Royal Ch.20

Chapter 20: “Yue Zhaolin, you’re a little kitty—”

On the day of the theme song shoot.

Unlike the previous season—white shirts, ties, blue-and-white baseball jackets—full of youthful energy.

Class A stood in the center. With A as the apex, Classes B through F were arranged in descending circles, layer by layer, with Class F at the very bottom.

The assistant director glanced over the formation a few times, then picked up the mic and directed, “Mao Ding, Shu Yang, switch places.”

Both had just moved up from Class B to A.

“Chu Li, step forward a bit. Yes, that’s it.”

“Fu Xunying’s lipstick is too heavy—who did his makeup? Hurry and take some off.”

Because the stage lighting was strong and there was automatic skin-smoothing, heavier makeup tended to look better on camera—but this was overdone.

Since the stage had to accommodate 101 people, it was huge. So they used a robotic arm camera, and the director did a trial run.

From wide shot to close-up, the frame locked on Chu Li.

The effect was decent—

If you ignored Yue Zhaolin.

—Yue Zhaolin wasn’t picky about styling, and this particular outfit was objectively stunning, making it impossible to even give him a one-second close-up.

At this point, they had to suppress him however they could—there was no other way.

Yue Zhaolin’s momentum was “unstoppable,” and the higher-ups were well aware of it, but they were still resisting—basically, under no circumstances could Yue Zhaolin stand out again.

It was like covering one’s ears while stealing a bell.

Which left the script team, directing crew, and others with the same defeated mindset:

The higher-ups’ demands? We followed them. The outcome? Well, that’s not our problem.

…

The directing team informed the trainees that the first take was about to begin.

“Three, two, one—action!”

The lights went completely dark.

Dozens of beam lights shot out silver-white rays, interweaving into a diamond outline in the darkness, then slowly converging toward the center.

Class A stood at the “heart” of the diamond.

Class F was tucked in the corner.

As filming went on, it became clear to everyone—the camera focused on the top tiers, and one corner where Class F stood wasn’t even captured.

The contrast, the sense of injustice, the discouragement.

The final stage performance of the theme song turned out even better than the rehearsal, so the director wrapped up filming quickly.

Afterward, PD Li Ying, dressed in a black suit, stepped forward and joined all the trainees in bowing to the camera.

This was a required segment for the first episode of the show. But after the shot was done, Li Ying didn’t leave. Instead, he turned to face the trainees.

“Some of you look pretty down?” Li Ying raised the mic.

He smiled. “The re-evaluated rankings—they’re an end, but also a beginning.”

The trainees were momentarily stunned—especially those with lower rankings. In a flash of realization, they looked at Li Ying in surprise.

Li Ying continued, “The production team has added a new segment,” his tone paused deliberately, building anticipation, “and that is… offline promotions.”

The offline promotion was designed like a commercial performance—stage setups in shopping malls—where trainees would perform live.

Because of the large number of participants, the production team partnered with more than one major shopping mall.

A total of five.

“What?”

“Offline?!”

Then Li Ying dropped another bombshell: “Preliminary round zero of voting is about to begin.”

“These offline performances are your chance—to draw in the audience and get them to vote for you.”

“This is your one and only opportunity to interact face-to-face with the audience before the first on-stage public performance. Make it count.”

Though it was essentially a publicity stunt for the show, from another perspective, it truly was a chance for some trainees to come back from the brink.

In the midst of the stir, a trainee from Class C raised a hand and asked, “Excuse me, PD—about those five teams, how will the divisions be decided?”

Of course, they couldn’t divide the teams by class rankings—that would completely expose the results of the re-evaluation.

Li Ying smiled. “It’ll be by drawing lots.”

The trainee who asked froze. “Then I can’t be on the same team as Yue Zhaolin… or we’ll end up with a world-famous painting called ‘Pretty Boy and Monkey’…”

Getting crushed in the same frame.

He had meant to mutter that to himself, but the room was so quiet that his voice sounded very loud.

The silence deepened—then exploded into laughter.

“Pfft!”

“Hahahaha!”

The trainee realized what had just happened, his neck turning bright red. Amid all the teasing and laughter, he gave Yue Zhaolin a sheepish smile—

And even put his hands together in a mock prayer.

Then, as fate would have it, when the results came out—he really did get assigned to the same team as Yue Zhaolin.

Wei Lai: “…”

A friend from the same agency let out a snort, gloating. This was what you called a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Wei Lai: “Save me!”

…Once he was standing in the team, Wei Lai looked completely obedient and quiet, not daring to say a word.

Another trainee was assigned to their group. From his name tag, he was Chen Fei from Class B.

As he walked over, his suspiciously high nose bridge caught Fu Xunying’s attention.

Ever since the dormitory incident the previous night, Fu Xunying had unilaterally ended their “cold war.”

And for this offline event, he had also been grouped with Yue Zhaolin. So now he casually stood right beside him, like nothing happened.

Chen Fei noticed Fu Xunying staring and looked a bit uneasy, instinctively wanting to dodge. Yue Zhaolin gave Fu Xunying a light kick.

Fu Xunying: “…Ahem.”

Once everyone had assembled, the staff member in charge of their group began explaining the venue they’d be performing at—the layout and size of the stage.

Twelve meters long, eight meters wide, complete with decorations, a backdrop screen, and jet sprays.

“Waaah—”

Wei Lai cleared his throat. “Sister,” he said, “I have an idea—once we get on stage, can we do a lap around it?”

Wei Lai quickly added, “It’s okay if we can’t…”

The staff member replied, “You can, as long as everyone agrees.” The production team didn’t mind if the trainees added little creative touches like this.

Everyone exchanged glances and immediately started discussing. They all thought doing a lap around the stage was a great idea—it gave them a chance to show off.

“But would running a lap right after getting on stage look awkward?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Then when should we do it?”

“I remember there’s a part before the dance break—we sing while walking into position, then we freeze, and start dancing again—”

They imagined the scene. It actually sounded pretty cool.

Everyone agreed unanimously.

Someone raised a concern, “But what if we can’t keep the spacing right and crash into each other? Should we practice it?”

“Together?”

“Sure.”

Then someone suddenly remembered something funny: “Wei Lai, your world-famous painting is getting an upgrade—‘A Group of Hot Guys and a Monkey.’”

Wei Lai froze, and then it hit him. Wait a second—you’re all the hot guys, and I’m the monkey??

His mind turned quickly:

“Even if I am the monkey, I’ll be the monkey next to the super hot guy! No one better fight me for the spot next to Zhaolin later!”

Yue Zhaolin couldn’t help but laugh again.

Fu Xunying suddenly remembered that there was a trainee who said: “Tan Shen doesn’t age like other foreigners.”

So it was him.

…

Weekend. Silver Mall.

Behind the stage in the center of the first floor, a pitch-black screen suddenly lit up.

Passersby started to notice. That stage had been under construction for days, and it looked quite impressive—but no one had known what it was for.

Curious onlookers couldn’t help but stop and watch, wondering what was about to happen.

From the speakers, a clear voiceover slowly echoed through the space: “This is the place where 101 young men pursue their dreams…”

“Cough—cough cough!”

On the second floor, Xu Mingmei choked in surprise—the bubble tea she had just sipped nearly went down the wrong pipe.

101—that number was way too familiar! Xu Mingmei’s head snapped up and saw the screen lighting up.

A barefaced boy appeared on-screen: “My dream is to become an idol.”

“I want to shine on Starlight…”

…

Xu Mingmei watched for a few seconds before it clicked—this was a promotional video for Starlight! She barely held back a scream that was stuck in her throat.

Oh my god, this whole setup—was it for the Starlight trainees?!

The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Her hands trembling, she quickly placed an errand order to have someone run to her house and bring her banner.

Come on, you stupid hands, type the address faster!

She had made the banner herself using self-taught Photoshop skills—if her idol actually saw it…

She could die happy!

Suddenly, Xu Mingmei had another thought and jumped into the “OnlyLoveZhaolin” WeChat fan group, typing frantically.

The group exploded. Especially those in the same area—they mentioned having seen stages being built in nearby malls over the past few days too.

After comparing notes, they realized all five malls had stages. Everyone in the group was stunned.

“The last season’s trainees performed during a halftime basketball show, so doing a mall promo this time is totally possible!”

“On my way now!”

“I already took leave—want to go together?”

“There are five malls in total, so the trainees must be split up. I only want to see Zhaolin…”

“Then it’s up to luck.”

Xu Mingmei also realized that problem, and her heart clenched with anxiety.

Just then, she got a call from the delivery runner: the fingerprint lock on her door had no power.

After finally resolving the lock issue, a while later the runner messaged again—he couldn’t find her location.

Xu Mingmei nearly blacked out in frustration. Gritting her teeth, she told the runner to stay put and texted him the address. She would go find him.

By the time she rushed back, a huge crowd had already gathered, several layers deep.

Apologizing as she went, Xu Mingmei started squeezing through the gaps in the crowd, inching her way forward.

Suddenly, a man up ahead holding his phone shouted, “They’re coming up!”

Xu Mingmei’s heart jumped. She quickly looked up—and saw a group of tall, lean boys in baseball jackets running up onto the stage.

Yue Zhaolin… Yue Zhaolin, please let him be here…

She chanted silently in her heart.

One trainee after another took the stage, but still no sign of Yue Zhaolin. Xu Mingmei’s heart slowly sank.

Disappointed, she let the banner she had been holding up slowly fall.

She was just about to go into the fan group and ask when suddenly—the person she’d been waiting to see appeared right in front of her.

So sudden.

So unexpected that she completely froze.

Xu Mingmei had always known Yue Zhaolin was handsome. But she hadn’t known—hadn’t been prepared—for how overwhelming his presence was in real life.

He paused for a moment, then smiled in her direction.

Xu Mingmei went completely blank. She had no idea how to describe it.

Yue Zhaolin’s eyes were unique—narrow in the front, wider in the back, with playful curves. When he smiled, it was like spring water reflecting pear blossoms.

His nose was so straight, his face so small, so pale, so beautiful…

And was it just her imagination, or did he… smell good?

Wait—no, hold on—

She forgot to take a photo!

Ahhhhhhh!!!

Xu Mingmei looked down—her phone was still in selfie mode. Her hair was also sticking up in all directions.

She quickly slapped a hand over her forehead.

—It was winter, and all that squeezing through the crowd had built up static electricity, making her hair stand straight up.

‘Ughhh, I look like such a mess…’

Xu Mingmei cried in her heart as she kept her eyes locked on Yue Zhaolin’s figure.

There weren’t a hundred trainees here—at most, twenty-something.

But the song? She didn’t hear a single note.

Her eyes didn’t move an inch, completely glued to Yue Zhaolin.

Both hands were occupied—one holding her phone, the other holding her banner. She held them up for two whole minutes, veins bulging from the strain, but she didn’t feel tired at all.

She’d originally given up hope—Yue Zhaolin was pretty far from her, and the crowd was massive. People were packed shoulder to shoulder.

Some were even on video calls, live-streaming: “Sister, that one is so hot!”

“Wait, isn’t that the guy from Douyin? The ‘God-tier Three Seconds’ one?”

A scarf-wearing auntie next to her suddenly cried out, “Oh! It is him! No wonder—this young man is really good-looking!”

Then, the trainees started running a loop around the stage, waving and greeting the audience.

Xu Mingmei didn’t dare blink. She was so nervous she felt nauseous. Yue Zhaolin’s coming this way—he’s coming!

She clutched her banner tightly.

And she was sure—absolutely sure—that Yue Zhaolin looked in her direction for two whole seconds.

Then, mid-run, he flashed his teeth at her and did a little clawing motion.

Not fierce—just adorable—his sharp little canines peeking out. So cute she could scream. But wait… why that reaction?

Xu Mingmei blinked—then remembered.

Her banner read: “Yue Zhaolin, you’re a little kitty—”

And she’d used that infamous photo from his first appearance—“contempt.JPG,” where he looked totally unimpressed with the other trainees.

But this version? It was the ultra-cute edition.

…

[Goose Group Gossip | Our group can’t stay silent any longer — the fanservice is way too much. Out of a whole crowd, only responded to fans with banners.]

[Original Post]

RT.

The ambition is too obvious, it’s uncomfortable.

Doesn’t even feel like fan interaction—more like targeted seduction.

[1F] So this is the difference between how they treat regular passersby and fans? Talk about arrogance.

Weren’t all fans once just regular people too?

[2F] I just wanna know—has Xingqiong bought him a yearly trending package on Douyin or what?

Every time I open the app, he’s the top recommendation. Capital-made idols are way too obvious.

[3F] What are Douyin users saying?

[4F] What can they say? Douyin is full of herd mentality—now they’re all just obsessed again.

[5F] Seriously can’t stand it anymore. Don’t even want to see his face. They should stop calling it Douyin—might as well rename it ZhaolinYin.

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