Rebirth is fine, but I get eight hundred dollars right from the start?

Promotional video?

A single statement stirred up a huge wave of discussion, and a post from Leading Esports made the already heated esports scene even more agitated due to the start of the Summer Split.

The reason is simple: countless players haven't seen that man for almost a month.

The comment section below the post has already accumulated more than three thousand replies.

[It's finally here?!]

[Missing Persons Return Series!]

Have those thirty people been selected?

[You guys are really tight-lipped! You didn't even tell the brothers what was going on with the online selection process.]

[Exactly! Making shows is fine, but E-God can't just stop streaming altogether, can he? Does he still want his salary from Huya?]

[Is E-God there? Is he there? Is he there?]

[Did you guys see that Xiye got MVP today? E-God's coaching ability is absolutely amazing!]

The waiting time was long.

Lin Zhe himself had no idea how he spent the whole day.

From the moment I wake up in the morning, my eyes are fixed on the time, watching the second and minute hands move forward little by little.

Many others on esports forums shared his reaction, with numerous posts discussing the content of the promotional video for "Next Stop, Pro!" airing tonight at 8 PM, as well as the show's official broadcast.

Finally, after trying everything from going for a run outside to sleeping all day to playing games with friends, Lin Zhe finally waited for that moment.

The computer hasn't been turned off since last night.

Huya Live opens in a second!

"Um?"

Whether it was his imagination or not, Lin Zhe seemed to feel a slight lag in his expensive computer and dedicated network.

[Warning: High-energy content ahead!]

[Wow, brothers, we got first place!]

No, you're all here guarding you.

【Otherwise, what if the platform crashes and disconnects?】

On the Huya homepage, a blue-black poster with a gold background is displayed, and the words "Next Stop, Pro!" seem to be fluttering in the wind.

According to the platform, the live broadcast of the program will also be on this page.

Lin Zhe had no interest in paying attention to other things like previews and bullet comments. He scrolled down to find the video link and clicked on it.

The promotional video begins with a scene of complete darkness.

Only sound.

Tap! Tap tap! Tap tap tap!

A series of keystrokes.

It was dense, rapid, and almost without pause, like a torrential downpour hitting a tin roof.

Then came the sound of a mouse click, crisp and rapid, interspersed with music and a very soft, suppressed sigh.

The next second, the screen lit up.

The sounds from before vanished completely, as if they had never existed.

The camera shot directly from the ceiling of the training room, with more than a dozen cameras neatly arranged, all displaying the loading screen of Summoner's Rift.

Then a curtain was drawn, flashing photos of faces.

It's obvious that Lin Zhe knows everyone.

He had only one thought: So young... some are even younger.

Everyone in the photo looks different, but Lin Zhe managed to find commonalities among them in those few seconds of footage.

Before he could continue thinking, the scene changed.

In the spacious review room, the HWG players sat in rows, with a blackboard in front of them covered with tactical notes.

A blurry figure stood at the podium, offering no impassioned speech, only a blunt, almost icy tone: "Why did you turn back this time? What were you thinking? — Have you really thought it through?"

Emperor?

Lin Zhe reacted in a second, "It must be E God, right?"

In HWG, he's the only one who can reprimand Ta Zi Ge and the others.

Just then.

The scene cuts again.

A wall, or rather, a leaderboard he was very familiar with from his school days.

The dark gray metal base plate has two rows of magnetic card slots, with blue nameplates neatly embedded in the slots. Each nameplate has a number, name, points, and elimination risk level written on it.

The camera slowly pans over—the image becomes blurry, and you can vaguely see someone's nameplate being repeatedly taken away, with shallow scratches appearing on its surface;

Oh, someone's label is slightly crooked, as if it was hastily replaced;

Some people's card slots were empty, the nameplates had been removed, leaving only a bare metal frame.

Survival of the fittest?

Lin Zhe understood the director's cinematic language.

The promotional video lingered for a few seconds in the empty slot.

Then the camera exits, and the image darkens.

The narrator's voice then rang out, a steady, emotionless male voice, as if stating a fact that had been proven many times before:

"Esports. A decade or so ago, this term was an unfamiliar jumble of words for most people. In recent years, it has frequently appeared in the news, in classrooms, and in arguments between parents and children. Some people see it as an escape from reality, some see it as a shortcut to overnight riches, and some don't even really understand what it is."

The screen slowly brightens, showing a panoramic view of the area outside the base gate.

The deep blue signboard glowed warmly in the twilight. Several young people dragged their suitcases past the camera, their steps quick and light, the backpack straps leaving marks on their shoulders.

The narrator continues: "But it is actually a road—a very narrow, steep road, where you could easily fall if you went up it."

The scene cuts back to the training room, and the camera zooms in through the glass partition. A player whose face is not clearly visible takes off his headphones and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

His screen displayed the results screen, with the word "Failure" lit up in red in the center, and the KDA in the data panel next to it was particularly glaring.

He looked at it for a few seconds, then lowered his head and buried his face in his palms.

His teammates at the camera behind him turned to look at him, as if they wanted to say something, but after their lips moved, they turned back.

"There are tens of thousands of people fighting in the high-ranking matches across the country, but only about thirty people can actually get through this gate."

The camera cuts to the interview scene.

The following problem appeared on the screen:

Why do you want to pursue esports?

Soft light shone on a young face; it was a video recording of an interview during the preliminary selection process for contestants. The young man had his hands on his knees, his fingertips unconsciously twisting together.

He didn't look at the camera; his gaze was fixed in an uncertain direction, and his voice was a little hoarse: "Let's make money!"

"I need money, I need lots and lots of money."

"Wanting to make money is the simplest and most basic idea."

After the narration, the second contestant's answer was given.

"I want to prove myself. I'm not good at studying, but I have a certain talent for games. I want to prove to my parents that I'm not a bad person and that I have my own value."

"I play esports, I just genuinely enjoy it!"

"My parents are quite supportive of my playing e-sports. They say they can provide a safety net for me and let me try different paths before entering the workforce."

"Find a job. LPL players make 10,000 to 20,000 a month, which is much better than screwing in screws."

(Tomato just launched a brand new benefits system; I'm not sure how to evaluate it.)

(After the third month, you need to update more than 200,000 words a month to get full attendance bonus... I remember when I first came to Tomato, I thought I could update less and refresh my mind.)

(Sigh...it's a long story.)