HGG - 37

A few weeks ago, the most popular social media platform in the country came to interview Chi Zhao.

Chi Zhao wasn’t opposed to being in the spotlight, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it either. If it hadn’t been for promoting ACDF , he probably wouldn’t have agreed to the interview.

Xia Fan accompanied him that day. Ostensibly there to assist the interview team as a representative of Chongyou, his real purpose was to intervene if Chi Zhao said anything out of line.

After all, this was the same man who once stood on stage at the “Top Ten Game Brands of the Year” awards ceremony and thanked the café downstairs for their donuts and pudding, claiming they had helped Chongyou’s employees through tough times.

When the interview team arrived, Chi Zhao showed his respect by pushing all the stuffed toys off the sofa onto the floor. Then, with exaggerated seriousness, he gestured and said, “Please, take a seat.”

The leader of the interview group sat down, slightly flustered.

When asked about game-related topics, Chi Zhao’s answers were impeccable—clear, articulate, non-confidential, and filled with just enough wit.

Finally, the leader said, “That concludes our professional questions.”

Chi Zhao immediately stood up, ready to go play with his cat, but Xia Fan pushed him back down.

“Next, we’d like to ask some personal questions,” the leader ventured cautiously. “Would that be alright?”

“Do you want me to tell the truth or lie?” Chi Zhao responded.

“…” The leader glanced at Xia Fan.

Xia Fan explained diplomatically, “What Mr. Chi means is, please feel free to ask.”

The leader began, “Among the players of Chongming Games, many are quite interested in you personally, especially female players…”

“There are plenty of male players too,” Chi Zhao said listlessly, resting his chin on his hand. “Every time the server crashes, or we change parameters, or release new gift boxes, they curse me to death.”

The leader wiped away sweat nervously. “No, I mean something else. What I’m trying to say is, you’re a highly popular entrepreneur, yet you’re still single. Do you have any plans for the near future?”

To prevent Chi Zhao from jokingly saying something like “I plan to become a monk,” Xia Fan quickly interjected, “Mr. Chi is currently focused on his career. Other matters will come naturally. Please continue to support our game projects.”

This answer was flawless. Just before leaving, the leader asked one last question: “Do you currently have feelings for anyone?”

Chi Zhao was unwrapping a lollipop at the time. He looked up. “Feelings? What do you mean?”

“Well…” The leader happened to glance at the clay figurines on the shelf. “It’s like thinking someone looks very beautiful.”

Chi Zhao thought for a moment, the lollipop dangling from his lips. “Yeah, I think my secretary is exceptionally beautiful.”

At that moment, the atmosphere froze.

Xia Fan worked hard afterward to ensure the interviewer didn’t misinterpret or embellish Chi Zhao’s words.

________________________________________

The official launch date for ACDF was originally set for a long holiday weekend. However, Danji Games suddenly announced their open beta test dates—and they coincided perfectly with ACDF ‘s schedule.

This was no coincidence. Dan Jingyi intentionally planned it, willing to take a hit himself to divert traffic away from ACDF .

Upon seeing the news, Chi Zhao immediately decided to bring forward the server launch.

“Are you okay with giving up the holiday traffic?” Zhan Heqing asked.

“No one said we’re giving anything up,” Chi Zhao replied with an enigmatic smile.

On the day of the launch, several servers went live simultaneously, and the number of online players surged. Chongyou had anticipated this and ensured the technical team could handle the influx.

This decision wasn’t made by Chi Zhao; the planning department took it upon themselves to build a Sprite Tower in the lobby to celebrate.

As the name suggested, a Sprite Tower was essentially a champagne tower, except it was filled with Sprite instead of champagne.

Song Yi saw such a setup for the first time outside of movies. Passing through the lobby, she was slightly surprised. When Chi Zhao found out, he was furious because—”These cultists! Coke is king!”

Watching Chi Zhao throw on his coat and storm out, Song Yi stayed behind in the office to tidy up with Xia Fan.

A colleague posted a video of the celebration in the group chat. While Xia Fan wasn’t looking, Song Yi muted the sound and discreetly played it under a stack of documents.

Everyone had been working tirelessly, and now that they finally had a chance to relax, they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

In the video, Song Yi noticed Chi Zhao and Zhan Heqing chatting in a corner. They seemed to be discussing something amusing—Chi Zhao laughed, playfully elbowing Zhan Heqing. Zhan Heqing, who had been laughing, suddenly clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain.

Startled, Chi Zhao immediately checked on his injury.

Seeing these two childish figures, Song Yi couldn’t help but laugh softly while working.

Then, Xia Fan tapped the desk lightly.

“If you want to join them, go ahead,” Xia Fan said, clearing his throat. Song Yi awkwardly regained her composure.

Lately, Chi Zhao had become far too conspicuous in her eyes.

Her comment about him being “super handsome” wasn’t a lie.

The fact that Chongming Network had become a mere subsidiary of Chongyou was now undeniable. To discuss the acquisition, the executives of Chongming Network personally came to Chongyou for a meeting.

Chi Zhao’s attitude toward the meeting was casual—he wore casual clothes and met with them, even allowing the much older general manager to pat his shoulder. Though uninterested in the acquisition, he still went through the motions.

Song Yi didn’t need to attend this meeting. On her way to meet some new employees, she happened to pass by the corridor outside the conference room.

She paused, unconsciously searching for Chi Zhao’s direction.

Inside the meeting room, employees were still speaking passionately. Chi Zhao sat with his head bowed, fiddling absently with a ballpoint pen. Song Yi guessed he might be doodling while zoning out.

She couldn’t help but linger where she stood. Just as she became lost in thought, Chi Zhao suddenly raised his head and locked eyes with her directly.

Startled, Song Yi greeted him calmly with a nod.

Chi Zhao tilted his chin up and gave her a youthful, boyish smile.

That smile struck Song Yi like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting her squarely in the chest.

She felt suffocated.

Though her chest tightened painfully, she didn’t find it unpleasant. In fact, quite the opposite—she almost wished for more of this torment.

Facing Chi Zhao, Song Yi often experienced this unfamiliar sensation.

But the busyness of work always pulled her back to reality.

As a well-structured company with clear profit objectives, socializing was indispensable.

While Chongyou’s games hadn’t ventured into esports, Chongming Headquarters had invested in the domestic esports industry.

During the long holiday weekend, a major tournament for a strategy game was held domestically.

The organizers sent Chi Zhao tickets for premium seats.

Chi Zhao stared silently at the two tickets for a long time. When Xia Fan passed by, he casually remarked, “My girlfriend’s mom’s birthday is that day, so I won’t be working overtime.”

“No, I was wondering how much money I could make selling these tickets online.”

“It’s best not to,” Xia Fan replied without missing a beat. “Unless you want Chongyou to get dragged into unnecessary scandals over trivial matters.”

Chi Zhao turned around and asked, “Song Yi, are you free tonight?”

“Grandma went to a friend’s house for social dancing, so I’m temporarily free,” Song Yi answered honestly.

In the end, only Chi Zhao and Song Yi attended together.

In the car, Chi Zhao curiously asked, “Social dancing… what is it?”

“It’s a senior social dance class near home,” Song Yi explained. “Back in the countryside, people used to do square dancing. But in cities, public squares are subject to noise control, so Grandma started attending social dance classes. She learned a bit when she was younger. Oh, and she pays for it herself.”

Chi Zhao chuckled, gripping the steering wheel. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s great to have hobbies.”

“What about you, Song Yi?” Chi Zhao suddenly asked. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Song Yi thought for a moment, then turned her head and said, “Lately, I’ve been playing World of Goo …” She had barely finished speaking when her phone rang. She saw messages from Dan Jingyi.

He hadn’t been able to get through with a call, so he sent multiple texts in quick succession.

“Is Chi Zhao with you? Tell him to pick up my call!”

Aside from that, most of the messages were incoherent rants.

It was rare to see Dan Jingyi lose his composure like this. After all, he was the kind of person who could buy one of Chi Zhao’s paintings at an exorbitant price, then calmly carry it home without batting an eye. Song Yi directed her question to the person in the driver’s seat: “What’s going on?”

Calculating the dates, Danji Games’ open beta had recently begun.

Logically, ACDF had already changed its launch date to avoid conflict, which should have been considered a concession. Dan Jingyi should have been gloating instead of being so enraged.

Why was he so upset?

Chi Zhao glanced at the text messages on her screen and chuckled. “I’m not answering his call. Am I supposed to stoop to arguing with him like a child? Do you think I’m that immature?”

Before they could continue the conversation, the car arrived at their destination. They got out, connected with the event organizers, and found their seats.

True to form, the tickets provided by the organizers offered excellent seating with an unbeatable view. As for the RTS game itself, Chi Zhao had only played it during college, and Song Yi had never touched it. Their attendance this time was purely diplomatic.

As soon as they sat down, Song Yi noticed the massive electronic screens.

In such a large venue, the real-time screens were crucial for the audience.

Looking around, she saw a sea of fans in the back rows holding signs supporting a particular player. Most of them bore the word “tennis.”

Song Yi wasn’t dense enough to think this referred to the sport of tennis.

It was likely the name of one of the players.

Just as she turned back, she heard a female spectator behind her say, “I wonder if there’ll be a Kiss Cam segment today.”

“The last time, they filmed two male commentators, and they actually kissed! Hahaha.”

“What’s a Kiss Cam?” someone interrupted.

“Have you ever watched a game before? How can you not know about the Kiss Cam?”

“Isn’t that the thing they do at basketball games?”

“The Kiss Cam is a common interactive game at events. During breaks, the camera captures neighboring pairs in the audience, and they’re supposed to kiss publicly.”

The young crowd in the back chattered animatedly, discussing even unrelated topics with enthusiasm. It was a testament to the hormonal energy of youth.

Song Yi remained silent. Beside her, Chi Zhao pulled out his phone but was bombarded by calls from a contact named “Birdman.” Frustrated, he turned it off entirely.

Fortunately, the match began soon after.

The commentary was bilingual, and the young faces of the players brimmed with confidence. Even though Song Yi wasn’t familiar with the game, she couldn’t help but give it her full attention.

She spotted the player named “tennis,” who belonged to a team called Cor.

At first, he kept his head down, and Song Yi didn’t think much of it. But when a close-up of him drinking water appeared on the screen, she studied him more carefully.

He looked somewhat familiar.

However, the thought vanished as quickly as it came.

During the break between matches, Song Yi took out her phone to check for work-related messages, while Chi Zhao played a gacha game on his spare phone. Both were absorbed in their own worlds until the surrounding noise grew unusually loud.

Unbeknownst to them, the camera had shifted to capture them.

In the classic Kiss Cam segment, the production team usually searched for random male-female pairs in the audience, hoping to film strangers or couples sharing romantic moments.

However, they likely hadn’t considered the possibility that neighboring men and women might have awkward professional relationships.

Despite the situation, Song Yi remained calm, and Chi Zhao wore an equally indifferent expression.

The camera didn’t move away. After all, pranks like this weren’t easily abandoned, and capturing such visually appealing neighbors was a rare opportunity.

The audience erupted into cheers, urging them to kiss.

Yet, Song Yi instinctively turned her head and looked at Chi Zhao.

Chi Zhao met her gaze with relaxed nonchalance.

Amidst the roaring chaos around them, they stood still, as if in the eye of the storm.

Between them, silence reigned supreme.