TCWSITD – Chapter 36.1

Chapter 36 has 3 parts; 36.2 and 36.3 will be uploaded tonight at 20:00 and 21:00 EST.

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Chapter 36.1 – Poison-Tongued Li Quan

Time quickly passed, and the playoffs arrived.

Shen Ju was relatively obedient. He didn’t overtrain and didn’t need reminders to apply his medicine. He would clean himself up and show up at Lin Jiang’s door on his own every day.

Sometimes, he’d quietly sit beside Lin Jiang, watching him go over match footage, occasionally chiming in with a curious question or two.

“Captain, don’t your eyes get tired from staring at the screen all day?”

“Not tired.”

“What about your hands? Do they hurt? Want me to massage them for you?”

Lin Jiang was fully absorbed in reviewing the game when a warm touch on his wrist made him realize Shen Ju was applying medicine for him.

Shen Ju wasn’t used to doing these things, so there was a kind of earnest clumsiness to his actions. The contrast of trying his best but still not quite getting it right was oddly endearing.

At times like these, Lin Jiang would feel an inexplicable urge to raise a dog.

Lately, Song Zhixu had been keeping himself busy. He’d secretly been grinding a handful of champions for the playoffs. Lin Jiang ran him through a few tests—his verdict: passable, but still not up to his standards.

Most of Lin Jiang’s remaining time was spent on A’Deng. Through diligent training, he was gradually seeing promising results.

A’Deng was a newcomer and very obedient. With time, Lin Jiang could see him becoming the best jungle partner he’d had since Zeng Yuan.

The remaining time was naturally spent discussing strategies with the coaching staff. Li Qian, having just joined the team, rarely offered opinions. He usually sat at the back playing on his phone, only chiming in when something piqued his interest.

Although his words were often blunt, they were sharp truths that frequently broke through their bottlenecks.

All in all, Lin Jiang was content with the current pace. For now, OT was just barely meeting his expectations.

Now, it was time to see whether the training had paid off.

The first match of the playoffs began: FOU versus KUG.

Alike’s form had returned to what it was at the start of the regular season, securing a massive advantage in the first two games.

But FOU refused to go down quietly. They clawed their way back, taking the next two games and dragging the series into a nail-biting final match. KUG kept throwing away their leads, and by the end, fans were practically having heart attacks before they finally eked out the win.

Even so, many KUG fans were left disappointed—cursing the team while still clinging to hope they’d show up stronger in future matches.

The second match was XIG versus WG, ending in a crushing defeat for XIG.

WG in the playoffs was stronger than anyone had anticipated, giving Lin Jiang a faint sense of threat.

Once it was confirmed that OT’s next opponent would be WG, an emergency meeting was called. Fang Luxing conducted a comprehensive data analysis, distributing copies to everyone and even staying up late to prepare a full slide deck, repeatedly emphasizing WG’s late-game strength.

Yet Li Qian shook his head after reviewing it and said to Lin Jiang, “If this is the level of your coaching staff, OT won’t go far in the playoffs.”

Lin Jiang frowned deeply.

On paper, the numbers made sense. WG’s wins were clearly AD carry-driven. And with Shen Ju and Zhou Wen—two players who could go toe-to-toe with any bot lane in the league—OT should’ve had a natural edge.

And yet… something wasn’t right.

How exactly had XIG lost today?

It felt like there had been a net over the entire game—no one knew when it was set up, but it tightened until it left no way out, trapping them completely.

Lin Jiang drew in a steady breath. If he didn’t get it, he might as well ask. “In your opinion, what’s WG’s biggest strength?”

Li Qian grinned and pointed to his own head. “They rely on this.”

He took the pen from Lin Jiang’s hand and sketched a few simple lines to outline the path, instantly exposing the core of WG’s tactics.

If it wasn’t obvious during the regular season, their three-game series against XIG in the playoffs made it clear.

Every member of WG seemed to carry their own KPI metrics—what they wanted, what they aimed to achieve—all woven into a single net, leading to the same outcome:

Endurance.

Their specialty was simple yet deadly: dragging the game into the late stages, then winning with flawless teamfights—not by overpowering their opponents, but by staying unbroken long enough for the enemy to crumble under pressure.

Thinking back to their grueling 60-minute battle against WG, Lin Jiang could still feel his arms going numb.

In fact, in his previous life, the last qualifying match he had played was also against WG, another endurance test that dragged on for 70 minutes…

“None of WG’s five players stand out individually, but their intense long-term training gives them endurance beyond ordinary players. It might not show in a BO3, but in a BO5, they can outlast any team.”

Endurance battles were OT’s Achilles’ heel.

Lin Jiang’s hand injury was no secret. Although it had improved a lot lately, a BO5 battle would still push him to his limits.

And Shen Ju…

His hands weren’t suited for prolonged battles either.

His playstyle was too aggressive, with constant repositioning every second. Such a method placed immense strain on his hands.

Forget official matches, even during regular training matches, he couldn’t last more than two games before needing to rest.

Up front, Fang Luxing still hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation, still lost in dreams of a bright future. Unable to hold back, Lin Jiang called Li Qian and left the venue.

The two of them moved out to the balcony. Lin Jiang pulled out a cigarette and offered one.

Li Qian hesitated for a moment before accepting, then chuckled. “Since when did you pick up smoking?”

He remembered back in KUG, Lin Jiang wouldn’t even take a cigarette if offered. He was such a clean-cut kid, making others reluctant to taint him.

Lin Jiang lit one with practiced ease, offering no explanation. “Say what you want. I know Coach Fang’s plans don’t impress you.”

“You think I’d be impressed?” Li Qian scoffed, not even pretending to hide his contempt. “Honestly, none of your team’s players catch my eye except Shen Ju, and even he still lacked polish. I’ve been observing him for a while now—making it to Worlds won’t be hard for you. Just get past WG and you’re in. But don’t even think about the championship.”

Lin Jiang didn’t doubt his words. He smiled faintly, still defending his teammates. “You coach world-class players, your standards are sky-high. It’s only natural they don’t meet your expectations.”

“Oh? Protective, are we?” Li Qian took a drag, suddenly eyeing him with a strange look. “Before coming here, I thought you were just fooling around at OT. I didn’t expect you to take it seriously. Lin Jiang, be honest with me. Do you actually see potential in this team, or was OT just the only option you had left?”

The question caught Lin Jiang off guard.

At first, Lin Jiang just wanted a place to coast—to keep his skills sharp and quietly wait for next season.

But after staying awhile, he’d unwittingly grown attached to OT, nurturing unrealistic hopes.

“Qian-ge,” Lin Jiang confessed, “You might laugh, but I do have this delusion that OT could help me achieve my dream of a third championship.”

What did it take to be a world champion?

It meant competing against over 20 regions, fighting tooth and nail through hundreds of teams to emerge as the absolute best.

A decade has passed, and the number of champions can be counted on one hand.

And Lin Jiang actually dreamed of leading OT to victory?

Li Qian couldn’t help but laugh, shoulders shaking. He was convinced Lin Jiang was joking.

As his cigarette burned down to the filter, he heard Lin Jiang speak with quiet determination. “Back when I was leading KUG, you said you didn’t believe in me. What happened after that?”

He turned to face the night, his gaze steady, exuding the same unshakable confidence from years past. “Remember Zeng Yuan? You once said he’d never qualify as a top-tier player. But I led him to two world championships. Now he’s a world-class champion jungler, worth tens of millions.”

“And the KUG bot lane—you said the same about them. Too average, too forgettable. You said no one would fear a duo like that. But they played smart and steady, tough as nails. No matter how fierce the competition at Worlds, they always got their farm, always delivered incredible damage.”

“I’m no tactician like you, but when it comes to reading people, I trust my judgment more.”

After Lin Jiang finished speaking, Li Qian felt a tingling sensation from head to toe.

He rubbed his arm, gazing at the deepening night outside, thinking about KUG four years ago and the KUG that came after. Indeed, some things were changing at a pace he couldn’t comprehend.

Perhaps Lin Jiang truly possessed this kind of magic—the ability to make the impossible happen.

“Qian-ge,” Lin Jiang looked at him earnestly, “Four years ago you didn’t gamble with me. What about now? Will you take this bet with me?”

To be honest, OT fell far short of Li Qian’s expectations.

Their victories up to this point had all relied on Lin Jiang propping up their baseline performance.

But in the World Championship…

…there wouldn’t be so many mediocre teams waiting to lose.

Li Qian emphasized again, “Right now, besides you, there’s not a single player on OT that I respect, understand? Even Shen Ju—I still think he’s not quite there yet.”

Lin Jiang grinned. “I know you’ve got high standards. Even Zeng Yuan doesn’t quite meet them—so how could OT?”

This made Li Qian sound arrogant, but the truth was, even though Zeng Yuan was a two-time world champion jungler, Li Qian still didn’t think much of him.

He just happened to perfectly fit with Lin Jiang and the particular meta at the time. Switch out the mid laner, and Zeng Yuan’s shine would fade fast.

The current OT similarly failed to impress him.

But this was Lin Jiang we’re talking about.

Li Qian found himself in an unprecedented dilemma—his mind was saying it was impossible while feeling an intense urge to believe in him.

“Your coach really isn’t up to par.”

“I know,” Lin Jiang acknowledged.

“I swore I would never come to LPL.”

“I know,” Lin Jiang replied softly.

Li Qian was truly torn. His cigarette burned down to his fingers, yet that contradictory excitement still hadn’t faded from his mind.

“I made a vow. Unless you can truly surprise me, I won’t break my principles.”

Realizing that Li Qian was beginning to loosen up, Lin Jiang seized the moment. “What would it take?”

“I can assist you fully, but I won’t take the stage. Unless you truly earn my recognition, only then will I replace Fang Luxing as your coach and join you for draft phases.”

As he spoke these words, Li Qian’s mind was already visualizing scenes of him standing on stage with Lin Jiang—just imagining it was enough to make his scalp tingle with excitement.

But before that could happen, he made one excessive demand: “If you want my recognition, win this Summer Split championship.”

Winning means beating TG, the current top-ranked team, at a level no less than top eight at Worlds.

Li Qian glanced at Lin Jiang. Lin Jiang smiled and extended his fist.

“Deal.”

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