Chapter 66: Purple Stage Lights
Some male celebrities suffer from what’s jokingly called the “calling someone ‘Jiejie’ embarrassment syndrome.” A small portion of them feel shy about it, but the majority simply can’t bring themselves to let go of their pride.
Even though the relationship between celebrities and fans has always been one where the latter uplifts the former, over the past decade or so, this dynamic has become increasingly distorted—
Celebrities have taken the upper hand in this relationship. Calling someone “Jiejie” would feel like lowering their status.
Fans spend money, invest time in boosting metrics and fighting off hate, and the emotional returns they get from the celebrity have, ironically, started to feel like a kind of condescending charity.
It’s not unlike the so-called “girl group dance embarrassment syndrome”—something that, if done well, would simply delight fans, yet still carries this inexplicable burden of shame.
But Yue Zhaolin had none of that.
His groupmates performing alongside him could all hear his voice through their in-ear monitors.
His tone was familiar, but not overly intimate. He didn’t force a low, sultry voice for effect—his voice carried a smile, light and clear.
Completely natural.
As if… it came from the heart.
Underneath the thunderous screams from the audience, Yue Zhaolin couldn’t hide his smile as he sang the first line of the lyrics:
“Raise the barrier of detachment—”
He was incredibly vain.
To hear screams from Tide meant only for him—he really would feel proud.
It had been mentioned before: Yue Zhaolin was the kind of person who wore all his emotions on his face, so what showed up on the big screen now was a genuinely joyful smile.
His usually composed features were now strikingly lively. Droplets of water slid down his hair, and the moisture on his collarbone added an extra layer of sultry allure.
Further down, his shirt was unbuttoned—three buttons left undone. The collar opened down to the middle of his chest, forming a modest V-shape.
Soaked half through, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, calling the audience “Jiejie”—the tension was off the charts.
“Ahhhhhhhhh—!”
The Tide fans in the audience once again lost all ability to form words. On the big screen, the white-haired Yue Zhaolin looked like he had evolved—every move he made was like a dream.
This stage wasn’t fully live mic, because the conditions didn’t allow for it—several of the “royals” couldn’t sing live. If the mics were fully open, the show would’ve turned into a joke—or so the production team firmly believed.
Since other performances didn’t use live vocals, it wouldn’t be fair to make an exception just for Yue Zhaolin. So for “Cold Lover”, backing tracks were also used.
The audio from the backing track and the mic feed was roughly 50/50—clearly distinguishable live.
After hearing just one line, the Tide immediately realized it was the same vocal track from the first public performance episode. Someone shouted, “Goddammit, turn the backing track down!“
It was already obvious at the previous fan meet.
Yue Zhaolin might not have the same refined vocal techniques as professional singers, but he had always dared to sing live. His pitch was solid, and his volume was strong.
That’s the magic of a live performance.
Just as Tide were internally cursing that damned backing track, the camera moved—tracking Yue Zhaolin.
“Wait?!”
“He’s coming down!”
“What—?!”
…
The performance of “Cold Lover” involved a semi-wet outfit, allowing for off-stage interaction.
Whereas the new song “Temperature Gap” involved a fully drenched look—already a visual shock to fans—so for that one, distance would be maintained. Keep the fans yearning from afar.
…
Back to the scene.
While singing, “And once again, we speak of illusionary longing,” Yue Zhaolin strode off the stage. In just a few steps, he arrived at the VIP interaction zone, which was cordoned off by railings.
The audience instantly exploded.
The Tide fans closest to Yue Zhaolin completely blanked out.
Even if they’d seen him countless times on-screen, seeing him within half a meter in real life was overwhelming—hot-blooded adrenaline surged, their minds went fuzzy.
That high, defined nose bridge. Those exquisitely sculpted features. His lips glistened with a thin sheen of moisture.
And when he sang, his upper lip curled upward—
To Tide, it looked like he was asking for a kiss.
Rationality had long gone offline—acting purely on instinct, the Tide fan could only manage to grasp the hand Yue Zhaolin extended. Whatever she had planned to say had already vanished from her mind.
“Before I noticed, your indifference had already turned into flames.”
His voice came through the speakers—but even faster than the speaker was the real thing: Yue Zhaolin’s voice right in front of her, along with the subtle scent on his body.
It was live in every possible sense.
After finishing his verse, the camera no longer focused on him. Yue Zhaolin took off his mic and looked up—only to see a whole section of Tide fans on the right lifting up their signs:
[Yue Zhaolin, shoot me with your finger gun]
[Zhaolin, blow a kiss]
[Yue Zhaolin, call me “wifey”]
[Yueyue, give us a wink]
[Yue Zhaolin, do you love Tide? Press 1 for yes, 2 for love you to death]
[Yue Zhaolin, slap me across the face]
A huge, overwhelming sea of requests.
Yue Zhaolin caught sight of one particularly unique request and silently chuckled.
Taking advantage of the brief break in the performance, he tried his best to fulfill as many of Tide’s wishes as possible. In those short moments, he was flashing hand signs nonstop—like some kind of ninja hand seal master.
There were just too many Tide fans, and it became a sweet kind of burden. Yue Zhaolin had to interact while walking and also prepare to dance the first chorus in the VIP zone.
He hadn’t even completed a full round when time ran out—he had to get back on stage for the second chorus.
Not all Tide fans got a personal response. Yue Zhaolin could only play it cute, mouthing apologetically:
“No time left!”
Just as he took large strides back onstage, he spun around in perfect timing to catch the second chorus choreography.
Then came a tight close-up shot—
“Boom!”
The water cannons fired again.
He pointed a finger loosely toward his neck and began drawing a circle as his feet spun, gold-rimmed glasses and white hair gleaming under the stage lights—
He looked like an aristocratic vampire.
“The title of ‘friend’ between us—
Butterflies of ambiguity hover at my fingertips.
An adventure we don’t want to expose,
Letting the perfume spread without restraint.”
He was singing on stage, while the audience below had already been dazed into a trance by his charm.
“Aaaaaaaaah—!”
“This is too much…”
Yue Zhaolin—a god offline.
Calling him “cat-like beauty” didn’t do him justice. Even comparing him to a “rose” fell short.
He was Yue Zhaolin. Simply Yue Zhaolin.
They had never seen anyone so vividly alive.
As the song ended, the camera cut to the ending shot. The ears were filled with deafening screams and applause, and the atmosphere on stage hit its peak.
Except for Yue Zhaolin, the others—Cen Chi, Tan Shen, Wei Lai, and the rest—were getting ready to leave the stage, since the next song, “Temperature Gap”, wasn’t their performance.
The MC came out to take control of the stage:
“Let’s give another round of applause for these trainees!”
As the applause thundered on, he added with a smile,
“You know what? The next song…”
He paused dramatically to build suspense.
“…will also be performed by Zhaolin!”
“—WHAT?!”
The host pretended not to hear the uproar from the audience and turned directly to Yue Zhaolin:
“Zhaolin, is there anything you’d like to say to the audience?”
Yue Zhaolin:
“Mm… Everyone, look at me for a second.”
“Take a deep breath—”
After a few seconds of synchronized breathing, the audience had indeed calmed down a little. Yue Zhaolin smiled:
“It’s hot, and there’s a big crowd. Make sure to drink some water and take a break.”
Tide had been shouting and cheering non-stop, and their heightened excitement had taken a physical toll. It was good to wind down.
Yue Zhaolin quietly let out a breath of relief:
“Can I wipe my face? It’s covered in water.”
“Yesssss—!”
Yue Zhaolin dabbed his face with a tissue to soak up the moisture, then grabbed a bottle of water to drink—
His part in the next song was heavier, so he needed to hydrate and get his voice ready.
As Yue Zhaolin took a sip of water, the camera cut to the Temperature Gap group entering from the side of the stage.
He had barely taken two sips before putting the bottle down, just in time to hear Rong Ruize say:
“The next song is an unreleased track, and also a style Zhaolin has never performed before.”
Chu Li chimed in: “Sexy style~”
It took the audience about two seconds to process that—and just as their emotions had finally calmed, the crowd instantly boiled over again:
“Huh? Huh! WHAT— AAAAAHHHH!”
Yue Zhaolin: “……”
Those two.
He had just barely gotten them to settle down…
But he knew.
This moment was inevitable.
“Temperature Gap” was a track specifically created for a soaked-through performance—definitely not for the faint of heart. Beyond its seductive and dreamlike vocal delivery, the choreography was just as intense.
When he first started learning this routine—especially after being informed it would involve getting drenched—Yue Zhaolin had felt a psychological pressure on par with the very first day he became “him.”
Body waves, hip rolls, self-touching—
Not a single move was left out.
It wasn’t just suggestive; it was outright provocative.
And Yue Zhaolin knew exactly what it meant—
He was seducing the audience.
What made him flustered wasn’t the act of seduction.
It was who he was seducing.
When it came time to prepare the props, Yue Zhaolin walked into position on his mark.
The MC, managing the stage flow, called out in a booming voice:
“Let’s give a huge round of applause for tonight’s final act—
‘Temperature Gap’!”
…
Yue Zhaolin stood behind the stand mic, his silver-white hair slicked back, sharp features striking and refined.
He adjusted the mic stand’s height, gripped the microphone with his fingers, and subtly angled it upward.
Machines on either side of the stage began releasing a fine mist of water. At the same time, the lights dimmed—shifting into deep purples that wrapped the stage in atmosphere.
A rhythmic countdown sounded in his in-ear monitor:
“Three, two, one.”
“Buzz.”
The lights snapped back on.
Yue Zhaolin lifted his head, his pupils catching the violet glow. Amid the simulated heartbeat sounds created by electronic effects, a soft murmur escaped his throat—like a whispered confession in the middle of the night.
“Breathing desire, your wish,
My head filled with madness,
Body heat burning hot.”
The first line of “Temperature Gap” began. The purple stage lights caressed Yue Zhaolin’s face, collarbone, chest—sensual and indistinct.
The hand that had been gripping the mic stand slowly slid upward—from his pelvis to his waist.
“AaaAAHHHH—!”
Taozi: “……”
Screams filled her ears. She stared blankly at the big screen, unable to find words to describe Yue Zhaolin…
It was like there were hooks in his eyes.
The water cannons activated. Jets of mist and streams shot up from both sides of the stage in crisscrossing arcs.
“Boom—”
The water droplets were large, smacking loudly against the plastic ponchos of the audience.
Yue Zhaolin lifted his lashes, his wet eyelashes curling upward, glistening.
His white dress shirt was instantly soaked through, water streaks clinging to every contour of his body. Droplets dripped from his hair and the edges of his clothes.
He stood against the backlight, his drenched shirt outlining every shape underneath. The water dripping from his hair tips, under the purple light, looked like falling stars.
What Tide could see wasn’t just a defined waistline—but his entire upper body.
Straight collarbones, a prominent Adam’s apple, a beautifully full chest, and a sharp, triangular contour that ran from chest to waist to hips—dangerously breathtaking.
Water pooled in the hollow of his collarbone. As he dipped his shoulder and rolled into a wave, it spilled out and flowed downward, seeping across his skin.
He reached out and grabbed the mic stand with one hand, turning his body in a slow spin.
His entire back was revealed—perfectly sculpted back muscles, a pronounced spine that extended downward in a fluid, unbroken line.
The soaked shirt clung tightly to him. Just a slight twist of his torso revealed his slim, delicate waist—
But that full, shapely chest made his thin waist look all the more provocative.
“AAAAAAHHHH HOLY—”
“I saw it—!”
“It’s pink—!”
Yue Zhaolin flushed red.
Literally red—from the base of his neck to behind his ears, all tinged in an unmistakable pink he couldn’t hide.
As if the gold-rimmed glasses were getting in the way, he took them off and tossed them into the corner of the stage.
The crowd went even wilder.
When the chorus hit, he dropped to one knee, sliding in a semicircle along the floor. In the moment his head dipped, gravity tugged at the collar of his shirt—and it fell open.
This part of the floor choreography was meant to be done facing the audience.
But Yue Zhaolin, overwhelmed by embarrassment, stared fixedly at his own fingertips—as if pretending not to see would make others not see him.
And in doing so, those bright red, nearly bleeding ears were put completely on display.
“Why be disheartened? Youthful wandering
Is only your yearning,
Too fiercely unleashed—”
His water-slicked skin shimmered with a soft flush—glowing like pearl under the lights.
His movements were undeniably seductive, yet his expression… was even more shy than the audience.
Then he spun again—both knees on the ground, arms flung open, tossing his head in a sharp motion. His shoulder blades jutted out like the wings of a butterfly ready to take flight.
Then, with a push of his toes, he sprang gracefully upward.
Droplets scattered from his hair, and every muscle in his body flexed with the motion—broad shoulders, slim waist, the clean, sensual lines of his thighs.
Water slid along his waistline and dipped lower.
The black dress pants clinging to his hips and thighs were already soaked through, outlining every curve with complete clarity.
Beneath the night sky, the moonlight wrapped around him.
The soaked wrinkles of fabric.
The unfiltered outline of his body.
The dewy sheen of water-covered skin.
The flushed nape of a young man.
In the air swirled mist, lights, lyrics, his breathy whispers—a shifting collage of visuals, each one more intoxicating than the last.
The end of his breaths, the dripping hem of his shirt, powerful thighs and slender ankles—
All of it made Tide’s heartbeats below the stage sync with his.
A beauty so extreme it became raw, undeniable, breathtaking sexual tension.
Yue Zhaolin had no idea how he made it off the stage. When he came to, a towel had already been draped over his head, and a change of clothes was waiting by his side.
The heat in his face hadn’t faded—his ears were still burning.
From inside the makeshift changing area formed by curtains, he could still hear the screams from outside that showed no sign of stopping. Yue Zhaolin couldn’t help but recall what he had just done onstage.
“……”
He covered his face and looked down, letting out a whimper like a small animal.
No one knew how much time passed before a staff member called out from outside, “Zhaolin, are you ready?”
“…Almost!”
He took a deep breath and reined in his emotions. After changing clothes, he stepped out—only to bump into Tan Shen by the stairwell. Yue Zhaolin paused. “Why is your face so red?”
Tan Shen: “……”
Before he could answer, familiar music floated over from the front. Yue Zhaolin froze for a second, then immediately looked up.
It was Replacement.
His initial evaluation song.
A cameraman was already stationed nearby, faithfully capturing Yue Zhaolin’s reaction.
He glanced at the camera and realized something—his heartbeat sped up. “Finale” actually meant second-to-last. The last performance was known as the “grand finale.”
Yue Zhaolin thought he heard someone ahead calling his name.
Suddenly, Fu Xunying grabbed his wrist, eyes bright with excitement as they stepped onto the stage. “Yue Zhaolin, let’s go. It’s your stage now.”
This wasn’t just a segment arranged by the production team.
It was a stage—prepared especially for Yue Zhaolin—by both the show and Xingqiong.
When Yue Zhaolin stepped onto the stage, the original Replacement band was already in place, and in English, they called out the performers’ names—
Yue Zhaolin and Fu Xunying.
The moon—
The moon, who had always been the counterpart and companion of the tide.