Just as the official long article, "To All Unfinished Dreams," was published, it was like a stone of understanding and resonance thrown into a calm lake, stirring up countless ripples. In the player community, an atmosphere of sharing and confiding quietly spread. Many players who failed to advance began to spontaneously write down their competition stories on forums, tieba, and social media, sharing the joys and sorrows within them.
Among these sincere narratives, a post published in the "Player Stories" section of the official forum particularly caught the attention of the operations team. The title of the post was simple, yet it carried a power that struck directly at the heart:
[Submission] A Confession from a Player from a Third-Tier Small City: We Lost the Finals, But I Seem to Have Won More.
The poster's ID was "Top Laner for Wudu Chili."
The content of the post was as follows:
"Hello everyone, I'm 'Top Laner for Wudu Chili,' from a small southern city that's hard to find on a map. Yesterday, my team 'Wudu Chili,' lost 2:3 to the 'Chaotianmen Wharf' team in our city's finals, failing to get a ticket to the regional competition.
Seeing the official article, my heart was filled with mixed emotions. There were some words I couldn't hold back, and I wanted to share with everyone this dream-like journey I've had these past few months.
I didn't start playing league of legends early; a friend pulled me in a few months after the open beta. At first, I couldn't even last hit. I just picked Garen, hid in the bushes, and spun around (E Skill [Judgment]) whenever I saw someone, often getting flamed by teammates. But for some reason, I just fell in love with this game. I loved the feeling of pushing down the enemy's crystal with teammates, and the thrill of sweating palms after a perfect play.
Later, when ranked play opened, I struggled and finally reached Gold, which made me a bit of a pro in our small internet cafe. But honestly, I always played alone, at most duo queuing with real-life friends. I never thought 'playing in a competition' would have anything to do with me.
Until I saw the news of the National Competition, saw the million-dollar prize, and saw the Capital Gymnasium. My heart suddenly came alive.
I shouted in the internet cafe group I frequented: 'Any brothers want to form a team and play in the competition?'
More people responded than I expected. Finally, the five of us, who had never met before and only occasionally encountered each other in ranked play, formed 'Wudu Chili.' The captain was the jungler 'Old Hotpot,' mid laner'Spicy Skewer,' ADC'Small Noodle,' support 'Oil Dip,' and me, the Top Laner for Wudu Chili. Our IDs all carried the flavor of our city.
Forming a team is easy, but gelling is hard. The five of us had different playstyles, and at first, our scrims were a disaster. Communication was mostly shouting, support was always half a beat late, and team fights were a scattered mess. We argued, got angry, and some even almost quit. But for some reason, perhaps because we all had a fire in our hearts, perhaps because the dream of the Capital Gymnasium was too tempting, we persevered.
We agreed to train every night from 8 PM to 12 AM, without fail. 'Old Hotpot' studied BP and tactics until the early morning;'Spicy Skewer' could spend hours in training mode to master a hero; the bot lane duo of'Small Noodle' and 'Oil Dip' practiced laning details over and over; and I, the 'point-farming behemoth' (referring to being good at team-oriented heroes), also worked hard to expand my hero pool, learning to read the map and call out information.
When the qualifiers started, we were scared to death. In the first game, my hands were shaking. But we won, we won ugly, but we won. At that moment, the five of us howled in voice chat, more excited than getting a penta kill.
And so, we won game after game, stumbling along, and actually made it all the way to the finals of our small city! We knew our opponent, 'Chaotianmen Wharf,' was strong; they were a famous local internet cafe team, but we weren't afraid. To have come this far, we had already created our own miracle.
The finals were a BO5, and I've never played such an intense and thrilling game in my life.
In the first game, we lost, completely crushed.
In the second game, we adjusted our mentality and, with a perfect team fight coordination, took back a game!
In the third game, we pressed our advantage and took another game! 2:1! We had match point! Only one step away from our dream! At that moment, I felt like my heart was going to jump out, and my hands were drenched in sweat.
In the fourth game, our opponents showed their cunning, dragging the game into the late stage and defeating us with their richer experience.
2:2 tie.
The decisive game. The atmosphere solidified. Those tens of seconds on the loading screen felt as long as a century. I knew this was likely the closest I would ever get to an 'esports dream' in my life.
I don't want to say much about the game itself; it was intense and close. We gave it our all, everyone played at their best. But in the end, in a crucial Baron team fight, due to a positioning error of mine, the opponent seized the opportunity and we lost the game.
The moment the nexus exploded, the world went silent. I stared blankly at the screen, my mind a blank. All I heard was the heavy breathing of my teammates; no one spoke.
We didn't cry, nor did we blame each other. Captain 'Old Hotpot' said hoarsely: 'Brothers, I'm sorry, my BP wasn't good.' ADC'Small Noodle' immediately said: 'It's not your fault, I didn't keep up with the damage in the last wave.' I opened my mouth, wanting to say 'it's my fault,' but my throat felt blocked, and no sound came out.
We silently added each other as real-life friends, promising to play together again in the future. Then, we each logged off.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning, my mind was filled with images of the game, that fatal positioning error replaying like a movie. There was regret, unwillingness, and a feeling of heartbreak.
But strangely, when I woke up this morning, saw the official article, and thought back on these past few months, that tearing pain seemed to have lessened. What filled my mind more was the image of the five of us strangers, brought together by a game, for a common goal, staying up late together, arguing together, cheering together, and bearing failure together.
I gained four comrades I could rely on (even though we haven't met in real life yet).
I experienced what it's like to fully dedicate oneself to a goal.
I touched the warmth of a dream, even if only a fleeting brush of my fingertips.
We lost the competition and couldn't represent our city. But we, 'Wudu Chili,' left our name in our small city. We let many people know that there's also a group of young people here striving for their esports dream.
The official statement said, 'The meaning of a dream is never just about the final throne.' I think I understand that a little better now.
Thank you, league of legends, thank you, National Competition, thank you to my teammates 'Old Hotpot,''Spicy Skewer,''Small Noodle,' and 'Oil Dip.'
The competition is over, but life goes on, and the game goes on. I'll go back to my ranked games, continue with my Garen (and practice new heroes, of course). Maybe next year, 'Wudu Chili' will reunite and charge that stage once more.
As for that mistake... let it stay in the past. After all, that's what growth is, isn't it?
— A regular player from a third-tier small city, who lost the competition but didn't lose his passion."
This post, without flowery prose, contained only simple and unadorned genuine emotion. It quickly resonated greatly on the forum, receiving countless likes, comments, and shares from players.
"It made me cry, brother, keep it up!"
"I feel you, our team also fell at the doorstep of the finals."
"Wudu Chili is awesome! You are our heroes!"
"This is esports, with laughter and tears, this is its most authentic form."
After monitoring this post and the enthusiastic response it generated, the Riot Games official operations team immediately reported it to Qin Feng. Qin Feng carefully read the long confession and remained silent for a long time. In this player, whose ID was "Top Laner for Wudu Chili," he saw a microcosm of the more than 600,000 players who failed to advance — their passion, their struggle, their regrets, and their magnanimity and growth.
"Share it," Qin Feng told the head of operations, "using our official account, with the most sincere caption."
Soon, the official league of legends Weibo and the homepage of the official forum both reposted this "Confession from a Player from a Third-Tier Small City," with the accompanying text:
"We saw your story, @Top Laner for Wudu Chili. Thank you for sharing this journey full of sweat, laughter, and tears with us.
This is the meaning of our National Competition — not just to crown the strongest king, but to witness every ordinary Summoner, like you, shine in extraordinary moments born of passion.
Failure never means the end of the story. It's just the most unforgettable lesson on the path to growth. The unity, perseverance, and pure pursuit of dreams displayed by you and the 'Wudu Chili' team shine brighter than any trophy.
Please remember, Summoners Rift will always remember every figure who fought for it.
We look forward to meeting you again in the Rift, and we look forward to news of 'Wudu Chili' making a comeback next year!
Hats off to all of you who gave your all for your passion! [Heart emoji]"
The official repost and response pushed the influence of this personal confession to its peak. It was no longer just a player's personal sentiment but had sublimated into a spiritual tribute to all participants. The story of "Top Laner for Wudu Chili" and "Wudu Chili," along with the official "To All Unfinished Dreams," together formed an anthem dedicated to all ordinary players.
It made everyone understand that in this summer of esports, no one was truly a loser. Every soul who stepped onto the field was already their own hero.