Chapter 63: VIP
Ever since it was found out that Meng Yu was an accomplice, and then he left Dorm 504, Mao Ding had truly become Yue Zhaolin’s godson (self-proclaimed, of course).
Mao Ding felt he had no way to repay the favor.
Other than serving tea and water on a daily basis, he couldn’t fawn over him too much in other ways—that would come off as trying to steal screen time. So instead, he registered a few alt accounts on Weibo.
—To defend Yue Zhaolin against smear campaigns and help with fan data analytics.
After flagging several harmful posts, Mao Ding was a bit confused: “What’s wrong with these marketing accounts? Why are all of them using ‘Yueology’ to spread rumors?”
“Yueology” had originally been a dark-humored fandom meme, but lately, it had started to take a turn. Now it felt like people were using the guise of playing with the meme to actively spread falsehoods about Yue Zhaolin.
The rumors being spread currently included, but were not limited to: b*llying colleagues from the same company, b*llying Starlight trainees, pretending to be straight for his public image, and acting like a diva despite being a minor celeb.
And the so-called evidence? Just some cherry-picked screenshots or video clips, where bloggers would overanalyze micro-expressions of the people in the frame, completely out of context.
For example, when Yue Zhaolin picked something up and Chu Li moved slightly to the side, the marketing account sped up the footage of Chu Li stepping back to create the illusion that he was urgently avoiding Yue Zhaolin.
Another example: a makeup artist was doing touch-ups for Yue Zhaolin. He blinked once, and that was interpreted as an eye roll, suggesting he was acting like a diva toward the staff.
With “evidence” in hand, plus captions and supposed analysis, the whole thing looked convincing. Then they’d slap the “Yueology” label on it and post it across all platforms for people to gawk at.
Shu Yang, a veteran of fan circles, gave his take: “People are naturally drawn to drama. The reason ‘Yueology’ blew up in the first place was because it was shameless enough.”
“Yueology” did have its upsides.
Anyone who had ever seen it would come away with at least one lasting impression—Yue Zhaolin was the center of Starlight, and everyone revolved around him.
But that kind of rumor-mongering was still damaging all the same.
You have to understand—netizens only have a seven-second memory. And under the manipulation of marketing accounts, just one video can be enough to flip someone’s opinion from like to hate.
“Some of it can be brushed off as meme culture, but diva behavior? Faking a straight persona for popularity? Who plays around with that?”
“Does Xingqiong not care about Yue Zhaolin’s career anymore?”
“Someone’s… trying to fish in muddy waters?”
“Exactly.”
The person pulling the strings behind this was clearly a seasoned pro, well-versed in these tactics—if fabricating rumors about Yue Zhaolin directly didn’t work, they simply switched to a more insidious approach.
“Yueology” was already popular and had built-in traffic. Even if someone slipped in a few hidden attacks, people would still watch.
“Who hates him this much…?”
Shu Yang pulled them into a corner and lowered his voice.
“There are plenty of people. You think those 37 million sales just disappeared without pissing anyone off?”
He was referring to the final sales figures of R.E.
It could be bragging material for fan circles, but also Yue Zhaolin’s “pitch deck” to attract brand deals.
What Shu Yang didn’t say aloud was: this kind of coordinated, large-scale smear campaign isn’t something fan circles alone can pull off. This time, it was definitely capital at work…
—
At Xingqiong
“Any unusual behavior from that father and son?”
“Nothing obvious for now. But there’s been no shortage of people trying to get close to them.”
Yue Zhaolin’s biological father and adoptive older brother had been harboring ill intentions. Xingqiong caught on early, strategized in advance, and turned a passive situation into an active one.
They had a private talk with the father-son duo—first with “courtesy,” then with “pressure.”
As a result, Xingqiong obtained an audio recording in which the father and son believed Xingqiong couldn’t afford a scandal involving Yue Zhaolin’s reputation, and thus tried to blackmail the company.
First: deliberate extortion.
Second: the amount involved was huge.
Third: their method was to threaten Xingqiong by threatening to ruin Yue Zhaolin’s public image.
The Three Ingredients for a Jail Sentence: All Present and Accounted For.
Yue Zhaolin was Xingqiong’s ace. Cutting off someone’s source of income was like killing their parents.
If someone wanted to use that father-son pair as their trump card… then let them try.
As for the slander under the guise of “Yueology”—Yue Zhaolin had a company, and Xingqiong wasn’t dead.
—
At the Starlight Cafeteria
Fu Xunying stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and forgot to chew, exclaiming in disbelief, “Your group really doesn’t have any female backup dancers? The production team screwed me over!”
Yue Zhaolin: “You do?”
“I do.”
Fu Xunying couldn’t even force a smile.
The Light Pop Soda Festival only gave the Starlight trainees one hour of performance time. With sixty trainees, they’d naturally be performing several songs.
So the show had prepared multiple “wet body” tracks for different groups to rehearse.
Tan Shen popped a cherry tomato into his mouth and said flatly, “The song they gave me and Fu Xunying is a classic scumbag anthem, obviously different from Yue Zhaolin’s.”
To put it plainly—
They (Tan Shen and Fu Xunying) had the kind of looks that gave off “player” energy, so pairing them with female dancers heightened the sensual tension of their stage.
Yue Zhaolin, on the other hand, was better suited to a different vibe.
And what kind of vibe?
Tan Shen was going big this time—he didn’t even watch the other stages out of curiosity. He wanted to give himself a surprise on the day of the Soda Festival, to push his heart rate to the max.
Yue Zhaolin, who had just accidentally eaten a piece of cooked carrot, froze mid-bite: “…Napkin.”
His picky eating habits were a bit strange. For example, raw carrots were fine, but cooked ones weren’t. All kinds of egg whites were okay, but not the yolks.
Cen Chi: “Here you go.”
Yue Zhaolin had a total of three stages:
The Starlight theme song “Meteor,”
First round performance “Cold Lover,”
And the “wet body” mini-track.
“Meteor” was a large-scale 60-person performance.
“Cold Lover” was with his original group from the first round.
The “wet body” track was with Chu Li and a few others.
And that last song…
Was really difficult.
At the beginning of the performance, Yue Zhaolin would be using a stand mic—adult height, extended right to his lips—and the choreography he learned required interacting with it.
Because the song’s style was a mix of dreamy and chant-like vibes, and given the sensual nature of the Soda Festival, the choreography was… suggestive, but not vulgar.
It was Yue Zhaolin’s first time learning such a strong stylistic dance—compared to the first evaluation performance “Replacement,” this was on a whole different level.
…Well, maybe not that exaggerated.
After practicing all morning, Yue Zhaolin could feel a flush creeping up his face. Just imagining the Soda Festival, with Tide filling the audience…
Nervous. Embarrassed.
“……”
He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth—after all, when people get overly anxious, they tend to distract themselves with something, anything.
After lunch and a short break, it’d be back to practice again.
Because of Duanmu Hongxue’s incident—the one that could land someone in jail—the show had been postponed by a week, which meant the trainees had one week less to learn the new choreography.
There wasn’t enough time.
A staff member entered the practice room holding a tablet: “Zhaolin, Chu Li, and everyone—come here for a second. We need to confirm the styling for the Soda Festival.”
This group wasn’t large, but it was composed entirely of guaranteed debut candidates.
Yue Zhaolin, with overwhelming popularity; Chu Li, the program’s main push; Rong Ruizhe, backed by capital from Hong Kong and Taiwan; and Zhu Zhu, representing Huaying Entertainment.
Yue Zhaolin remembered Rong Ruizhe—his Taiwanese accent was pretty unforgettable.
But Zhu Zhu…
His presence was so faint it was like he had some sort of background character filter on. Fan circle drama rarely ever involved him, and in the social hierarchy of the trainees, he felt practically invisible.
The staff said, “Zhaolin, since you’ve already dyed your hair white, let’s not waste it. How about we add a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, a white dress shirt, and tailored slacks—does that work for you?”
The production team knew the importance of just enough—never too much, never too little.
First of all, Yue Zhaolin was only twenty. His career had a long road ahead—there was no need to strip down on stage so soon just to grab the audience’s attention.
Second, when a white shirt gets wet and clings to the body, it suits Yue Zhaolin perfectly. The audience feels like they’re seeing everything, but in truth, they’re seeing nothing at all.
Yue Zhaolin: “…Okay.”
The staff member moved on to the next person: “Chu Li, yours is the black mesh cutout one…”
Yue Zhaolin walked off to a corner to take a sip of water.
“……”
Practice was still a must—after all, this was a rare and valuable opportunity to meet fans.
His ears tinged red, and he gave himself a silent pep talk in his head.
—
All sixty trainees had to practice both their new choreography and the group performance—they were utterly exhausted. And before long, it was already time to board the plane.
The Light Pop Soda Festival was on April 12, but they had to fly to Hainan in advance for rehearsals.
There were a lot of performers booked for the festival—the event would stretch from 4 p.m. all the way to 9 p.m. So every act needed to run rehearsals to confirm the performance details.
A staff member came to give advance notice: “Zhaolin, you’ll be using the VIP passage tomorrow.”
Flights for celebrities weren’t exactly a secret—you could buy tickets to the same flights if you had money. And since the timing of the Soda Festival’s official announcement wasn’t great, taking the regular terminal would definitely mean getting mobbed.
While a swarming crowd would certainly prove Starlight’s popularity, if it disturbed other travelers and ended up in a viral video, the negatives would outweigh the buzz.
The VIP channel would save everyone the trouble.
“Okay.”
Yue Zhaolin nodded seriously.
Not long after the staff left, Tan Shen poked his head in through the door: “Yue Zhaolin, got your airport look ready yet?”
“Got anything to wear? If not, I can lend you something.” —There it was, dropping the act.
Yue Zhaolin: “No need.”
Xingqiong had already sent over clothes.
He wore a black short-sleeved tee from brand V, pants from a foreign streetwear label, sneakers from a classic domestic brand’s newest line, and a bracelet from D.
The overall vibe was clean and minimalist.
Tan Shen clicked his tongue. “Tsk.”
He’d miscalculated—he’d forgotten that Yue Zhaolin was now a walking billboard.
Tan Shen didn’t get his way, but Fu Xunying managed to sneak a win—he was also wearing a bracelet from brand D, though it was the women’s version. Time for their arranged marriage to go public.
Fu Xunying had protested against wearing the women’s version.
But his protest was ignored.
—
The next morning, Fu Xunying, visibly reluctant, showed up wearing the bracelet and met up with Yue Zhaolin. They rode together to the airport and entered the VIP lounge.
It was Yue Zhaolin’s first time flying—everything felt strangely fascinating.
Especially once he stepped into the VIP lounge. The interior looked like a luxury hotel. Check-in, baggage drop, all handled in one go.
Inside, there were massage chairs, a movie viewing area, a dining section, a business corner, and more. Only a few people were scattered around the main hall—it wasn’t crowded.
Yue Zhaolin: Whoa.
He was wearing a face mask, but the curve of his eyes hinted at a good mood. Fu Xunying smiled too.
“Want some strawberries? I’ll get them for you.”
Fu Xunying remembered Yue Zhaolin liked strawberries. He’d eaten them all winter and never seemed to get tired of them.
“Mm, thanks.”
Yue Zhaolin found a seat in a quiet corner of the lounge. Chu Li, Rong Ruizhe, and the others were there too.
Although everyone wore black masks and dressed simply, their presence still drew a few glances from other guests.
Yue Zhaolin accepted the fruit plate Fu Xunying brought him and pulled down his mask.
“—”
Chomp!
“Excuse me…”
Hearing unfamiliar footsteps approach, Fu Xunying instinctively turned around and saw a girl he didn’t recognize standing a short distance away.
“Can I help you with something?”
Going through the VIP channel cost at least ten thousand, and the girl’s outfit was refined—especially the bracelet on her wrist, which Fu Xunying instantly recognized as high quality.
She didn’t look like a sasaeng fan.
Her voice was trembling slightly—likely from excitement—but she didn’t rush over. She just stared at Yue Zhaolin and asked, “Excuse me, are you Yue Zhaolin?”
Yue Zhaolin blinked. “Hello?”
“It’s really you! Your new hair color looks amazing!”
Her eyes lit up as she stammered, “Hi… I’m a fan. Your performances are really amazing.”
Sensing her nervousness, Yue Zhaolin took the initiative to respond, “Thank you, I’ll keep working hard. Are you flying to Hainan too, sister?”
“Yes. Not just me—a lot of Tide sisters are going to see you. We’ll all cheer for you as best we can.”
Yue Zhaolin’s smile deepened. “Okay.”
“You’re even slimmer in person than on camera… You should eat a little more. I know idols have to manage their figure, but you can treat yourself occasionally.”
Yue Zhaolin nodded obediently. “Okay.”
Suddenly, she seemed to remember something and pulled out a carefully packaged card from her bag.
“I brought a photocard from R.E. Can you sign it?”
Yue Zhaolin was about to sign but glanced at his assistant first. The assistant nodded and quietly said, “It’s fine. As long as it’s not a blank sheet of paper, you can sign.”
“Okay.”
Seeing someone treasure a little card with his image on it—his heart swelled like a balloon.
“Oh, and I brought a gift too.”
“Sorry, I didn’t expect to run into you here. My brother’s holding onto it.” She asked Yue Zhaolin to wait a moment while she went to get it.
Yue Zhaolin: “Actually, you don’t need to bring me a gift—”
Before he could finish, the girl had already turned and walked off.
Yue Zhaolin, left standing there: Huh?
After a short wait, the girl returned at a brisk pace. She handed over a letter first, which Yue Zhaolin reached out to accept. Before he could say anything, a box was placed into his hands.
The box bore the label of brand D.
Fu Xunying saw it too—just one glance at the packaging, and it was clear this was high-end jewelry from D.
The assistant stepped forward immediately, swift as an arrow: “Apologies, miss, but we can’t accept expensive gifts.”