While the top 32 teams were making their final push in the Capital City and the official team was conducting its final review for the grand finals, in a southern city a thousand miles away from the Capital City, a game streamer with the ID "Old Li" was facing his computer screen, his heart surging with emotion.
"Old Li" was a mid-tier streamer on the Shark streaming platform, who started by commentating high-level league of legends matches and re-analyzing past games. He was known for his steady style and accurate analysis, accumulating a loyal fan base. Since the National City Hero Championship qualifiers, he had followed the progress of the competition almost without missing a single match. He had observed countless online matches, commentated on exciting moments from city finals, and was thrilled by the strong matchups in the regional competitions.
At this moment, he had just finished watching clips from the official "Grand Finals Pre-Camp" documentary. The video showed the players intently preparing in their hotel training rooms, the magnificent stage construction process at the Capital Gymnasium, the meticulous work of the official reception team, and interspersed with Qin Feng's heartfelt speech at the welcoming banquet.
The bullet comments in the live stream were still scrolling, with fans eagerly discussing which team they favored and guessing the champion's identity. But "Old Li" was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. He leaned back in his gaming chair, his gaze somewhat unfocused, as if seeing beyond the screen to a distant place.
"Brothers," he suddenly spoke, his voice carrying an unusual solemnity, interrupting the fans' discussion, "I'll mute my mic for a bit. There's something I need to get off my chest."
He turned off the microphone's reverb, making his voice sound more real and direct.
"From over 120,000 teams in the qualifiers to the current top 32 gathered in the Capital City... over these past few months, I've practically watched this competition grow," his pace was slow, filled with recollection and emotion. "I've seen 'Spark's' game-changing pentakill with Vayne, and 'Bronze Wine Goblet's' veteran defiance with a reverse sweep from two games down; I've witnessed the euphoria of small city teams advancing, and the reluctance of strong teams being upset and eliminated."
"But what moved me the most wasn't any particular match or specific play," he paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts. "It was the attitude of the officials, of Riot Games, and of Qin Feng in how they handled things."
"Do you remember? In the early stages of the qualifiers, server pressure was immense, but they endured it and ensured the competition proceeded smoothly. When disputes arose, the referee team intervened quickly, and the rules were clear. For the city finals, no matter how small the city, the officials would send congratulatory messages, giving them full recognition. For the hundreds of thousands of eliminated players, they didn't ignore them, but instead published that article, 'To All Unfinished Dreams,' which made even me... a grown man, feel a little teary-eyed."
"And then later, they announced that all accommodation, food, and travel for the top 32 would be covered, and everyone would receive prize money. I said on stream at the time, this scope is too grand! This isn't just a commercial act; this is cultivating the very soil, laying the most solid foundation for the future of Chinese esports!"
His tone gradually became more excited: "Then there was the welcoming banquet, where Qin Feng personally attended, not speaking empty platitudes, but genuinely thanking the players and understanding their hard work. And all the logistical support they provided for the players, from airport pickup to the hotel, and then to the training rooms... to pay attention to details to this extent, what is that? It's respect! It's respect for the identity of esports players, and respect for everyone striving for their dreams!"
"I've been streaming games for so many years, commentating countless domestic and international events, and honestly, I've never seen any event organizer like this one, able to embody the word 'heartfelt' through every single aspect, from online to offline, from players to audience," his voice carried genuine admiration. "Qin Feng… he isn't just simply operating a competition; he is shaping an ecosystem, conveying a spirit."
At this point, he paused again, then as if having made some kind of decision, he reopened the microphone's reverb. His voice regained its usual streaming vitality, but with an added, undeniable firmness:
"So, brothers, I've decided!"
"For the grand finals, I won't be streaming from home!"
The bullet comments instantly filled with question marks.
"Old Li, what are you going to do?" "Aren't you going to commentate live?"
"No," Old Li looked at the camera, his eyes shining with an almost pilgrimage-like light, "I bought a ticket! To the Capital Gymnasium! To watch as an ordinary spectator!"
The live stream instantly exploded!
"Holy cow! He's really going!"
"Awesome! Old Li!"
"Weren't the live tickets already sold out?"
"Scalper tickets are super expensive!"
"Yes, I got a ticket, lucky me," Old Li smiled. "I know, streaming from home is the same, even clearer, and I can interact with you all. But... this time, it's different."
His tone became profound: "I feel that this competition has transcended the scope of a mere game competition. It is a symbol, a milestone for Chinese esports moving towards maturity and mainstream acceptance. I want to personally experience that atmosphere, to hear the cheers and shouts from the venue, to see with my own eyes the players who battle on screen, stepping onto that dazzling stage."
"I want to stand in that sea of people, to be a drop of water in this historical torrent. I want to use what I see with my own eyes to come back and tell you all, what Chinese esports truly looks like today!"
His words moved everyone in the live stream. The bullet comments, from initial surprise, turned into a unanimous "Support Old Li!" "Have a safe trip!" "Shout a few more cheers for us!"
"Thank you, brothers!" Old Li clasped his hands in greeting. "I might stream less in the next few days as I prepare for the trip. When I return from the Capital City, I will definitely bring you the most authentic, freshest on-site experience!"
After closing the live stream, "Old Li" immediately became busy, booking flights, checking hotels, and planning his itinerary. Like countless ordinary young people who love esports, he was filled with excitement and anticipation, preparing to rush to that dreamed-of sanctuary.
He was not the only exception. After the official announcement of offline viewing information for the grand finals, countless players from all over the country, like "Old Li," tried every possible means to obtain a ticket through various channels. Among them were professionals like "Old Li," fervent ordinary players, and curious individuals simply drawn by the craze.
They came from all directions, with only one goal — to be there in person and witness history.
This wave of offline spectators surging towards the Capital City, intertwined with the continuously escalating online popularity, elevated the first league of legends National City Hero Championship grand finals into a truly meaningful, universally anticipated esports spectacle.
And all of this stemmed from the inherent powerful charm, professional standards, and the consistent respect and care for dreams demonstrated by the event itself.
The emotion felt before the screen will ultimately transform into the drive to go to the venue. Countless "Old Lis" are on their way.