Royal Ch.33

Chapter 33: Cute Aesthetic

Time passed day by day through repeated practice and rehearsals, and soon, it was the day of the first public performance.

“Starlight Building” was actually a nickname. The entire area was a dedicated base, specifically built to provide venues and supporting facilities for talent shows. Since this particular show was called Starlight, Xiufen just referred to the whole place as the “Starlight Building.”

So, the first public performance of Starlight would take place in one of the closed studio sets within this facility.

Although the ticket-checking time had already been announced via text, Xu Mingmei still arrived early—and discovered that pretty much everyone else had done the same.

The production team had selected 400 lucky viewers from hundreds of thousands of applicants, so it was almost impossible for Xu Mingmei to run into anyone she personally knew.

But she could recognize other fans by identifying “signs” like a moon-shaped keychain on their backpack, or Yue Zhaolin as their phone wallpaper.

Then she would simply say, “Hi, are you a Tide too?”

And that would immediately earn her a warm and friendly response, as though they were long-lost relatives.

Xu Mingmei wasn’t quite used to being treated like that, but Peng Tao was just as excited—there really was something magical about following a show offline!

“Did you see the official account’s post? The re-edited version of Episode 1 goes live tonight, and Episode 2 airs tonight too.”

“Today is amazing! After watching the live performance, we can go home and binge two episodes?!”

“The fan forum also said we should wait until we’ve seen both the re-edited first episode and Episode 2 before deciding whether to go all-in on the first voting round.”

Xu Mingmei: “Oh right, a lot of Tide sisters might not know not to vote yet, huh? I checked the vote pool, and our guy’s still ranked first.”

 They had been calling for people not to vote for quite a while now, yet their contestant was still in first place—and the votes just kept going up.

“That’s probably from overseas votes.”

Xu Mingmei: “Huh?!”

“The overseas voting channel has been open all this time, but since we have a huge domestic fanbase, overseas votes don’t make much of a dent percentage-wise, so they’ve been pretty invisible.”

But recently, that changed.

Replacement wasn’t just a domestic hit—it was a hit abroad too. Crazy Girl brought in another wave of attention from Japan and Korea.

“The Korean kimchi girls are a bit contradictory. On one hand, they hate Zhaolin for being Chinese, but on the other hand, they keep reposting his videos that go viral again and again.”

“As for the Western fangirls—they’re all over TikTok and Twitter screaming and praising him. It seems really loud and passionate, but honestly, most of them rarely vote.”

“But Japanese sakura girls, they’re quiet but obsessed. They’re the real spenders.”

They silently just throw money at him.

Xu Mingmei: “Uwah?!”

Suddenly, Xu Mingmei remembered something: “I think I saw on a Japanese anonymous forum—someone called Zhaolin ‘Princess Kaguya.’”

Princess Kaguya is a celestial maiden from Japanese folklore who descends to the mortal world to undergo trials.

By calling him that, the Japanese fans were basically acknowledging his “moon princess” identity—seeing him as someone who needs protection, yet also divine and untouchable, destined to return to the heavens in the end.

“Really?” Peng Tao didn’t fully understand the cultural reference, but she respected it.

Xu Mingmei accepted it cheerfully: “Hey, if they’re willing to spend money, it’s not really our business what else they think.”

“…Look over there, are they about to start ticket checks?!”

Some staff members wearing ID badges had just walked out.

…

Inside the Starlight Building.

After the first round of performances came the elimination stage—thirty-seven trainees would be cut, which was a full third of the total participants.

The looming “life-or-death” stakes typical of survival shows brought a silent tension to the air.

Some trainees had stopped eating after 6 p.m. the previous night to avoid bloating. They only had a few bites in the morning, too nervous to eat anything more.

Wei Lai didn’t dare eat either.

Mao Ding could even hear his stomach growling. “Maybe eat a little? If you do get puffy, it’ll go down in two hours, right?”

Wei Lai weakly waved him off. “I don’t get puffy. But if I eat, my stomach sticks out.”

He was wearing a high-neck, tight-fitting top, styled to look like a sexy, mature man. If someone in the audience saw a bulge in his stomach, the whole vibe would collapse.

So—no food.

Hearing this, Mao Ding froze mid-forkful of beef in his lunchbox. Then he turned and stabbed a single lettuce leaf, stuffing it into his mouth instead.

His look was more like a red-haired aviator, a kind of utility-wear style. He used a belt to cinch in his waist a little tighter, which made for a more flattering silhouette.

To keep things efficient, all trainees had to change into their performance outfits before makeup.

So the six members of Group A of “Cold Lover” were all already in their stage gear.

Aside from Yue Zhaolin and Chen Fei, whose outfits were relatively loose, Mao Ding, Wei Lai, and Cen Chi’s costumes all depended heavily on showing off their body lines.

There were several makeup artists in the room—half of them assigned solely to Yue Zhaolin, and the other half to everyone else.

In front of the lit-up vanity mirror, Yue Zhaolin had his eyes closed, letting the makeup artist work on his face.

He was already wearing a pure white jumpsuit, but because the air conditioning was a bit warm, he had peeled off the top half, revealing a sleeveless black top underneath.

Black on top, white on the bottom—visually, it harmonized nicely with what the other group members were wearing.

Yue Zhaolin also had a polar bear headpiece. It was a bit bulky and would need to be tried on later, so the makeup artist had placed it on the table.

Just then, Fu Xunying walked in with a camera. Why was it him this time? Because the “arranged marriage couple” hadn’t had any content for a while.

Fu Xunying raised a finger and made a silent “shhh” gesture, signaling everyone to stay quiet.

Then he tiptoed closer, sneaking up beside Yue Zhaolin. On the camera screen, Yue Zhaolin looked just as serene as ever.

Honestly, Fu Xunying couldn’t even tell what the makeup artist had done.

He filmed for a few seconds, gradually zooming in on Yue Zhaolin, when suddenly a background music track popped into his head. Without thinking, he blurted out:

“Bobby bobby bo, bobby bo——”

He didn’t just sing it—he started filming like they do in pet videos on TikTok. Pulling back, zooming in, moving in and out—exactly the same cinematic tricks used for cute animal edits.

Yue Zhaolin: “?”

He wasn’t a cat.

He raised his hand and grabbed the camera lens that had been poking toward his face.

Fu Xunying had been planning to duck away, but then he caught sight of Yue Zhaolin’s arm through the lens.

The contours of his lean muscles were smooth, long, and elegant. A simple silver bracelet encircled his wrist—minimalist in design, but visually striking.

And somehow, paired with that black sleeveless top, it carried a unique kind of allure.

Fu Xunying: “Wait, is that a bracelet from D-brand? I’ve seen it before and didn’t think much of it, but on you—it actually looks great.”

That bracelet wasn’t considered expensive by luxury standards—just around 20,000 to 30,000 yuan.

Hearing the compliment, the makeup artist immediately chimed in, saying they had other styles too, and asked if Fu Xunying wanted one for himself.

Fu Xunying smiled and declined: “No need.”

He looked at Yue Zhaolin and added, “It wouldn’t have the same vibe on me anyway.”

“Xunying, could you move a bit? We need to apply the finishing spray,” the makeup artist whispered.

“Hmm? Okay.”

Fu Xunying stepped back, but one of the loose straps on his outfit happened to catch on a cup on the makeup table.

The cup was half-filled with iced Americano, and unfortunately, it tipped right in the direction of Yue Zhaolin’s polar bear headpiece.

By the time Yue Zhaolin noticed, it was too late—drip drip, the sound of spilling liquid.

He immediately opened his eyes and looked toward the noise. Brown coffee and ice cubes came spilling out, flowing from the table onto the floor.

The cup, however, was caught at the last moment by Chen Fei, who was getting his makeup done in the seat next to Yue Zhaolin.

Chen Fei had fast reflexes. Although he couldn’t completely stop the cup from tipping, only a few droplets of coffee splashed onto the headpiece.

He himself wasn’t as lucky—his hands were soaked with coffee, some had splashed onto his neck, and dark stains were spreading across his sweater and pants.

Yue Zhaolin immediately pulled some tissues and pressed them to Chen Fei’s neck, soaking up the dripping coffee.

Fu Xunying, off to the side: “……”

He was screwed.

The drink had already soaked part of the costume—no amount of wiping would help now. Yue Zhaolin instantly turned to the stage manager and asked, “Sister, do we have a spare outfit?”

“There should be. I’ll have someone go check.”

Fu Xunying let out a breath of relief.

For a split second earlier, he’d almost given in and was about to call his dad and beg him to rush over with an identical replacement outfit.

Fu Xunying cautiously glanced at Yue Zhaolin’s expression: “……”

Yep. Still screwed.

…

Fortunately, Cold Lover group was scheduled to perform third, so there was enough time to redo Chen Fei’s makeup and styling.

Staff member: “Except for Chen Fei, the rest of you—Zhaolin, come with me.”

They were brought to a waiting room where members from Groups 1 to 4 were gathered. Groups 5 to 8 were waiting in a different room.

A screen in the room would broadcast the stage performances live, and the trainees were expected to react accordingly.

The staff member gestured, “Zhaolin, you sit here.”

It was the center seat in the front row, intentionally left vacant just for him.

“Okay.”

The cameraman adjusted the frame and found the angle worked well, nodding in satisfaction.

It was now 1:17 p.m. The audience had begun to enter the venue, and the first group, performing Necktie, was already preparing backstage.

Chu Li and Meng Yu’s Group A all wore formal suits with ties—visually cohesive, body-enhancing, and instantly eye-catching.

Back when the showrunners decided not to choose Yue Zhaolin, Chu Li had felt a sense of guilt.

Later, when Yue Zhaolin made a stunning comeback against all odds, Chu Li felt too awkward to approach him again. Since then, they’d kept a distant but polite roommate relationship.

Just before leaving, Chu Li reached out his hand to Yue Zhaolin.

“Can you… wish me luck?”

Compared to the upcoming stage, it seemed like Yue Zhaolin’s response was what really had Chu Li nervous.

Yue Zhaolin looked up at him. His smile was faint, his expression unreadable.

“Good luck.”

Chu Li let out a small breath of relief and broke into a grin. His eyes curved, and the corners of his elegant phoenix eyes narrowed charmingly.

“Then I’m off.”

…

The audience was fully seated, and five minutes later, the first public performance officially began.

The livestream in the waiting room also started, showing Li Ying in a gray suit, speaking the opening lines clearly and confidently.

…

Although the production team had essentially kneeled before Yue Zhaolin in apology, they still had their little schemes—like scheduling Cold Lover as the third performance.

Because if they went first, the audience’s expectations would be set too high after watching their stage. But they couldn’t be placed too late either—audiences tend to lose patience.

So, after much deliberation, third it was.

As for the first and second acts, they were Douyin hit Necktie and the ballad Dead Leaf Butterfly—one energetic, one soft, setting a varied tone for the show.

Necktie leaned into the allure of teasingly tugging on ties—flirty but not vulgar.

Chu Li understood the vibe perfectly. As center, he got a close-up shot during the climax, which caused a wave of screams to erupt in the waiting room.

Yue Zhaolin also thought the dance was well-executed, but his mood was flat—the screaming had started from the beginning and repeated through multiple acts already.

It felt like the room was full of monkeys.

Suddenly, Wei Lai let out a huge sneeze.

“Who’s talking about me?!”

Yue Zhaolin: “…”

Sorry. Collateral damage.

After each performance, the live audience would cast their votes, and the vote counts would be revealed to the next two teams to perform. However, the trainees in the waiting room had no idea about the results just yet.

The second group performed the ballad Dead Leaf Butterfly.

The show’s broadcast version would eventually be pitch-corrected, but the live performance? Not so much. Forget conveying emotion—pitch and breath control were practically nonexistent.

By the end of the song, even Yue Zhaolin felt like he was about to pass out.

Fu Xunying’s chronic secondhand embarrassment was acting up again—his toes were curling so hard it felt like he was about to claw a three-bedroom apartment out of the floor.

Tan Shen was already grimacing, face twisted in agony: “Why’s the backing track so quiet? Is the production team trying to murder the audience?”

Yue Zhaolin: “Actually, Zhou Xiao wasn’t too bad.”

One of the trainees with a slight underbite—not great, but not a total disaster either.

“Zhou Xiao?”

Wei Lai suddenly realized—

That was Mango Bro from the world-famous meme painting “Top Idol, Steamed Bun, Emo Bangs, Mango, Monkey, and One Regular Guy.”

An instant sense of closeness bloomed.

Just as Group B for Dead Leaf Butterfly went on stage, a staff member came to call them.

“Zhaolin, your group—come with me to get ready. Group B, too.”

The other trainees looked at Yue Zhaolin’s group with envy, knowing they still had to endure one more round of Dead Leaf Butterfly’s suffocating chaos.

…

It wasn’t just the trainees who were suffering—so were the 400 people in the audience.

If Necktie was at least passable, then Dead Leaf Butterfly’s two duets were an all-out assault on both ears and eyes.

Xu Mingmei: “……”

Did these people actually train? Because this felt exactly like her friend group doing karaoke.

After four groups had performed, Xu Mingmei’s initial excitement over the live recording had completely worn off. Now she could only detach her mind and mentally drift away to survive the sonic torture.

As for voting…

It was honestly hard to say who was better.

So Xu Mingmei resorted to the “little rooster method”—she picked someone at random and tapped “vote.”

The audience’s energy was running low, and Li Ying immediately understood why the production had arranged things this way. He glanced down at the script and smiled as he announced:

“Next up, please welcome—”

“Cold Lover Group A to the stage.”

Led by Yue Zhaolin, the six members walked briskly onto the stage, and immediately, the audience stirred with excitement.

Xu Mingmei: “!”

Just moments ago she had felt drained, but now it was as if someone had dabbed essential balm on her temples—she was instantly wide awake.

She was seated right in the front pit, very close to the stage. With every step Yue Zhaolin took, she could see him clearly—even the details of his eyelashes: not curled, but thick and long.

She had seen Yue Zhaolin once in a shopping mall, but the memory was blurry, like a dream. All she could recall was the rush of excitement she’d felt.

Now, with him alive and vibrant right in front of her again, it was like her ears were ringing—and all she could do was shout at the top of her lungs.

Yue Zhaolin wore a white jumpsuit, white sneakers, and was holding a plush mascot head—completely different in style from the rest of his group.

— Why on earth did Starlight put him in such a thick outfit? It’s definitely going to limit his movement.

But… he’s so cute.

Because of his top-tier physique, the jumpsuit didn’t make his legs look short at all—instead, it fully brought out the outfit’s charm and cuteness.

— Everyone else in Yue Zhaolin’s group is dressed flashy and trendy, and he’s the only one wrapped up like this. If this isn’t favoritism, what is?!

But… he’s so cute.

— Is Starlight losing their mind again?!

But… he’s so cute.

…

Okay, Xu Mingmei convinced herself in one second: Starting now, I officially love the cute aesthetic!

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