After the Bigshot Turned into a Gold-Digging Scumbag Alpha - Chapter 13

Jiang Shuiyun’s skill level earned genuine admiration from the others. They each took their seats, acknowledging silently that, for now, she was indeed their team captain.

“Now, I want to address something I didn’t mention earlier—point two. Since you’ve all accepted me as the captain, our training officially starts today. First, can I see your previous training schedules?”

Jiao Yang pointed at the computer in front of Jiang Shuiyun. “The schedules are already on the captain’s computer.”

“Alright, let me take a look.”

Jiang Shuiyun opened her laptop and pulled up the training schedule. It was well-organized, with moderate training durations, high flexibility, and dedicated time each week for opponent research and internal reflection.

She was quite satisfied with it and had no plans to change it. “Then we’ll continue following this schedule. If anyone has any questions or suggestions, feel free to speak up.”

“I have a suggestion,” Yao Yao Ling was the first to raise her hand. “Captain, could you change your ID?”

“Sure, let me see what I should change it to.”

Jiang Shuiyun hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but now she agreed it was a good idea to correct it.

Seeing Jiang Shuiyun hesitate, Yao Yao Ling couldn’t help but offer advice. “Captain, you can take inspiration from our names. Look at mine—Yao Yao, Jian Mang, Mang Mang, Jiao Yang, Jiao Jiao yang—all cute! There’s also Du She, Xiao Dudu, and Xiao Tutu.”

The team had long since grown numb to Yao Yao Ling’s endless teasing over names, and no one argued.

Jiang Shuiyun, pretending to deliberate, clicked on her own name. The rename option appeared, and after a couple of keystrokes, it was done.

“Jiang Bai? Oh no, Captain, that doesn’t sound very fierce. Someone might think you just used your real name.”

Yao Yao Ling stared incredulously at the new name. It hardly seemed like a proper game ID.

“Then how about ‘Shangshan Ruo Shui’? Not bad either,” Jiang Shuiyun said easily, reaching to change it again.

“No, no, no!” Yao Yao Ling panicked, grabbing her hand. “Captain, with a name like that, people might think we’re some elderly activity club! Other teams have captains like Feng Jue and Zou Lang. Our captain? Shangshan Ruo Shui, Big Kind Jiang, it’s not appropriate.”

Jiang Shuiyun had never thought about it that way. She withdrew her hand, leaned back, and stretched lazily. “Fine, Jiang Bai. Any other issues? If not, let’s start training. Do we need a warm-up?”

Jian Mang and Du She immediately opened their laptops. “No need. Captain, which role will you play?”

“Control. Let’s test our coordination first.”

She could play any role, but since no one on the team specialized in control, she took it upon herself.

Once the game started, everyone focused and there was no dragging their feet. Headsets on, computers ready—the first match began.

Jiang Shuiyun didn’t speak at all, observing each player’s coordination and awareness. The results weren’t perfect—ordinary players were fine, but against equally matched opponents, they were quickly overwhelmed.

“Again.”

No break. Jiang Shuiyun launched a second match, giving occasional short commands—just once each time—leaving the others to react on their own.

“Again.”

Under Jiang Shuiyun’s guidance, the team’s performance improved dramatically. They were skilled enough that wherever she pointed, they executed. Minor mistakes were quickly corrected under her direction.

“Again.”

“Again.”

Without pause, they played seven or eight rounds straight, only stopping when the housekeeper came to prepare dinner.

It had been a long time since they’d felt this rhythm. Like scattered pieces clicking into place, forming a cohesive, synchronized team. The consistency of their tempo was genuinely satisfying, and relaxed smiles appeared on everyone’s faces.

“That’s it for today. Good work. We’ll continue tomorrow morning.”

Stretching her fingers, Jiang Shuiyun felt the game was easy, but the experience wasn’t bad at all. Especially the sense of the team slowly finding its groove—the feeling of accomplishment was tangible.

“Captain, you’re amazing.”

Even the usually taciturn and sharp-edged player spoke up this time, and the others nodded in agreement.

At noon, during their one-on-one duels, their admiration for Jiang Shuiyun had been purely for her strength. But now, it had evolved into complete and unquestioning respect. What impressed them even more than her gameplay skills was her command over the entire match.

The moment Jiang Shuiyun spoke in a game, it felt as if the whole match was already under her control—there was no suspense at all.

This kind of overwhelming, almost terrifying power was something they had never experienced. It made them willingly submit, obeying her commands without hesitation. The certainty of her leadership left them little room for independent thought; all they could do was focus entirely and give their utmost effort.

“Captain, may I ask you something?” Viper spoke hesitantly, glancing at Jiang Shuiyun. The frustration from being instantly defeated earlier had completely vanished. After a few matches, she truly understood what it meant to have her perception shattered.

“Go ahead.”

Jiang Shuiyun glanced at the time and nodded. There was no rush—she could still pick up Yi Jinbai later.

“Captain, how long have you been playing games? Your skills are just unreal. We’ve never seen anything like it. Honestly, someone at your level shouldn’t have gone unnoticed until now, right?”

What Viper really wanted to know was whether Jiang Shuiyun had another “pro gamer” identity. Her skill level and public recognition simply didn’t match up. It was unusual, to say the least.

Jiang Shuiyun thought for a moment, dismissing the excuse that she had just “unlocked her inner potential,” and gave a more plausible answer:

“Maybe it’s because it was just a hobby before, and now it’s become more professional. My ranking used to be around ten thousand, so it’s not surprising no one noticed.”

“Uh.”

Viper was momentarily speechless. Could someone really improve this drastically just by going from amateur to professional?

“Any more questions?”

Jiang Shuiyun felt satisfied with her answer. She had no idea what they were really trying to ask, but even if she did, there was nothing to reveal. This account had been meticulously leveled up just for interviews—it represented her personal peak score.

The others shook their heads, and Jiang Shuiyun closed her computer. “Alright, go get ready for dinner.”

After telling them, she took the stairs to pick up Yi Jinbai. With only three floors, taking the stairs was faster than waiting for the elevator.

She knocked twice at the door before entering.

“Captain, why do you knock before entering your own room?”

From downstairs, the others craned their necks, and Jiao Yang asked, puzzled.

Yao Yao Ling immediately covered Jiao Yang’s mouth.

“Kids, enough questions. Dinner time!”

Jiang Shuiyun didn’t hear the muttering from below. She entered quietly and saw Yi Jinbai sitting by the window, completely absorbed in her book. She hadn’t even noticed Jiang Shuiyun’s arrival.

The last rays of sunset bathed Yi Jinbai in warm light. Her fingers gently turned the pages, a serene moment frozen in time.

Jiang Shuiyun instinctively eased her breathing, leaning against the wall by the door, not wanting to disturb her.

Even from this distance, Jiang Shuiyun could make out a bit of the content on Yi Jinbai’s page. She didn’t fully understand it, but she recognized it as sheet music.

Yi Jinbai’s fingers tapped the table rhythmically, softly humming the melody on the page. Her body swayed slightly, fully immersed, lips relaxed into a gentle smile.

Jiang Shuiyun watched quietly. The Yi Jinbai she had known before had always been like a taut string. This was the first time she saw her so relaxed, so happy—as if a curled stem had finally unfurled in sunlight, radiating a completely new light.