Chapter 2: Selling Pancakes and the Battle Team!
At the end of 2012, the market for League of Legends instructional videos was a fertile goldmine, waiting to be cultivated. Unlike the future, when guides and tutorials would become saturated with repetitive content, the player base was consumed by a feverish reverence for ranked points. Combat power ratings hung beside IDs like medals, and gamers would spend entire nights in internet cafés striving for the coveted gold border. Even lovers could break up over a single sentence: “Sorry, your rank isn’t worthy of me.”
Jiang Ming, well-versed in the rules of this untamed era, had meticulously planned his videos. Each tutorial had to be kept around 28 minutes and 17 seconds—the exact maximum ad-free duration for a certain popular platform at the time. The opening required at least three scenes of miraculous comebacks with low health (ideally featuring the enemy flashing into a wall for comedic effect). Every episode had to include at least one viral meme—such as the “Kid Zed” versus “Ninja Zed” rank snobbery.
The Zed tutorial he was editing now was a perfect example, a masterwork of early viral content: it started with three consecutive tower dives—enemy turrets seemed to recharge Zed’s energy, reminiscent of legendary feats. He interspersed close-ups of his 2300 ranked account loading screen (when rank was shown directly in the load interface), and when explaining the W skill, he suddenly added a distorted voice: “Watch closely, this man is called Handsome.”
Even without the assistance of sophisticated systems, for someone who had lived through the internet explosion era, becoming a popular LOL instructional video creator was hardly a challenge. With the advantage of foresight, Jiang Ming’s hero guides were always uploaded far ahead of other creators; sometimes, while others were still gathering footage for new champions, his tutorial would be online the very next day.
Efficiency aside, Jiang Ming also carried the distinction of a high-ranked player. When searching for guides, viewers always considered the creator’s rank—after all, footage from gold or silver was much less persuasive than clashes between top-tier experts. This ensured that Jiang Ming’s videos dominated the views in the new champion tutorial section.
With guaranteed views, sales in his online shop—riding the wave of e-commerce’s rise—naturally kept pace.
“Ah, finally almost done!”
He’d edited so many videos by now that it was second nature. Only the final voiceover remained, and the rest would take little time.
A dozen minutes later.
Jiang Ming massaged his shoulder and glanced out the window. The street was deserted, with neither star nor moon at this late hour. Occasionally, a passing car broke the silence. He turned back to his computer, opened Premiere Pro, did a final check, saved his work, logged into his video site account, and uploaded everything.
“All done—just waiting for the next wave of orders.”
He shut the computer in a flash, pushed off the desk, and his gaming chair rolled him away.
“Tsk… ah!”
He stretched with a satisfied sigh.
Only the body of an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old could handle this: ten hours of footage gathering from morning to evening, followed by four or five straight hours of editing. In his previous life’s body, he’d have needed an entire day in bed to recover.
Oh, wait—if it really were his old body, forget editing after a day of matches; he’d barely be able to find the mouse after a few games…
Youth was truly a blessing!
Jiang Ming, knowing his health was his greatest asset, hopped and stretched to relieve his fatigue. Once he felt refreshed, he washed his face, checked his phone—it was nearly 11 p.m.—and dialed a contact labeled “Fried Rice Zhang.”
“Hey, little bro, same as usual tonight?”
A gruff, middle-aged voice answered.
Jiang Ming blinked. “Same as always, six portions, and make an extra cold dish.”
“Got it!”
After hanging up, Jiang Ming grabbed a jacket from the rack and set out toward a nearby old apartment block.
...
He arrived at a narrow, corrugated iron door, fished out a key, and with a grating sound, the rusty lock finally opened.
Jiang Ming pushed open the rust-stained door. The sound-activated lights flickered on with his footsteps, but after two flashes, they went out.
“Damn, landlady, would it kill you to change a bulb?”
Behind the door was a cramped staircase; even two people walking side by side would struggle. Glancing at the unlit second floor, Jiang Ming resigned himself to using his phone as a flashlight and headed to the basement.
The narrow stairs descended, the white paint on the walls yellowed and peeling. The air was thick with mildew and the dampness unique to basements.
Graffiti sprayed on the basement wall advertised “Certificate 136xxxx,” and in the corner, three boxes of Youchen meat floss cakes—stock for the online store, but also strategic rations for the team.
Five bulky monitors glowed blue, casting shadows on the battered S2 World Championship poster.
The water dispenser in the corner performed its classic routine: heating with the roar of a tractor.
A few young men sat at computers, eyes glued to the screens, fingers flying over keyboards, mouse clicks echoing in bursts.
“Damn, Old Zhang, where’s your teleport—saving it for your offspring?”
“Help me, help me! This bastard has a grudge, just keeps ganking me!”
“Stop barking—every day you whine! The enemy keeps invading your jungle; why don’t you fight back?”
“Ah ah ah, don’t miss the minion, bro! Missing such a big cannon means you might as well let me have it!”
...
“Push, push—let’s finish this!”
The air was thick with the purest gamer slang. Jiang Ming was helpless but knew it was impossible to ask players of this era to change their communication style overnight.
This cramped room was Jiang Ming’s esports kingdom.
Just like a certain Millionaire Dong, after earning a modest sum selling cakes, Jiang Ming chose the esports path and formed his own team.
Top: Norsha; Jungle: Stone; Mid: Yihan; AD: Sorry; Support: Door.
He had recruited these five high-ranked players in advance from the national server, each with around 2200 points. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to snag any future stars from the original timeline.
“Ming!”
“Boss!”
“Ah Ming… Ming!”
After finishing a ranked game, the players took off their headphones. The keen-eyed jungler noticed the boss entering and stood up nervously.
The others, roused by his shout, greeted Jiang Ming.
“Mm…”
Hmm?
Suddenly, Jiang Ming caught a whiff of something acrid and frowned.
He stepped closer, eyes sharp, and soon spotted several cigarette butts in the trash—some not fully extinguished.