Chapter 23: He was now—sharp-edged
Fu Xunying’s gaze followed that figure in the distance as he listened to the names being announced one by one—his own name never came up.
“A-class: Cen Chi and Mao Ding. B-class: Chen Fei. F-class: Tan Shen.”
Fu Xunying didn’t feel disappointed. He understood—his name would only appear on the next slip of paper, the one drawn for the “representative.”
He knew.
And so did Yue Zhaolin.
That’s why from the very beginning, when it came to dividing the groups and choosing teammates, Fu Xunying was never within Yue Zhaolin’s scope of consideration.
Fu Xunying’s background meant he was never naive. The moment Yue Zhaolin raised his hand, Fu Xunying understood what he intended to do.
—He wanted to challenge the show’s production team, to challenge the scripted setup.
Unexpected, yet not entirely surprising.
Fu Xunying thought to himself.
Yue Zhaolin had always been decisive, and also the type to discard things without hesitation. It was only now that Fu Xunying truly felt it—this “divorce” was real.
Yue Zhaolin was no longer the subdued, gentle presence who merely served as a tool or supporting role.
He was now—sharp-edged.
After Chu Li drew Fu Xunying’s name, he snapped back to reality. Amid the cheers, he walked over to stand beside Li Ying.
Li Ying asked him, “Trainee Fu Xunying, have you decided who you want to pick?”
“I have. But…”
There was a “but.” Curious, Li Ying looked at him. Fu Xunying smiled and said, “But I was a step too late—he’s already been chosen.”
Fu Xunying didn’t mention any names, but his eyes turned toward Yue Zhaolin.
“……”
The camera zoomed in on Yue Zhaolin, standing in the lineup in his pink hoodie.
Unexpectedly being called out didn’t rattle Yue Zhaolin. He looked at Fu Xunying. Their eyes met, and he said:
“If we can’t be teammates—we can be rivals.”
The meaning behind those words was clear: he wanted to compete in the same group as Fu Xunying.
After a brief moment of silence, a wave of hushed discussions immediately broke out.
No surprise—his words were sharp, even aggressive.
In a survival show, it’s generally unwise to come across as too competitive. That kind of attitude can easily leave a bad impression on viewers. Once public opinion turns, it’s almost impossible to secure a debut spot.
Fu Xunying was briefly stunned, then smiled and replied, “Gladly.”
Two trainees from the same company, shifting from friendly harmony to open rivalry—all with just one line.
Yet both were smiling.
So… was that a challenge?
Half yes, half no.
Yue Zhaolin had already started planning ahead the moment he got that call from Liu Li.
The production team wanted to throw him under the bus. No matter what he said or did, post-editing would twist his words and intentions.
Given that reality, there was no point in Yue Zhaolin keeping a low profile.
The production team wasn’t going to stop sabotaging him just because he was cautious and polite.
If anything, playing it safe would only leave Yue Zhaolin feeling repressed.
And Yue Zhaolin had never liked being repressed—not in the past, and certainly not now.
A slow build-up before a breakthrough was acceptable. But suppression? Absolutely not.
As for choosing Fu Xunying as his rival—the reason was simple: to guard against sabotage by the show.
In the first public performance, trainees had the initiative. They could submit requests, including—but not limited to—stage design, props, and costumes.
If the production team didn’t want to meet Yue Zhaolin’s requests, then having Fu Xunying make those same requests would solve the problem.
After all, they’d be performing together in the same group, with the same concept.
In short:
Fu Xunying = Backup Supply Depot.
As for whether Fu Xunying would refuse… Yue Zhaolin hadn’t even considered the possibility—not at first. And judging by how things were going now, Fu Xunying was actively cooperating with him.
Fu Xunying wasn’t stupid. He clearly knew what he needed to do—hence why he had voluntarily brought Yue Zhaolin up.
As for the other half of the reason—
The people Fu Xunying wanted to pick were all likely the “pre-selected” trainees from various companies. Once the public performance aired, those companies would surely throw their weight behind promoting their artists.
As a member of the opposing group, Yue Zhaolin would benefit from that indirect attention—without even lifting a finger.
In a surprisingly good mood, Yue Zhaolin gave Fu Xunying a smile when he noticed him looking over.
A smile with just a hint of affection.
Fu Xunying: “…”
He glared at him, then immediately turned his head away.
After that, the remaining thirteen team representatives were drawn, and one by one, they each picked their group members.
Because the total number of trainees wasn’t divisible by sixteen, five groups ended up with seven people—one more than the others.
Once things had quieted down a bit, Li Ying picked up the mic and announced:
“For the first public performance, the method for choosing group songs will be—”
“Three choices, pick one!”
The trainees, who had been eagerly waiting, froze—faces full of confusion.
“Three choices? What do you mean?”
“Wasn’t it a race before?”
Li Ying went on to explain: there would be three mini-games—archery, darts, and shooting (with plastic bullets).
The crew came up to set things up, placing three types of targets and a wall of balloons as examples.
Each of the sixteen groups would send one representative to compete simultaneously.
The goal: each player had ten attempts to hit the bullseye or pop balloons. Whoever finished first would get first pick of the available songs.
Once the first eight groups chose their songs, they’d also get to designate one other group to perform the same song against them.
Originally, this part of the show had involved a race.
But the production team had gotten smarter this time—they’d secretly asked Xingqiong Entertainment in advance:
How’s Yue Zhaolin’s stamina?
The answer they got was—Yue Zhaolin is a stamina monster.
If it really came down to a footrace, it would basically be handing him first place.
The production team slapped their thighs in relief, thankful for their foresight.
Time to change it up!
The scriptwriters, who had no say in the matter: “…”
In order to give the other trainees a chance to shine, they had no choice but to scrap the race segment.
And replace it with these three events.
Technically, there were three games—but that wasn’t the real point.
Everyone knew the true crowd favorite at idol athletic events was archery.
Entertainment companies even provided special training in it for this reason.
So the production team followed up with Xingqiong Entertainment again to confirm one thing:
Had Yue Zhaolin ever learned archery?
Nope.
Perfect.
—
Behind Yue Zhaolin, his group members were deep in discussion:
“How about archery? At least the target is bigger. The darts and shooting games use small balloons.”
“Yeah, the balloons are tiny, and aiming has to be really precise. I also think archery’s the better choice.”
“By the way—what song should we pick?”
“Definitely not ‘Dead Leaf Butterfly’. For a first performance, something high-energy and dance-heavy is more attention-grabbing, don’t you think?”
“‘89%’ is out too—it’s all in English. My pronunciation’s terrible.”
As the others discussed, Wei Lai also stepped up to help, taking on the role of assistant by going around and asking everyone about their song preferences.
Cen Chi: “I’ll go with whatever Zhaolin says.”
Tan Shen: “+1.”
The red-haired non-mainstream guy who had performed at Silver Mall with Yue Zhaolin before—Mao Ding—quickly raised his hands: “I’m also following Zhaolin’s lead.”
He was honestly shocked Yue Zhaolin picked him in the first place—already felt incredibly honored.
Yue Zhaolin didn’t have a great reputation among the trainees. Mao Ding had heard quite a few harsh comments, full of self-righteous criticism.
Mao Ding thought those people were just gross—Cursing him at night, but smiling and calling him “Zhaolin” by day just to steal screen time.
Mao Ding wanted screen time too—but he was upfront about it. He never talked badly about others behind their backs.
So naturally, he ended up getting ostracized.
Then Yue Zhaolin picked him, and the daggers shooting at him from behind were almost tangible.
Karma came fast—and it felt amazing.
If they weren’t on camera, Mao Ding would’ve flashed the most smug, petty expression he could manage just to spite them.
There was one more person in their group: Chen Fei.
Maybe because of plastic surgery, he lacked confidence—his eyes would dodge whenever he made eye contact. But he also said he’d go with whatever Yue Zhaolin chose.
So Wei Lai came to report: “Boss, whatever you pick—we’re all with you!”
They huddled together, and Yue Zhaolin quietly told them the song he had in mind.
Tan Shen looked a little surprised at first, then raised his eyebrows.
He was starting to get it—why Yue Zhaolin had chosen him and these other particular people.
Tan Shen raised his hand:
“Alright, for the ‘three out of one’—what event are we picking? If it’s archery, I’m solid. I can hit the ninth ring easy.”
Yue Zhaolin: “Shooting.”
Tan Shen asked, “You good at it?”
“Very good.”
Tan Shen extended his hand, smiling: “Then we’re counting on you. Want a high five?”
But Cen Chi was faster—he reached in and placed his hand on top first: “Let’s all do it together. Go Zhaolin!”
—
After all the choices were tallied, the final result was:
13 groups chose archery, 2 picked darts, and 1 chose shooting.
The venue was large, about the size of a basketball gym, and nearly filled with archery targets.
The balloon targets for darts and shooting were few and far between—just three boards total, scattered among the others.
All targets and balloon boards were lined up against the far wall, with eight groups on each side to ensure that even if someone’s aim went off, no one would get hurt.
Everyone was getting ready.
The plastic guns had to be cocked manually, so the clicking sound stood out, sharp and crisp.
Shu Yang picked up the darts—he wanted to get himself some extra screen time.
Since almost everyone chose archery, he decided to go the opposite route.
He figured—he’d at least get some screen time.
Suddenly, he heard that sound and glanced sideways.
It was Yue Zhaolin.
Everyone knew archery was the go-to event for idols to get god-tier visuals—but in Shu Yang’s opinion, Yue Zhaolin could create iconic moments doing anything.
To put it plainly, Shu Yang thought the way Yue Zhaolin raised his gun was so professional, so clean, so fluid, so…
All in all—very cool.
Li Ying: “Everyone ready? We’re about to blow the whistle. Three, two, one—”
Hearing the countdown, Shu Yang quickly snapped out of it and grabbed a fistful of darts with his left hand.
Shooting required reloading after every shot. Archery needed to swap arrows.
Compared to that, his darts were faster and more convenient—maybe he really could sneak in a win.
“Beep—”
The whistle blew—and in the very next second, darts and arrows flew through the air.
“Pop.”
A balloon burst.
Shu Yang flinched and instinctively looked to the side.
It was Yue Zhaolin’s board. One balloon was already gone.
Shu Yang’s own first dart had just grazed past its tiny target—no hit.
A sense of urgency surged through him. His nerves tightened.
Just as he was about to throw the second dart, “click”—another cocking sound.
“Pop.” Another balloon burst.
Shu Yang’s eyes widened: “??”
Panicking, he tossed the second dart.
It flew off course, ricocheted off a balloon, and fell uselessly to the floor.
At the same time, the third balloon on the board next door exploded.
Yue Zhaolin raised the plastic gun with one hand, squeezing the trigger, while the other hand swiftly reloaded.
It had been a while since he last practiced, but the muscle memory was still there.
“Pop.”
Another hit. That was number four.
The angle of Yue Zhaolin’s arm, the muzzle of the gun, and the balloons seemed to line up perfectly.
A moment later—
“Pop.”
Hit five.
Yue Zhaolin’s shooting was fast and steady—
a skill honed long ago.
Back in the day, there was a balloon-shooting stall at the street market.
The vendor had tried to pull her in: “Just give it a shot!”
She did—and after just one round, she got the hang of it.
After that, she turned it into a business—
charging her peers for substitute play.
A full score earned her five yuan.
Besides money, there was also Yue Zhaolin’s very first plush toy—a prize won at one of those stalls.
Thinking back to that time didn’t embarrass Yue Zhaolin.
It thrilled him.
“Pop.”
He was grateful for those early experiences.
They were what gave him the confidence to choose shooting over archery when Tan Shen suggested it.
Because of that—he could fight.
And the spotlight—would land on him.
“Pop.”
Seventh shot.
Yue Zhaolin curved his lips into a slight smile.
With one fluid motion, his other hand cocked the plastic gun again.
“Click.”
To go against the program team, a strong stage wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
Like—being first, every single time.
“Pop.”
Victory… was addictive.
The first public performance, this was a critical battle.
Yue Zhaolin wanted to win—
So that first place…
He wanted it.
“Pop.”
…
Ten shots in a row. Not a single miss.
Yue Zhaolin lowered his arm, turned around, and raised his hand to Li Ying.
“PD, that’s ten. May I choose first?”
“……”
The whole venue had been noisy a moment ago—Each team only sent one contestant forward, so the rest had been cheering madly from the sidelines.
But now—silence.
Everyone’s gaze turned toward that balloon board—half a row and a half completely gone.
Since the show began, there was no disputing who the visual standout was.
Yue Zhaolin, from Xingqiong Entertainment,
stood there in front of the balloon board, plastic gun still in hand.
A cheap toy with no weight or luster—
Yet in that moment, it seemed… regal.
There was an undeniable aura about him—
a kind of dominance,
as if… he was ready to take them all down.
That thought suddenly popped into someone’s mind.
Thankfully, it was Li Ying who stepped in to regain control of the scene.
“Trainee Yue Zhaolin’s shooting was impressive—no question, he takes first place.”
“So, which song would you like to choose?”
Yue Zhaolin turned his head, gaze falling on the eight boards mounted at the front wall.
“I choose—
‘Cold Lover’.”
—
[Goose Gossip Group | The fences at Starlight have been repaired and will reopen tomorrow—anyone planning to go stalk the set?]
[Original Post]
RT.
It’s been ages since we’ve had any leaks.
Us Xiufen are starving out here.
And they should be picking songs for the first public stage around this time, right?
I’m dying to know what songs made it in this season.
Also—just to be safe—let’s ban all “Unmentionables” from this thread.
No fans, no antis.
[1F] You mean that “Unmentionable”?
If we ban him, what else is left to talk about?
[4F] +1. He is the highlight of Starlight.
If we can’t gossip about him, what’s the point of the thread?
[5F] The main concern is antis flooding in.
If things spiral out of control and his fans find out, they’ll mass-report this post and get it nuked.
His fans are terrifying—no joke, this is a rising power fandom.
They even got into a fight with iA’s comment-control team today and crushed them.
iA couldn’t even hold the trending page. That’s some serious new blood vs old guard energy.
[7F] Wait, why were they fighting again?
[11F] Same old drama.
A big-name fan from iA got caught dissing that guy in a fan-only group chat, accusing him of climbing over his seniors to get ahead.
His fans clapped back, saying the A-Group did the same back then—so why the double standard?
And boom.
Fanwar.
[13F] Some of iA’s longtime rival fandoms were initially just there to laugh at him—
but when they saw how thoroughly he was getting crushed, they all got nervous too.
[16F] This guy’s fan-attracting power is insane.
He’s barely been public for three months, right?
And yet his fandom is already outmatching Bosha, a senior who debuted four years ago.
[17F] And the “purification rate” is fast, too.
Most of the CP tag activity has dropped off—
I checked a few major fans’ homepages, and they’ve almost all switched to solo stanning now.
But even so, the top four CP tags on the leaderboard?
All still involve him:
“ChiYue Eternal”
“ZhaoXun”
“YueAll”
“AllYue”
[18F] More gongs than shous? 😭
[21F] Just checked in on one of his big-name fans.
Latest post:
“Quick and clean. Wipe them out fast. Then back to real business.”
Bro… they’re even using the word ‘wipe out’… 😨
And that one line—how does it ooze such disdain for iA??
[23F] That’s because it is disdain.
They don’t see iA as any real competition anymore.
[25F] Wait—what’s the “real business”?
You win a comment war and don’t even celebrate? That’s way too cool for school.
[27F] Starlight’s fences are opening soon, right?
They’re getting ready to make light signs with their fan names on them, take them to the site.
When “Unmentionable” gets off work,
they’re gonna show him the signs and let him pick a fandom name.
They’re even coming up with slogans—just to make him smile.
[31F] That’s the “real business”?? 😭😭😭
[34F] To Yue fans…
what could possibly be more important than making Yue Zhaolin smile?
…
[991F] Back here doing some digging—
The Emperor Yue is insane, but honestly?
His fans aren’t much saner either.
[1003F] They spent tens of millions on vote-buying just to make him smile once.
At the time I thought they’d gone completely nuts.
Turns out the signs were already there, even this early on.
It’s like playing with fire to amuse the kings…
[1005F] I seriously don’t get it—how did his fanbase end up so loyal, so obsessed?
They’re all toxic solos and complete lunatics.
Haha… the fans are scary…
Yue is cool tho!