TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 81

The preparatory events in the Wangling game, compared to pure holographic esports, were more like a strategic campaign set against a networked backdrop. Each club was like a small nation, exerting all its effort to claim the throne. That’s why even without intense online matches, the Wangling “preparatory events” were so popular: fans genuinely enjoyed watching the intrigue and maneuvering of various teams in the livestreams.

Polaris’s move to exploit the PVX system had already caused quite a stir in the previous stage. At first, everyone was shocked and speechless about their decisions—even Polaris’s own fans were wary. But because of that buildup of emotion, after they crushed Rainbow, audience perception shifted dramatically. The “withering team” image faded, replaced by recognition of Polaris as a “seasoned three-time champion team.”

Currently, the five members of Polaris were in high demand. As soon as the gear exploit news broke, they were once again thrust into the center of public debate.

This time, Polaris fans were quick to defend them:

“What bug? That’s something the game devs made—why is it a bug just because you say so?”

“Who said the shoe slot has to contain shoes? Show me that rule.”

“So now anything you don’t understand or can’t use is a bug? Then stop reading guides—they’re all bugs.”

“Polaris chose their gear through skill—why call it a bug? And why demand the devs fix it? Are you the game’s dad?”

“I think it’s just Rainbow’s brain-dead fans. Rainbow should just rename themselves ‘Trash Red Team.’ Dumb and red-eyed, your eyes are about to bleed.”

Perhaps because criticism of Polaris had backfired so many times before, dissenting opinions online were slightly more reasonable now, though they still drove the main narrative:

“Technically, exploiting a bug for gear isn’t really a principled issue, right?”

“Exactly—if there’s a problem, it’s the devs’ fault. They probably fell asleep writing the code. [tap][tap]”

“If you locked the slot to only allow shoes, who would put other gear there? Ridiculous.”

“Right, blaming Polaris for using the slot seems unfair. Just fix the bug and move on.”

“Why do other teams all know to wear shoes, but Polaris puts accessories in the shoe slot? Exploiting a loophole is one thing, dodging responsibility is another.”

“Are you serious? Who else would have discovered this bug?”

“Alright, we get it, your main brain doesn’t work, bow out quietly.”

“Haha, so only Zero is clever then.”

“I think other teams already knew about this bug, they just didn’t stoop to such dirty tricks.”

“Any respectable, ambitious pro team wouldn’t use this gear setup, okay?”

“Even if Rainbow lost this match, they wouldn’t play barefoot in the arena! How embarrassing would that be?”

“Strongly demand the developers fix this bug!! Optimize the game!! Give players a fair and just experience!”

“Punish Polaris! Show everyone the severity of exploiting bugs!!”

He Youjin spent the entire afternoon refreshing forums, his blood pressure swinging up and down. At first, he didn’t think much of it, but as the arguments grew louder, he started to feel uneasy.

A professional league wasn’t merely a battle of raw skill—it tested intelligence, teamwork, and countless other conditions. Some players leveraged public opinion; others, their wealth and influence. Naturally, some used cleverness to find shortcuts in-game. So why should exploiting a bug automatically be labeled as cheating?

Actually, He Youjin didn’t really care whether Polaris was “exploiting a bug,” whether they lacked principles, or whether their character was questionable. He knew better than anyone what the five members of Polaris were like. His concern was that if this point were really treated as a “bug” and fixed, then Lin Mingfei and the entire team’s efforts and hard work over the past half-month would all be wasted, and that would make him feel heartbroken.

It was incredibly rare and precious for these five to come together, and He Youjin hoped they could all get what they deserved.

He pulled out his phone, found Fang Haoyang in his contacts, and sent a message.

After a moment, Fang Haoyang replied, but the response was underwhelming.

Fang Haoyang Richard: “The game developers are aware of the bug. How they respond is an internal decision, and I can’t interfere. Sorry, Youjin.”

He Youjin’s expression darkened. He slammed his phone onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Then he received another message from Fang Haoyang.

Fang Haoyang Richard: “But please believe me, the game developers have never been anyone’s lackey, nor are they subject to threats. Their original intent has always been to provide a platform for the public to enjoy and pursue their dreams. They understand that only when players’ happiness is fulfilled can a game sustain itself and have the drive and space to grow. So trust the developers—they won’t make a decision that disappoints people.”

He Youjin was silent, then finally replied with a single word: “Thanks.”

Before the developers made an official statement, this period was undoubtedly agonizing. Every second felt endlessly stretched, as if centuries had passed.

He Youjin’s temples throbbed painfully as his blood pressure spiked.

He noticed something strange: aside from the fans arguing heatedly over the “fix the bug” topic, no other team had made a single public statement. Were all the other teams too busy training in the arena to care?

He Youjin felt a gnawing doubt in his heart.

It wasn’t until past four in the afternoon that the official Wangling game forum account posted a chibi fan art: a bunch of round-headed little characters, barefoot, holding weapons of all kinds, standing in front of the arena gates with hands raised high, a speech bubble above them saying, “We want to fight in the arena!”

Soon after, the Wangling game development team reposted it with a sly caption: “If it weren’t for the requirement to wear proper clothes, we’d leave the top and bottom slots empty anyway.”

This response instantly ignited the forum.

“Holy shit!! Hahahahaha did you see the official response?!”

“Saw it!! Listen up, some people! This isn’t a bug, it’s NOT a bug!!”

“Official just said it!! Hahahahaha! This drawing is so cute!”

“It’s not a bug—they made this Easter egg for you guys!!”

“And you dare threaten the developers?! They’re only now noticing this Easter egg!”

“Some people really think the game exists just for them. What a facepalm.”

“I think this design is super fun!! So many new gear setups to try!!”

“Hope the devs add more Easter eggs like this!! So interesting!!”

“See that? Go grind in the Scorpion Eye Trench!!! The devs are so frustrated, your hints aren’t working—they’re ready to whip you!”

“Fine, I’m heading to the Scorpion Eye Trench now!”

“I’m falling more in love with this game!! The sarcastic devs and shameless Polaris are perfect together!!”

“Hahaha, Polaris fans are so proud right now! Our team found it first!!”

“Our guys are the smartest in the world!!”

He Youjin exhaled a long breath, leaned back in his chair, and laughed suddenly.

He thought that people who make games and people who are skilled at playing games must share something in common; that’s why they can understand and elevate each other.

“Truly interesting souls, one in a hundred thousand,” he murmured, then checked Weibo super-topic posts.

Even in the corners, a few haters were still struggling and whining:

“LOL, so the devs won’t admit their program has a bug and pull this stunt?”

“Who the hell are they covering for? Did Polaris pay the devs??”

“Obviously there’s some shady deal. The league isn’t clean anymore—the original intent has long been eaten up.”

“I’m done with esports, this is boring, I’m quitting! See you in Undead Conquest.”

“Disgusting! How can teams that work hard and carefully set up gear compete?”

“I really feel for my guys!!!”

“Even if our guys grind to death, they’d never go barefoot in the arena like team P!!”

“Exactly! Only Polaris would use such cheap gear setups!”

At the bottom, a zombie-like account popped up with a sarcastic comment:

“Huh, am I seeing things? Why do I see Rainbow in the Scorpion Eye Trench? Upstairs, your guy isn’t going to do PVX too, right? Ppps, this game is called Wangling, not Undead Conquest, fake fan!”

Rainbow spent a long time reviewing the match after losing to Polaris. When they realized the chaotic gear setup of Polaris’s five players, their eyes nearly popped out.

They couldn’t accept that the very “Polaris as PVX” event they’d been laughing about on the forum had become the key to their defeat.

Naturally, they thought of filing a complaint.

But after past experience with Saber Tiger, simply reporting was a low-level move. So they decided to try manipulating fan opinion instead.

It just so happened that one of Rainbow’s fan club leaders had previously had private contact with Lucas and was an old superfan. Lucas used this fan’s account to aggressively push a narrative across multiple platforms.

The momentum was huge, making Polaris even more controversial, like fire on oil. According to Rainbow’s original plan, they hoped to provoke other teams into joining them in attacking Polaris, thereby attracting the attention of the game developers. They assumed the developers would feel compelled to take action against Polaris to maintain the credibility of the tournament roster.

But to everyone’s surprise, they only stirred up fan opposition. The other teams remained as quiet as chickens, showing no reaction at all.

Rainbow’s members felt confused and somewhat discouraged, but then they reasoned that the fans’ reactions were right there for all to see. The developers couldn’t possibly ignore it—or act without considering it.

After anxiously waiting, they finally got a response from the developers—but it wasn’t what they wanted. Not only did the developers refuse to admit or fix the “bug,” but their reply came like a spit directly in their faces.

It was suffocating.

Rainbow’s hopes turned into illusions and they were slapped hard in the face. Lucas shut the forum down, looked up, and met the stern face of their coach.

“Enough. Stop thinking about these nonsense schemes. The developers aren’t going to care. Let’s get back to the main topic,” the coach said, each word deliberate. “Have you thought about grinding the Scorpion Eye Trench?”

Lucas: “What?????”

Strawberry’s jaw nearly dropped. “Why would we go grind that thing?!”

“Why? Because you can’t conquer the GaloRan Ruins in the short term,” the coach said without mercy. “Polaris already found another shortcut for you and even paved the path. Are you not going to take it?”

“Are you kidding me!” Lucas jumped up in anger, banging the table. “How could we ever act like PVX like them?? We’re PVP! We’re professionals!!!”

“Wearing that kind of gear in the arena… and not even shoes… that’s ridiculous!!” Strawberry twisted his face. “Only a decayed team like Polaris would—”

“What decayed team? Stop calling them that!” The coach snapped, cursing. “They beat you fair and square! Do you even know who the real decayed team is? Can you get your positions straight?”

“And another thing—I don’t care about your PVP or PVX superiority complexes! Listen! As long as it wins matches, you’ll do whatever it takes, even be the PVX grunt if you have to! That’s what being a professional is! Win and you’re a man, lose and you’re trash! Got it?” The coach roared. “With your current skill and awareness, even 1500-tier gear wouldn’t guarantee a win! You’re wearing 1200-tier, what are you even doing in the arena? Getting crushed by Polaris and still acting confused—unacceptable!”

Rainbow was left speechless, faces pale, crouched down like frightened quails, looking pitiful.

After venting, the coach softened a bit seeing their state. He spoke earnestly: “Heroes aren’t judged by past deeds. As long as you eventually win the championship, who will care what you said or did before? Time will wash it all away.”

“But it still feels disgusting!” Strawberry whined. “One second we’re dissing Polaris for wearing PVX gear… the next second we have to copy them! How humiliating!”

“Only your own team knows you dissed them; no one else does. You won’t be embarrassed,” the coach said. “On the contrary, they’ve already normalized grinding the Scorpion Eye Trench. If you follow suit, fewer people will mock you. Seen this way, it’s actually a good thing, isn’t it?”

The coach’s words were reasonable and eased Rainbow’s worries a little. They began to regain their energy.

Just then, Lucas’s phone buzzed—a private message on Weibo.

Rainbow Glory Forever: “Lucas, the Wangling developers are shameless! They took bribes from Polaris and didn’t even fix the bug. They insist it’s an Easter egg, basically condoning bug exploitation!”

Rainbow Glory Forever: “PVP was already embarrassing enough, and now wearing those ugly outfits barefoot in the arena? A professional player’s disgrace! I firmly believe that even with this bug, Lucas and the Rainbow team wouldn’t be shameless like Polaris, exploiting it to gain an advantage, right?”

Lucas: “…”

Rainbow Glory Forever: “Lucas, why aren’t you replying?!”

Rainbow Glory Forever: “I just saw you like a fan’s Weibo!!”

Rainbow Glory Forever: “Lucas!!! What does this mean? Are you colluding with them?? You’re not that kind of person, right?!”

Lucas felt like he’d just been sued. He wished he could dig a hole and disappear. Then he had an idea—pretend it was an auto-reply! This way, he could appear aloof without being rude.

rainbow_lucas: “Thanks for following! Rainbow is lucky to have you [smile].”

“Pop”—he lost a follower 🙂

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