Chapter 1: Exiled from the Elite, Mind-Reading Awakens

The moment the announcement dropped, the live-stream chat exploded like a dam bursting. Screen after screen of crimson text—"get lost," "useless," "refund my money"—scrolled by in a frantic blur, the glare searing Shen Zhiyu’s eyes as if a thousand needles were being shoved straight into her retina.

Lu Yan stood center stage, the spotlight carving his silhouette sharp and isolated. His suit was pressed to perfection, the corner of his mouth curved in a look of sheer arrogance as he addressed the camera with cold, bored indifference. "Shen Zhiyu’s mental state is unstable. He can’t handle the high-tier match environment. His contract is hereby terminated, effective immediately."

His tone was as casual as if he were announcing a menu change at a diner, yet every word cut like a blade. Amidst the roar of mocking laughter from the crowd, Shen Zhiyu clenched her fists until her nails dug deep into her palms. The sharp pain, mixed with the warm trickle of seeping blood, was something she barely even registered.

She watched the captain who had once trusted her most—who she had even treated like a brother—his eyes a glacial, detached blue. It was the serene, spectator-like calm of someone who had stripped away all emotion, leaving only absolute, sterile logic behind.

Torrential rain lashed down, drops hammering the asphalt and splashing into a fine, shattered mist that the gale instantly whipped away. Soaked to the bone, Shen Zhiyu huddled in a dark, narrow alleyway. Rainwater dripped from the ends of her hair, wetting her eyelashes.

Around her, the flashbulbs of a few reporters popped in rapid succession. They had formed a tight circle, their lenses fixed on her destitute face. The blinding white light forced her to squint. A microphone was shoved right in front of her face, the reporter’s voice cutting through the downpour with piercing intensity. "Ms. Shen, we hear you got dumped by the Elite Teams. Is it true your performance has slipped?"

Shen Zhiyu didn’t answer. She just stared at them hard, desperately searching their flashing lenses for a shred of genuine concern, but she only found a void. Rain raced down her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears, but she refused to let herself cry.

As the downpour intensified, Shen Zhiyu stumbled into the internet café on the corner. The instant she pushed through the door, a wave of humid air hit her, thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and instant noodles. That gritty, down-to-earth atmosphere instantly loosened the knot in her chest.

Old Chen sat behind the counter, fanning himself lazily with a palm-leaf fan. He frowned slightly when he saw her but didn’t say a word. Instead, he pointed to a single machine in the corner and handed her a cup of hot tea he’d just brewed. His movements were casual, yet carried a quiet warmth.

Shen Zhiyu cupped the mug with both hands. The heat seeped through the ceramic wall into her fingertips, slowly trickling into her frozen bones. Finally, she gave in. Her shoulders began to shake, not from the cold, but from the body’s raw, instinctive reaction to the edge of total collapse.

The blue glow from the monitor washed over her pale face. Old Chen sat nearby, casually cracking sunflower seeds, the shells piling up on the floor. "You know what these teams are really doing these days?" he said offhandedly. "It’s not about winning games; it’s about hyping up a concept. Shen Zhiyu, your skills are top-notch, but they’re afraid you’ll steal the spotlight. They’re terrified you’ll be so brilliant that the audience only watches you, ignoring their so-called 'idols'."

Old Chen spat out another seed shell. His eyes were cloudy with age but sharp with street smarts. "Don't take it so hard. The path of the jianghu is long. Who doesn't hit a rock bottom? Just push through the dark times, and you're still a hero."

Shen Zhiyu looked up, rainwater still dripping from her hair. As she looked at Old Chen, she realized for the first time that this smoke-filled den felt far more real than that gold-leaf arena, a place built entirely on lies.

Shen Zhiyu was staring at her computer monitor. The screen, previously pitch black, suddenly rippled with a strange, translucent distortion, like a stone had been tossed into still water. Assuming it was a glitch, she rubbed her stinging eyes. When she looked over at Old Chen, she was shocked to see a soft, warm yellow halo floating above his head.

The halo pulsed gently in time with his speech, radiating a sense of peace and goodwill, as if a warm shroud was draped over him. Shen Zhiyu froze. Her instinct had her looking out the window. In the rain-soaked haze, the silhouettes of the reporters flickered in and out, and she saw that colored patches of light were hovering above their heads too.

She leaned closer to the window and focused her gaze on the reporter who was staring right at her. The image was so vivid it made her shiver. The reporter wore a professional, standard customer-service smile, but the light block above his head was a deep, cold blue. It was so dark it was nearly black, like sludge on the ocean floor, reeking of icy irony and the smug calculation of someone who just wanted to see others suffer.

The emotion shot straight through her line of sight into her mind. Shen Zhiyu felt a wave of intense nausea. Those probing questions hadn't been concern at all; they were part of a meticulously planned public execution. She stumbled back, crashing into the computer desk with a dull thud that startled Old Chen.

Startled, Old Chen spun around. "What were you looking at? Did your eyes play tricks on you?" Shen Zhiyu didn't answer. Her gaze couldn't help but sweep across the other patrons in the café.

A teenager playing a game had an excited golden-red glow hovering above him, pure blood-and-fire passion mixed with unwavering focus, untainted by worldly weariness. Meanwhile, a man smoking in the corner was capped by a hazy, greyish light of exhaustion, looking like a layer of dust that would never fully disperse.

Shen Zhiyu’s heart hammered against her ribs. She realized that she no longer needed to guess people's intentions through their words. The true emotions hidden behind their masks were now completely naked before her eyes. This ability was terrifying yet intoxicating, as if she had just peered into the source code of the universe.

As she was absorbing this new perspective, her phone screen lit up. A message from Lu Yan. Just three words: "Don't make trouble."

But behind those words swelled a massive block of repressed, dark red-black emotion. It was the ultimate mix of fury and suppressed endurance, like a volcano's magma just barely contained.

Staring at that red glow, Shen Zhiyu’s mind automatically painted the picture of Lu Yan’s current state: He was definitely sitting in the empty training room, roaring at his screen, smashing his mouse, while simultaneously having to keep up appearances for the sponsors' benefit, holding that arrogant mask in place. His coldness was just the surface; his core had already shattered.

Shen Zhiyu's gaze shifted from confusion to sharpness. She saw his vulnerability, and she saw her opportunity.

Old Chen seemed to sense the change in her. Lowering his voice, he rummaged under the counter and pulled out a crumpled document.

"Take a look at this. It's their internal bet-to agreement," Old Chen said, his eyes piercing as his finger tapped the paper. "If they lose key matches, their dividends get docked. The reason they’re desperate to swap you out is that you disrupted their rhythm. Shen Zhiyu, they aren't culling you; they're sacrificing you to save the portfolio. You're the piece of meat they have to cut loose."

Shen Zhiyu took the file. Her fingertips were cold. The numbers listed on the page laid out her value in a sterile, icy way. In the eyes of the Elite Teams, she was just a chip they could discard at will. The moment her cost-benefit ratio dipped, they’d throw her away like an old rag.

Her phone rang abruptly. The screen displayed the name "Su Niannian." Shen Zhiyu hesitated for a second before answering. Su Niannian's voice sliced through the line, sharp and laced with unapologetic mockery. "Oh, Big Maidservant Shen, how’s it feel to be kicked out? I advise you to stop playing the high-and-mighty. The business world has no room for tears, only transaction of interests."

Su Niannian's tone was ice-cold, but a streak of golden-red urgency glowed above her head, hiding a subtle, barely noticeable hunger. "If you want to fight back, listen to me: don't look back, just charge forward. I've already paved half the road for the public opinion war. I'm your spear, and I'm your shield."

Gripping the phone, Shen Zhiyu could feel the golden-red excitement and ambition pulsing behind Su Niannian's words. She understood now; Su Niannian wasn't there to comfort her—she was handing her a knife. After hanging up, Shen Zhiyu took a deep breath. The fog in her eyes vanished, replaced by a clear, tactical blueprint in her mind.

She could "see" Su Niannian's next commercial moves. She could "see" Lu Yan’s current despair. She could "see" the loopholes Old Chen had provided. The ice in her heart melted into burning heat, and a power she had never felt surged through her, desperate to break free.

Late at night, the voices in the internet café thinned out until only the clacking of keyboards and the sound of the rain remained. Shen Zhiyu sat alone in the corner, her gaze sweeping over the scattered blocks of colored light, quickly weaving them into a massive emotional network in her mind. She was no longer a passive victim. She was an observer who had grasped The Big Picture. She could see her future path, as clear as crystal.

Those taunts, that betrayal, that scheming—they were all fuel for her breakthrough now. She stood up, straightened her soaked clothes, and her gaze became sharper and colder than it had ever been.

Lu Yan’s phone call rang again, the tone shrill against the dead silence. Shen Zhiyu didn't answer immediately. She waited until the ringing stopped, then slowly dialed his number back. When the line connected, the other end was deathly silent, save for heavy breathing and the loud crash of something being smashed in the background.

Lu Yan's voice was hoarse and frayed, as if squeezed out from the deepest part of his throat. "You'd better not look back." Listening to that warning dripping with hostility, the corner of Shen Zhiyu's mouth twitched into a faint, cold smirk.

"Don't worry," Shen Zhiyu said, her voice clear and devoid of any ripple. "I never look in the rearview mirror." Without waiting for a reply, she cut the call. The screen went black, reflecting her calm, deep-set eyes. Outside, the rain was easing, and the eastern sky was starting to turn pale.

Old Chen poked his head out, gazing into the distance and murmuring, "The sun's coming up." Shen Zhiyu stood, drained the last sip of her hot tea, and pushed open the doors of the internet café, stepping out into the slightly chilly morning wind.