The real young master thought he was hated by everyone

“Second Brother is just a bit rusty,” Xie Sizhi tried to salvage his pride. “The last time I played was back in high school—I’ve forgotten most of the combos and techniques.”

“One more round, just one more,” he insisted, selecting another character from his memory, one he recalled as a strong main character. “I was probably better with this one back then.”

This time, he didn’t take any chances. He carefully reviewed the character’s move list before slowly confirming his selection.

Li Heng nodded, agreeing to the rematch. He inserted another token and picked the same character as before, once again entering the battle screen.

He didn’t doubt Xie Sizhi’s honesty, keeping his full attention on the health bars on screen. He was so focused that he didn’t even notice how loudly he was hitting the buttons and moving the joystick, attracting the attention of nearby onlookers who had just finished their own games or were passing by.

The glowing lights from the screen reflected on Li Heng’s face, outlining the still slightly youthful contours of his features.

While most people were focused on the game itself, Xie Duzhi’s attention was entirely on Li Heng.

He loved seeing how focused Li Heng became when doing something he enjoyed. Even though his expression didn’t always show a smile—often more serious and concentrated, he still see the relaxation and joy in his star-like eyes.

But it wasn’t just gaming that brought this out in him.

Suddenly, he remembered the time before the college entrance exams when Li Heng had moved in with him.

Whether it was studying, sitting across the table eating, or offering to help tidy up the living room, Li Heng’s expression was always the same: serious and dedicated.

To Xie Duzhi, this kind of single-minded focus was an incredibly valuable trait.

He hadn’t thought much of it back then, but now, as he reflected, he realized his heart was beating noticeably faster. The memories overlapped, and in his mind, they aligned perfectly with the brightness in the boy’s gaze.

Despite the arcade’s chaotic noise, with its mix of victory and defeat tunes, the cacophony of people talking, and the constant commentary from other players, it didn’t bother Xie Duzhi.

If he had to describe the feeling, it was like looking at a painting or photograph where everything in the background had been intentionally blurred, leaving only the person in front sharp and detailed, glowing almost.

Xie Sizhi lost again, this time also without scoring a single win. Due to a character advantage, he lasted longer than the previous round, so it wasn’t quite as embarrassing.

However, pride and confidence are delicate things, often surfacing at the worst possible moments.

Logic told him that he should quit while he was ahead—this round had proved he wasn’t that bad, just a bit rusty. If he stopped now, he could still preserve the image he’d carefully built up.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that one more round and he’d be able to turn the tables—he’d just managed to get Li Heng’s character down to half health. Surely, in another round, he’d be able to make a stunning comeback.

However, Li Heng refused without hesitation.

“You don’t have to play with me, Second Brother,” he said right after the match ended. He had noticed that Xie Duzhi, who seemed out of place amidst the arcade chaos, had been standing quietly beside him the whole time.

“Is there anything you’d like to play, Third Brother?” he asked, his confidence boosted by the arcade experience.

“It’s no use asking him,” Xie Sizhi interjected, unwilling to give up. “He doesn’t like games and never plays them.”

Clearly, he believed Xie Duzhi was only here out of obligation to keep them company, never considering that his brother would actually participate in something so simple yet pure as playing arcade games.

To Xie Sizhi, Xie Duzhi’s idea of relaxation was work—perhaps some reading or exercise on top of that, but nothing else.

“Right, Third Brother?” he asked, placing a brotherly arm around Xie Duzhi’s shoulder and pulling him closer. “You don’t play games, right?”

In a rather unceremonious move, Xie Duzhi removed his hand from his shoulder and stepped aside, effectively drawing a clear line between them.

“I never said I didn’t like games,” he said, his tone calm and devoid of emotion, merely stating the facts.

There’s a difference between not being interested and not liking something. Besides, he wasn’t completely uninterested—he’d at least looked into the games his younger brother liked to play.

“I just don’t have time to play,” he added.

Xie Sizhi: …

He felt like something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

After all, it was well-known in their family that Xie Duzhi was always busy—even though he didn’t travel for business much, his schedule was packed with online meetings, and he worked overtime so much it was as if his job were his life partner.

For some reason, despite the oddness of it all, Xie Sizhi suddenly felt a bit sorry for his brother.

“Since you’re already here, stop worrying about all that work,” he said affectionately. “Let me teach you how to play.”

Xie Duzhi glanced at him briefly, offering no response.

After a while, he spoke, his tone slow and measured. “Your skills aren’t good enough to teach me.”

“I can teach you,” Li Heng quickly interjected, afraid that the atmosphere might escalate into an argument. “Second Brother works hard on his art at home; he deserves a break.”

Xie Sizhi instantly felt comforted, seeing his younger brother as someone who genuinely cared about him, not wanting him to overwork himself.

If he really had to teach Xie Duzhi how to play, it would probably be exhausting, given his brother’s logical thinking and tendency to analyze everything down to the last detail—not exactly traits suited for casual gaming.

If anything, he thought, Xie Duzhi would make an excellent game designer, someone who could frustrate players with the most minimal resources.

“Fine, I’ll leave this task to you,” Xie Sizhi said, unable to hold back a chuckle. He glanced at Li Heng with a sense of pride and satisfaction.

He reached out and ruffled the boy’s soft, smooth hair again before joining another player, who had also just finished their arcade game and was looking for a new opponent. 

The good news was that Xie Sizhi and this other player were equally bad at the game. They went back and forth, and somehow, it felt like they were kindred spirits, two “masters” bonding over their mutual lack of skill.

Li Heng watched for a bit, then, reassured, turned back to ask again, “What do you want to play, Third Brother?”

Considering that Xie Duzhi wasn’t very familiar with games, he thoughtfully suggested a few options: “There’s racing, basketball, shooting games, and the dance machine over there.”

If none of those appealed to him, they could head to the other section of the arcade, divided by the claw machines, and try something like electronic fishing, Monopoly, or the coin-pushing and prize machines.

“I’ll give racing a try,” Xie Duzhi said, pretending to think it over.

“Great!” Li Heng was a bit excited himself. He had worked part-time at an internet café during summer vacation once and had even taken over for customers playing similar games when they stepped out for a break.

After inserting their tokens, the arcade staff guided them to put on VR glasses and choose the multiplayer mode, pairing them in the same match.

Not all of the cars in the game were player-controlled. To enhance the gaming experience, the system would often add AI-controlled cars that were easy to overtake.

Still, when Li Heng crossed the finish line in his cream-colored car and instinctively glanced at the list of racers in the top right corner of the screen, he noticed that the car Xie Duzhi had chosen was dead last, and its status was dire—the durability was almost at zero.

He began to wonder if he had chosen a game that was too difficult.

This racing game was a simplified version of a very popular game from several years ago. The track wasn’t too tricky, and there were only two types of items left: one to boost your own speed and another to slow down your opponents. There were no delayed traps requiring precise timing or positioning.

…So wasn’t it just a matter of stepping on the gas, steering the wheel left and right, using the items wisely, and overtaking on the curves?

After thinking about it for a while, Li Heng concluded that for someone unfamiliar with the game, there might be a learning curve, which explained why Xie Duzhi had fallen so far behind.

While he was lost in thought, the dark gray car Xie Duzhi had been controlling finally crossed the finish line. Xie Duzhi then took off his VR glasses and smoothed down the small tuft of hair on Li Heng’s head, which was sticking up again. He looked a bit puzzled.

“Why is it allowed to deliberately crash into other cars without any penalty?” he asked.

He recalled that in real races, participants were forbidden from crashing into each other, and if there was a collision, the overtaking driver was usually held responsible.

Let alone regular traffic rules.

Li Heng found this question hard to explain.

After all, he didn’t know much about racing rules. He just followed the game’s rules.

“Have you ever watched those animated shows about mini four-wheel-drive cars?” he asked after a moment of thought. “You know, the ones where the cars are really smart, and they can even understand people?”

Xie Duzhi hadn’t seen them. He wasn’t interested in cartoons.

But that didn’t stop him from understanding what Li Heng meant. “So, the racing game we just played has rules similar to those four-wheel-drive cars? You can crash into others without any consequences?”

“More or less. Since it’s just a game, everything is controlled by virtual data,” Li Heng nodded. He didn’t insist on making Xie Duzhi try again and instead hopped off his seat and headed to the basketball game area.

“Do you play basketball, Third Brother?” he asked.

Xie Duzhi nodded.

“Then we could try the basketball game over here,” Li Heng suggested, going along with it. “No matter how the hoop moves, you just need to get the ball in the basket.”

“If you score a certain number of points in the given time, I think there’s even a reward.”

He didn’t find Xie Duzhi’s earlier question strange or confusing. In fact, beyond the challenge of figuring out how to answer, he felt an unexpected sense of joy.

The joy of being trusted.

Based on what he knew about Xie Duzhi, if it had been someone unfamiliar, his brother likely wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

Li Heng didn’t find it odd that Xie Duzhi was so fixated on the specifics of the racing rules, or that he seemed rigid in applying real-world logic to the game.

To him, it was just a reflection of his principles.

And he found this seriousness kind of endearing.