Royal Ch.31

Chapter 31: Starlight’s official Weibo had suddenly sprung back to life

Yue Zhaolin’s “slump” lasted less than a day before everything completely reversed.

As soon as the news spread, the trainees who had hastily distanced themselves from Yue Zhaolin after he got barely any screen time in the first episode now looked like clowns.

Those with thinner skin didn’t even dare approach him for the time being.

As for the shameless ones, just one glance from Yue Zhaolin was enough to make their faces burn with embarrassment. They’d exchange only a few awkward words before slinking away.

Some, feeling humiliated and frustrated after meeting Yue Zhaolin’s gaze, didn’t dare show it in front of him and could only complain in private.

“Yue Zhaolin doesn’t know how to behave. He’s way too arrogant.”

Of course, when saying this, the person conveniently ignored the fact that they were the ones who had eagerly cut ties with Yue Zhaolin as soon as he didn’t get any screen time.

“Well, he has the right to be arrogant, doesn’t he? The production team even re-edited and released a full version of his initial evaluation overnight.”

“And there’s Wei Huahao. I heard he only insulted Yue Zhaolin once, and now he’s been forced to withdraw from the competition.”

“Didn’t he get kicked out because he hit Wei Lai?”

“That’s what everyone’s saying, right? Damn it, did Tan Shen and Cen Chi know in advance that Yue Zhaolin would make a comeback?”

Especially Cen Chi—he’s being dragged online for trying to hog screen time with Yue Zhaolin. If he had even a shred of dignity, he’d keep his distance. But now he’s still sticking to Yue Zhaolin like before, no difference at all.

“Even that sasaeng fan once called Cen Chi a dog—because dogs always circle around their master.”

In a secluded booth, a few people huddled together, talking bitterly and sarcastically.

But they knew deep down that those guys had stayed by Yue Zhaolin’s side even during his lowest point. Doesn’t that count as true loyalty?

“Wei Lai is really lucky.”

“Guess from now on, Yue Zhaolin will only stick with those few and do fanservice just with them.”

No—he won’t.

Outside the door, Meng Yu silently refuted that trainee’s words in his heart.

Yesterday, Yue Zhaolin had exposed Meng Yu’s “secret,” and any semblance of civility between them had vanished.

Now that Yue Zhaolin was making a comeback, Meng Yu should have felt regret—but instead, he thought: someone like Yue Zhaolin… perhaps he was always meant to be like this, forever standing above the rest.

Yue Zhaolin didn’t need to actively form cliques; he carried a kind of gravitational pull. Anyone curious about him would be naturally drawn in.

Fu Xunying was, and so was Tan Shen.

Meng Yu listened to the voices coming from inside the room, then quietly stepped away without a sound.

—

Practice Room of “Cold Lover.”

Wei Lai looked at himself in the mirror, his smile so wide his face hurt: “Yikes, I drooled.”

That punch from Wei Huahao had caught him off guard—his mouth had been slightly open, so when it landed, his tongue had been caught between his teeth and bled.

His tongue still hadn’t fully healed, so his speech was a little sluggish: “Boss, what flavor rice balls do you want for supper? I’ll go get some for you.”

A life-saving favor must be repaid!

So Wei Lai decided that the first step in showing his loyalty was to steal Cen Chi’s job.

Yue Zhaolin: “……”

There were so many people around who could run errands. There was no need for the most seriously injured person to do it—he wasn’t a monster.

Yue Zhaolin reached out and adjusted the ice pack on Wei Lai’s face, pressing it gently against the swollen, bruised patch.

Whether it was from the cold or the pain, Wei Lai shivered. “…Thanks.”

Cen Chi took a couple of glances and said, “The bruising is coming to the surface—it’ll heal faster. Oh, and let me handle the rice balls. You get some rest, Wei Lai. We’ll start practicing again tomorrow.”

At the mention of practice, Wei Lai visibly deflated.

Since the injury was to his head, the doctor had strictly forbidden intense physical activity for two days. So, for now, he could only practice singing.

Tan Shen, standing nearby, first glanced at Yue Zhaolin—then glanced again, his whole expression screaming that he had something to say but was holding back, and then not really holding back.

Yue Zhaolin didn’t even need to guess to know that whatever Tan Shen wanted to say, it was probably not going to be something pleasant.

When Yue Zhaolin walked over to the corner for a drink of water, Tan Shen leaned in and said, “I just thought of a hell-level joke. I have to share it with you.”

Yue Zhaolin, distracted: “Hm?”

“Hou Sai Lei.”

“?”

Suddenly speaking in Cantonese?

Tan Shen explained, “Do you remember that one year’s Spring Festival mascot? That monkey with the ridiculously puffed-up cheeks—like it had two grenades stuffed inside.”

“Well, Wei Lai looks exactly like that right now. Hou Sai Lei, literally!”

If he remembered correctly, the audience had even assigned Wei Lai the animal persona of a monkey.

Yep, hell-level joke indeed.

Yue Zhaolin: “……”

He swallowed his water, set the cup down, then rummaged through his bag and pulled something out. Turning to Tan Shen, he asked, “What’s this?”

“A fan—ow.”

Tan Shen clutched the top of his head where the fan’s handle had just tapped him. A lock of his bangs flopped loose.

Yue Zhaolin hadn’t used much force, so it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, Tan Shen found it amusing and just grinned wider as he leaned even closer.

Yue Zhaolin turned to Cen Chi and said, “Cen Chi, since Tan Shen’s so idle, take him and make him run through the choreography ten times.”

Cen Chi: “On it!”

“Hey!” Tan Shen protested.

Just then, Shu Yang walked in, holding a handheld camera—and happened to catch the entire exchange.

Shu Yang: “……”

How could this possibly be b*llying?!

—

Shu Yang was part of the “Crazy Girl” group. When it was his turn to throw darts to pick a song, he had ambitiously gone for the only girl group song out of all eight options.

He had also been the one who, along with Fu Xunying, staged a surprise “midnight raid” on Yue Zhaolin’s dorm.

Shu Yang was just average at both singing and dancing, and his looks were nothing to brag about either—but he had a quick tongue. If he wanted to stand out, he had to rely on tricks. That’s why he smuggled in a phone, constantly monitoring the shifting tides of popularity in the show’s fanbase.

Last night, Shu Yang opened the fan forum, only to be greeted by a trending post:

[Yue Zhaolin b*llying Cen Chi and Fu Xunying—why is the production team ignoring it?!]

Shu Yang: “…?”

Let’s speak Chinese here.

Wait—how did this turn into b*llying? Completely baffled, Shu Yang clicked on the post.

[Today’s end-of-day photo: Cen Chi is walking behind Yue Zhaolin, head down, even helping him carry his clothes and water bottle. If this isn’t b*llying, what is? Is the production team blind? Can’t they see he’s being mistreated?!]

[Yue Zhaolin has always been a b*lly. He has a history of it. And the production team is still covering for him?!]

Shu Yang: “Huh?”

This was so abstract, he genuinely couldn’t tell if the poster was being ironic or dead serious.

But to be fair, Cen Chi did look unusually quiet in that photo. In the past, he and Yue Zhaolin would always be laughing and chatting. That photo painted a different vibe.

This morning, however, Shu Yang finally figured it out—

It’s just that fans would rather believe Cen Chi is being b*llied than accept the possibility that he’s actually… licking Yue Zhaolin’s boots—ahem, sorry, that term was too harsh.

—

Noticing everyone in the room looking at him, Shu Yang raised the camera in his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m Shu Yang from the ‘Crazy Girl’ group. I’ve been sent here for a quick interview.”

Being quick-witted and smooth-talking had its perks—whenever the show needed someone to do small host-style interviews, Shu Yang was the go-to.

“Don’t film Wei Lai,” a staff member reminded him from the side.

Shu Yang blinked and quickly nodded. “Got it.”

But now with a legitimate excuse in hand, he boldly made a beeline for Yue Zhaolin.

Locking eyes with Yue Zhaolin made him suddenly a little nervous.

“Zhaolin, how’s your eye doing? Has it recovered?”

Yue Zhaolin looked directly into the camera lens and replied with a calm smile, “Yeah. The bandage is off. I’m just wearing the eye patch now to avoid light.”

Shu Yang stared at Yue Zhaolin through the camera screen and blurted out, “Wow, you’re really handsome.”

His slightly damp hair clung lightly to his forehead, revealing a clean, well-defined face—slightly upturned eyes, a straight nose.

The kind of good looks even another guy would admit.

“…Thanks?”

Shu Yang: “…Ahem.”

Clearing his throat to recover, he got to the main question: “Zhaolin, if you could pick two songs out of the eight choices for the first performance, which ones would you choose?”

Yue Zhaolin thought for a moment. “I’d pick Cold Lover and Crazy Girl.”

Shu Yang’s first reaction was disbelief.

Because most male idols in China had what you could call “girl group dance shame syndrome.”

They looked down on girl group dances, but since those dances drew attention, they’d still perform snippets during fan meetings or concerts.

And when they did, it was usually half-hearted, awkwardly faked, or wildly exaggerated—just to prove how “manly” they were.

Shu Yang even thought, Wow, Yue Zhaolin must have great character. He remembered I’m from that group and is throwing us a bone.

But then Yue Zhaolin explained his reasoning:

“Crazy Girl has really well-written lyrics.”

The lyrics were the classic love themes often seen in K-pop, but with an emphasis on subjectivity: Because I like you, you’re the one who shines.

Shu Yang’s eyes widened: “?!”

Was a wave of overwhelming popularity about to crash down on them?!

“Zhaolin, do you know the viral Crazy Girl challenge from before?”

The Crazy Girl dance break had both rhythm and signature moves—it had sparked a huge wave of dance covers on Douyin.

Yue Zhaolin lightly mimed the gesture—both hands framing his head and twisting slightly, the iconic “crazy” move—and asked: “Is it this one?”

“Yes!” Shu Yang exclaimed.

Yue Zhaolin performed a short segment of the choreography from memory.

Although he hadn’t formally practiced the dance, and his rendition lacked some precision, his biggest strength was that he wasn’t the least bit self-conscious about it.

He even made an effort to adjust his usual movements—using shoulder rolls, tilted head angles, and tighter posture to better match the original girl group style. Due to the differences in male and female physiques, it wasn’t a perfect replica, but it carried a unique charm of its own.

On camera, Yue Zhaolin was clearly dancing a girl group routine—with a touch of the original’s seductive yet aloof expression control—but without sacrificing any of his masculine presence.

Shu Yang couldn’t help cheering out loud.

Yue Zhaolin laughed as well, and when his eyes met Tan Shen’s, he shot him a playful look, clearly inviting him to join in.

—Tan Shen dancing would definitely be hilarious.

Tan Shen: “…”

Alright then. He’d sacrifice his dignity to entertain the prince. Besides… that smile really was too good-looking. This was the devotion of a hopeless face-con.

Two seconds later, the camera captured a blocky, stiff-limbed “man of steel” trying his best to wiggle through the routine—sending everyone in the room into fits of laughter.

Tan Shen immediately pulled Fu Xunying from Group B into the chaos. “Come on, come on—join us!”

The room descended into cheerful chaos, eventually turning into a spontaneous practice room group dance. Shu Yang was laughing so hard, his camera was shaking.

The marketing team saw the footage and thought it was gold. They trimmed the clip to just Yue Zhaolin and Tan Shen’s part, cut the rest, and posted it right away to ride the momentum.

At this point, whatever content they had—they were going to use it.

—

Ever since the announcement that episode one would be re-edited, Starlight’s official Weibo—previously as dead as a ghost town—suddenly came back to life and posted:

[#SeeStarlightHasJuicyContent#] Fresh behind-the-scenes footage just dropped!✨

Our dazzling first-A trainee looks like this offstage? [Doraemon shocked emoji]

(Whispers) If we hit one million views, we’ll unlock a special surprise~ 🎁

Attached beneath the post was a video, with a carefully selected close-up of Yue Zhaolin as the thumbnail—ensuring that any viewer would immediately catch sight of his face.

Initially, Tide had no idea that Starlight’s official Weibo had suddenly sprung back to life.

That was because, ever since the announcement of the re-edit, most fans had unfollowed the official account. Their reasoning: they’d already vented, no need to keep following—it was just irritating to look at.

Only a small group of loyal fans who hadn’t unfollowed the official account noticed the term “First A” in the post. Instantly jolted awake, they hurriedly spread the word.

In Yue Zhaolin’s Super Topic:

User “Moonrise Stirs the Swans” was desperately rallying all fans who had voted during the preliminary “zero round” to now go and enter the lottery for tickets to the first public performance. Her posts were practically wearing down the walls:

“Ticket lottery opens tomorrow! Draw first—everything else can wait!”

“After you’ve entered the lottery, then go watch the reaction videos. There are hundreds from both domestic and international creators—you won’t finish them in one sitting anyway!”

“Lottery first, then go to the walking street to check in. The big screen will stay up for at least a week, no need to rush.”

“Lottery first, then go rewatch the initial evaluation. Resource accounts have already downloaded the re-edited version. Vote first, watch later!”

Even though Tide had won a sweeping victory, everyone was still busy out of their minds.

For many fans, this was the first time they even realized that “reaction videos” were a thing. Watching domestic and international creators gush over and scream for Yue Zhaolin brought them right back to the night of the initial evaluation—feeling every emotion all over again. After watching a few, they were hooked and couldn’t stop.

Especially one female creator whose reaction video was pure red zone energy from start to finish—it hadn’t even been up long, but already had over 10,000 people watching live.

And so, at that very moment, the massive, hyperactive, and overwhelmingly busy fan group finally realized—

Starlight’s official Weibo had dropped behind-the-scenes footage.

Tide’s Collective Emotional Reaction, Ranked:

Stage One:

“What? Starlight posted BTS clips? Sis is busy right now, I’ll watch it later.”

Stage Two:

“I’ll just take a quick peek.”

Stage Three:

“Yue Zhaolin, seducing women—so that’s your full-time job now, huh…”

Final Summary:

“Teacher, I’m Zihan. Why… why can’t I get a taste of this Yue Zhaolin??”

<< _ >>

**TN

Teacher, I’m Zihan.  – Some time ago, the phrase “our Zihan” became a viral meme on the internet.

It originated from a parent—referred to as “Zihan’s parent”—who posted in a group chat saying that their child, Zihan, had been bitten by a mosquito.

Shortly after, this parent angrily confronted the teacher in the group:

“Teacher, why did my Zihan get bitten by a mosquito? Is this how the kindergarten looks after the children?”

When the teacher explained the situation, the parent went even further and demanded: “Why didn’t the mosquito bite anyone else?”

The parent’s behavior—marked by an intense, even excessive level of protection over their child—left many people stunned.

In real life, such “Zihan parents” are not uncommon.

After the meme quickly went viral online, netizens began mimicking the way “Zihan’s parent” spoke, starting their own jokes with “Teacher, our Zihan…” This phrase became the opening line for a wave of humorous posts, such as:

“Teacher, why is our Zihan sitting in the back row?”

“Teacher, why does our Zihan’s face only appear halfway in the photo?”

These jokes served as satire, poking fun at overly protective parents who try to control every aspect of their child’s life. – (from douban)