Royal Ch.22

Chapter 22: Who Pissed Him Off?

Huanyin Entertainment Company.

Zhang Wei had been scrolling through trending topics all morning and finally let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible to poach Yue Zhaolin into our company?”

Yue Zhaolin was basically a money tree.

Getting on the trending list was as easy for him as drinking water—and it wasn’t just those predictable topics like “XX hair color” or “XX officially announced something.”

The content was consistently topics of public interest: re-recordings, sasaengs, Li Ying, CPs.

His audience wasn’t just the general public and fandoms, but also CP shippers—a group particularly active online.

Total coverage. Massive breakout.

Zhang Wei was seriously tempted.

Her assistant looked confused. “…Are you dreaming?”

Worse yet, the assistant wasn’t being sarcastic—she was asking with complete sincerity.

Zhang Wei: “…”

The assistant calmly continued, “Not sure how long Yue Zhaolin’s contract with Xingqiong is, but if we pay the breach penalty—”

Zhang Wei: “Are you dreaming?”

First of all, even if they had the chance to pay a penalty, would Xingqiong’s entire executive team be stupid enough to let Yue Zhaolin go?

Assistant: “…”

See? I said it, and now you’re mad.

“What kind of dumb luck did Xingqiong have to sign Yue Zhaolin in the first place? And how did someone like him stay completely unknown for twenty years…”

Zhang Wei honestly couldn’t understand.

Ever since Yue Zhaolin emerged, practically everyone in the industry had looked into his background.

Parents divorced, raised by his grandmother. People around him had a low impression of him—some even thought he was a girl.

He got into college, but his image at school was that of someone from a poor background, always on the fringes, working part-time jobs.

After his grandmother passed away, he became even more low-profile. It was Xingqiong that helped him apply for a leave of absence from school.

He just seemed like…

A classic “beautiful, strong, and tragic” character.

And not the fake, try-hard kind.

Zhang Wei was once again on the verge of cursing. It felt like this piece of gold had been covered in dust all this time, just waiting for Xingqiong to discover it? How does that make any sense?!

“…Right, how’s Zhou Xiao’s popularity doing?” He was one of the trainees their company had sent to the talent show Starlight.

Assistant: “Also pretty hot.”

Seeing Zhang Wei’s mix of disbelief and surprise, the assistant added, “You know him—he’s the Mango.”

From Top Idol and Steamed Bun and Emo Kid and Mango and Monkey and the Lucky Audience Member Pulled on Stage, that Mango.

That post had over a million likes. How could that not be considered popular?

“……”

At the same time, Yue Zhaolin’s “round zero” vote count also hit the million mark.

Yue Zhaolin Super Topic – Featured Post:

[Round Zero Voting Goal Reached: One Million Achieved! On to the Next Stage!]

— Yue Yue’s votes are already in a tier of their own, but let’s not slack off! These numbers will be weighted in the first official voting round too!

“Daily check-in.”

“Came from Douyin—want to vote for Yue Zhaolin, how do I do it?”

“Search Starlight in Greenfruit TV, click the trailer, scroll down, and hit the pink button—that’s the voting entrance.”

“Why can I only vote 12 times?”

“Stupid Starlight rules—you have to pick 9 people total, so no one can give more than 12 votes to a single trainee, otherwise the vote won’t go through.”

“Starlight always pulls this crap. They’ll only allow one-pick voting in the later rounds.”

“Honestly, I only like Yue Zhaolin, so I blindly picked a few others.”

“Reminder: don’t vote for CC or FXY.”

“I think I know who those initials stand for… mind explaining why?”

“Last time during the black trending incident, those few remaining fans actually dared to step on Zhaolin while promoting their fave—and they even used a still from God Gazes Back shot by Moonrise to do it.”

“What? That’s disgusting!”

“That’s the entertainment industry for you—lovey-dovey one day, backstabbing the next.”

“Let’s be real, they’re competitors. You think it’s no big deal, but behind your back they’re laughing at how naive you are.”

“The CP doesn’t even feel shippable at this point. It just feels like Yue Zhaolin is being drained dry.”

“+1. That’s why I’m going solo stan now.”

He Jie gave the post a like.

Sometimes, the reason you end up disliking a celebrity isn’t them—it’s their fans.

He Jie used to be fine with CPs. If there was one, she’d ship it. But at the end of the day, what she liked was the “everyone loves Yue Zhaolin” vibe.

So the moment fans of Cen Chi and Fu Xunying started stomping on him, even the tiny bit of goodwill she had blew away like dust—and in its place came genuine dislike.

In the fan chat group, there were first-time stans and CP shippers alike, but now that this “thorn” had been planted, no one could wholeheartedly ship the CP anymore.

In a way, it was a kind of “purification.” Which was good.

And with God Descends Tonight no longer surfacing, the overall direction of the fandom had turned upward.

He Jie took a deep breath. She had attended the last commercial performance too, but it wasn’t at Silver Mall—so she missed out.

She wasn’t alone. Lots of others felt the same. Nearly everyone was thinking:

We can’t miss the first public performance.

—We want to see him.

No one is immune to being someone’s favorite.

—

And Yue Zhaolin—he was looking forward to it too.

—He wanted to see them.

Yue Zhaolin was experiencing withdrawal.

Maybe there was a more accurate word for what he was going through, but for now, that was the only one he could think of.

He had gone out yesterday. He’d seen fans. Interacted with them… right?

It all felt like a dream.

Wanting to see them again.

Yue Zhaolin’s expression had softened—compared to his usual demeanor, there was a subtle shift.

A few silent glances landed on him.

While everyone was chatting idly, Li Ying walked out from backstage. He wore a gray overcoat today, mature and warm in style.

After several seasons of the show, the trainees were already familiar with today’s routine:

Announcement of the number of eliminations for the next round, the reveal of the first public performance songs; team assignments; and then the “battle” to claim the desired songs.

Following the script, Li Ying first created a sense of tension around the upcoming performance.

“Only the top 64 trainees will remain.”

After the first public performance, 37 would be eliminated.

There were a total of eight songs, with two teams per song—sixteen teams altogether.

That also meant: in every group, at least two people would be eliminated.

The moment Li Ying finished speaking, the room reacted strongly. Yue Zhaolin clearly heard someone next to him gulp audibly.

“Now, revealing the songs.”

As soon as he spoke, the curtain behind Li Ying dropped.

“Whoa!”

Amid the trainees’ reactions—some genuine, some clearly acting—the names of all eight songs were now visible on the wall, neatly listed and easy to read at a glance.

Yue Zhaolin focused his gaze—

“Chasing the Sunset”, the disbandment song from Li Ying’s former group—three years ago, it left many fans with unresolved feelings; it came with built-in hype.

“Necktie”, a bit of a flashy, flirty style—Douyin hit, especially the viral dance involving pulling off a necktie; great for grabbing attention.

“Cold Lover”, another Douyin hit, about a quarrel between two people during their ambiguous not-yet-a-relationship phase. Light lyrics, fast tempo.

“Dead Leaf Butterfly”, a ballad.

“Actually”, Actual’s debut track.

“89%” – A full-English global smash hit with massive recognition and sing-along appeal, but it’s heavy on high notes and rap, making it hard to perform.

“Crazy Girl” – A girl-crush style K-pop girl group song.

“Someone” – Also a K-pop track, but from a boy group. It’s a major hit in the Korean entertainment scene—anyone who follows K-pop knows it.

Since the public performance would be in front of a live audience, picking an explosive, high-energy song meant gaining an “advantage.”

Most trainees wanted to go for high-impact dance tracks—favorites included “Chasing the Sunset,” “Someone,” “89%,” and “Necktie.”

In fact, “Crazy Girl” was also intense, but it was a girl group song. Compared to that, some trainees were more inclined toward the previous three.

As for the remaining three songs…

“Cold Lover” had wide appeal and wasn’t hard to sing, but that also meant limited room to showcase vocal, dance, or rap skills.

“Actually” wasn’t a bad song—but simply put, it lacked popularity.

“Dead Leaf Butterfly” was a classic hit by a long-standing legend in the music scene, but most idol vocalists weren’t yet at the level to fully handle an emotional ballad like this.

Li Ying allowed the trainees to discuss among themselves for a while, then picked up the mic:

“Has everyone seen a song they like?”

“Yes!” the group responded in unison.

Smiling slightly, Li Ying continued, “After teams are formed, I hope everyone gets the track they’re aiming for.”

Next, Li Ying began hosting the team formation process.

“First, as the initial C-position, trainee Chu Li will get first pick in choosing team members.”

No one was surprised. A typical center privilege.

Li Ying continued, “As for the remaining teams, we’ll draw lots to select 15 representatives. Each representative will then pick their own members.”

Originally, the production team’s plan wasn’t to use a draw—it was to go straight to the pick-your-player format.

The 16 team leaders were meant to be: the top 8 from the “round zero” votes, and the bottom 8.

The production team had it all planned out—they imagined that once this part aired, legions of fans would gasp and exclaim, “The show really knows how to play the game,” and “I’m hooked, I’m in!”

But reality… was cruel.

Imagine this:

Li Ying says, “Now announcing the top eight from the upper rankings. First place—”

“Yue Zhaolin, 1,379,354 votes.”

“Second place, Cen Chi, 256,321 votes.”

“Third place, Chu Li, 189,571 votes.”

It was terrifying.

The second-place vote count wasn’t even a fraction of the first, and the third place didn’t even reach half of that fraction.

Even Cen Chi’s second place was mostly thanks to the CP tag “ChiYue Eternal.”

Was this what they called a gap?

No—this was an East African Rift-sized chasm.

Even if the show wanted to fake the numbers, they didn’t dare touch it—the scale was just too huge.

So… back to drawing lots. There was no way they could give Yue Zhaolin that much power.

It felt like the writers had carefully crafted a brilliant version of the show, only to have the client demand the first draft back—that weird feeling of futility.

—From the script team that had already given up on life.

As for the round-zero voting results… better to shelve them for now and pretend nothing happened. Save the explosion for just before the public performance.

—From the script team now fully committed to rock bottom.

If the higher-ups don’t mention it, I won’t either.

Amid the applause, Chu Li ran to Li Ying’s side. Li Ying asked, “Trainee Chu Li, have you decided who you want to pick?”

“I have.”

Chu Li listed the names one by one. He chose five trainees—three from Class A and two from Class B—all with strong overall ability.

Among the A-class trainees was Meng Yu. He forcefully pulled his gaze away from Yue Zhaolin, quickly put on a smile, and ran over to hug Chu Li.

Chu Li… isn’t picking Yue Zhaolin?

Li Ying turned to Chu Li and said, “The box is right here—go ahead and draw a name.”

Chu Li nodded, reached into the box, took out a slip of paper, unfolded it, and held it up to the camera: “Class F, Wei Lai.”

Wei Lai’s eyes widened, neck craning like a startled turtle. His face was full of disbelief—No way, seriously?!

Then came the rush of elation.

There were over ninety trainees on site—wasn’t this basically letting him pick anyone he wanted?!

The atmosphere in the room turned subtly tense.

Trainees from Classes A to C didn’t want to be picked by those at the bottom, while those from Classes D to F feared even the bottom group might not want them either.

Wei Lai, full of excitement, caught the sidelong glances from Class A trainees, and it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head. His overheated brain instantly chilled.

Clutching the mic, he said, “I…”

Suddenly, a hand rose up among the trainees, standing out like a crane in a flock of chickens. Wei Lai spotted it immediately—his pupils shrank.

It was Yue Zhaolin.

Earlier, when glancing at Class A, he hadn’t even dared to look Yue Zhaolin’s way—that was Yue Zhaolin! He was afraid Zhaolin might say, ‘Can I decline?’

But now…

Wei Lai’s mind went blank.

He didn’t understand why Yue Zhaolin would choose him—but there was no way he could say no to Yue Zhaolin: “I choose Yue Zhaolin!”

Even though he was the one making the choice, his face trembled with excitement.

A wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“?!”

“Why would Yue Zhaolin choose him…”

With all eyes on him, Yue Zhaolin actually walked over to Wei Lai’s side.

Wei Lai’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he asked reverently, “Boss… do you have someone you want to pick?”

He didn’t even call him Zhaolin—he called him Boss.

He knew how to read the room! The moment Yue Zhaolin joined, he handed over control right away—maybe this would help attract some popular trainees.

Yue Zhaolin gave a small, gentle smile. “Cen Chi, Tan Shen, Mao Ding. And one more—do you have someone you’d like to pick?”

Wei Lai was stunned. “No…”

He quickly ran through those names in his head—all of them were sharp-featured, conventionally handsome types. Himself? Well… maybe he barely counted too.

Monkey-type handsome guy—still counts as handsome.

Suddenly, a realization hit him. Wei Lai’s eyes widened. “Boss, did you already…” Already decide which song to pick?

But he didn’t dare say that part out loud.

Then it clicked—

Yue Zhaolin choosing him… was just to flip the script and take control of the group.

And yet Wei Lai didn’t mind one bit. His eyelid started twitching—from excitement. He had a feeling… he was about to get carried straight to the top by a big shot.

This Yue Zhaolin felt different from before—he was giving off serious “full power unleashed” energy…

Who pissed him off?!

Wei Lai: Thank you, seriously!!

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