Chapter 39: Fan Meeting
The two of them were whispering to each other when, somehow, they ended up making eye contact with the foreigner behind them.
Peng Tao: “……”
She was certain he must have seen their little movements just now.
Immediately, Xu Mingmei apologized in English: “I’m really sorry!” She admitted honestly, “It’s my first time seeing a foreign fan—I was just really curious.”
The man had deep-set eyes and slightly drooping eye corners, resembling those melancholic yet romantic characters from foreign films—so much so that it felt a little intimidating to look directly at him.
But his age was also noticeable—the visible parts of his neck and the backs of his hands were thin, and the wrinkles on his face were particularly deep around his eyes and skin.
In her mind, Xu Mingmei summed him up: A foreign uncle with great fashion sense, a quiet and elegant temperament, and clearly unafraid of the cold.
But the man didn’t seem angry at all. Smiling, he said, “Don’t worry about it. If I were in your shoes, I’d be just as curious about two young girls like you.”
He didn’t use any difficult words, but the thick, throaty accent triggered an immediate stereotype—this uncle was probably French.
“My name is Étienne. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he introduced himself.
Xu Mingmei quickly shook the hand he extended: “Nice to meet you. You can call me ‘Xu’, and this is my friend, ‘Peng’.”
“Hello, Peng.”
After exchanging names, they started chatting. With the help of a translation app, Xu Mingmei found out that Étienne had a ticket to the fan meet.
Étienne said he wanted to meet Yue Zhaolin, so he tried buying and entering the lottery for tickets himself—all of which failed. So he decided to buy one at a marked-up price instead. For convenience, his assistant deliberately quoted a high price he had in mind, and surprisingly, the seller agreed without hesitation. Étienne found the whole thing very easy—and rather fascinating.
Xu Mingmei didn’t dare ask how much it cost: “……”
She wasn’t excited anymore—she was jealous. It was one thing for local fans to be this capable, but why were foreign fans just as strong?!
The two of them waved goodbye to Étienne as he went to get his ticket checked, then looked at each other and huddled together for comfort.
“We’ll just have to wait for the fans inside to post pictures.”
— The most famous fansite master in the Tide fandom, Moonrise Stirs the Swans, had managed to snag a ticket. At least they could count on her for high-quality photos.
Xu Mingmei wondered just how fast Moonrise Stirs the Swans’ hands had to be to get that ticket.
…
Although the ticketing platform Damai listed only a thousand tickets for sale, the total was actually higher, since many were given away—
Tickets were distributed to media outlets, companies, and sponsors. These tickets could be shared internally or used for social media giveaways on Weibo.
The official Weibo account launched a giveaway event, which was essentially a strategy to drive reposts and generate traffic.
He Jie had gotten her ticket that way—winning through a repost lottery among countless dummy accounts.
Recording was allowed at the fan meeting, so she brought her equipment. Because of all her gear, she had “a lot of luggage,” which made the security check extra thorough.
After entering the venue, He Jie found her assigned seat by number. It was a bit far from the stage, but thankfully not off to the side.
A girl who entered before her spotted a small silver bag on her chair and gasped, “There are gifts?!”
It looked small, but felt heavy when picked up.
Inside were a silver ribbon with the Starlight logo, a portable electric hand warmer, a chocolate energy bar, and sparkling water.
Nothing too fancy—but the hand warmer was genuinely useful, since it was freezing outside.
He Jie turned on the hand warmer, and once her hands weren’t so stiff, she began adjusting her camera. Meanwhile, the audience continued to trickle in.
When He Jie looked up again, most of the seats around her were already filled. After a little more time, the venue was packed.
Everyone was whispering quietly among themselves when suddenly—the lights dimmed.
Before anyone could react with a sound, the big screen on stage lit up, starting to play a montage from Starlight.
[—
The footage showed one trainee after another.
Their clothes were soaked with sweat, hair clinging to their foreheads—they looked a mess, but their eyes were bright.
“Are you tired?”
The camera cut to Chu Li: “Not tired.”
“Ah, don’t film me, I’m too sweaty—my hair’s sticking together—I look awful right now.” Duanmu Hongxue instinctively dodged the camera.
“How long have you been practicing?”
The screen flashed again, now showing Fu Xunying: “Today? Seven or eight hours, I think.”
“Why are you working so hard?”
Cen Chi: “Because there’s an offline event tomorrow. I need to seize every chance to win the producers’ favor.”
Then the screen suddenly went black, and a voice rang out:
“Then, are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
The screen lit up again, revealing a pair of unmistakable eyes slowly opening and focusing. The camera pulled back—
It was Yue Zhaolin, dressed in a blue-and-white varsity jacket, wearing an earpiece mic, smiling gently at the camera.
——]
A close-up shot, no other cuts. Screams erupted instantly: “Ahhhh—!”
Behind a door on the side of the tiered seating—
Yue Zhaolin could already hear the screams from inside. But it wasn’t his cue yet; he had to wait for the staff’s signal.
The screams were so loud that the theme song playing in the background was barely audible.
Yue Zhaolin smiled. When the verse began, the staff pushed the door open, and he stepped into the blinding stage lights.
“I carry a burning dream and charge forward with all I’ve got.”
Yue Zhaolin greeted the audience in both side sections as he smiled and sang the lyrics.
There was a set time for audience interaction, but Yue Zhaolin still made an effort to let both sides see—or at least capture—a full, clear shot of his face.
He thought—
Everyone in the audience had probably braved the cold and traveled from all over the country. The least he could do was make sure they “got their money’s worth.”
Maybe a good photo or video of him would make their trip home feel a little more rewarding.
Yue Zhaolin walked down the steps and moved into the next line of the song:
“The burning red of my lingering trail, is a blaze streaking across the sky.”
As he walked down the aisle, he passed within just two meters of He Jie. Her camera captured everything truthfully—
But He Jie instinctively held her breath, her eardrums fluttering: “……”
Because before she heard his amplified voice from the speakers, she caught the real sound of Yue Zhaolin’s voice as it reached her ears directly.
The nine trainees from the first voting round entered from different corners of the venue, then gathered onstage to perform the chorus together.
For this section, they were all wearing matching blue-and-white varsity jackets. Plus, since the nine of them had rehearsed together in the past few days, the result was perfectly synchronized.
At a glance, each movement, each angle—they were nearly identical, like perfectly mirrored copies. It was incredibly satisfying to watch.
The senior executives at Starlight who were watching the livestream nodded in satisfaction:
“Look at that precision—this isn’t any worse than the tight choreography in Korean idol groups.”
“It’s just that there are too many wide shots. They should cut to more close-ups of Yue Zhaolin.”
Seriously, who watches a livestream just to see how big the stage is?
Over on the Green Fruit platform, Director Ma sighed happily and said with a big smile,
“Still, it doesn’t hurt to show off a little.”
After all, this livestream wasn’t just for domestic viewers—it was international too.
Starlight was broadcasting the fan meeting simultaneously on YouTube, Viki, and the overseas version of Green Fruit TV.
There were no subtitles during the live broadcast, yet the combined number of viewers across platforms had already surpassed 100,000—and once the fan meeting ended, seeing that number grow tenfold wasn’t just wishful thinking.
All of that translated into revenue, which was why Director Ma was grinning like the Maitreya Buddha.
“How’s the feedback in the comments?”
“There’s a mix of languages in the live chat.”
In Japanese: phrases like “unsettling yet gorgeous beauty,” “Kaguya-hime Tsuki-chan,” and a flurry of heart-thumping onomatopoeia.
In English: limited vocabulary, just endless repeats of “he is gorgeous” and “OMG.”
Thai comments were full of repeated words to emphasize how handsome he was.
In Korean: they were calling Yue Zhaolin’s varsity jacket look a “pure-hearted attack.”
After hearing the summary, Director Ma nodded with satisfaction.
“No issues. Keep monitoring. Make sure to steer the overall tone of the comments.”
“Understood.”
By the time Director Ma looked back at the livestream, the theme song entrance segment had already ended.
…
Host Bei Yang took the stage:
“To all the Starlight Producers here today, how about giving our nine trainees another round of applause?”
Just as the applause had started to die down, it flared back up. On stage, the nine trainees—still catching their breath—couldn’t help but smile.
Amid the buzz from the audience, Bei Yang continued with a smile:
“I can see how excited everyone is out there.”
“But maybe… it’s not just you all who are excited. The ones on stage seem to have something they want to say to the Starlight Producers too?”
Smoothly, Bei Yang shifted the spotlight to the trainees—and the crowd immediately fell silent.
Yue Zhaolin adjusted the earpiece mic on his cheek, and the big screen once again zoomed in for a close-up, drawing a chorus of “Waaah!” from the crowd.
Yue Zhaolin smiled and mimicked them: “Waaah.”
“Hahaha!”
Laughter burst out from the audience.
Looking out at the crowd, Yue Zhaolin said with a warm smile, “The fan meeting has only just begun, but I’m already feeling an untimely sense of reluctance to say goodbye.”
“Aww——”
The audience reacted loudly.
He Jie’s heart instantly softened with a hint of ache. She knew this wasn’t a love confession, but it was more touching than any sweet line could be.
“We’ll meet again!” He Jie shouted back.
Because tides will always chase the moon.
Hearing the voice from the audience, Yue Zhaolin paused for a moment, then his eyes curved into a smile.
“Alright, I’ll look forward to every moment I get to see you all again.”
After that, Yue Zhaolin expressed his thanks to those who had voted for him. When his two-minute speaking time was up, he passed the mic to Fu Xunying on his left.
Then he went backstage to change outfits.
Meanwhile, props for the next segment were being quietly moved onto the stage.
Yue Zhaolin’s next outfit wasn’t difficult to put on, but it required careful movements. By the time he was dressed, the fourth person was already giving their speech.
As soon as Yue Zhaolin stepped back on stage, Étienne narrowed his eyes, the smile at the corners deepening.
His instincts had been correct—his muse was perfectly suited for this kind of look.
And when He Jie saw him through her camera lens, she gasped, stunned by his beauty—so much so that she nearly lost her grip on the camera.
He was wearing a white shirt with exquisite texture, but the most eye-catching part was the delicate jeweled serpent winding its way through the fabric.
The body of the snake was made of diamonds, its belly lined on both sides with alternating red and yellow gemstones. Its eyes were a deeper shade of green—mesmerizing and eerie.
He Jie couldn’t offer a professional critique, but to her, the way the jeweled serpent weaved through the fabric… it felt intricate, precise—and sexy.
With black hair and dark eyes, Yue Zhaolin looked like a mysterious, stunning, youthful vampire noble—someone who could easily seduce ordinary people into offering up their necks.
“Gulp—”
The person beside He Jie audibly swallowed.
Yue Zhaolin’s outfit immediately stirred the crowd. Onstage, Duanmu Hongxue stumbled in his speech for a second, but then continued as if nothing had happened.
Once again, Yue Zhaolin demonstrated his ability to command the atmosphere—gently signaling shhh, but letting everyone know it was okay to take photos.
…
Mao Ding was the last to finish his speech and hurried offstage to change outfits.
While he was gone, Bei Yang began explaining the rules of the next segment: a fast Q&A—but with a twist.
“Within the time limit, trainees must answer questions while preparing a drink. The one who answers the most questions will win a prize!”
On the table were bowls of mint, assorted fruit slices, ice cubes, and various flavored sparkling waters—all ingredients for mixing drinks.
Clearly, the sponsors had squeezed themselves into every available moment.
Bei Yang: “Since Zhaolin ranked first in the zero-th round of voting, let’s have him go first, shall we?”
“Okay!”
The audience roared in thunderous response.
Yue Zhaolin walked over to the table, rolled up his sleeves, and after the timer started, opened a bottle of sparkling water.
Bei Yang asked, “Have you ever taken ab photos?”
That wasn’t one of the questions they rehearsed yesterday during the run-through. Yue Zhaolin suddenly had a bad feeling. “…Yes.”
Bei Yang chuckled. “Then, can we see them?”
“We want to see—!”
The Tide fans roared like wild beasts.
Yue Zhaolin picked up a strawberry, trying to decline politely: “They didn’t turn out well… Can we not look?”
“Ahhh—”
A wave of disappointed, whining voices came from the audience, like a collective slide into sadness. On the big screen, Yue Zhaolin closed his eyes for a moment.
“The Starlight Producers in the audience really want to see it, Zhaolin. Are you sure you can’t share?”
Yue Zhaolin: “…”
“Ahhh—”
The Tide crowd seemed to sense his weakness, and once again let out that disappointed, pleading tone.
“……” One second later, Yue Zhaolin gave in with a helpless smile: “Alright, alright.”
<< _ >>
