Chapter 34: Will Yue Zhaolin hold his own concert one day?
Amid deafening screams from the audience that felt like they could lift the ceiling, Yue Zhaolin led Group A onto the stage.
The shouting from below wasn’t unified, but with hundreds of voices blending together, the momentum was overwhelming. Two particular phrases stood out for how frequently they were shouted:
“Yue Zhaolin! Aaaaahhh!”
In the midst of the uproar, the name “Yue Zhaolin” quickly evolved from scattered chaos into a synchronized chant.
Judging by the sheer volume, it seemed almost every audience member was calling his name—it was especially striking.
Li Ying raised an eyebrow.
Even though he already knew Yue Zhaolin was an unstoppable force, as a “seasoned veteran,” he couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of crisis in the face of such a charged atmosphere.
As for Yue Zhaolin himself—he had imagined what kind of cheers he might receive on stage.
After all, Tide had expressed their overwhelming and passionate love for him more than once, so Yue Zhaolin thought he was mentally prepared.
But when he truly stepped onto the stage, he wasn’t as composed as he’d imagined.
Drenched in a sea of cheers, that familiar swelling feeling surged again in his chest. Yue Zhaolin let out a light breath.
But this time, beyond the excitement and adrenaline, there was something else—
A bit of pride.
Yue Zhaolin found it hard to describe the exact feeling, but that pride was clearly something the Tide fans below had given him.
So Yue Zhaolin looked down, trying his best to see each face clearly.
The Tide in the crowd were like a school of little fish, all staring at Yue Zhaolin with eager eyes.
Yue Zhaolin’s heart softened, and he gave them a playful wink—naturally, this made the audience even more excited.
Li Ying gave a helpless smile, planning to wait for the crowd to calm down before taking control of the stage again.
Catching sight of Li Ying’s movement from the corner of his eye, Yue Zhaolin raised his hands, extended both index fingers, and made an “X” gesture in front of his lips while smiling—signaling everyone to quiet down.
“……”
The audience instantly fell into complete silence.
Li Ying was momentarily stunned, then quickly understood—
Why was that gesture so effective? Because nearly everyone in the audience was watching Yue Zhaolin, paying close attention to his every move.
Li Ying let out a breath and signaled, “Then let’s start with the team leader’s introduction.”
Yue Zhaolin smiled and said, “Hello everyone, our group is called ‘The Not-Cold Lovers.’ I’m Yue Zhaolin, a trainee from Xingqiong Entertainment.”
As expected, another wave of cheers rose from the crowd. This time, Li Ying was prepared and asked about the condition of Yue Zhaolin’s eyes.
The audience immediately quieted down again, ears pricked attentively.
“Thank you all for your concern. My eyes have recovered very well,” Yue Zhaolin said earnestly.
Li Ying looked at the audience and couldn’t help but chuckle—he felt as if he had found their on/off switch: mention Yue Zhaolin, and they were instantly remote-controlled.
While the introductions were happening at the front, the stage crew at the back was busy setting up the backdrop.
A staff member in a black T-shirt, listening to instructions through his earpiece, urged in a low voice, “Where are the balloons? Get the balloons over here, quick!”
“The door—put the door here.”
Each stage setup had been finalized beforehand, and the staff needed to move everything onstage within the allotted time.
The introductions were wrapping up, and time was tight.
—
Front stage.
Li Ying completed the sequence and once again announced Yue Zhaolin’s group name: “Group ‘Not-Cold Lovers,’ please begin your performance.”
The moment he finished speaking, the stage lights dimmed to allow the group to get ready.
Although the lights were low, it wasn’t so dark that nothing could be seen. Xu Mingmei craned her neck and saw that all six members of the group were scattered across the stage, each in a different scene setting.
Xu Mingmei saw Yue Zhaolin, with the help of a staff member, putting on a mascot head. In his hand, he held a floating red balloon.
“—”
The prelude began.
At the very first second the music started, Xu Mingmei and the Tide fan beside her both held their breath.
The intro sequence was filmed using a one-shot technique, with a single spotlight following one person after another.
The first was Wei Lai, leaning against a table, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, striking a pose with a wine glass in hand. He tightened his chest and arm muscles, ensuring the camera captured the best angle, then stepped back smoothly, passing the spotlight to the next person.
Cen Chi came next—buttoning his cufflinks in front of a mirror, exuding the allure of a man in a suit. Chen Fei appeared as a homebody with red-rimmed eyes, sitting just behind a door frame. Mao Ding played the role of a cool pilot half-leaning on a motorcycle, striking a pose. Tan Shen brought swagger and flair as a trendy guy using sunglasses as a prop.
One by one, each member appeared in the frame. Their screen time was brief, but every detail—from outfits and makeup to acting—was impeccable.
Despite the wildly different styles, the overall harmony was striking, each reveal more refreshing than the last.
Just as the audience’s anticipation peaked, the final shot revealed a figure in a white bear mascot head.
Behind him was a signboard that instantly evoked a street scene, bringing to mind those who hand out flyers or balloons in costume.
That was Yue Zhaolin.
But before he could take off the mascot head, the camera panned away, and the white bear disappeared from view—Xu Mingmei nearly stood up in anxious frustration.
In the next blink, the camera snapped back—this time, to Yue Zhaolin.
His stunning face suddenly filled the frame. He wore a one-piece costume, tufts of hair sticking up, radiating a soft, plush innocence as he sang the opening line:
“I raised distant walls of defense, spoke again of illusions I missed. Blame me for not noticing before—your indifference had turned to flame.”
Yue Zhaolin’s looks were famously outstanding—even bare-faced, his appearance was striking enough to leave an impression. The trainees waiting backstage had at least built up some immunity from being repeatedly stunned.
But this time, what shocked them wasn’t Yue Zhaolin’s face—it was his singing style. Compared to his previous hoarse voice when he had a cold, or his raw vocals during the initial evaluation, his voice this time was completely different.
Just like the theme of “Cold Lovers”, where a couple in a vague relationship keeps testing boundaries, arguing, yet ultimately can’t let go of each other—
Yue Zhaolin’s vocals carried a smiling tone, exuding an intimacy that blurred the line between friends and lovers: playful, teasing, and confidently flirtatious.
The moment he started singing, the audience froze for two seconds—
Then instantly turned into a stadium of screaming kettles.
The girl next to Xu Mingmei even let out a T. rex roar: “AAAHHHHH!!!”
Xu Mingmei: “?!”
Her brain was already half crashing.
Before she could even process the sound she’d just heard, the stage lights flared—and Yue Zhaolin immediately walked toward the front of the stage.
Xu Mingmei: “??!!”
She hadn’t even caught her breath when she saw Yue Zhaolin unzip and peel off the top half of his jumpsuit.
Underneath, he was wearing a sleeveless black top, the armholes cut low and wide—revealing just enough skin to hint at what was underneath, but not quite show it all.
On the arm facing her, he wore a black leather armband.
Xu Mingmei’s pupils began trembling uncontrollably—He took it off? Why did he take it off?!
Ahhh, his shoulders—she just saw Yue Zhaolin’s shoulders. They were gorgeous…
—
After stripping off the top half of the jumpsuit, Yue Zhaolin realized the right suspender strap had gotten tangled in the sleeve.
A staff member stepped forward to help, but Yue Zhaolin immediately shook his head. The lower half of the outfit was secured not just by suspenders but by other fastenings too—so he decided to ignore the strap altogether:
“Go on stage first.”
Before stepping back on stage, Yue Zhaolin made sure the armband was secure.
As for the headband—he had taken it off. Since he already had the action of removing the mascot head earlier, keeping the headband on would have felt like too much.
—
After Yue Zhaolin’s solo opening, the verse was performed by Tan Shen, Mao Ding, and Cen Chi. His next vocal part wouldn’t come until the chorus.
But before the chorus, he still had scenes where he appeared on stage alongside the other members.
Even though he wasn’t in the center for this segment, the moment he showed up, Tide fans activated their “Track Yue” skill—their eyes automatically locked on him.
“Wait, what?!”
“What is he wearing…”
“Is this like… a sexy schoolboy?!”
The choreography for this song involved fast, dynamic movement across the stage, with all six members circling the space.
Even with in-ear monitors on, Yue Zhaolin could still hear the barely-contained excitement rippling through the audience. His expression control slipped for half a second, and the ghost of a smile flashed across his face.
He admitted it—he chose this outfit because he wanted them to think he looked good. And judging by the reaction, it was working.
Yue Zhaolin reset his expression, moved into center position, and sang the chorus:
“We call each other friends, but at our fingertips flutters a butterfly of ambiguity. A risk we pretend not to see, letting perfume trace where it may.”
—
Once the shock hit a certain level, the only thought left in the minds of the watching Tide fans was a simple, primal impression—
Beautiful. Sexy.
On stage, Yue Zhaolin wore a sleeveless black top. A few strands of his hair stood up in deliberate disarray. The black leather armband was clean and understated, and aside from a plain silver chain on the opposite wrist, there were no other accessories.
But one glance was all it took to feel that he had perfectly captured the sensual charm of someone suspended between youth and adulthood—effortlessly, fully, unmistakably.
The lean, evenly toned muscles of his arms, the curves at his shoulders and neck, and the collarbones that propped up his neckline—all of it exuded an effortless, untamed allure.
The sleeveless top fully showcased every movement of his body, and he carried it flawlessly—every angle was striking.
The choreography during the chorus didn’t involve changing positions; he stood at the very center and moved with purpose.
He pointed loosely at his neck, pivoted his foot in small circles—every move powerful, crisp, and deliberate. He knew exactly how to highlight the strengths of his form.
He stood under the stage lights, smiling with a radiant brilliance, and a jolt of electricity shot up the spines of the Tide fans below.
Everything captured by the camera was too much—
The sharp, beautiful shoulders; the pulsing vein at his neck when he sang; the sensuous black armband; the pale, elegant fingertips.
It was a world apart from the soft, clumsy bear mascot in the full-body costume just one minute ago.
The contrast was too sudden, too intense—it hit like a wave.
Xu Mingmei had never known a person could look this good in a sleeveless top.
The discarded top half of the jumpsuit now bunched up behind his hips, making his waist appear narrower—but also stronger.
In her feverish excitement, Xu Mingmei suddenly noticed: Yue Zhaolin was only wearing one suspender.
At some point, the other strap had slipped out of the sleeve and now swung loosely with each of his hip movements.
It swung away Tide’s collective sanity right along with it.
The song lasted a little over three minutes, and by giving it his all, Yue Zhaolin had quickly broken into a light sweat. But even in the second round of the chorus, his energy never dipped.
That faint sheen of sweat glistening on his neck, the outstretched fingertips, the slightly flushed elbows, and the tousled hair—
It was irresistible.
Because the background vocals at the venue were turned down low, even the sound of Yue Zhaolin’s breathing between lines could be heard clearly.
In that moment, the entire Tide fandom seemed to share one collective brainwave:
So. Damn. Sexy.
By the time the song ended, it felt like everyone had just been through an intensely thrilling and dangerous ride—they remained dazed for a long moment, ears flushed red.
The same went for the mentors and trainees backstage. Even though the five other members had delivered a strong visual impact, in the end, it was still Yue Zhaolin who stole the spotlight.
They suddenly realized that sometimes, the simplest choices had the greatest impact.
In past performance stages for survival shows, the rule of thumb had always been “the flashier, the better.” But Yue Zhaolin, with his basic sleeveless top, had stunned them all.
Maybe… they should try sleeveless too?
No—on second thought, better not. They’d just look like skinny guys with no muscle tone trying too hard.
“Clap clap clap—”
As the song concluded, after a short pause of stunned silence, the venue erupted with thunderous applause—and even louder screams. The name “Yue Zhaolin” once again dominated the air.
Xu Mingmei had long lost all composure, shouting his name right along with the rest.
Through the haze of adrenaline, she vaguely heard the girl next to her muttering, “I’m devolving from a mom-fan…”
Devolving?
Xu Mingmei felt it too—she was “devolving” as well.
From a girlfriend fan… into an ultimate stage performance fan.
Her heart felt hollow, almost panicked, because the performance had ended too soon.
She wanted to watch him.
She only wanted him.
Suddenly, a thought popped into Xu Mingmei’s mind—
Will Yue Zhaolin hold his own concert one day?
She would definitely be there.
The next group, Group B, took the stage, but Xu Mingmei, still reeling from Yue Zhaolin’s performance, didn’t register a single note.
And she wasn’t alone—many others were just like her.
Onstage, Li Ying had to repeat several times:
“Producers of Starlight, please cast your votes.”
Each round of voting consisted of two parts:
— 400 votes from the audience,
— and 4 mentors each holding 25 votes,
for a total of 500 votes.
The group that ranked first would receive an extra 100,000 bonus votes. If they also ranked first overall, another 100,000 would be stacked on top.
And when the audience lowered their heads to vote, they all, almost unanimously, chose the same name.
—
In the waiting room, both groups of trainees had already seen the results.
Group A total votes: 437
— Audience votes: 387
— Mentor votes: 50
Group B total votes: 61
— Audience votes: 11
— Mentor votes: 50
Two votes were abstentions.
Among them, Group A’s center, Yue Zhaolin, received an individual total of:
375 votes.
<< _ >>
Oof. Rough. 😆