If he was going to give something, it had to be the most unique.
He and his cousin weren’t particularly close, but they weren’t distant either. The thing was, his cousin had always kept people at arm’s length. Ever since deciding to enter the e-sports world, he’d practically severed ties with the entire family.
Only Chu Xingxiao had never cared about his identity or his career choice.
Of course, the real reason was that Chu Xingxiao himself had also broken with the family—because he wanted to enter the entertainment industry.
It was laughable, really. Their family, despite having an expansive lineage, held some of the most archaic views. Every younger member was expected to go into business—or they’d forfeit inheritance rights and any claim to the estate.
Tempted by money, most fell in line. Dreams? What did those matter?
At least his cousin could make money with his own hands. WT had been built from the ground up under his leadership. His word was law. Even with countless setbacks, his future still looked promising.
Unlike him…
Though people in the industry treated him with courtesy—thanks to his family name—Zhou Yanxing wasn’t the type to be impressed by that. Family ties could only get him so far. Chu Xingxiao wanted independence. But after leaving home so abruptly, he had little more than the clothes on his back. No surprise his path had been rough.
There were people in the entertainment world who succeeded on talent—but not many.
Chu Xingxiao was determined to be one of them.
He didn’t want to be just another pretty-faced idol. He wanted to be a legitimate artist.
No one really understood him, but occasionally, his cousin would check in. As for how often—maybe once a year, usually on his birthday.
“Plastic brotherhood” couldn’t have been more accurate.
“No more.” came the reply on the phone.
“No more?” Chu Xingxiao couldn’t believe his ears. “You gave them away?”
Three slots—Qi Song didn’t even have that many friends, did he?
“Did someone have something on you?” Chu Xingxiao racked his brain. “Did they blackmail you into giving up the spots or something?”
“You’re overthinking,” Qi Song said coolly. “They’ve all been given out. None left for you.”
“……”
Chu Xingxiao was speechless.
“You’re not seriously…” A ridiculous thought struck him. “In a relationship?”
He expected a flat-out denial. But Qi Song said nothing.
After a long pause, he asked instead, “Is that a problem?”
“…No, of course not. Your boyfriend’s not my boyfriend, why would I care?” Chu Xingxiao grumbled. “But you really don’t have a single slot left? Could you ask one of your teammates? I want to give it to a friend—he’s important to me.”
“I’ll ask around,” Qi Song said. “But it might be expensive.”
“…Fine!” Chu Xingxiao muttered, then coughed twice, too worked up. “You guys are coming here for a match soon, right? If you can get it, dinner’s on me.”
“We’ll see.”
The call ended.
Qi Song was always like this—brutally efficient, never sentimental. He was always the one to hang up first.
Chu Xingxiao opened his finance app and counted his balance. He let out a sigh.
He needed to make money—seriously.
How could anyone fall in love without it?
Even his ever-celibate cousin had started dating. That guy must be drop-dead gorgeous.
Still, probably not as good-looking as gege.
***
After Chu Xingxiao left, Cen Chi stared at the door, deep in thought. The lounge wasn’t soundproof, and one could hear voices from inside. But after some consideration, he decided it wasn’t the right time to bring up what he’d overheard.
Instead, he changed the subject.
“Secretary Chi’s taking time off—his job’s not exactly easy. Have you considered hiring another secretary?”
The moment he heard that, Zhou Yanxing’s guard went up. He felt like Cen Chi had come with a plan. Hire another secretary? No way.
“The secretary team exists to get work done. If they can’t, why would I keep them around?” Zhou Yanxing’s tone was cold. “No need for you to worry.”
Officially, Chi Zhan’s title was “executive assistant,” but in reality, he was a personal aide—spending more time with the CEO than anyone else in the company. His job was to accompany the CEO at all times and manage every aspect of his schedule and affairs.
Zhou Yanxing wasn’t the type to accommodate others or compromise for the sake of harmony. Temporary arrangements were fine, but anyone who worked with him long-term had to meet his standards: competence, character, and values—all aligned with his own.
In his mind, this position was like a scabbard. Many might look exquisite—but there was only one that could truly fit the blade that was Zhou Yanxing: sharp, cold, and precise.
As a result, none of the dozens of previous assistants had lasted more than a month. All had either been dismissed—or quit on their own.
But outsiders didn’t understand how particular Zhou Yanxing was. They thought he was insane. It was just a job—why be so obsessive about it?
But those earlier assistants? Some were hopelessly slow, others hopelessly infatuated—one even tried to threaten him with work-related leverage. Some had a constant “life is pain” face. One appeared perfect on the surface—but Zhou Yanxing had found it suspicious how that person remained calm no matter how harshly he was scolded.
So he kept a closer eye.
Turned out, the man was a corporate spy sent by a competitor to steal confidential data.
Zhou Yanxing stayed quiet, gathered hard evidence, and had him arrested.
That spy had been Chi Zhan’s predecessor.
Zhou Yanxing had issued strict orders barring anyone from discussing the matter. So among the older staff, his previous assistants were always a taboo subject.
