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Mistakes Were Made

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Huang Shaotian was not supposed to be streaming.

Not because pro players weren’t allowed to stream, or anything like that—even the club wouldn’t care so long as he used a smurf. No, it just might have been a little (or a lottle) past midnight, and he might have practice in the morning, and maybe Yu Wenzhou had made some threatening noises about blocking him if he kept texting him instead of going the fuck to sleep.

But politely.

But since Yu Wenzhou definitely didn’t insinuate a connection between continued chattering and his phone exiting a window, Huang Shaotian’s decision to chatter to (or at, same thing) a livestream audience instead was completely his own, well-considered, highly responsible choice.

And that was why he wasn’t going to ask Yu Wenzhou for help. Really. Because it was his own mess and he’d fix it himself.

Kinda.

Maybe.

Theoretically.

But, well… “So, it turns out you can get stuck in this crevice here, so that’s some knowledge you all have now,” Huang Shaotian told his audience. Internally, his estimation of the situation went a little more like “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” but that was privileged information. “And of course your own attacks can’t damage you, so I can’t use death to teleport back to the city. Well! Guess I’ll just see who else is up…”

Huang Shaotian laughed uncomfortably. Who else would be up at this point? And how could he ask without alerting the whole pro chat? Technically speaking, Huang Shaotian could go find another account, log in, and kill his character that way, but he was sorta on a stream right now, and ditching that seemed rude. And he didn’t have any extra accounts in this room, and going outside might alert someone to his predicament.

But mostly it was that it would be rude.

Luckily for him, his friends were all a bunch of gamers, so at least one of them was likely to be ditching sleep to play despite how much it wasn’t a good idea in their profession.

Unluckily for him, that one person turned out to be Ye Qiu, on one of his billion side accounts.

“Oh, you’re here! Okay okay okay, come on already, shoot me shoot me shoot me.” Huang Shaotian’s character flailed a little in place, exhibiting how much a player was not supposed to be able to get in there.

Ye Qiu’s Sharpshooter, a svelte female in thigh-high leather boots called Weeping Moon, silently walked up to Huang Shaotian’s Nightly Rain.

And stepped on him.

And shot him in the face.

“Hey hey hey hey!” Huang Shaotian shouted indignantly. “Who needs you to use such a low-level skill? I’m already trapped here, okay? It’s gonna take forever if you use weak shit like that! I don’t have all night, let’s go, let’s go!”

Weeping Moon stared at him silently for a moment, then executed Punisher again. One high-heeled boot to the shoulder, rapid-fire shots to the face.

As a low-level skill, it really did have a short cooldown.

“I’m literally streaming right now, could you not?” Huang Shaotian griped. Look, it wasn’t like he was unaware that Ye Qiu might not like appearing on streams, but he’d totally warned him in advance! And maybe his requests for Ye Qiu to come over had been a little spammy, but there really wasn’t anyone else who might be awake! And Ye Qiu had probably been awake already. Look, Ye Qiu stayed up late all the time. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption, and not at all one born of desperation.

The point was, this was uncalled for.

“(:” the sharpshooter said, and shot him again.

“Fuck, you’re not nice!”

 

(“Is Ye Qiu usually that quiet in person?” someone asks on the stream.

“lmao ur asking Huang Shaotian that, does he even know what quiet means??”

There’s a lot of good-natured laughing emojis, and then:

“No. He does not.”

“Hey!” Huang Shaotian yells, interrupting his own ongoing tirade. “Get off my stream Ye Qiu, I recognize that smurf!”

The chat erupts.)

 

(Elsewhere in the Glory fandom, Weeping Moon and Nightly Rain inexplicably becomes a major ship overnight.)

 

Huang Shaotian’s fail was hardly unique. As Ye Qiu always said, the few times he could be quoted at all, no one was infallible. Not only did this apply to pros, Ye Qiu was usually explicitly talking about pros.

And, well, he wasn’t wrong.

 

Zhang Jiale leapt off a cliff to thwart the giant mob someone else in the area had managed to drum up. Not that he couldn’t fight them off, it just wouldn’t be that interesting for his audience.

“Oh shit,” he said, as his character plummeted to the ground below. “Blossom Storm isn’t a gunner.”

‘Blossom Storm’ died on impact.

 

“See actually, you can bounce off of the world’s boundary right here, which lets you get into this cave even without a character that can Aerial Fi—oh.” Li Xun forgot that the reason he was streaming at all was that his pro account had been taken by R&D for the new update. A new update that had, in fact, added some territory, right around here.

Territory which apparently included the once-illusory gorge that used to indicate the end of the map.

“Hm.”

 

“Good news, guys!” Fang Rui said much too cheerfully. “I seem to have found the entrance to a new dungeon!”

The monsters, all significantly above his level since the new update had come out just one day prior, rushed him.

“Bad news is that I’m pretty sure it’s a ten-player dungeon, and I’m very sure I can’t solo it.”

 

But the fan-favorite fail was still the absolutely absurd level of bad luck experienced in one sitting by Berserk Blade Master Du Ming. He’d been rushing around a mountain when a Wild Boss spawned practically directly next to him, punting him over a ledge and into a valley in which someone had, apparently, been practicing setting their traps.

The first trap was a Spike Trap, adding insult to injury as he could make no move to Quick Recover and therefore took maximum fall damage on top of getting caught in an inglorious, face-down position. The moment it ended and Du Ming tried to walk away, he triggered an Inferno Trap. He instantly leapt backward to avoid the rest of the flame that now surrounded his character, which threw him directly into a Poison Gas Trap.

What followed was the most ridiculous level of trying to remove oneself from a bad situation anyone had ever seen.

“Holy shit,” Du Ming muttered. He tried to pass around the traps, only to spring another. “Holy shit, guys, there’s no direction that isn’t pain.”

Yet another direction, yet another Inferno Trap. “This is bullshit!”

Several minutes of angrily charging forward later, quite a bit worse for the wear, Du Ming escaped—

Directly into the arms of the all-but-forgotten Wild Boss.

 

(“In my defense,” Du Ming starts, full of salt. None of the pros can hear him over their increasingly wild laughter.)