Royal Ch.24

Chapter 24: Fandom Name

The directing team: “…”

The screenwriting team: “…”

They had all told the higher-ups not to act out—but now look, how are they supposed to clean up this mess?

In order to suppress Yue Zhaolin, the production team had secretly informed Chu Li and the other predetermined contestants ahead of time not to pick Yue Zhaolin, and had even altered the process.

And the result?

After all that trouble, they ended up right back where they started.

If it weren’t for the confidentiality agreements, they would’ve gone on the forums to rant already—curse out their boss a hundred times and string him up on a streetlamp.

So what now?

Inside the dark room, Cheng Zhou stared at the monitor. Sensing the eerie silence hanging in the air from the directing team, he fell silent too.

“…”

Yue Zhaolin’s aggressiveness had suddenly intensified. The production team wanted to suppress him, but when they contacted Xingqiong, the response they got was ambiguous.

Cheng Zhou understood then.

Yue Zhaolin being “sacrificed to the heavens” was, from another angle, just the prelude to Xingqiong promoting him—using the talent show to get his face out there.

As everyone knows, talent shows are filled with fan wars and drama—it’s a great way to cultivate a mature fanbase.

Once the black-and-red (polarizing) marketing machine is set in motion, the resulting fan loyalty far surpasses what you’d get from just acting-based drama or film fans.

Yue Zhaolin’s acting talent is still unknown—probably not great. After all, three months ago, he was just a complete newbie.

Xingqiong choosing this route for him, from a professional standpoint, was actually very “stable.”

But now… Yue Zhaolin has already demonstrated exceptional talent as an “idol”—far exceeding everyone’s expectations.

Xingqiong had clearly changed its stance, though it hadn’t made any overt moves due to contractual obligations.

At least, not publicly. Behind the scenes? No doubt a lot was happening. No one said anything, but everyone in the industry knew.

Cheng Zhou let out a sigh.

He didn’t want to deal with this anymore—better to leave it to his superiors to worry about.

…

On Set.

While the others were still dazed, the career-driven Shu Yang quickly seized the moment to throw his dart.

After countless attempts, Shu Yang finally started getting the hang of it. He was the fifth to raise his hand and declared, “I choose Crazy Girl!”

It was the only girl group dance—and he managed to snag it. Shu Yang was so excited his hands were shaking.

Others might say it’s not “manly” enough, but Shu Yang didn’t think that way at all. Dance is dance—there’s no such thing as higher or lower status.

What matters is what the audience likes. That’s the ultimate truth!

The rules: the first eight teams to hit the targets/balloons ten times in total would get to choose their desired song—and designate another team to compete against.

Yue Zhaolin’s team and Fu Xunying’s team ended up choosing each other as rivals.

Chu Li chose Chen Wu, with the song Necktie. Shu Yang chose Wei Huahao, who hated girl group dances and looked visibly upset.

As for the other teams… Yue Zhaolin didn’t know them. So, whatever.

Once the teams were finalized, tablets preloaded with the chosen songs, music videos, and lyric sheets were distributed to each group by the staff.

In a corner, the six members of Cold Lover Group A naturally gathered around Yue Zhaolin, forming a circle.

Among the six were Yue Zhaolin, Cen Chi, and Tan Shen—no introductions needed.

Then there were “Red-haired Emo” Mao Ding, “Monkey-type Pretty Boy” Wei Lai, and a much less puffy-faced Chen Fei—all of them surprisingly photogenic even without makeup.

The camera nearby dared not even move, as the visuals were that strong.

Yue Zhaolin opened the tablet and asked, “Has anyone heard this song before?”

He tapped play. The light and playful melody had barely begun when, by the second second, all of them raised their hands—they’d heard it.

Tan Shen thought for a moment and said, “This song… seems to go viral every once in a while?”

Wei Lai nodded vigorously. “Exactly!”

The entire song is told from the male perspective, expressing the ambiguous, delicate, and tentative dynamics between two people in a situationship.

Both sides are distrustful, yet still care about each other. One moment they’re close, the next they turn cold, pretending nothing happened.

One walks away, the other turns back—forever entangled in a messy emotional tug-of-war. On the surface, it might seem a bit melodramatic, but it resonates deeply with many people’s inner struggles.

Coupled with a catchy melody, the song gained wide popularity. Its lyrics and tune became hits in their own right, each going viral separately.

For Yue Zhaolin, winning this first public performance was critical.

Chu Li had already selected teammates with strong abilities, especially in dance. It was obvious he’d go for an intense, upbeat number.

Since the other team had first pick, Yue Zhaolin had to respond strategically—and chose to play to his strengths to counter their strengths.

Compared to Chu Li, Yue Zhaolin’s weakness was dance, but his strengths lay in visuals and vocals. So those had to be emphasized.

For a first stage performance, Cold Lover was a perfect choice. Its high recognition rate and baseline popularity guaranteed attention.

What’s more, the lyrics even included a bit of male rivalry drama:

When the female character leaves, the male pretends not to care—but then sees another man appear by her side, triggering a conflict.

To Yue Zhaolin, the essence of male rivalry is the “rivalry” part. If your teammates are too ordinary, there’s no real sense of competition—so the dramatic effect weakens.

Yue Zhaolin had envisioned the performance: six team members entering the stage one by one, with him appearing last. The contrast would make his impact stronger.

A kind of “Qiuxiang effect”—where others are used to highlight one’s own “beauty.”

The fact that he could think this far just from a song title made Yue Zhaolin feel pretty cunning—but he viewed the word “cunning” as a compliment.

As for what his teammates thought… Yue Zhaolin figured they were already in a “mutually beneficial” arrangement, so there was no need to overthink it.

Although both groups would be performing the same song, the performance details could be discussed and customized by the trainees themselves—so both sides were bound to push for innovation.

Yue Zhaolin brought this up: “So my idea is—everyone should find their personal charm point, and amplify it.”

He would be handling the vocals, and since the majority of the audience were girls, Yue Zhaolin thought: maybe the performance could draw them in through emotional nuance and immersive details.

After all, for a love-interest character, being attractive was the baseline. Then from there, the key was to branch out into different styles of charm.

Tan Shen, propping his arms up beside Yue Zhaolin, said, “I suit the scumbag look—gold chain, fake tattoos, and a loose jacket.”

Wei Lai: “……”

Wow… the self-awareness is impressive.

At that moment, Mao Ding, who was sitting beside Wei Lai, suddenly spoke up: “Ahem… Zhaolin, what kind of style do you think suits me?”

He’d gathered his courage—trying to ride on Yue Zhaolin’s coattails a little. He looked calm on the outside, but his ears had gone red in secret.

He was nervous.

Wei Lai: “?!”

You thick-browed, big-eyed traitor, Mao Ding! We’re both little bros—how dare you get ahead of me and call him Zhaolin first?! Treacherous wolf!

Yue Zhaolin replied, “Workwear.”

Mao Ding: “Huh?”

Yue Zhaolin explained, “Your hair color—pair it with a gray-green outfit with more gray than green, utility style. Boots that go below the knee. Fingerless gloves.”

Mao Ding: “!”

The stereotype says red and green don’t go well together, but just imagining it—he realized it suited him perfectly.

Wei Lai shot Mao Ding a look of disdain, deciding to rely on his own wits. He said, “Boss, I think I suit the type with a tight turtleneck sweater!”

A man’s battle armor.

Wei Lai’s older cousin was a borderline influencer, and had a pile of those sweaters at home. Wei Lai once wore one by mistake when staying over—and the effect had been surprisingly great.

— His cousin saw it, got jealous, and strictly forbade Wei Lai from “diving into the waters” (entering the influencer scene).

Yue Zhaolin nodded, made a quick note on the paper, and asked Cen Chi, “You?”

Cen Chi thought for a moment. “I’ve got a decent figure too, so maybe… white dress shirt, harness straps, suit pants, and dress shoes? That kind of vibe?”

“Mm,” Yue Zhaolin affirmed.

As Yue Zhaolin was looking down, jotting things down, Tan Shen suddenly spoke up. “Zhaolin, for you…”

Yue Zhaolin replied, “Speak.”

Tan Shen looked at his face and smiled sincerely. “There’s a scene like this in a movie—where the main character takes off a mask, and the audience is stunned by how beautiful they are.”

Even if they already know what’s under the mask, they’re still struck by the reveal.

A face that beautiful needs that kind of moment, or else it’s such a waste.

‘Tan Shen gets it,’ Yue Zhaolin thought.

It was a great idea—but Yue Zhaolin didn’t want to use a mask. He’d already done that at the music festival, and the novelty had worn off. He needed something else.

By now, he’d jotted down five people on the back of the lyric sheet. The last one was Chen Fei, who said he suited a laid-back casual suit.

“We can think about how to amplify the charm points even more,” Tan Shen said, turning toward him. “How about giving us a demo?”

As he spoke, he held an imaginary mask in the air before Yue Zhaolin’s face, pretending to remove it.

With the camera nearby, Yue Zhaolin wasn’t about to let a good moment go to waste. Whether the production team used the footage or not was another matter.

Time was short, so he had to keep it simple—and what came to mind was a smile.

A vivid memory surfaced—he instantly recalled that fan banner with his name printed on it.

As Tan Shen’s hand “removed the mask,” Wei Lai, sitting directly across, took the full brunt of the impact.

That smile was unlike any Yue Zhaolin had shown before, and Wei Lai felt his heart skip a beat.

“…I’m straight!”

He’d lapsed into his habit of muttering to himself again—and unfortunately, the area around them had gone completely silent. His comment instantly became a one-man show.

“Pfft.”

It was Tan Shen who laughed first. Then Mao Ding. Even the usually quiet Chen Fei. And then…

Wei Lai: “……”

Humiliated again. Ha ha (flat tone).

Cen Chi, trying not to laugh, stepped in to change the subject: “The original choreography is too simple. It’d be better if we modify it. If no one minds, I can take charge.”

“Sounds good!”

…

Late at night.

The barricades had been reopened. Not only were they packed with people, but lined with a long row of glowing signboards.

Trainees began coming out in groups. The moment they stepped through the gates, they were greeted by a scene they couldn’t ignore: bright, pale yellow characters glowing in the dark.

Even though the text was pale yellow, the white background made it shine with extra intensity.

Names like Tide, Little Snow Pearl, and Star River—all of them lined up nearly end to end. The display was nothing short of stunning.

Some trainees stared blankly at the crowd behind the barricades, their mouths silently opening and closing.

“Oh my god…”

What a show of force.

The gate was the only exit path, so practically everyone saw the scene outside. They couldn’t help but talk about it.

“What’s going on?”

“Whose fan support is that? Did they maybe set up in the wrong place?”

“Could it be Yue Zhaolin’s…? I mean, ‘Tide’ and ‘moon’ kind of go together. And with a display this huge, it could only be for him…”

“I think I saw that fandom name on some site before… Yeah, it’s his.”

The crowd fell into a heavy silence. Their emotions shifted—from surprise, to sourness, to quiet defeat.

No matter how much they didn’t want to admit it, Yue Zhaolin’s popularity was already far ahead of everyone else’s.

Between them and Yue Zhaolin, it wasn’t just a gap—it was a chasm.

They had once comforted themselves with the thought that Yue Zhaolin’s reputation in fandom circles had already taken a hit—and that he’d crash and burn sooner or later. But now… could they really keep lying to themselves?

The figures and glowing signs beyond the barricade were proof of a fiery, overwhelming love.

No one could deny it.

Some of the trainees looked visibly upset. On the very first day the barricades reopened, Yue Zhaolin’s fans had already delivered a powerful show of force.

But there was nothing they could do in response. They had no choice but to swallow the bitter taste and walk away quickly.

Waves of people left, but the crowd outside the barricade didn’t budge an inch. Their focus and determination to see “their one and only” were palpable.

In a corner space reserved especially by Yue fans, He Jie held up her camera, trained on the gate. The area had been left open for her, so she wouldn’t get jostled.

After another wait, a few more waves of trainees exited. The night deepened, and the air grew colder.

He Jie exhaled a visible puff of breath and was about to stomp her feet to warm up when a few figures suddenly appeared in her viewfinder. She called out loudly, “They’re here!”

“They are?!”

“I see someone at the gate!”

“Hurry! Do it like we practiced! Countdown—three, two, one!”

The crowd shouted in unison:

“Yue Zhaolin, you’re a little kitty—!”

At the gate—

Yue Zhaolin froze when he heard it. When he realized what they were saying, his ears turned red at a speed visible to the naked eye.

He Jie’s camera captured his bashfulness right there in public view.

“Act cute for us, pleeaase——”

This time, Yue Zhaolin heard them clearly.

Trying his best not to look at the people beside him, he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. He raised both hands, index and middle fingers extended, and pressed them atop his head—pointing upward and inward.

Two little triangles—just like cat ears.

“Aaaahhhh—!”

—

[Goose Gossip Group | Our group’s unspeakable today got another fan moment, hurry and see]

[Main Post]

RT.

Have all Yue fans turned into girlfriend fans now?

[Video]

[1F] Becoming a delulu girlfriend is too easy.

[2F] Why girlfriend fans? I thought he’d have more “mom fans”?

[4F] There are mom fans, but there are way more girlfriend fans. Mainly because the fan interpretations are just too good.

[6F] Sharing a comment from elsewhere:

“This moment is just so tasty—it’s like going to visit your long-distance boyfriend. His bros are around, but he still can’t resist your whining and gives in to your request.

His red ears… so pure and innocent.”

I don’t have a long-distance boyfriend, but imagining it felt so good.

Delicious!

[7F] Why is Emperor Yue already this emperor-like and still has that newbie charm?

Why?! I don’t get it. AAAHHH.

[9F] I always thought Yue Zhaolin had that laid-back, in-control vibe…

Why did he get red ears just because a fan said something?

Red ears… help… it’s just heart-melting ahhh

I haven’t stanned anyone in domestic entertainment in literally forever—I really sealed my heart shut!

Stop tempting me already!!!

[13F] I seriously can’t resist this kind of contrast.

[14F] Watched it over ten times, I can’t stop.

His reaction is too cute, and his face is too good-looking, wuwuwu

[16F] I don’t get it. Why does Yue Zhaolin come off as so su (charming/seductive) and attract so many girlfriend fans?

[17F] He really knows how to charm fans. I’m convinced — Xingqiong definitely trained him for this.

[21F] Let’s give him another nickname: Yue the Charmer.

[25F] Aside from the main guy himself, I also don’t get his fanbase.

Why are they so well-trained? Their chants are so coordinated.

They not only made [the unspeakable one] become a fan, they even got him to pick a fan name!

[31F] So his fanbase is really called Tide (Chaoxi)?

[35F] I heard some news — those light signs were rush orders.

Several fansites pooled money and used sheer cash power, and they arrived the next day.

[45F] Already started spending money??

[53F] They’ve been preparing for a while. The zeroth-round of voting ends next week, and the first official round starts right after.

You can start spending on it then.

…

[1218F] Another strike from the Luoyang shovel (T/N: slang for digging up juicy old content).

[1221F] Just finished episode 3 of Starlight and couldn’t wait to come back and dig up more.

That night must’ve been the first night after group assignments, right?

[1235F] Reading this whole thread has been so satisfying.

[1237F] During the day he’s slaying in the studio, ready to take out all the other trainees.

But at night, he turns shy just because a fan says something…

What kind of delicacy is this??

I’m crying tears of joy from how good it is.

[1248F] Wait a minute, why does this feel like “hardened steel turning into soft wrapping around a finger”?

I’m just a passerby, but even I feel a bit jealous — the difference in how he treats fans is way too obvious.

[1251F] Yue Zhaolin is just that type of idol who’s super satisfying to follow… [1252F] This Yue Zhaolin — he’s a total win!

<< _ >>