C10 Part2

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Chapter 10: Flowers that Bloomed at Seventeen (Part 2)

When she hung up the phone, Qiu Ying curled up in her gaming chair to browse Weibo. Ever since she appeared at the commentator’s desk at the CPL Fall Season Competition, her name had grown. Those who mindlessly followed the rumors mocked that the green tea b*tch could really use her tricks; there were also those who thought her expression while commentating was stunning and strong. Her fans recorded her streams and made them into all sorts of highlight clips — gold commentating, hilarious moments of the day, “Best 100 Ways to Die” while playing Conquer — but to her surprise, the one that had ascended to Weibo’s Hot Search was the video of her imitating Miya’s dance back in the early days.

Past traces can never be erased.

Qiu Ying suddenly remembered that Ji Xiangkong liked the out-of-print collector’s Firework album that she’d won by trading half of her life with in the water adventure very much; he had put it in his backpack. Once, they bumped into Lin Yixuan by chance and Lin Yixuan lamented that he was too hardcore of a fan.

He deeply cherished the gift she gave him. Qiu Ying turned on the music to dance to Firework’s songs, secretly rejoicing.

Firework was now popular throughout all of Asia, but they once went through a long period of a sort of nightmare. Like a small boat rushing into the large ocean, even the slightest inattention would lead to it swallowing you up and sinking you to the bottom of the ocean, never to see the sky ever again.

When Firework first debuted, their results were middling because nothing about them particularly stood out. After several rounds of member replacement and adjustment, the Chinese citizen of the group, Miya — Fu Miya — was the only person who insisted on staying behind. The group frequently released songs but no one cared from beginning to end; the songs ranked past the top 50. After their novelty period ended, their dismal results gradually led to them being frozen out. Without new album releases, without any commercials or sponsorships, without a hint of income; in this most difficult time, they could only stay in their dorms eating instant noodles.

Their frozen period continued for nearly 2 years, but their company finally decided to create a new single, Yes or No. Furthermore, they gave Firework their final notice — if the new album didn’t become popular, they would disband their group. But it just wasn’t meant to be; the new song was still at the bottom of the charts. Firework was nearing its end. As the girls were packing up their bags to go home, a miracle occurred that had never before happened in the history of K-pop!

One of Miya’s fans had uploaded a fancam of Miya’s performance on the video-sharing site Youtube. Watchers marveled in surprise at her outstanding voice, spirited dance, and passionate performance. The world had ignored such an amazing group that was in no way inferior to the other top groups for such a long time, and now it was about to disband!

Like they’d discovered a treasure buried within the dirt, everyone spread Miya’s fancam like crazy across the internet. At one point, the number of views even exceeded those of South Korea’s very top group, once more causing everyone, no matter who they were, to lift up their eyes. TV stations replayed their new song one after another, Yes or No swept the major charts, the singles they released before followed in suit to become popular hits, and they became popular in all the streets and alleys. Since then, Firework rose to become a top girl group.

Many times, it’s not that the wine isn’t fragrant enough; it’s simply that the alley it’s in is too deep.

When Yes or No received first place on SBS Inkigayo1 for the first time, all of its members hugged Miya and sobbed. That fancam was like their savior. It was a video of a small roadside performance with only a few dozen watchers; the host curiously asked Miya how she could still keep up such a brilliant performance.

Miya choked up with emotion. “I just treat every performance like it’s my last.”

Qiu Ying had often covered Miya’s songs before and danced Miya’s dances. It wasn’t because Firework was extremely popular. The most important thing to her was that she truly liked Miya. She had always yearned to be like Miya.

After Miya became popular, videos of her older days were frequently posted on the internet. She’d once trained for one year as a trainee in a well-known agency and then been let go. Before she left, she said sincerely and humbly, “I can change whatever I’m lacking. Please give me another chance.” Then, that certain South Korean entertainment giant gave her a decisive reply — “You don’t have the talent to become an idol. You will not be popular.”

Later on, reporters often asked Miya how she felt about her past. She simply laughed lightly. “What I experienced on the road to my dream are all important treasures to me. Only those who have crawled up from the valley understand how we cherish it.”

A girl as dazzling as the sun held up the sky for her companions in their most desperate time. Her figure on the stage brought hope to so many people. In those countless still nights, Qiu Ying listened to her warm singing, looked at her brilliant smile, and a steady stream of courage flowed within her that seemed enough to heal all of her hurts.

Maybe Ji Xiangkong became her diehard fan because of that.

She put Firework’s Miya’s Chinese single, Beyond the Sky, on the playlist. According to rumor, she had written at age seventeen for the boy she liked. And Qiu Ying quite liked it.

She watched the MV while softly humming.

“It’s okay if we don’t say it aloud, it’s okay if we never talk about it. You pull my hand as the sun sets, your palms nervously sweaty, you’re smiling, your eyes are curved, a blush spreads to your ears. Even the dust in the air and the salty sea breeze are telling me so clearly—

“You like me too, something like that.”

In the video, Miya seemed to be looking somewhere further than the camera, her gaze blurry and deep. It was the thing that Qiu Ying couldn’t imitate no matter what. The expression of looking at the person in your heart.

Qiu Ying suddenly remembered Ji Xiangkong’s lonely smile that day they were at her house, when she told him the story behind this song.

—If Miya really admitted her first love was already gone, then wouldn’t diehard fans like you cry themselves to death?

—I won’t. No matter where she is in the future or who she is with, as long as it’s what her heart wants, and the place she wants to go, I will bless her.

For some reason, an absurd suspicion popped up in Qiu Ying’s head; a certain point in her memory that she’d long overlooked grew extremely clear in an instant.

Beyond the Sky was a Chinese single with an extremely small circulation. It wasn’t even publicized and it went out of print a few days after release, but by chance she was able to get the CD from a Firework fan.

Qiu Ying got up to find the blue CD in her bookcase, chills climbing up and up her back and spreading to her entire body.

There was a line in Chinese written on the back of the album—

“The monsoon blows toward the sea, beyond the sky.”

***

ji feng xiang yang, tian kong zhi wai. The exact same characters are used in Ji Xiangkong’s name.

***

In that moment, she seemed to hear the sound of gears slowly turning in the midst of darkness.

**

“You aren’t going deaf! My and Ji Xiangkong’s signing fees are the same!”

Qi Yue bit hard on his bent index finger’s knuckle, walking back and forth in Qiao Xin’s house.

Before when they used Pei Xi as a cover, Qiao Xin’s popularity soared rather than fell. Her underground relationship with Qi Yue had already developed smoothly without interference for quite some time. Though Qi Yue had a temper, he was simple-minded. The more she led him on, left him dangling, and played hot and cold, the more he fell into her trap until she took control of his heart. As soon as Qi Yue was free during the break period, he ran over to Qiao Xin’s house. Just a few minutes ago they were talking about the situation within his team, and Qiao Xin’s few words ignited a blaze within Qi Yue’s heart.

“I’m a World Champion — what’s he? A stray dog who got kicked out of Legend! The Spring Season’s about to start, who knows, maybe Shu Wen’ll make him our new captain!”

His eyes bulged in anger, entire body trembling. “Everyone says that the core of VPG is me and Poker’s Double Moon Duo! But CEO Shu Wen doesn’t see that, I’ve worked so hard for her all these years but she found Pei Xi to be our team’s core, a tumor who doesn’t know how to work with his team at all! Every game, we had to follow his rhythm. The wins were his but the losses were ours.” Qi Yue took in a deep breath. “Pei Xi’s strong and he’s our old captain Summer’s cousin, I know that! But what’s Ji Xiangkong relying on?!”

Qiao Xin pulled him to sit on the sofa. “Don’t be angry~ Everyone knows that you were VPG’s thigh in the Fall Season, you made a comeback, you carried the whole game every time.”

Qi Yue’s chest heaved up and down as he remembered how Ji Xiangkong had pointed out every one of his operating missteps in front of the entire team after the competition, stopping the video to point out various scenes to him again and again. Qi Yue’s temper was fundamentally violent. At the time, he slapped the table in front of Ji Xiangkong in anger and sharply said, “Hey, how do you with your trash operating have the face to give me advice?!”

“I’m pointing it out because I think that you have talent and you can do it. It’s not hard for you, but you just have a habit.” Ji Xiangkong pursed his lips slightly but then recovered his usual smirk. “If I had hand speed as fast as you, that’s how I would do it.”

His tone was so placid and polite that there was nowhere for the fire within Qi Yue’s heart to vent to. He could only surrender.

It was not only that, but Ji Xiangkong loved to make them practice with the heroes they’d never used before during every one of their trainings. There was a time when Qi Yue lost five games in a row during training. He was so furious that he threw his keyboard over: “The strongest setup for this version of the game is making trick flows and speedpushing! Legend and Newland and everyone else are all drilling that into their bones but are you trying to make us die by making us learn how to play those heros with a superlow win rate?” Blue veins popped on his forehead as he glared at Ji Xiangkong. “I’m only gonna play an attack ADC, I’m not playing to be so crafty and disgusting!”

“Only casual gamers talk about their preferences. We’re professional players.” Ji Xiangkong smiled, still extremely patient. “The more heroes you can play, the better off you are when we’re picking out our lineup. If you only copy other people, you’ll always be one step behind them.”

In retrospect, Ji Xiangkong never got angry no matter how much Qi Yue trashtalked him. He smiled while speaking to him. It was like punching a sandbag and it made him seem like he was in the wrong. Qi Yue got angrier the more he thought about it. His eyebrows drew together. “That handicapped dude is always talking about stuff like ‘You guys need to have the ability to learn and use your minds during games, you can’t just fight based on instinct,’ but he’s someone who got shoved in here by the higher-ups so who does he think he is? We’re World Champions and we can still win just like we did before even without using any messy tricks!”

The four VPG players had previously been suppressed under the Great Demon King Pei Xi’s individual performance but held themselves back. Then Shu Wen sent word to them again that everyone would have to follow Ji Xiangkong’s leadership, and they had no other choice but to obey. Now that they’d won the Championship, their pride naturally and promptly swelled in the face of their fans’ overwhelming praise.

“Ji Xiangkong is related to your CEO. It’s not like you don’t know that. Shu Wen’s a 30-year-old old lady who still hasn’t married, she’s just thirsty.” Qiao Xin sat sideways on Qi Yue’s lap, head lowered to curl her hair as if she was holding back her own grievances. “Ah, people who work so hard like us still aren’t as good as people who rely on their backstage relationships. Ji Xiangkong picks at your mistakes obviously to embarrass you in front of everyone and pull down your position in the team.”

She was wearing a long, backless dress that highlighted her curves. Qi Yue’s throat tightened, his gaze dipping into her open low neckline.

“I’m not doing any better either, I got pushed down by Qiu Ying at the commentating desk and the male commentator got seduced by her so he didn’t give me any chance to talk. Youxing broke off her contract because they thought she was playing too badly and she ran over to Tanuki to make a comeback. She’s so skilled.”

Qi Yue caressed Qiao Xin’s back thoughtlessly. “How’d she get onto the commentator’s seat?”

“By holding onto thighs and sleeping around, she has a lot of ways. She even got hold of that Ji Xiangkong to follow her around. The only reason Qiu Ying’s like this today is by relying on him.” Qiao Xin’s eyes filled with resentment, but only momentarily. “Back during the Fall Season, I saw myself that he came out of Qiu Ying’s room at night.”

“No wonder that bastard disappeared for a long time at night even though there was nothing happening! So he went to go pick up a girl!” Qi Yue contemptuously snorted. “If we didn’t win the Championship in the end, he would’ve been the first one to get scolded!”

Qiao Xin wrapped her arms around Qi Yue’s neck and pressed her lips by his ear. “Oh, I’m different from people like Qiu Ying. I really like you.”

Qi Yue, as always, showed a trace of tenderness between his stubborn eyebrows.

The two of them fell onto the sofa while kissing in each other’s arms. Qiao Xin suddenly broke free from Qi Yue’s arms, pressed a finger against his kiss-hungry mouth, and delicately said, “Rather than waiting for Ji Xiangkong to get into your head, wouldn’t it be better to think of a way to get a chance to kick him out and become the captain yourself?”

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1 a Korean show (lit. The Music Trend) that features popular songs

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Did any of you guess right that Ji Xiangkong’s old love was Fu Miya?

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