Professional Zombie

July, Dream City.

Night and day here are worlds apart. By day, the sun blazes like an inferno; by night, the cold bites with the severity of an icy prison.

It has been half a year since the first professional gaming tournament took place after the college entrance exams. In the quiet passage of time, as morning slowly overtakes evening, the world awaits the coming dawn...

Within an inconspicuous two-story workshop, a young man lies back, hands pillowed behind his head, eyes closed in contentment, listening to the surge of commentary from the radio.

"Congratulations to the official game team! First place! Come on, let's give them the warmest applause..."

No lavish décor graces this place, nor are there bustling staff. The bed faces east, pressed against a barred window, its legs bearing the marks of iron nails. Opposite, a worn, peeling desk is buried beneath a thick layer of dust. To the side, a wardrobe emits the stench of mold and rot. The only thing clean and new is the radio, bought for a hundred yuan upon being duped by the old landlord. From it now blares an excited replay of the most popular gaming event.

As Hua Tian listens, his eyes snap open. He picks up the radio, holds it above his sturdy chest, and fiddles with the dial. "It’s not broken! When I left here half a year ago, wasn’t this the last thing I heard? It can’t have been replaying for months, can it?"

Why did I leave six months ago? The answer is simple: I had no money. The sorrow of life—seeing a game you long to play but being unable t