Chapter 131: Adding Fuel to the Fire [Bonus Chapter]

On December 24, 2001, a bombshell broke across the internet: Jiangnan Games had signed an agency agreement with American developer Blizzard Entertainment to fully distribute the copyright for Blizzard’s latest Warcraft III game series in China.

However, this news failed to cause much of a stir. Firstly, Blizzard’s reputation and impression in China were still quite mediocre at the time, and the number of people familiar with them was small. Apart from Diablo II, none of their games had generated a massive response domestically, so public reaction was lukewarm.

Only OME Technology expressed that it felt deeply wounded, but nobody cared about them. After all, the Jiangnan Group was on a completely different scale compared to OME Technology. Aside from crying, OME had no other recourse whatsoever.

The second reason was that the entire gaming community was currently engrossed in the heated discussions surrounding the Chinese team’s magnificent haul of three gold medals at the inaugural World Cyber Games (WCG).

In actual history, the notoriety and recognition of the WCG in China during this period were quite ordinary; even people within the gaming circle largely had no idea such a tournament existed.

This could be easily seen from the fact that these champions remained completely obscure in the later generations of the eSports scene. Aside from those genuinely passionate about eSports, virtually no one cared about the WCG. Historically, it was merely covered briefly by a few media outlets, and that was the end of it.

This time, however, the situation seemed somewhat different. First came *Computer and Video Games* (substituting for *大众软件*), the most prominent gaming media outlet in the gaming circle, which unexpectedly published an extra special issue dedicated entirely to covering the WCG.

This special issue was a massive 50 pages long, with half of those being full-color pages, yet it was priced at just 1 RMB—virtually equivalent to giving it away for free. Consequently, when this special issue was delivered to various newsstands, it was promptly bought out by students.

The entire issue was filled with reports on the WCG, including the preliminary preparations, domestic qualifiers, the players' itineraries and match schedules after arriving in South Korea, breakdowns of every major battle, and special coverage of every event where a gold medal was won.

In addition to that, there was a deeply emotional, five-page, twenty-thousand-word editorial chronicling the arduous journey of standing by these players through their hard-fought battles.

The players couldn't afford a large tour bus and had to walk to the venue. They couldn't afford a hotel and had to cram twenty-one people into a single rented apartment. Many of them had brought no winter clothing, and since the apartment lacked enough blankets, they had to take down all their clothes and even tear down the curtains from the windows to use as makeshift bedding.

Some players even caught colds on the spot because the venue's heating and air conditioning were inadequate.

Yet, despite all this, every single player kept their homeland, victory, and electronic sports in the most important places in their hearts. Through relentless striving, they ultimately secured three gold medals, winning world-class honor for China and proving that Chinese people could also claim the top spot on the electronic sports arena.

The editor's writing style was exceptionally superb, making many readers tear up emotionally. Fortunately, the editor concluded by revealing that the players' outstanding performance had also touched Leng Zhimeng, the President of OO and an eSports enthusiast who was watching the matches live at the scene. With a stroke of a pen, she decided to become the sponsor for all the Chinese athletes. This finally allowed the players to move into a hotel, receive warm down jackets, travel by tour bus, and even have internet cafes rented out exclusively for their practice sessions.

Additionally, the special issue featured exclusive interviews with several players, each sharing their own personal stories.

These accounts typically began with their families, recounting how they broke away from parental opposition to play video games, and ultimately brought glory to the country. Near the end of each article, expressions of gratitude towards Leng Zhimeng invariably appeared, describing her as the greatest warmth they found in the freezing cold of South Korea.

By the way, for the first time in history, *Computer and Video Games* included a complimentary optical disc with this special issue. But make no mistake—this was not that kind of optical disc, nor was it a game, but rather a compilation of all the match videos from the tournament.

Users simply needed to insert the disc into their computers to access all the crucial match videos of the WCG. To put it bluntly, these were the championship runs of the three gold-medalist players, starting from the preliminary rounds all the way through to the grand finals.

Anyone with common sense could easily imagine what kind of massive sensation such a special issue would trigger in the domestic gaming circle. After all, a special issue priced at just 1 RMB that included a CD resulted in the initial print run of 300,000 copies selling out completely within just two days. This forced the publishers to issue a second printing, a third printing, and yet another reprint, printing nearly two million copies nationwide within a single week and setting an unprecedented peak in the history of the magazine.

Over a decade later, during an interview, one of the magazine’s editors recalled with amazement that he never dreamed the pinnacle of his career would be an unexpected special issue—one published at the explicit demand of the investors.

Indeed, this special issue was not something the editorial team had initiated on their own. Putting together an issue packed with content rivaling a monthly magazine in just over ten days, and selling it for a mere 1 RMB per copy, meant that for every single issue sold, the publisher lost nearly 3 RMB. A circulation of two million copies resulted in a loss of 6 million RMB—a sum far beyond what a financially strapped editorial department could ever afford.

In fact, on December 8, the magazine’s parent organization, the China Association for Science and Technology, accepted outside capital investment. The investor injected 3 million RMB in exchange for a 90% stake in the publication, subsequently co-founding Jiangnan Media Company. Thus, the magazine transformed overnight from a state-owned entity into a private enterprise.

This came with both pros and cons. The good news was that the editors were pleasantly surprised to find that their salaries had increased, jumping from a basic salary of 600 RMB to 1,000 RMB, marking a substantial improvement.

The bad news was that they were required to work overtime and churn out this special issue in accordance with the new boss's demands.

Initially, the editors wanted to refuse, but upon seeing their soaring salaries alongside the genuine patriotic pride inspired by the Chinese team's multiple victories at the WCG, they threw themselves enthusiastically into over a week of continuous overtime to produce this unprecedented special issue.

The outcome was a publishing miracle that shattered all sales records set over the magazine's six-year history, leaving the staff exclaiming in disbelief at how unpredictable the world could be.

Regardless, this special issue was an overwhelming success. First, every gamer who laid eyes on it learned the full story. Then, at an exponential rate, the news spread throughout the entire gaming community and eventually reached the ears of the players' parents.

Why did it reach the parents?

Naturally, because 90% of gamers faced fierce opposition from their families when playing video games, leading to constant household conflicts.

The most common excuse parents used to stop their children was that gaming could never put food on the table, that playing games was a waste of ambition, and that it led to a hopeless future.

Previously, gamers had no way to refute this argument because playing games genuinely seemed incapable of earning money. But with this WCG victory, these players suddenly possessed the most powerful weapon to talk back to their parents.

"Look! Not only can I make money playing games, but I can also become an international athlete and bring honor to my country! You cannot stop me from playing games—you are standing in the way of a world champion!"

In short, the influence of this special issue was astronomical. Seeing the immense heat generated by the event, other gaming media outlets quickly followed suit with their own coverage, attempting to unearth even more exclusive scoops to boost their own magazine sales. As a result, the impact expanded even further.

Meanwhile, several domestic gaming television programs, such as *Game Stuff* and *Game Express*, caught the scent of a major news story and began producing news segments and special reports. Eventually, even rumors circulated that China Central Television (CCTV) was considering producing a dedicated gaming program.

Ultimately, the coverage broke out of the gaming niche entirely. Even traditional news broadcasts began allocating dozens of seconds to inform the public that Chinese athletes had secured three gold medals at the WCG, placing second on the medal tally and fully demonstrating the extraordinary capabilities of the Chinese people across all forms of competition.

To use the parlance of 2021, the story had officially gone viral.

As for the main protagonists of this phenomenon—the athletes who won the three gold medals—they were currently gathered inside a villa in Wenzhou. Outside the villa hung a newly minted plaque bearing the words: "Jiangnan Electronic Sports Club Training Base," while turbulent waves of excitement surged in their hearts.

They suddenly realized that overnight, their entire world seemed to have transformed. All their friends came to congratulate them, countless people on the internet showered them with praise, and actual fans began to emerge. Even their parents started making proactive phone calls to check on them, mentioning that relatives who usually mocked and sneezed at them were now offering congratulations while simultaneously inquiring if their own chronically gaming children could also become eSports players.

Some players even received invitations from other organizations, asking them to join rival teams as star players. In short, the world had shifted overnight from a desolate, bitter winter into a blazing, scorching summer.

At that moment, everyone seemed on the verge of getting carried away with their newfound inflated egos—until Pei Le pushed open the doors of the base and appeared before them.

"Do you have any idea how much money the boss spent to hype you up?" Pei Le, acting as the team manager, asked bluntly the moment he walked in.

"Hype?" Everyone froze.

"I'm telling you, it cost over 10 million RMB just to buy out the entire magazine publisher to manufacture the fame you have right now. If it weren't for the boss, we’d all still be huddling in some internet cafe eating instant noodles!"

"The boss specifically asked me to remind you: don't get full of yourselves. Train hard, and don't pull any brainless stunts. After all, you’ve all signed five-year contracts, and the penalty for breach of contract is 3 million RMB. Think it over carefully." Pei Le knew all too well how to bring these puffed-up kids crashing back down to earth.