Chapter 134: A Change of Face

As soon as Jiang Zheng went live, he noticed a flood of friend requests in his game.

He was using a secondary account, a "smurf" with almost no friends on its list. Jiang Zheng had chosen to use this account partly to maintain his anonymity; with a smurf, the risk of exposure was significantly lower.

The people sending these requests were a mixed bag. Some added him simply to hurl insults, others to cause trouble, and some were professional players verified by the platform.

In front of his audience, Jiang Zheng randomly selected a professional player, indifferent to who they were or what their skill level might be. Since his goal was to complete his mission, he would eventually have to face all the pros anyway, so the choice of opponent was irrelevant to him.

However, just as Jiang Zheng selected his opponent, the platform had yet to officially vet or match him with one.

Upon seeing this, the supervisor was furious. He was dissatisfied with Jiang Zheng for picking an opponent on his own initiative, especially since he had hand-picked a member from a top-tier team. If he lost today, all the momentum they had painstakingly built up over the past two days would be for nothing, essentially handing all the benefits to someone else on a silver platter.

"Supervisor, please calm down," Lin Yu said, trying to soothe him.

"Calm down? How can I be calm? Is there something wrong with Jiang Zheng’s brain? Wouldn't it be better to just follow our arrangements and grow his popularity step by step? He chose his own opponent, let’s see what he does when he loses!" the supervisor fumed.

"Supervisor, should we announce that this match is void?" Lin Yu suggested.

The suggestion tempted the supervisor. The platform was involved in the process, and if they declared the match invalid, they might still be able to salvage the situation.

But the supervisor quickly dismissed the idea. The reason was simple: their platform did not have the authority to unilaterally declare the match invalid. The prize money for the match was put up by Jiang Zheng, not the platform, and they held little leverage over him.

"Forget it, let him be. We don't need to get involved... just cut back on his promotional resources," the supervisor said.

Lin Yu’s heart skipped a beat as he asked, "Supervisor, do you mean... you’re giving up on Jiang Zheng?"

"An uncooperative streamer isn't worth keeping. Let him see that without our intervention, he is nothing," the supervisor replied.

Lin Yu sighed inwardly. He had been involved in this matter from the beginning and had witnessed the shift in the supervisor's attitude firsthand. He felt he couldn't say much more; there was no right or wrong here, only conflicting interests.

...

Jiang Zheng didn't care who his opponent was, as long as they were a professional player.

The match began, and Jiang Zheng employed his usual steady, calculated playstyle. His opponent opted for the same approach.

Jiang Zheng didn't know much about his opponent, but the opponent had clearly studied Jiang Zheng’s playstyle. As soon as they clashed, the opponent launched a fierce assault. Jiang Zheng reacted quickly, parrying the onslaught.

In the heat of the defense, Jiang Zheng rapidly analyzed his opponent’s habits and tactics. Soon, he shifted from merely parrying to trading blows evenly. As time passed, Jiang Zheng spotted a flaw in his opponent's defense and secured the victory in the first game.

The second game began. This time, his opponent was far more aggressive, engaging Jiang Zheng immediately. It wasn't a probe; it was a desperate attempt to secure a kill at level one. In a match of this caliber, giving up the first kill often led to a snowball effect, resulting in an eventual loss.

Having gained insight into his opponent's style, Jiang Zheng baited him, luring him directly into a trap. He calculated the damage for both sides perfectly; he didn't lose a single point in terms of health trades. By the time his opponent realized it was a trap, it was too late. The opponent tried to retreat, but Jiang Zheng used Flash to close the gap and landed a basic attack to secure the first kill of the game.

Perhaps rattled by the loss of the first kill, the opponent launched another attack shortly after respawning. But with a gold and level advantage, the opponent stood no chance. After the second kill, the third one became trivial, with Jiang Zheng diving under the tower to finish him off.

As he clashed with professional players, Jiang Zheng’s game sense improved rapidly. It wasn't just technical skill, but an evolution in his awareness and reaction times. He knew exactly what to do and when to do it.

Jiang Zheng won the match.

The chat was flooded with comments; the viewers were stunned. This was a starting player from a top-tier team—and he had just lost to Jiang Zheng? It was inconceivable.

What did a top-tier team mean? China was a powerhouse in esports with many teams, and the top-tier ones were formidable even on the international stage. A starter from such a team was, by definition, at the upper echelon of professional players. The skill level of this opponent was on a completely different magnitude compared to the pros Jiang Zheng had defeated previously. That was why the chat was in such a frenzy.

...

Elsewhere.

"Supervisor, he won," Lin Yu said, sounding incredulous.

The supervisor, standing beside him, wore a complicated expression, at a loss for words. Only moments ago, he had been railing against Jiang Zheng for his poor choice of opponent, claiming that losing would mean the end. Yet, Jiang Zheng had won.

"So he won, what’s so strange about that?" the supervisor muttered.

"Should we still cut back on his promotional resources?" Lin Yu asked.

"Regardless, he didn't follow orders. The cuts remain, but... maybe we’ll cut back just a little less," the supervisor said.

"I understand."

...

After defeating a starter from a top-tier team, the subsequent opponents Jiang Zheng faced were slightly less formidable. He continued to rack up wins. Regardless of who he played, the result remained the same: victory.

The impact of these consecutive wins on his stream was explosive. Even without the platform using internal accounts to drive engagement and tips, the donations flowing into Jiang Zheng’s stream were substantial.

...

"I'm sorry, everyone, I lost."

Li Jingbo consoled him, "It’s okay. Victory and defeat are common in battle. The opponent was very strong; you don't need to blame yourself."

"But everyone supported me so much, and I still lost. I’m truly sorry," the teammate said.

Li Jingbo looked at his self-reproaching teammate and continued to comfort him, "Don't think too much about it. Look at how many times we’ve lost in professional tournaments. We never gave up then, let alone in a minor match like this."

"It’s not the same. Losing in a professional tournament is one thing, but this was just a regular player—not a professional."

Li Jingbo finally understood why his teammate was so devastated. It wasn't just the loss; it was the fact that he had been defeated by someone who wasn't even a professional.