Summary: With the Championship looming and their bond stronger than ever, Lu Sicheng finally gives Yao what was always hers, a legacy of silver, a home written in blood and fire, and the unspoken promise that she will never stand alone again.
Chapter Eighteen
A week before the Championship, just days after the final confrontation with her half-sister, father, and stepmother had ended in ashes and silence, the world outside their bubble finally caught up.
The internet exploded.
Everywhere Yao turned, everywhere anyone on ZGDX turned, headlines, comment threads, and social media feeds carried the same revelation:
Lu Sicheng is dating Chen Yao.
At first, there was a ripple of shock.
A few scattered debates.
Skepticism, sure.
But it faded quicker than anyone could have predicted.
Instead, to nearly everyone's amazement, especially Rui's, who had already been preparing statements and contingency plans, the public reaction was overwhelmingly positive.
Montages flooded onto Weibo and Instagram.
It helped, of course, that Yue, the little instigator he was, decided to pour gasoline onto the fire. He posted a picture first: a casual shot of Yao sitting at the base lounge with Da Bing sprawled across her lap, a soft smile curving her lips as she scolded Pang and Yue for arguing about who had the better KDA in scrims that day.
Underneath the picture, Yue captioned boldly: "Introducing ZGDX_SaltMaiden, here to stay. Get used to it."
And because that wasn't enough chaos—
Lao K jumped into the comments.
ZGDX_K: Our Salt Maiden isn't a distraction. She goes to lunch with her sister when we have scrims. Orders Chessman and all of us to focus on our careers. Like a general in cute sneakers.
Other teammates chimed in.
ZGDX_Pang: She threatened us with extra conditioning if we even THINK about slacking.
ZGDX_Mao: Pretty sure she's the reason Rui hasn't killed us yet.
ZGDX_Rui: Your not wrong. She keeps me sane and you brats in line.
ZGDX_Lv: Not to mention she makes my brother seem like he's an actual human, instead of a cold hearted demonic prince of hell!
ZGDX_Ming: One Yue run, you brother has a slipper aimed at you head. Two? She makes the base more bearable and helps me keep the toddlers in line.
The post went viral within hours.
Fans loved her even more for it.
The image of Chen Yao wasn't the disruptive girlfriend tagging along behind the Captain like a shadow. It was the fiercely loyal, sharp, supportive woman who chose to put the team's success first without anyone needing to ask.
Inside the base, Yao barely blinked when she found out.
Sicheng, deadpan, handed her his phone with the trending topics still climbing into the millions, she just arched a brow, set the phone down, and said, "Good. Now they'll know I meant it when I said this was your season. Not mine."
And true to her word. She kept her lunches with Jinyang carefully timed away from scrims. Stayed out of the lounge when match reviews were underway. Made sure Da Bing was comfortably corralled whenever the team needed focus. Not because she was hiding. Not because she didn't want to be near them. But because she understood. Because she had always understood.
That this—
ZGDX.
Their shot.
Their Championship.
This was sacred.
And she would never, never, be the reason they stumbled and watching her, knowing what she was willing to give, even silently.
Only made Sicheng love her more.
The day before the Championship, the energy around the ZGDX base crackled sharp and electric, an odd mix of nerves, excitement, and simmering determination. The final preparations had been done, the scrims reviewed, strategies burned into muscle memory. Now, all that was left was to go and win.
Their flight to Shanghai was set for early afternoon, and for once, none of the boys complained about being dragged out of bed at a ridiculous hour. Because this time. They weren't flying commercial. No cramped coach seats. No fighting over boarding passes. No fans mobbing them at the terminal. They were flying private. Courtesy of the Lu family. More specifically, courtesy of Lu Wenhai, the family patriarch himself, who had, after a pointed call from Sicheng, granted use of one of the Lu jets for the team's travel.
The base had been a frenzy of activity that morning, equipment bags thrown over shoulders, gaming laptops packed into sleek carry-ons, Da Bing tucked carefully into a specially-approved luxury carrier lined with fleece. Because if Yao was going. Da Bing was going too. Period. No negotiation.
And Sicheng had made damn sure that the hotel where they were booked, the luxury Crown Regency in downtown Shanghai, accepted cats in their executive suites. Because he knew Yao. Knew that no matter how tough she looked, no matter how fiercely she carried herself. Leaving Da Bing behind right before the most important match of the year? Would wreck her. And he wasn't letting anything—anything—make her doubt, ache, or break right now.
As they boarded the sleek black jet at the private airstrip.
Yue, dragging his duffel bag behind him, muttered darkly under his breath: "This is so unfair."
Sicheng, carrying both his and Yao's smaller bags with Da Bing's carrier slung neatly over one arm, didn't even glance back. "You can walk if you want," he said lazily.
Yue scowled, trudging up the stairs behind him.
Rui, trailing with the rest of the team, chuckled under his breath.
Once they were inside the luxurious cabin, plush leather seats, dark wood paneling, more space than any of them knew what to do with.
Yue threw himself dramatically into a seat and flung his arm over his eyes. "I swear," he muttered, "the only reason Grandfather let us use the jet is because he likes your girlfriend more than he likes the rest of us combined."
Da Bing, perched in his carrier across from him on the seat, blinked once—slow, judgmental, unimpressed.
Yue sat up slightly, glaring half-heartedly at the cat. "And you," he muttered, wagging a finger. "You're not helping."
Da Bing lifted one paw and licked it delicately, utterly ignoring him.
Yao laughed softly as she slid into the seat beside Sicheng, setting her bag down carefully at her feet. "You're just mad Da Bing has better connections," she teased.
"Even the cat outranks me now. I need to rethink my life." Yue groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the seat dramatically.
"Too late." Pang laughed from two rows back, throwing a mini-pack of pretzels at Yue's head.
As the jet engines rumbled to life beneath them and the plane began taxiing down the runway, Sicheng reached out without thinking, threading his fingers through Yao's smaller hand, grounding them both. She squeezed back, her heart pounding, not with fear, but with something fierce and full and shining.
The jet lifted off the runway smoothly, tilting into the sky with barely a jolt. Outside the wide windows, the world fell away—the noise, the chaos, the past few weeks of battles both public and private shrinking into tiny, distant shapes far below them. Inside the cabin, it was warm, quiet. Comfortable in a way none of them realized they needed until they were in it.
Pang and Yue bickered half-heartedly over the snack options for all of five minutes before Rui snapped at them to save their energy for tomorrow.
Lao Mao and Lao K settled deeper into their seats, both already dozing lightly, the strain of the past weeks catching up.
The tension that had been wired so tight in their bodies slowly, carefully, began to ease, just for a moment.
And near the front of the cabin, in the broad, plush seat meant for two, Yao sat curled against Sicheng's side, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Da Bing, freed from his carrier but still safely nestled in her lap, stretched out luxuriously, his thick fur brushing against her arm as he purred contentedly.
Sicheng tilted his head slightly, glancing down at her. She was trying—valiantly—to stay awake, to stay upright and alert. But the exhaustion was winning. He could feel it in the way her body softened gradually against his, her breathing deepening into slow, even rhythms. He shifted just slightly, adjusting the blanket someone had draped over them, making sure it covered both her and the warm lump of fur sprawled across her knees.
Yao murmured something unintelligible against his chest, half-asleep, and Sicheng smiled faintly, brushing his knuckles lightly along the curve of her cheek. She stirred at the touch but didn't wake, her fingers tightening briefly in the fabric of his hoodie before relaxing again.
Across the aisle, Yue glanced over once, about to say something and then caught the look on Sicheng's face. Not the sharp smirk, not the lazy, dangerous tilt of amusement he usually wore. But something deeper. Softer. Unshakable. Yue snorted quietly and leaned back into his own seat, dragging his blanket over his face with a muttered, "Fine, I get it. Romantic moment. I'll shut up."
Sicheng didn't even look away from her. He just kept stroking her hair, slow and steady, grounding himself in the feel of her, the weight of her trust resting so fully against him. Because he knew. This was the last quiet moment before the storm. Tomorrow would be war. Tomorrow would be noise and pressure and the weight of everything they had fought for pressing down on them.
But tonight?
Tonight was for this.
For her.
For the small, steady miracle of having someone who trusted him enough to fall asleep against him without fear. Da Bing let out a soft, contented rumble, curling tighter against Yao's legs.
Sicheng leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her in. His girl. His future. His home. And tomorrow? Tomorrow he would fight like hell to give her the world she deserved.
Morning broke over Shanghai with a soft, golden haze, the city sprawling beneath the private jet as it made its slow, circling descent.
The landing was smooth, almost gentle, but it still jolted Yao awake where she had dozed, tucked securely against Sicheng's side.
She blinked sleepily up at him, disoriented for a second before everything clicked back into place, the hum of the engines, the warm weight of Da Bing sprawled across her legs, the steady, grounding presence of Sicheng's arm around her shoulders.
He smiled faintly, brushing a knuckle along her jaw. "Morning, Shorty," he murmured.
Yao mumbled something against his hoodie that might have been "morning" or "five more minutes," but Sicheng just chuckled low in his chest, smoothing her hair back from her face.
The others stirred too, stretching and yawning, gathering bags and laptops and gear without the usual loud chaos.
Today, everything was quieter.
More focused.
Because today wasn't about the little things anymore.
Today was the Championship.
They disembarked quickly, a few discreet hotel vans already waiting at the private terminal to take them to the Crown Regency.
True to Sicheng's quiet planning, the hotel was not only one of the best in Shanghai—it was also one of the few luxury towers with a pet-friendly executive floor. Their suite was enormous, the entire top floor a sprawling open-plan space of rich woods, sleek furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the Shanghai skyline. The moment the door opened, Da Bing bolted out of his carrier, trotting around the living area with all the authority of a general inspecting a new fortress.
Yao laughed softly, watching as the kitten circled the couches, sniffed at the minibar, and finally leapt onto one of the broad window ledges, sprawling out like he owned the entire city.
"Well," Yue said, dragging his suitcase into one of the side bedrooms. "Looks like His Majesty approves."
Pang dropped his gear by the TV stand, grinning. "Should've put him on the roster. Probably would scare the other teams into forfeiting."
Rui ignored them both, already setting up the practice station in the corner with military efficiency, while Ming checked his watch, muttering about team meetings and final review schedules.
Sicheng, after making sure Da Bing hadn't somehow broken a lamp or declared war on the mini fridge, turned back to the rest of the team. He didn't shout. Didn't pace. He just stood there, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze sweeping over every single one of them—Pang, Lao Mao, Lao K, Yue, Rui, Ming—and then finally settling on Yao, who leaned quietly against the far wall, watching him with calm, steady eyes. "We didn't come here just to play," he said, voice low, carrying easily through the suite. "We came here to win."
No one spoke, but the air shifted, tightened—every man there straightening subtly, the weight of the moment anchoring into their bones.
"We're not carrying just ourselves into that arena," Sicheng continued. "We're carrying everything we fought for this year." He glanced once—just briefly—at Yao. "And we're carrying the people who believed in us when no one else would."
Yue nudged Pang lightly with his elbow, his grin sharp and full of teeth. "You heard the boss," he muttered.
Pang snapped a lazy salute, his grin infectious. "Time to bury 'em."
Lao Mao cracked his knuckles.
Lao K just nodded once, sharp and certain.
Ming closed the laptop he had been using, his mouth tightening into a rare, fierce smile.
Rui, adjusting his glasses, said simply, "Let's make history."
Sicheng smiled then—slow, dangerous, full of unshakable pride. "Good," he said. "Because I'm not leaving here without the trophy." And none of them doubted it for a second. Not anymore. Not with everything they had built. Not with everything they had become. They were ready.
The low hum of conversation in the suite faded into the background as Sicheng moved, his hand reaching out with the same effortless certainty that always marked him when something truly mattered. Without a word, he found her—where she was standing near the window, quietly watching Da Bing sprawl lazily against the glass—and gently tugged her hand.
Yao blinked up at him, caught slightly off guard. But she didn't resist. She never did with him.
He led her through the sprawling suite, past the open kitchen and lounge, to the private bedroom tucked at the far end.
The door clicked softly shut behind them. And for a moment. The noise of the world disappeared. It was just them. The soft hush of the city outside the tall windows. The warm golden light spilling across the polished wood floors. And the quiet thud of her heart pounding in her ears as he turned to face her fully.
Sicheng reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, square velvet box—simple, heavy, unmistakable.
Yao's breath caught the second she saw it.
He held it out to her without ceremony. No grand speeches. No dramatic gestures. Just steady hands, steady eyes. "I was supposed to give you this," he said quietly, his voice low and sure, "before I ever asked you to stay."
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the velvet before taking the box from him with reverence.
Sicheng didn't move. Didn't rush her. He just watched, silent and still, as she slowly lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in rich dark velvet, was the Lu family crest. Pure silver, with delicate platinum threading carved into the form of a roaring dragon coiled protectively around a blooming lotus.
Power and legacy.
Resilience and rebirth.
Her breath hitched. Her fingers hovered for a moment, trembling, before she gently lifted the pendant from its bed. It was heavier than it looked. Solid. Real. Just like everything he had given her. Everything he had promised her. She looked up at him, her throat tightening painfully, unable to find her voice.
Sicheng stepped closer, reaching out with infinite care, and took the pendant from her trembling hands. Without asking, without needing permission, he reached up and fastened the chain around her neck, letting the weight of it settle against her skin. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry. It wasn't just a family symbol. It was everything. It was him. It was them. It was home. When he finished, he didn't step back. He stayed close, his hands lingering against the sides of her neck, his thumbs brushing lightly over the place where the chain settled against her collarbone. "You're mine," he said softly, fiercely, the words burning against her skin more surely than the silver. "And I'm yours."
Her hands curled tightly into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer without hesitation. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Not here. Not now. Instead, she rose onto her toes and pressed her forehead against his chest, breathing him in, anchoring herself to him in the only way that made sense.
Sicheng lowered his head, pressing a lingering kiss into her hair. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, in everything unspoken but deeply, fiercely known.
The main room of the suite buzzed with low energy as the team waited, their ZGDX uniforms already on—sleek jackets of white, black, and red sharp against the clean lines of the lounge. Bags were stacked neatly by the door. Water bottles were being passed around. Every once in a while, one of them would glance toward the hallway where Yao had disappeared to get ready.
Sicheng leaned against the far wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his head tilted slightly in that lazy, unreadable way he had when he was trying to seem calm. But his eyes… His eyes kept flickering toward the hall. Waiting.
Yue tapped his foot impatiently, twirling his jacket over one shoulder like he couldn't decide whether to put it on or pace.
"What's taking her so long?" Pang muttered, stuffing a handful of mints into his mouth.
"Relax," Lao Mao said dryly from where he was tightening the laces on his shoes. "She'll come out when she's ready."
As if on cue—
The soft click of boots on polished wood echoed from the hallway.
And then—
Yao stepped into view. Every conversation died instantly. The entire team froze like statues. She wore black skinny jeans tucked neatly into black leather boots that hit just below her knees, a long-sleeved fitted black top smoothing over her frame like a second skin. But what really stopped them. What really shut down the room. Was the jacket. A custom-tailored, perfectly cut ZGDX jacket in the team's signature white, black, and red, fitting her like a damn glove, emphasizing every clean, confident line of her body. Her hair was pulled into a high, sleek ponytail, the ends brushing lightly against her shoulders. Light makeup framed her features, sharp enough to highlight her strength, soft enough to leave her natural beauty untouched. And hanging proudly against the dark fabric of her top. The Lu family crest. Silver, platinum, and history itself gleaming softly against her heart.
For a heartbeat—
No one breathed.
Even Da Bing, perched lazily on the back of the couch, let out a low, approving rumble like a king recognizing another royal presence.
Yue blinked once.
Twice.
Then leaned sideways into Pang and muttered, a little hoarsely, "We're screwed. No one's gonna be watching the match. They're all gonna be watching her."
Pang, wide-eyed, nodded mutely.
Lao K coughed into his fist.
Lao Mao actually straightened slightly like he was witnessing the unveiling of a war banner before battle.
Rui, to his credit, just adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat loudly, pretending very hard that he hadn't frozen like the rest of them.
Sicheng?
Sicheng pushed off the wall slowly, his boots hitting the floor with a soft, solid thud. His gaze locked onto her. Burning. Heavy. Possessive. Proud. And without hesitation—without needing to say a word—he crossed the room and offered his hand.
Yao smiled, small and sure, slipping her fingers into his without breaking stride. And the room, still stunned silent, watched as their Captain and their Salt Maiden moved forward together. Side by side. Stronger than ever. Unbreakable. As Yao passed the others, she caught Yue's stage-whispered mutter, "If this is her final boss battle outfit, CK's already dead."
The others chuckled lowly, tension bleeding into something sharper, brighter.
Victory felt closer now.
Real.
Tangible.
Because when Yao smiled like that. When Sicheng held her hand like that. When the whole damn team moved as one behind them. Nothing could touch them. Not the past. Not the fear. Not even the weight of the world pressing against their shoulders. Tonight? Tonight, they weren't walking into the arena alone. They were walking in as a force. As a family. As champions. Already.
The drive to the arena passed in a charged, expectant silence. Their private transport wound through the wide streets of downtown Shanghai, weaving past the gleaming towers and the endless flood of people already converging on the Championship venue. As they neared the stadium, the roar of the crowd started to bleed through the heavy glass windows—low at first, like distant thunder, then growing louder with every passing second. By the time they pulled up to the private entrance reserved for the teams, the air outside was vibrating with it.
A tidal wave of sound.
A living, breathing mass of energy.
Banners waved from every balcony and lamp post, most bearing the familiar sharp slash of ZGDX's red and black colors.
Crowds of fans pressed against the barriers, faces painted, signs held high. Cameras flashed wildly the moment their van rolled to a stop, the barricades groaning slightly under the surge of excitement.
Yue peered out the tinted window, whistling low. "Place looks ready to explode," he muttered.
Pang grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Good."
Ming adjusted his watch with slow precision, his face carved from stone.
Rui double-checked the team's credentials and media clearance passes without looking up, calm as ever.
Sicheng didn't move at all for a moment. He just sat there, his hand wrapped securely around Yao's smaller one, feeling the faint tremble in her fingers. He tightened his grip once—firm, grounding—and she looked up at him, her eyes wide but fierce. "You're not alone," he said low, just for her. "Not now. Not ever."
Her throat worked once, her fingers curling tighter into his. She nodded. Small. Unshakable. When the door slid open, they moved as one.
Sicheng stepped out first, pulling Yao close at his side, his body a solid barrier between her and the flood of noise and flashing lights.
The rest of the team spilled out behind them, tight, controlled, a wall of black, white, and red.
The crowd erupted the moment they were spotted.
Screams.
Chants.
Cameras flashing like lightning against the evening sky.
But Yao didn't flinch. Not this time. Not with the weight of Sicheng's hand hovering lightly at the small of her back. Not with the others flanking her like an unbreakable shield.
They walked across the entrance platform together, their steps steady, unhurried, even as the roar of the crowd battered them from every direction. Every eye was on them. Every camera pointed their way. Some fans cheered their names. Some held signs for their favorite players. And scattered among them. In bold black letters against crisp white cloth. Signs that simply read:
Salt Maiden.
ZGDX's Lucky Star.
Chessman's-Queen.
Yao caught them from the corner of her eye, a tightness catching in her chest. But she didn't look away. She walked taller, her chin lifted high, the silver Lu crest gleaming against the black of her top, a defiant promise over her heart.
Sicheng caught the direction of her gaze, saw the flash of emotion flicker across her face, and without thinking, he leaned down just slightly, his mouth brushing her ear with a murmured, gruff, " Ours. " A single word. But it was everything.
She smiled, small and real, and kept walking. Behind her, Da Bing's carrier, secured in Pang's careful grip, swung slightly with each step, the kitten inside utterly unbothered, letting out the occasional low rumble of approval as if staking his claim to the chaos too.
The security team parted the crowd at the doors, and ZGDX swept inside, the energy of the outside world folding into something tighter, sharper, as they moved into the heart of the arena. This was it. No more waiting. No more fighting ghosts. Tonight, they weren't just players. They were legends in the making.
Yao wasn't just following them anymore. She was standing with them. A part of it. A part of them. Forever.