TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 74

Exactly as Lin Mingfei predicted, twenty minutes later, the four remaining Polaris members found Zhou Yanjun, “drowned,” at the nearest respawn point.

The chubby knight struggled to stand, shaking off his wet fat, splashing water onto the nearest little wizard’s face.

“What happened to you?” Lin Mingfei blocked the unlucky kid behind him, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s… unbelievable, really unbelievable.” Zhou Yanjun gave a thumbs up, frustrated as if wanting to curse but not knowing where to start: “Can you believe it? The entrance to the Scorpion Eye Trench is submerged under the whirlpool!”

“That much is obvious just by looking,” Lin Mingfei said.

Zhou Yanjun wiped his face, recalling the ordeal: “I finally swam to the entrance, and… couldn’t get in, can you believe it?! Two dealers with fish tails tried to make me play poker with them!”

“Poker? Landlord or Go Fish?” Shi Ya asked, confused.

“How should I know?! I’ve never touched such an old-fashioned card game!” Zhou Yanjun painfully scratched his head. “Then I just… gave up. End of story.”

Bo Yu was already looking up the guide on the forum: “It’s Fight Upstream. If you can’t play cards, you can team up. Someone in the group can play; it’s best of three. Winning a round lets one person enter.”

Lin Mingfei: “Little Bo, I remember you can play cards, right?”

Bo Yu: “Yeah, every holiday I go home and play Mahjong and cards with my aunt and great-aunt.”

Shi Ya looked shocked: “…So you spend holidays with them?”

Zhou Yanjun: “Timer, isn’t your focus a little… weird?”

Still, having someone in the team who knew how to play Fight Upstream was a relief, and everyone felt a bit reassured. Contentment, however, didn’t last long—Shi Ya raised another question.

“Fire’s stamina isn’t enough even without playing cards. Are you sure we can all survive until Little Bo wins a round?”

Lin Mingfei lifted his chin: “Little Bo, check the guide.”

Livestream chat:

【Hahaha, it’s hilarious seeing these PvP dogs seriously checking a guide!】

【The Pv team used to write dungeon guides back in the day! Now they have to follow a guide step by step? What a human suffering, hahaha!】

【I’ve farmed Scorpion Eye Trench before. I bet a cucumber that every floor will drive these PvP dogs insane!】

【Let Fatty Zhou despise PvX!! Hahaha, now you know how harsh the PvX world is! PvX isn’t easy!】

…

Bo Yu patiently went through the beginner’s guide for the Scorpion Eye Trench, reading it word by word.

“Fish-gill seaweed: a consumable that doubles stamina, allowing longer underwater time. For team farming, the recommended amount is the number of people × 1.5 + 1. Fish-gill seaweed can be crafted with cooking skills or bought from other players.”

Zhou Yanjun, feeling wealthy and confident: “Buy it!”

Lin Mingfei: “Go ahead, I’ll reimburse you.”

The chubby knight went off, only to return shortly after, dejected.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Mingfei asked, noticing his empty hands.

Zhou Yanjun: “…They said they don’t sell items to PvP dogs! Shouldn’t have boasted earlier.”

Lin Mingfei subtly tapped Shi Ya with his toe.

“Got it, got it. I guess it’s up to me at the crucial moment.” The male elf rolled his eyes elegantly and shrugged. “Next time I betray my looks, I want payment.”

After quite a bit of effort and Shi Ya’s persuasive charm, the Pv team finally obtained the fish-gill seaweed. But this was only the beginning—they soon realized they had greatly underestimated the plan’s difficulty.

As a high-level PvX research hub, the Scorpion Eye Trench was essentially a tower of minigames: poker, Snake, Tetris, spot-the-difference, Sudoku, mazes… even fashion coordination.

Even after three rounds of outfits, they couldn’t reach passing scores. The five PvP warriors were utterly defeated.

“What the heck does this broken game want?? Is it trying to compete with the neighbor’s holo-travel world?” Zhou Yanjun roared.

“I’d believe it if someone said they’re planning to monopolize the gaming world…” Shi Ya’s eyes were bloodshot.

“But we’re only on the fourth floor! There are thirty-nine floors total,” Xia Tong whispered. “It’s already five in the afternoon; it’ll probably be dark soon. Are we skipping dinner?”

“Ah… speaking of which, we forgot lunch,” Bo Yu said. “We wasted too much time on that Sudoku round.”

“Who knew you were all so bad at math,” Shi Ya said.

“Damn it, if I were good at math, why would I even be a pro? I could’ve been a top scorer in the college entrance exam, right?!” Zhou Yanjun roared.

Even Lin Mingfei’s head hurt a little. These bizarre gameplay rules were torture for a PvP team that thrived on “fight anyone, anytime.”

“Forget it. Let’s log off for dinner first,” he said softly. “I’ll think… think some more…”

The others nodded and logged off.

Meanwhile, the forum saw a perfectly timed post appear:

【Watching the former tiger-and-wolf team Polaris farm Scorpion Eye Trench is my source of happiness, hahaha!】

【You didn’t see Island using all his skills playing Fight Upstream with those two carp dealers. He must’ve remembered the fear of being dominated by seven aunts during holidays, hahaha!】

【How many times did Fire push Blink off the balance beam? I felt so sorry for them, hahaha!】

【And spot-the-difference wasn’t funny enough? They PvP dogs spent forever figuring out the rules, hahaha!】

【I can’t take it, I feel so sad! They’ve been farming since ten in the morning, by four they only reached the fourth floor! And they have thirty-five more floors!】

【Maybe farming with savages is actually easier…】

…

At dinner, the atmosphere was somewhat gloomy. Perhaps everyone was just hungry from skipping lunch; plates and cups clinked, but no one spoke.

He Youjin cleared his throat softly: “You don’t need to feel down. That brawl at the dungeon entrance lasted until nearly three. Every club put all their members online. It was massive; even the official livestream lagged. Compared to that, you’re not doing so badly.”

“So who won?” Xia Tong asked.

“Obviously Sabertooth,” Zhou Yanjun mumbled. “Knowing them, once their main players entered the dungeon, the rest guarded the entrance, stopping other teams from getting close. Move too near, and battle starts. Disgusting.”

“So by now, they should have finished the dungeon’s first boss, right?” Shi Ya asked.

“They’ve beaten the old one,” Bo Yu said, shaking his phone subtly. “Forum reports say it even dropped the Axe Warrior gear, level 1480. Close enough to 1500.”

“That fast?” they all exclaimed in unison.

“After all, it’s Sabertooth,” Lin Mingfei murmured. “Their league championships weren’t won for nothing.” He sighed quietly, cleared the table, and went upstairs. “You all eat slowly. I’m logging back in first.”

Lin Mingfei walked upstairs, but instead of going straight to the training room, he stopped at an inconspicuous corner. From the crack of a nearby window, he pulled out half a pack of cigarettes.

He had secretly stashed them there two years ago—he wasn’t even sure if they were expired by now.

The base had strict rules against smoking, but back then, he’d been in a mental slump. Whenever he couldn’t adjust his mood, he would sneak off here and smoke a cigarette in secret.

Lin Mingfei reached his hand into the gap, rubbing the cold, crinkled packaging.

He suddenly wasn’t sure anymore if his current decision had been the right one…

They didn’t have as much free time as PVX did. Maybe they really weren’t suited for those casual puzzle games. He should’ve gritted his teeth, gathered a few wild rookies, and fought Sabertooth head-on—instead of wasting time grinding through that bottomless pit of a game, Scorpion’s Eye Trench…

No. There were just too many variables.

Lin Mingfei raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, a hint of weariness appearing between his brows.

He had been in good spirits until recently—but now, seeing how the once-mighty team Polaris had scattered and declined to this point, even he couldn’t help but feel a touch of melancholy and helplessness.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A new private message popped up on Weibo.

He usually ignored DMs, but for some reason, he clicked it open this time.

The user looked like a typical bot—username starting with random symbols and followed by a string of numbers—but the content didn’t sound robotic at all.

[Dear Z God, could you share what it feels like to return to the league only to become a PVX player on your first day back?]

Lin Mingfei raised an eyebrow.

The sarcasm was practically seeping out of the screen.

Countless thoughts flickered through his mind, but he didn’t reply. He simply deleted the message thread.

There was no need. Really—no need at all.

His thoughts drifted back to the old days—before Polaris’s triple championship.

Back then, there had been even stronger teams than them. They had stumbled, adapted, and fought their way forward together—racing down a dark, uncertain road, chasing a glimmer they couldn’t yet see.

They had no fixed place, no reputation to lose—so they were fearless.

Before they had fame or fortune, people had called them a trash team too. How was that any different from now?

They were already at the bottom. How much worse could it get?

A faint, detached smile curved Lin Mingfei’s lips.

Instead of being angered, the provocation only steadied him—his heart settling like a rock.

He brushed the dust off the cigarette pack and tucked it back into its hiding spot. When he turned around, he suddenly came face-to-face with Xia Tong.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Lin Mingfei hesitated. “…What are you doing here?”

Xia Tong blinked, then smiled softly. “Obviously, I came to find you!”

Lin Mingfei sounded a little uneasy. “…How long have you been here?”

Xia Tong pursed his lips. “…Not long, actually.” Then he lifted his phone and shook it with a grin. “I made a big discovery and had to share it with you!”

—

The two leaned close together, heads almost touching, staring at the phone screen for a full minute.

“1234games?” Lin Mingfei finally read out the title of the sketchy-looking website. “Where did you even find this?”

“My own favorites! I used to play online mini-games on this site all the time when I first learned how to use the computer!” Xia Tong said, a little embarrassed. “Mostly role-playing ones though… looks kinda childish, huh? When we were in Scorpion’s Eye Trench earlier, it felt really familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why at first. Then while eating, it hit me—it’s just like 1234games! Look, there are tons of categories—puzzle, action, dress-up… The prototypes for all the games we ran into in Scorpion’s Eye Trench are right here!”

A bit stunned, Lin Mingfei took the phone and started clicking through.

The games were clearly low-budget—crude graphics, simple mechanics, the kind of thing made for people who weren’t into competitive gaming, maybe hadn’t even touched a proper PC game before.

He had to admit—it felt like he’d opened the door to a whole new world.

When he first started gaming as a student, the very first one he’d played was a popular multiplayer shooter—just downloading it had taken up a ton of space, and the mechanics were complex and hard to learn. Since then, he’d played countless high-quality PC and mobile games, all developed by top teams with stunning visuals and system requirements.

And it wasn’t just him—every member of Polaris was like that. They’d been steeped in top-tier games for so long that adapting to King’s Tomb had come naturally.

But on the flip side, it was like someone who’d eaten nothing but premium steak suddenly being handed a bowl of cheap river snails—he wouldn’t even know how to start, maybe even doubt if it was edible at all.

Then it struck him—just now, in Scorpion’s Eye Trench, that Sudoku puzzle… had actually been solved by Xia Tong.

“So there really are things like this in the world…” Lin Mingfei murmured, tapping through the categories one by one, amazed.

“They’re just casual games,” Xia Tong said with his hands behind his back. “But I think this format is way simpler than the holographic mode. If we practiced on these flat-screen versions first, wouldn’t Scorpion’s Eye Trench be easier next time?”

“You make a good point.” Lin Mingfei chuckled. “Xia Xiaotong, you’re not so dumb after all!”

“I was never dumb, okay? I’m just—what’s it called—‘wise and unassuming!’” Xia Tong said proudly.

“Yes, yes, wise and unassuming,” Lin Mingfei laughed, feeling like a fog had lifted. He grabbed Xia Tong’s hand. “Come on, let’s go show the others this brave new world!”

—

After Sabertooth was the first team to enter the Garonne Ruins, they successfully defeated the gatekeeper—the so-called pre-boss—and quickly cleared the first main boss. The team felt unstoppable, as if blessed by the gods of fortune. But before they could bask in that glory for long, they hit a wall on the second boss and fell into an endless loop of frustration.

After several full-team wipes in a row, Dylan began to lose his patience. Checking the time, he realized they’d already missed lunch, and announced he was logging off to rest.

Neither the coach nor Zhao Xin stopped him. After all, they’d spent the entire day fighting chaotic battles and then clearing two bosses back-to-back—a heavy workload even by league standards. Being tired was normal. The staff simply approved their break without comment.

For a first day of pre-season training, Sabertooth’s performance could be considered a resounding success. Despite a few minor hiccups, overall it was enough to boost morale. But Dylan, who prided himself as a “top-tier player,” wasn’t happy. He ate his meal with a dark expression and returned to his room without a word.

Even after resting a while, his irritation and frustration didn’t fade. Suddenly, he thought that maybe, as one of the “upper class,” he should take a look at how the “lower class” were doing. Maybe then he’d feel better about himself.

So, he opened the official forum—and immediately saw a thread about Polaris struggling miserably in the Scorpion’s Eye Trench.

He had to admit, it instantly became his new source of joy. Watching the Polaris members flounder in that ridiculous minigame lifted his spirits. Compared to them, his own failure at the second boss didn’t seem like a big deal at all.

Who would’ve thought Lin Mingfei would have a day like this? Dylan thought gleefully, his mood soaring. He even created a burner Weibo account, searched for Polaris-Zero, and secretly sent him a DM:

[Dear Z God, could you share what it feels like to return to the league only to become a PVX player on your first day back?]

He was dying to see how Lin Mingfei would react—whether he’d whine, or force a smile to hide his frustration. Either way, it would make Dylan’s day even better.

But the other side stayed completely silent.

Dylan waited for a long time, and still—nothing. Lin Mingfei was playing dead, and it bored Dylan to death.

Flipping over on his bed, he recalled that when they’d logged off earlier, the Polaris team had gone offline too. It almost looked like they’d fled in embarrassment. He wondered if they’d even come back online later that night.

—

That night, Sabertooth continued their marathon raid.

The more players a dungeon required, the lower the margin for error—so the 25-man large-scale dungeon was the hardest of them all. For some reason, the devs had really outdone themselves this time: the second boss’s mechanics were bizarre and unpredictable.

Sabertooth kept fighting until past 3 a.m., only to keep wiping over and over.

As exhaustion set in, their coordination fell apart—reflexes dulled, focus shattered. Finally, Dylan snapped and ordered everyone offline in frustration.

Before logging off himself, he messaged someone who had Lin Mingfei added as a friend, asking about Polaris’s status.

Apparently, all five members of Polaris hadn’t logged in all night.

What the hell? Did they all go to sleep??? Early to bed, early to rise, is that it?

What kind of boomer sleep schedule is that??? What gamer in this day and age doesn’t stay up late???

They’re supposed to be in pre-season prep! Every other club is working themselves to the bone, cutting sleep to a minimum—and Polaris is just… gone??

Dylan was stunned. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t wrap his head around what Polaris was doing.

He wasn’t alone. The forum spectators were equally baffled.

Sabertooth’s patrol team guarding the dungeon entrance had packed up around 5 p.m. Shadow and Rainbow squads entered afterward, but their lineups weren’t as solid. They got stuck on the gatekeeper and the first boss, struggling until past midnight.

Other teams seemed to have given up on raiding for the night, switching to smaller dungeons or arena practice. Most of them stayed up late grinding.

Only Polaris—after logging off that afternoon—never came back online.

Polaris’s fans were stunned.

[Unless the officials announce they literally died at the base, I refuse to accept this!!]

[What even IS this?! Is this what they call “preparation”? I’m losing my mind here!!]

[Wake up!! You’re not the invincible, championship-winning legends you once were!! How can you be this complacent?!]

[They’ve gotten arrogant, clearly. Beat one trash team and now they think they’re gods.]

[Unfollowing. What’s the point of stanning a team that goes to bed earlier than I do?]

…

This was the nature of public opinion during pre-season—rising and falling like waves. No one ever knew which small action would spark speculation or outrage.

But at that moment, the five members of Polaris were completely oblivious to the uproar outside.

They hadn’t gone to bed early at all. In fact, they were sitting firmly—unmoved, unshakable—in the living room, grinding their way through 1234games.

Feel free to buy me a coffee/show your support on ko-fi! Thank you ❤