12. Anger

The sound of flowing water muffled all other noises from outside, but it could not drown out the pounding of the heart.

Although he knew the phone was lying on the bed, and even if the video call was still on, Shen Tan couldn’t see much, Lu Mi still had the illusion that Shen Tan was watching him.

He didn’t dare linger in the bathroom. After a hurried wash, he slipped into the newly bought pajamas and left the bathroom.

The video call hadn’t been disconnected. On the screen, Shen Tan remained in the same posture as before, seated on the sofa, but he wasn’t looking at the camera—instead, his gaze was directed to the side.

He must be looking at the computer, working.

Perhaps having heard some noise, Shen Tan didn’t move but spoke softly: “Finished washing? I still have some work to finish here. Go to sleep first.”

Lu Mi clutched the phone. From this angle, all he could see on Shen Tan’s side was a brightly lit room—not the kind of light for a bedroom, but more like office lighting.

He opened his mouth slightly, and after a moment, simply replied, “Okay.”

Shen Tan was busy. Lu Mi didn’t have the right to ask him to go to bed early.

Yet, Shen Tan’s words truly gave him the strange illusion that he was right beside him.

An inexplicable feeling of being cared for.

Lu Mi carefully climbed into bed, leaving the light on. Shen Tan asked again, “Did you dry your hair?”

It was clear Shen Tan wasn’t looking at the camera.

“…My hair isn’t wet.” Since Shen Tan wasn’t watching the screen, Lu Mi instantly relaxed, placing the phone beside his pillow, the camera facing his face directly.

“Go to sleep.”

Shen Tan still looked very busy and didn’t glance at Lu Mi again.

His breath fogged the screen slightly. Lu Mi softened his breathing, gazing at the man on the screen, slowly closing his eyes, the phone falling to the side.

The camera soon focused on the still-lit ceiling.

Shen Tan signed the documents, leaned back against the sofa, and looked at the bright ceiling on the screen, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

For more than a week, Lu Mi had been falling asleep like this—video calling Shen Tan.

On the first day, the phone died and shut off overnight. He didn’t know if Shen Tan had ended the call or not. The next day, Lu Mi was smarter and kept the phone plugged in during the call, but the phone still died the next day.

It wasn’t a lack of power; the phone was just of poor quality.

Lu Mi’s phone was several years old. When he went to boarding school, his older brother Lu Nande gave him a phone that their second brother had discarded after finding Lu Mi unreachable during a family dinner.

At the time, the phone was still relatively new and fully functional.

But Lu Mi mostly used it for texting and calling.

It had already been in use for seven or eight years.

He worried the phone might break down entirely soon.

Especially today, after charging and restarting, the phone had been overheating and freezing, even though Lu Mi hadn’t done anything. Since today was a full day of classes, he had to keep the phone off to avoid it dying or breaking mid-lesson.

On his way home, Lu Mi hesitated for a long time before sending Shen Tan a message.

Lost: “Are we still doing the video call tonight?”

He feared Shen Tan would misunderstand, worry he’d make him angry, so he dared not directly ask to skip the call. The phone couldn’t handle it, and he didn’t want Shen Tan to think he was asking for favors.

He also didn’t know when Shen Tan would return home.

Shen Tan didn’t reply.

Back home, after dinner, Lu Mi timed his stream while opening the live broadcast. As usual, the guild managers urged him to maintain the big brother’s image properly.

Lu Mi had ignored their messages these past few days.

In the past, the guild managers would have scolded him, but perhaps because Shen Tan had spent so much on gifts the other day, the managers had softened their tone. Whether Lu Mi replied or not, they kept coaxing him gently, afraid Lu Mi might upset Shen Tan and cause him to quit.

Though Shen Tan hadn’t come back since then.

Lu Mi knew Shen Tan was very busy when they video called, handling work past midnight every day.

Glancing at the manager’s message, Lu Mi still ignored it and started his stream, logging into a game.

As the game loaded, an invitation popped up from “Loves Donuts.”

Lu Mi was momentarily stunned.

After he had rejected Loves Donuts the other day, they hadn’t contacted him again.

But yesterday, after the mid-season tournament ended, the YUY team, previously considered a championship favorite alongside Loves Donuts’ RRG team, had won the championship.

Because of this, RRG and the player Loves Donuts were heavily criticized, especially since Loves Donuts was replaced after just one game. Some extreme fans blamed Loves Donuts for poor first-game performance and lack of teamwork with teammates.

As far as Lu Mi knew, Loves Donuts had joined RRG at eighteen and had always performed well. Even when YUY tried to recruit him, he stayed.

But since the spring season, RRG seemed to have internal issues, and their gameplay had been off.

Still, Loves Donuts’ skills remained excellent; he was considered one of the best supports in the league.

Lu Mi occasionally watched some matches but never too many.

Watching too much would stir up unwanted thoughts.

While Lu Mi hesitated, the chat room erupted.

[How can he still invite the streamer to play games? Shouldn’t he be reflecting on the loss?]

Perhaps due to the recent high traffic in the stream, the chat had become chaotic. When Loves Donuts invited Lu Mi, some fans of the competitors reported it, causing many rival fans to invade Lu Mi’s stream and start arguing.

[What does Loves Donuts have to do with this? He didn’t even play in the last four games.]

[I heard Loves Donuts is getting kicked out of RRG, is that true?]

[Can you all just leave? This isn’t Loves Donuts’ stream!]

[Enough fighting, I just want to watch Lost Baby play games.]

[What lost baby? How old is he still being called a baby? Is he the baby carried by the top support in the competitive scene?]

Glancing at the chat, Lu Mi remained calm and accepted Loves Donuts’ invite.

Once in the game, Loves Donuts spoke into the mic with some surprise: “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

His tone was somewhat playful.

Lu Mi was silent.

Loves Donuts laughed: “Ah, I’m just kidding, don’t take it seriously. I want to rank up but got stuck, couldn’t find the right teammates, so I thought of you. Want to play, Little Lost?”

Hearing the nickname, Lu Mi was speechless.

After a moment, he said, “Just call me Lost.”

“I saw someone in the chat calling you that. You do sound young,” Loves Donuts said, pausing. “I wasn’t trying to pry, just saw your skills weren’t casual and searched you out. Found your stream right away. Don’t worry, I didn’t just watch for free—I sent you gifts.”

“Thanks.” Lu Mi glanced at the still chaotic chat. “Let’s play.”

This time, he didn’t turn off the chat.

Loves Donuts seemed genuinely just looking for a duo partner and fell silent once the game started.

Lu Mi was naturally quiet as well, barely speaking. The stream grew quiet.

The previously noisy chat gradually calmed down, immersed in watching the streamer’s gameplay.

[Is this a youth academy streamer? This skill doesn’t seem like an ordinary streamer’s.]

[Case solved. I thought the top support was carrying a kid, turns out he was scouting a new teammate.]

[Can I take that as a compliment for the streamer?]

[Is the streamer an adult? Sounds really young.]

[Have you considered going pro? You and Loves Donuts have great synergy. It’s rare for a normal player to keep up with pro players’ pace.]

Even if an ordinary player had good skills, there’d still be gaps compared to pros—in awareness, operation, and reaction.

But Lu Mi was different.

A Mo watched the collaboration between Lu Mi and Loves Donuts in the stream, his expression growing darker.

The guild managers had asked him these days to stop trying to associate with Lu Mi for the sake of fanservice.

He was a big streamer. If not for liking Lu Mi’s voice, he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to ride Lu Mi’s popularity.

He had lost interest in Lu Mi anyway; there were plenty of men and women in the world, and what he wanted was unattainable.

But now—

He recalled what Gao You had said.

Gao You was his brother and wouldn’t lie to him, but he couldn’t ask for details.

He only knew the classmate Gao You mentioned was indeed Lost.

He had always been patient with good-looking people.

And before, Lost had refused him, but now he was happily duoing with Loves Donuts.

What did Loves Donuts mean?

—

When they finished duoing, it was already past eleven o’clock.

Lu Mi rarely lost track of time playing games and was startled when he saw the time, instinctively checking his phone.

In the past few days, he would start streaming in the afternoon and end around ten at night, with Shen Tan calling him regularly.

But tonight, Shen Tan hadn’t called.

Seeing Loves Donuts queued for another game, Lu Mi quickly stopped him: “I have to end the stream.”

Loves Donuts immediately canceled the queue and asked with a smile, “What’s wrong? Curfew at your place?”

Lu Mi pursed his lips. “Yes… my family told me to sleep early.”

[First time hearing Lost mention family]

Lu Mi’s old fans knew he lived alone before.

[Didn’t he say he got married?]

[You really believe that? It’s just an excuse.]

Scanning the chat, Lu Mi whispered, “I’m married. He won’t let me stay up late.”

Loves Donuts seemed a bit taken aback. “You got married already? Are you an adult?”

Lu Mi nodded. “I am.”

He glanced at the viewers coming and going but never saw user 97654398 appear.

“All right, that’s it for today. I have to attend the post-match review meeting. Thanks for playing with me, Little Lost.” Loves Donuts didn’t pry into his personal life anymore and logged off decisively.

Lu Mi wanted to correct him to just call him Lost.

He could only respond quietly with an “Oh,” greeted the viewers, and ended the stream.

Still, no message from Shen Tan.

Lu Mi pursed his lips, wondering if he had upset Shen Tan.

He flipped through private messages backstage, replied to some fans, and was about to close the streaming platform when a message popped up.

From A Mo.

A Mo: “Sorry about what happened before, Lost. I meant no harm. I think you’re great at jungling and have a good personality. Even if you don’t want to stream with me, can we be friends? We’re in the same city. Maybe we can hang out sometime. You also know Shui Mu—I’ve played with him before.”

A Mo hadn’t contacted Lu Mi privately before.

Lu Mi lowered his eyes, not paying much attention to the details. He only recalled the managers telling him to learn from A Mo and keep the boss happy.

Lu Mi didn’t know how to talk to please others.

Maybe he could learn something from A Mo.

After hesitating for a long time, Lu Mi replied, “Okay.”

He added A Mo as a WeChat friend, shut down his computer, and was about to get up when someone knocked twice on the door of the gaming room.

Only two knocks—before Lu Mi could react, the door was opened from outside.

Shen Tan had returned home without anyone knowing when.

He wore a set of black pajamas. Lu Mi recognized them as one of the sets that had hung in the wardrobe.

He must have been so engrossed in gaming that he hadn’t heard.

But even in pajamas, Shen Tan’s presence was imposing—completely different from his demeanor on the video call.

Especially as he walked toward Lu Mi, his face expressionless.

Lu Mi thought, Shen Tan must really be angry with him.