Huayu: Starting from retirement, sweeping across the domestic entertainment industry

Chapter 244 Arrangements for the Comeback

Li Ran nodded without saying anything.

Some things don't need to be said; everyone present understands.

Uzi spoke in a calm tone, but every professional player present could sense the weight behind his words.

A professional athlete's prime is as short as a sharpened pencil; it becomes dull and breaks after writing only a few pages. Uzi, however, has written twice as much on this pencil as others, writing until his fingers are calloused, his wrists are covered in kinesiology tape, writing until he was carried off the field and got back up, writing until all his peers had turned away and left, while he was still writing.

That courage itself is admirable, regardless of the grades.

Li Ran knew in his heart that Uzi's comeback this time was not going smoothly.

According to his memories from his previous life, Xiaogou's comeback with BLG was fraught with difficulties, with only a handful of appearances, and ultimately it fizzled out.

Later, when EDG made a comeback, it was the same. Despite their best efforts, they only made it to the final stage of the gauntlet and ultimately failed to step into the World Championship.

But he won't say these things, and it's not up to anyone to judge.

A veteran whose name is already etched in LPL history is willing to stake his entire reputation on one more gamble. This all-or-nothing courage weighs more heavily than any trophy.

As for his own plans to make a comeback, Li Ran didn't mention a word.

It wasn't that I was deliberately hiding it; it was just that the occasion was inappropriate.

Among the people making guest appearances today, several are active or recently retired professional players. If he were to announce his comeback now, the news would spread throughout the entire LPL community by tonight, followed by a deluge of public opinion, analysis, predictions, and calls from various clubs who sensed the coming opportunity.

He wasn't prepared to deal with these things.

However, if he were to make a comeback, the situation would be completely different from Uzi's.

He's already approaching the age threshold for older athletes.

Two years without playing in a formal competition is enough time for a top player's name to disappear from the commentators' mouths in the esports industry, where the pace of change is ridiculously fast.

But his resume speaks for itself: three professional careers, two Summoner's Cups, one runner-up finish, plus countless league honors and individual awards.

Any team manager who sees this resume will use correction fluid to cover up the word "age" and pretend they didn't see it.

This is not just a consideration of commercial value.

Li Ran's commercial contracts have never been something the team could sign. That was the case back when he was with IG; he rarely even streamed.

He's selective about the business activities he accepts, and he can't give the capital behind the teams what they want—because he himself is the capital.

The parent companies of most LPL clubs are simply no match for Li Ran in terms of size.

Therefore, if he wants to make a comeback, he doesn't need to go around trying out for different teams and begging for opportunities like ordinary players do. All he needs to do is choose a suitable time and a suitable team, and then make that decision like placing a piece on a chessboard.

Filming began quickly.

Today's task wasn't too heavy. The main task was to reshoot close-up shots of the players on stage, their fingers flying across the keyboard, their furrowed brows, the moment they suddenly released the mouse after winning a team fight, and their profiles staring blankly at the screen after losing a crucial game.

There was no grand staging or coordination of hundreds or thousands of extras; just a few cameras circling the contestants' seats, capturing those subtle expressions and movements.

The filming went very smoothly, much faster than expected.

Although Ah Shui and his friends are not professional actors, this is their job. When they are playing games, there are always cameras hanging above their heads, and shooting promotional videos is commonplace.

They don't need to "act" as esports players; they *are* esports players.

The moment I sit down in the chair, put on my headphones, and place my hands on the keyboard, my muscle memory works faster than the director's instructions. That focused, immersive state, where I feel one with the screen, isn't something I hone through acting skills; it's something I develop from hundreds and thousands of training sessions and official matches.

There was an unexpected surprise halfway through the filming.

Yan Junze (Letme), the man jokingly referred to by fans as "e-sports Wang Junkai," had an interaction with the real Wang Junkai on set.

The two were demonstrating their skills in front of two computers placed next to each other. Wang Junkai spontaneously said, "Brother Junze, go easy on him later." Yan Junze replied without thinking, "You're the star, I'm just an extra." The camera crew caught the two of them smiling at each other.

Zhang Yimou watched from behind the monitor and laughed so hard that he immediately decided to add this scene to the main film as an Easter egg.

After a set of shots was filmed, the production crew came up to change the memory card, and the lighting technician adjusted the angle of the reflector.

Li Ran stood up from the players' bench and walked to the monitor to stretch her neck.

The scene we just filmed was about losing a match. After his character lost the decisive game, he sat in his chair without moving. Everyone else was packing up their equipment and preparing to leave, but he was still staring at the gray word "defeat" on the screen, his eyes gradually reddening.

It wasn't a loud wail; it was the kind of crying where all your strength has been drained, and tears quietly fill your eyes and then quietly fall, the whole process so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat.

Zhang Yimou looked up at him from behind the monitor, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm.

Kan: "Hurry up and get into the right mindset, we're about to film the victory scene."

Li Ran lowered his head and smiled, a smile that contained a hint of helplessness and a touch of bewilderment.

He raised his hand and rubbed the corner of his eye. The emotions from the previous scene hadn't completely faded, and there was still a slight astringent feeling on his eyelids from the dried tears.

The makeup artist handed him a tissue, which he took and patted onto his eyes.

"Filming goes by so fast," he said, crumpling a tissue into a ball in his hand. His voice was a little muffled, as if he was still recovering from the emotions he had just experienced. "I was heartbroken after the defeat, and now we're about to win the championship again."

He paused, his gaze passing over the monitor to the ten quietly lined-up computers on the stage, as if looking at something very distant, not belonging to this point in time.

"In reality, it took me a whole year."

From the night of their defeat in the Bird's Nest finals in 2017 to the late autumn of 2018 when IG won the championship, a whole season had passed in between.

Those nights, those debriefings, those repeated disassembly and reconstruction of confidence and doubt, compressed into a few frames on film, are nothing more than the distance from one shot to the next.

"You said it yourself, it's just filming," Zhang Yimou stood up and patted him on the shoulder, the force neither too light nor too heavy, carrying a kind of elder's urging and comfort.

Then he turned to the makeup artist and shouted, "Makeup artist, touch up Li Ran's makeup. Why are her eyes still red? You can't go up with red eyes when you win the championship and lift the trophy. People will think you won the runner-up."

"No, Director Zhang, you're wrong about that. There are plenty of professional athletes who shed tears when they win a championship; that's called crying tears of joy."

"But whenever I look at your past championship wins, you're always grinning from ear to ear, that's what youthful spirit looks like—"

After finishing a day of filming, Li Ran found a hot pot restaurant near the Bird's Nest and treated the main actors and Ah Shui and the other three to a meal.

Winter nights in Beijing are perfect for hot pot with lamb. A copper pot over charcoal fire, clear broth bubbling away, thin slices of lamb change color after a few dips in the boiling water, dipped in sesame sauce and served with chive blossoms, one bite is both hot and fragrant.

A group of people sat around two copper pots, the steam making the glass windows foggy, and the room was as warm as springtime.

Ah Shui and the others were a little unfamiliar with the main actors in the production crew at first.

There's an entire circle between professional gamers and actors, so it's hard to know where to begin.

But after a few plates of mutton and two bottles of beer, the barrier melted away.

They chatted about games, filming, and outrageous gossip from their respective circles. The factory manager's story about being outmaneuvered by a European team in a training match back in the day had everyone at the table laughing uproariously.

The puppy chimed in, "That same trick of yours was later used on you."

The factory manager, unconvinced, tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks, making a clanging sound.

Towards the end of the meal, Ah Shui and the puppy started playing duo queue with Wang Junkai.

Zhou Ye sat next to Li Ran and was toasted several times by Ah Shui and the others.

At first, she held up her glass politely, saying, "I have to film tomorrow and can't drink too much," but Ah Shui said, "Sister-in-law is not giving me face."

By the time the show ended, her cheeks were noticeably flushed, her eyes were brighter than usual, and her laughter was less restrained and more unrestrained than usual.

When Li Ran got home that evening, he had just opened the door and hadn't even reached for the light switch in the entryway when he was hit hard on the back.

Zhou Ye took a running start and jumped up from behind, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, hanging on him like a koala.

The impact knocked Li Ran forward half a step, and he managed to regain his balance by bracing himself against the door frame with one hand.

"Hey, shoes! You haven't changed your shoes yet!" Li Ran looked down at the sneakers on her feet, then at Zhou Ye, who was hanging on her back and had started giggling. She sighed resignedly, kicked off her own shoes, then lifted Zhou Ye's legs up to make her hang more securely, and then carried her to the living room.

Zhou Ye buried his face in the back of his neck, his nose brushing against the small patch of skin above his collar, his breath hot and damp, carrying a sweet smell of alcohol.

She was still laughing, not a loud laugh, but a kind of gurgling sound that couldn't be suppressed, like a kitten being tickled.

During the dinner party, Ah Shui and the others kept calling her "sister-in-law." Every time they called her that, she would lower her head and take a sip of wine. Eventually, Li Ran couldn't tell whether her blush was from the wine or from being called those two words.

"Li Ran," she whispered, her lips pressed against the back of his neck, her voice soft and sweet from the alcohol, as if each syllable was coated with honey, "You smell so good~"

She sniffed hard, the tip of her nose brushing against his neck, cool and ticklish, then added a further explanation, her tone carrying a seriousness unique to alcohol: "It smells of alcohol."

"Nonsense," Li Ran turned his head, his cheek brushing against her hair, his voice laced with laughter, the vibrations of his chest transmitting through his back to her, low and deep, "I drank too, of course I smell of alcohol on me."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Ye released one of his hands from around his neck and put his arm under his nose to smell it.

Wrist, cuff, back of hand —

Then he declared decisively, "But I don't have any on me."

She stretched her arm out in front of Li Ran's nose, almost poking his nostril, her tone carrying a peculiar quality characteristic of someone who had been drinking.

Stubborn and smug: "Smell it, it smells nice."

Li Ran turned her head away from her flailing arms, and with a wry smile, continued, "Yes, you smell nice."

Zhou Ye was satisfied.

She pulled her arms back and wrapped them around his neck again, burying her face in the back of his neck and letting out a muffled "Mmm".

Her voice grew softer and softer, more and more indistinct. Her chin rested on his shoulder, her lips almost touching his collar as she murmured, "I smell nice, you smell stinky—"

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting long, thin golden lines on the floor.

Li Ran quietly got out of bed, washed up, made a phone call to order breakfast, and waited for the delivery to arrive and be placed on the table before going back to the bedroom to call for someone.

Zhou Ye was curled up under the covers, with only half of his face and a tangled mess of hair showing. His sleeping posture was the same as when he was carried back last night—curled up, like a bird burying its head under its wings.

Li Ran sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush away the stray hairs from her forehead. "Coconut, get up, breakfast is here."

Zhou Ye opened his eyes groggily, his eyelids feeling like they were being stretched open by two small sandbags, closing a crack and then closing again, only to be stretched open once more.

She raised her hand to her temple, her lips moving for a long time before she managed to squeeze out a muffled, tearful sentence: "Li Ran, my head hurts—".

The aftereffects of those drinks yesterday were much stronger than she had imagined. Right now, it felt like a small construction crew was hammering and pounding in her temples, each blow precisely hitting her pain receptors.

Seeing her pitiful appearance, Li Ran felt both sorry for her and amused. He reached out and pressed his fingertips on her temples, massaging them gently.

His fingers were warm, and he applied precise pressure as he swirled them in circles.

Zhou Ye squinted comfortably, letting out a muffled hum, and unconsciously nuzzled his head against the palm of his hand.

"Will you drink so much next time?" Li Ran asked while rubbing her, his tone deliberately asking even though he already knew the answer.

As Zhou Ye felt the pressure on his fingers, the corners of his mouth slowly turned up, a smile that carried the hazy aftermath of a hangover and a touch of shameless drunkenness: "Hehe, you drink for me next time."

Li Ran paused for a moment, then continued kneading, sighing resignedly.

Well, what else can he say?

It was almost half an hour later when Zhou Ye fully woke up, washed up, changed into a loose sweatshirt, and sat down at the dining table.

The.

Zhou Ye picked up the bowl of porridge, blew on it to cool it down, and ate the steamed buns in small bites. His cheeks puffed out, and he looked much more energetic than when he had just woken up, although there was still a trace of hangover weariness in the corner of his eyes.

As she ate, she suddenly looked up at Li Ran, still with half a bun in her mouth, and asked indistinctly, "Are you planning to make a comeback on Instagram?"

Li Ran's chopsticks, which were holding rice noodle rolls, paused in mid-air. He glanced at her, then shook his head: "I'm not sure either. Why do you ask?"

"It was yesterday when you asked Ah Shui if he planned to return to IG," Zhou Ye swallowed the bun in his mouth, poked at the remaining half on the plate with his chopsticks, and said seriously, "I guessed you might go back to IG."

Li Ran couldn't help but laugh when he saw her trying so hard to analyze the situation.

He used his chopsticks to pick up the half-eaten bun from her plate, which she had been poking at for ages, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and then slowly praised, "Oh, your little brain is pretty smart now."

Zhou Ye glared at him: "Hey! I didn't say I wasn't going to eat—"

Li Ran smiled and leaned back in his chair, his joking tone fading as he explained seriously, "Principal Wang is planning to sell IG, and I'm going to buy it myself."

"Oh————" Zhou Ye opened his mouth, his expression changing from smug to blank.

She took two seconds to process the sentence, quickly going through the market value of LPL clubs and the brand size of IG in her mind, and felt that her arithmetic ability was being challenged like never before.

"Not buy it? LPL slots are expensive these days, right? Besides, IG doesn't just have one League of Legends division; they also have Dota and Overwatch—"

She counted down to the third one on her fingers and then gave up, because her understanding of e-sports was limited to watching matches with Li Ran. If she counted any further, she would be exposed.

Seeing her fidgeting on her fingers, Li Ran chuckled and reached out to press her hand down, his tone casual, as if discussing a modest expense: "It's alright. But I didn't say I wanted to run it alone; I might find a few partners to share the cost."

After he finished speaking, he picked up his bowl of porridge, took a sip, and added, "It's too early to talk about this now. It won't be settled until at least the second half of this year. Principal Wang only has this intention. How to operate in detail, how to calculate the valuation, and how to transition the management team all need to be discussed slowly. It's not something that can be done overnight."

Zhou Ye didn't say anything more, just nodded, and continued eating his breakfast.

She knew that Li Ran was a good person in every way, except that once he made up his mind to do something, nothing anyone said could change his mind.

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