Chapter 5: Sell
Hospital.
The company took Yue Zhaolin very seriously and arranged for a thorough checkup. Fortunately, nothing major was wrong, but they wanted to observe him for another two days.
The doctor’s instructions were simple: “Get plenty of rest, avoid strenuous exercise, no alcohol, and no sedatives.”
Yue Zhaolin nodded seriously.
He would take good care of himself.
The company car was waiting in the basement level two. As Yue Zhaolin stared at the elevator screen showing the slowly descending numbers, he found himself a bit lost in thought.
He’d only ever seen private hospitals in novels before—it felt quite novel and strange.
The world of the rich was something he had suddenly stumbled into—and Yue Zhaolin couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Ding, the elevator arrived.
A black car with unfamiliar plates pulled up slowly. Yue Zhaolin heard Li Man say, “This is the car arranged by the company. Let’s get in.”
The original car had been noticed by some sasaeng fans, so for safety’s sake, they’d switched vehicles.
Makes sense. Yue Zhaolin stepped forward and opened the door—only to be greeted by someone unexpected: Fu Xunying.
Fu Xunying looked at him and said, “…Yue Zhaolin, your face basically screams, ‘Why are you still here?’”
The car was like a private vehicle, only four seats, no choice. Yue Zhaolin sat down beside Fu Xunying and shut the door with a bang.
As Yue Zhaolin was buckling his seatbelt, Fu Xunying asked, “Do you hate me?”
“Your imagination,” Yue Zhaolin replied.
Fu Xunying looked a little puzzled. “If you have a problem with me, just say it. After all, we still have to sell bromance on the show.”
“You…” Yue Zhaolin started to speak.
Fu Xunying perked up his ears. Yue Zhaolin’s voice was calm but clear, “Are you being a little too sensitive?”
Fu Xunying was incredulous. “…What?”
What? How did he get labeled as sensitive?!
Yue Zhaolin pulled out his phone and opened Douyin, searching his own name as he said, “I know what my job entails.”
He had long understood that it didn’t really matter what Fu Xunying, this so-called real royal, looked like or what kind of personality he had.
Yue Zhaolin’s focus was simple: take the money and get the job done.
Fu Xunying was just part of the job. To put it bluntly in Yue Zhaolin’s mind, he was more or less a tool.
Besides, Fu Xunying’s skills were about on par with his own—nothing special, but he wasn’t one to stir up drama either, so that was tolerable.
So, Yue Zhaolin’s impression of Fu Xunying was basically indifferent.
Hate him?
That was a more complicated feeling altogether.
Yue Zhaolin said, “I don’t hate you. I was just surprised to see you in the car.”
“Later, I realized that you waiting here for me was part of the whole act.”
Moments caught by the camera on a reality show were fun, but when fans discovered those moments on their own—that was even better.
It was clear that Xingqiong valued Fu Xunying a lot—they were already planting seeds for the future.
Fu Xunying felt like he should say something but came up blank.
By the time he finally formed a sentence, Yue Zhaolin had already put on his headphones. It felt like a fight that went nowhere, and it was incredibly frustrating.
Yue Zhaolin watched his own livestream clips.
If he called it staying calm, that was definitely an exaggeration. But the moment he saw the likes count, Yue Zhaolin felt like the rest of his life was secured.
He was very self-aware—he was a simple guy who loved money.
And the higher the popularity climbed, the bigger the smirk on Yue Zhaolin’s face grew.
Yue Zhaolin opened the comments. The entire section was flooded with passionate praise and adoration—each comment racking up hundreds of thousands of likes.
[I have never seen anyone like you.]
[Opening a new chapter for all dream girls.]
[So hot, Yue Zhaolin, what did you put in the water?!]
[How does this chicken-head stabilizer-like camera angle even work? No eye makeup, but his eyes look like they have hooks in them.]
[That mouth guard is way too sexy—I can practically imagine his breathing under the mask.]
[My mom keeps asking why I keep playing this song. I told her, ‘Because I love it.’]
[So handsome I want to blow up the school.]
[At 0:06, that slight look of contempt when he looks up—so dominant.]
[Before seeing his face: state banquet. After seeing his face: a banquet at the state banquet.]
[I’m not really bewitched by Yue Zhaolin. No, this is all part of my plan. Everything’s going according to plan. Don’t mind me, I have my own rhythm.]
[God.]
[If beauty is a gift…]
[The song choice is perfect, his expression management is unprecedented—both cold and divine, utterly indifferent to the world.]
The feeling of being praised was really nice, almost like floating on air.
Yue Zhaolin thought to himself.
As he swiped through dozens of videos, the screen suddenly went black for a few seconds—maybe a network glitch—then refreshed.
The moment was brief, but his mood dropped into a sudden emptiness.
It was like he was pulled out of another world and back into reality. He heard something and tapped the screen to pause.
The assistant in the front seat was on the phone, speaking in a low voice, confirming something with the person on the other end, then mentioning a route change.
Yue Zhaolin: “…”
His lashes lowered slightly as he switched to another app. He found a vertical-focus clip of himself and hit play—watching it over and over again.
Vertical shots were more revealing.
It was easy to spot where his movements had lagged or lacked precision. Missed beats, swallowed moves—everything was laid bare.
Fu Xunying had been sneaking glances at him for a while. He finally leaned over.
“You’ve been watching yourself this whole ride and you’re still not tired of it? Kinda narcissistic, aren’t you?”
From Douyin to Bilibili—it was like gazing into a river, admiring your own reflection.
Fu Xunying wanted to laugh—and he did. After losing the earlier argument and sulking half the ride, he finally found a chance to strike back.
Yue Zhaolin shifted slightly away from him.
Fu Xunying noticed the obvious move and frowned.
“…And you still claim you don’t hate me?”
“I’m a clean freak.”
“…”
Who would believe that?
Being too close to other men—though they were the same gender—was something Yue Zhaolin hadn’t quite gotten used to.
His former roommates had all tacitly kept their distance.
Yue Zhaolin still hadn’t adapted to casual closeness.
Seeing Fu Xunying’s skeptical expression, Yue Zhaolin remained composed and answered his previous question:
“Watching fancams is part of reviewing performance.”
Fu Xunying: “?”
Reviewing performance? He tried to make sense of the phrase. Finally, it clicked—
Why are you grinding like this?
We’re on the same level—if you start grinding, what am I supposed to do?
Fu Xunying opened his mouth to say something, but just then—
BANG—
Someone slammed against the window.
There was heavy foot traffic on this road, so the car wasn’t speeding, but it wasn’t slow either. The sudden knock startled Fu Xunying out of nowhere.
“Yue Zhaolin!”
A voice shouted from outside the car, “I know you’re in there! I know you can hear me!”
The car windows were fitted with one-way glass, so they could see out, but no one could see in. The person outside had leaned halfway out of another vehicle, wearing a mask.
That move—absolutely reckless.
The assistant rolled her eyes and told the driver to stay steady. Then she turned to the two in the back seat and said, “Sasaengs don’t count as fans. Just ignore them.”
Fu Xunying frowned.
“Yue Zhaolin,” the voice outside called again, “roll down the window! Just let me see you for a second—if I know you’re okay, I’ll leave.”
Fu Xunying asked, “Do you believe that?”
Who would?
Xingqiong had an entire training course tailored for the entertainment industry—especially the idol economy. It covered everything: managing fan relationships, sasaengs, and off-limits interactions.
Yue Zhaolin didn’t respond. He looked at the face outside the window—only the eyes and eyebrows were visible, but even so, it was clearly a very young face. A few seconds later, he looked away.
“Want to switch seats?”
Fu Xunying blinked. “Hm? No need.”
As long as they didn’t roll the window down, it was just some shouting—not a big deal. But the fact that Yue Zhaolin offered to switch seats surprised Fu Xunying a little.
This guy’s words could cut like knives, but his personality… wasn’t bad.
—
Xingqiong Entertainment.
The incident with the sasaeng banging on the car window had reached upper management. It wasn’t unexpected, but the level of obsession still raised eyebrows.
“Have Yue Zhaolin move into the new dorm—early.”
The new dorm offered better privacy and security.
The company had made their plans clear: they were going to push Yue Zhaolin and Fu Xunying onto the survival show. As for how the other trainees felt about it?
They didn’t care.
The trainees who had previously shared a dorm with Yue Zhaolin? The company had already squeezed every bit of “value” out of them—using them to stir up drama and leak gossip.
Now that their usefulness had run out?
They were discarded without a second thought.
Cold. But real.
“Perfect. You’ll be rooming with Fu Xunying,” Li Man said. “Time to build some chemistry.”
Selling fanservice was an art.
It required proper training, too.
Shared housing? That was just the beginner’s level.
Yue Zhaolin had long known this day would come. Still, when the official notice arrived, he couldn’t help the expression that crossed his face—calm, like a soldier resigned to death.
Disaster confirmed. Nothing more to say.
Just thinking about living with a hundred other guys on the show made Yue Zhaolin feel like he was suffering a workplace injury. And of course, workers’ comp didn’t apply.
After moving in, Fu Xunying adapted better than Yue Zhaolin did. He seemed faintly smug about it—until they reached the next stage of the “chemistry training.”
Interlocking fingers.
On idol survival shows, hand-holding—especially fingers laced together—was totally normal between male contestants. It happened during casual moments and when rankings were announced.
So when their fingers touched, and Yue Zhaolin’s hand closed around his, Fu Xunying immediately flung it away, eyes wide with horror.
“…Doesn’t it make your skin crawl?” he asked, horrified. “Kind of… gross.”
Yue Zhaolin nodded. “Understandable.”
But even after plenty of time to adjust, Fu Xunying was still acting like a startled cat—shy, uncomfortable, clearly unwilling.
“…”
Today, management had given both of them a task: in addition to interlocking fingers with their roommate, they had to shake hands with ten other male trainees.
The task was strictly same-gender only.
The company’s intention was obvious—desensitization therapy was the most effective tool in the business.
With the building full during work hours, the plan was to knock it out quickly. Yue Zhaolin, who’d planned to hit the practice room in the afternoon, had a clear goal in mind.
But he was stuck.
Right here.
With Fu Xunying.
Yue Zhaolin raised his hand and glanced at the time. He’d already wasted an hour on this. His appointment at the practice room was just five minutes away.
His kindness had run out.
“Come here.”
“…What?”
Yue Zhaolin reached out coldly. Before Fu Xunying could react, Yue Zhaolin’s left hand started recording, and his right hand forcibly laced their fingers together.
“Aaaarghhh—!”
Fu Xunying let out a tragic scream.
—
Monday: Weekly Meeting at Xingqiong.
Once again, the topic revolved around Yue Zhaolin.
Marketing Director Liu spoke up: “Zhou Tao said Yue Zhaolin’s been basically living in the practice room lately. Improving fast?”
“Yes.”
Director Liu frowned. “Tell him to stop. Yue Zhaolin doesn’t need to improve. His current skill level is more than enough—I’d honestly prefer if he were a little worse.”
Lack of skill was the most basic, most effective black-and-red PR angle.
The official recording of Starlight was still over a month away, with sign-ups closing in a week. But Xingqiong had already started warming up the buzz in advance.
Then came the music festival. After that fancam dropped, no one even mentioned the dancing. His flawless face and physique hijacked all the attention.
Xingqiong was both thrilled and stressed.
They’d have to spend more money marketing him now.
“As for the person who threw the bottle at the music festival, the authorities have identified them,” someone said. “But it’ll take a bit more time to complete the investigation.”
The backlash from the incident had been intense, so the officials were being careful.
Director Liu suggested waiting to make the announcement—drop it as a press release and time it to trend. A perfect opportunity for another wave of heat.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Director Zou, who’d also served as a judge at the festival alongside Director Liu, added with a smile, “Zhang Wei from Huanyin and Yuan Qiming from Guangying have both called me.”
Someone nearby sipped tea and laughed.
“Right now, Yue Zhaolin’s the top dog of Starlight. Everyone wants a piece.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“Right now, Yue Zhaolin’s popularity is higher than the show itself. Those people calling in a panic? All trying to hitch a ride on our momentum.”
Everyone knew this was the shortcut.
Elsewhere…
—
Meng Yu knew it, too.
He’d moved out from Baihua Entertainment and rented a small room. From there, he sent his updated résumé to the Starlight production team.
His status had changed—from “Trainee at Baihua Entertainment” to “Independent Trainee.”
Meng Yu knew that changing just that title wouldn’t be enough to get the show to look at him twice. So, he added something else.
That hand, the one raised instinctively to block the glass bottle aimed at Yue Zhaolin during the Zhaozhou Music Festival—that moment, captured on camera, was now the boldest, most striking part of his application.
In the top left corner of the résumé, a photo of a soft-eyed young man wearing a gentle smile.
