Chapter Twenty-Eight: WCG 2004

From July 2nd to 4th, the month-long "WCG 2004 Samsung Electronics Cup China Regional Qualifier" would determine its final winners, who would then go on to compete in the national finals held in Beijing in July, vying for the crown of China's e-sports champions.

The match arrived as scheduled, and for us—Team Need.Fire—it was finally time to face our first true test since forming the team! With a mix of nervousness and anticipation, we set out anxiously on our WCG journey.

We faced many disadvantages going into this competition. First, as CS 1.6 was designated the official tournament version for WCG, we had no choice but to abandon the 1.5 version we were accustomed to. Second, in hopes of achieving a decent result, we had reorganized our lineup: Liu Han specially invited his former teammates, Allen and Larry, to join us. Lin Qi, being somewhat less skilled, was moved to the bench, which meant we had to spend extra time adjusting and building team synergy.

Due to the overwhelming number of teams registered, the organizers had to divide them into two brackets, upper and lower. By sheer luck, our team landed in the lower bracket, which lacked any powerhouse teams.

The lower bracket was almost entirely filled with amateur teams. On the first day, we encountered little resistance and smoothly advanced to the quarterfinals. Meanwhile, the upper bracket was fiercely contested due to the presence of several strong teams. The biggest surprise came when NS, a highly favored local team, was unexpectedly eliminated by a cybercafé squad.

On the second day, to save time, the organizers decided that the first round would be single elimination, switching to double elimination once the top four were determined.

Our Need.Fire team drew 851 as our opponent, with Inferno as the map. After winning the coin toss, 851 immediately chose to play as terrorists.

Everyone sat silently at their computers, nerves taut, as we completed our final preparations. All systems were ready, and we waited only for the referee's signal to begin.

Although Lele and I had a minor falling out recently over my frequent trips to the internet café, she still came to the venue today to cheer me on. Glancing into the crowd, I spotted her not far away, gave her a small smile and a victory sign, then turned back to my screen, forcing myself to calm down.

When the third round refreshed, I stole a look at Liu Han beside me. There was not a trace of tension on his face—after all, this was far from his first time.

The opening was the pistol round. The opponents committed all their forces and rushed point A, erupting in a hail of gunfire. In close quarters, the police's USP pistols held a definite advantage. Larry, Allen, and Liu Han, the iron triangle of their former team, worked in perfect sync; even when outnumbered three to five, they showed little weakness. After a fierce skirmish, we lost Liu Han and Allen, but took down four of their players. With a three-to-one advantage, we easily secured the first round.

The next two rounds were the opponents’ eco rounds, giving us even less reason to lose. Though the score quickly reached 3-0, we all knew the real test would begin with the fourth round.

Ye Hui and I were tasked with defending the B site. In front of B is a narrow corridor leading to the terrorist spawn—a perfect stage for a sniper. As long as the police had one accurate marksman, this spot could be held by a single man against an army.

Ye Hui guarded the silent corridor with utmost care, while I watched the passage connecting to the police spawn.

Suddenly, a shadow flickered. Ye Hui signaled me urgently—there were at least three enemies. He resisted the urge to fire, watching patiently through his scope.

Seconds ticked by. Still no action from Liu Han’s side; as expected, the opposing team was focusing their attack on B. Before I could think further, gunfire erupted—Ye Hui had engaged the enemy. A terrorist leapt into the air and lobbed a flashbang into B.

In an instant, I heard a sharp gunshot—the grenade thrower fell heavily. I glanced over; Ye Hui’s screen was a blinding white. Even blinded, he coolly ducked behind cover, keeping his gun trained on the corridor. If an enemy passed through, even unseen, their name would still flash on his screen.

The terrorists, knowing Ye Hui was blinded—a price paid with their comrade’s life—seized the opportunity. If they waited for police reinforcements from A, B would become impossible to take.

Almost simultaneously, the terrorists surged down the corridor, their footsteps unhidden in their haste. Temporarily blinded, Ye Hui heard the noise and quickly fell back behind cover. By the time his vision returned, the enemy had already reached the corridor's end. He swiftly drew his Desert Eagle and dropped the lead terrorist with a single shot.

Before Ye Hui could retreat fully, the remaining three terrorists fired in unison. Bullets struck him down where he stood. At the first sound of gunfire, Liu Han ordered all police to rotate to B. Ye Hui’s valiant stand had bought them the time they needed. After a fierce exchange, we took round four as well.

The loss in round four plunged the terrorists into another economic crisis. We seized the moment to win two more rounds in a row, surging ahead with a commanding 6:0 lead.

With such a perfect start, excitement ran high among us all. Yet to our shock, backed into a corner, Team 851 launched a near-maniacal counterattack: 1:6, 2:6, 3:6, 4:6, 5:6—they clawed back five rounds in a row. By halftime, the score had reversed to 7:8; we were now trailing by one.

In the second half, 851 continued to build their lead. At 11:14, they were one round away from match point, and we found ourselves with nowhere left to run.

At this critical juncture, I—long regarded as the team’s “biggest liability” and nominal captain—stood up when it mattered most. Blinded by a flashbang, I managed, by sheer luck, to pull off a miraculous 1v3 and halt the losing streak. In the next round, I did it again—another 1v3. My extraordinary performance reignited my teammates’ fighting spirit. With crisp, decisive rushes and near-frenzied skirmishes, we threw 851 into confusion. The second half ended with a 9:6 score in our favor, giving us a narrow overall victory at 16:14.

Just as 851’s players began silently packing their gear, an unexpected announcement came—a referee declared that we had spoken three times using the “Y” key during the match, resulting in a two-point penalty. With the scores now tied, overtime was required. This was the price of our inexperience; we could only resign ourselves and prepare to play once more.

Presented with this sudden second chance, 851 seemed unable to shake off the gloom of defeat, while Liu Han—who had been underperforming—finally hit his stride.

With a 3:0 sweep in the first half of overtime, we set the tone for victory.

The final score was 19:15. We advanced, not without peril, into the WCG regional semifinals—but that would prove to be our last victory in WCG. Facing professional teams in the semifinals, we had no chance to fight back and ultimately finished our WCG journey in fourth place in the region.