Chapter 71: Kick Out
“Please invite Yue Zhaolin, who placed first in the vote, to the stage.”
As soon as the words fell, all the trainees seated on the tiered steps fell silent. All eyes turned to Yue Zhaolin, standing center stage.
In previous seasons of this talent show, when announcing the top two rankings, both contestants would be called up together to build suspense. They’d hold hands and play up the emotional drama.
But this season never needed that.
Once he walked up on stage, Shao Meng smiled and asked, “How does it feel to defend your first-place title?”
In the spotlight, Yue Zhaolin smiled at the camera in front of him. “I’m very happy. At the same time… it feels like time is passing so slowly.”
Shao Meng raised an eyebrow.
Yue Zhaolin continued, “Since joining the show, I’ve received so much love.”
“The Tide fans who voted for me, the Tide fans who called my name loudly during the performances, the Tide fans who rushed to the Soda Festival for me.”
The corners of Yue Zhaolin’s eyes curved gently, full of warmth. “I’ve accepted all your love, but I rarely get the chance to give back. So I’ve been thinking—
Wouldn’t it be great if I could debut a little earlier?”
Starlight was filmed in a closed environment. Under normal circumstances, none of the contestants could interact closely with fans, and reverse fan support was not allowed.
But he had been thinking about it for a long time.
Reverse fan support didn’t have to be just snacks and drinks sent out—it could also be a spontaneous livestream, or a sweet, affectionate post.
Because in his world that had been turned upside down, Tide meant the most to him.
“Oh, right. I actually learned a new skill just for this speech—” Yue Zhaolin smiled and turned to the camera reserved for close-ups.
In the frame was a face blessed with both structure and skin, every feature refined. The silver-white short hair gave him an added layer of frosty elegance.
But when he smiled, it was completely different.
A pair of peach blossom eyes, but without any sharpness—the outer corners lifted into a soft arc. His under-eye area was shallow but well-shaped, and when he smiled, it was irresistibly charming.
His irises were on the lighter side, and under the stage lights, they sparkled like a painting with its own soft glow.
He gave an awkward little wink—
Trembling lashes, eyelids scrunched together—not quite textbook perfect, but a huge improvement. He looked incredibly cute.
Shao Meng: “……”
If the older wave gets crushed on the beach by the new wave, well, they probably deserve it.
After four years in the industry, Shao Meng had seen plenty of talent shows and heard countless thank-you speeches. But no one had managed to flirt with fans this effectively in just a few words. He had to admit defeat.
…
After the rankings were announced, the 24 eliminated trainees had to leave the venue.
Every elimination felt like a curtain falling—some looked forward to starting a new chapter, while others exited with deep regret.
There were only nine debut spots, most of which had already been locked in by the “royals.” Realistically, maybe two or three spots—at most—were still up for grabs.
Shu Yang felt envious of Mao Ding and Wei Lai, maybe even jealous. And yet those two lucky guys still hadn’t realized why they’d moved up.
Before leaving, Shu Yang patted Wei Lai on the shoulder. “Monkey, use that clever little brain of yours—who could possibly influence the voting results?”
Wei Lai froze: “…”
Shu Yang wasn’t the only one who had noticed the unnatural spike in their votes—Meng Yu had, too.
For such a massive jump in votes, the only two possible explanations were capital backing or Yue Zhaolin’s fanbase. And it definitely wasn’t capital.
Which meant it could only be the latter.
Mao Ding and Wei Lai’s sudden rise felt like it invalidated all of Meng Yu’s efforts.
If he’d known this would happen, he wouldn’t have done anything at all…
But there’s no such thing as “if only.”
Meng Yu’s journey on Starlight ended here.
No one paid attention to his pain or regret—he could only leave the stage in silence, alone and disgraced.
…
The 36 trainees who advanced to the second round were brought to a different hall, together with Shao Meng. PD Li Ying and the other mentors were already there.
Li Ying and Shao Meng made eye contact.
“Hello, Teacher Li.”
“Hello, Teacher Shao.”
—A uniquely C-entertainment quirk: no matter who it is, everyone gets called “Teacher [Name].”
The host for the third performance song selection was still PD Li Ying. Once all the trainees had settled in, he gave the usual short opening remarks.
“There are far fewer people now. I can’t help but feel a little emotional. To make it this far, you all must have worked extremely hard.”
“But the challenge is far from over.”
“The third public performance is just around the corner. After this round, only 18 trainees will remain.” It was the final elimination before the finale.
Li Ying announced, “The theme of this stage is—Mentor Collaboration.”
The bonus vote rules remained the same as the last round.
“There are five mentors, plus myself, for a total of six unreleased songs. We’ll let you preview them first, then make your choices.”
“The selection process will be anonymous.”
Li Ying gestured behind him toward a “wall”—behind the wall were six makeshift rooms constructed with panels, each door labeled with a song title.
From the outside, trainees walking past couldn’t see who had entered or how many people were inside.
Yue Zhaolin looked at the wall behind Li Ying and understood what the production team had set up. “Six songs, thirty-six people, that’s an average of six per group.”
“If a group exceeds six, there’ll be a ‘layoff.’”
He just didn’t know how that layoff would be handled. Would it be like the second performance, where those in the lower ranks automatically get kicked out?
Yue Zhaolin was deep in thought, while the mentors kept stealing glances at him.
This time, the power to choose a song group was essentially in Yue Zhaolin’s hands.
Each mentor pulled out all the stops to get him to choose their group.
Shao Meng even went so far as to spend a fortune acquiring a song from a Grammy-winning Western producer—the Oscars of the music industry, after all.
…
The lights dimmed.
Yue Zhaolin focused on the screen that lit up ahead as music slowly flowed from the speakers.
The first song came from the vocal mentor, Jia Ge: “Red Velvet and Ring.”
It was an electronic track told from a yandere perspective—structured around R&B, with lyrics and musical style full of fresh, edgy ideas.
The melody was immediately catchy—easy to remember after just one listen.
The MV featured choreography with a modern dance feel—ideal for a look that included chokers and silk shirts unbuttoned down to the third button.
Next came the dance mentors—
First was Shao Meng’s “Five Senses and Six Perceptions.”
The Grammy-winning producer blended Dream Pop (a lush, dreamy genre) with acid bass (a psychedelic sub-style).
For choreography, Shao Meng had hired a Korean choreographer—visually stunning and full of flair.
The other dance mentor, Xu You, presented “AI.”
The lyrics had a sci-fi cyberpunk vibe. The “I” in the song was a humanoid robot, going through corrosion, awakening, and finally breaking free—emerging like a butterfly from its cocoon.
Xu You specialized in street dance, so to mimic robotic movement, he infused the choreography with heavy popping. It was incredibly satisfying to watch.
Then came the two rap mentors—
Verse presented a melodic rap track titled “Playing with Ambiguity.”
The lazy vocal tone paired with R&B chords immediately conjured up the image of a scumbag popping champagne at a bar in the middle of the night—a full-on f*ckboy anthem.
To accommodate the trainees’ rap abilities, the lyrics weren’t fast, and the difficulty was low.
Nana also offered a melodic rap track titled “Relaxed Vibes.”
Despite the chill-sounding name, the lyrics were anything but. They were bold, full of attitude and aggression.
The choreography leaned toward jazz style.
Then there was PD Li Ying’s—
“Puppet on Strings”—a structurally “traditional” boy group song, complete with a dance break, rap section, and soaring high notes.
To express the connection between the puppet master and the puppet, elements of popping were added as well.
The synchronized dance portion featured a three-part backbend sequence symbolizing the puppet breaking free of its strings, ending on their knees, staring into the camera from an upside-down angle.
Absolutely unhinged.
Clap.
The lights came back on.
Yue Zhaolin: “…”
His expression slowly grew more serious. The third public performance song selection… was hard. He liked more than just one.
“Red Velvet and Ring” – yandere vibes.
“Five Senses and Six Perceptions” – psychedelic.
“Playing with Ambiguity” – scumbag-style rap.
“Puppet on Strings” – bursting with dramatic tension.
His reaction didn’t go unnoticed.
Li Ying smiled as he walked onstage. “Alright, you’ve now watched all six MVs. Perhaps you already have a favorite. Next—”
“Let’s have the top-ranked trainee, Yue Zhaolin, choose his song first.”
Yue Zhaolin: “Okay.”
He walked toward the wall behind Li Ying, disappearing behind it from a side entrance. The others watched his silhouette vanish, nearly wishing they had x-ray vision.
Everyone knew—if you ended up in the same group as Yue Zhaolin, it was basically ascension.
Even Shao Meng, sitting at the judges’ table, was starting to feel nervous. He believed he had already given it his all and sincerely hoped Yue Zhaolin would choose his song.
He cast a sidelong glance at Li Ying beside him—probably his only real competition.
Behind the wall—
The first room Yue Zhaolin saw was for “Puppet on Strings.”
This song was the definition of a well-rounded all-rounder: the vocal section was instantly catchy, the rap flowed naturally, and the choreography was dynamic and visually striking.
Yue Zhaolin continued walking. The next rooms were for “Five Senses and Six Perceptions” and “Playing with Ambiguity”, with “Red Velvet and Ring” at the very end.
…
All 36 trainees had chosen the song they wanted. Once prompted by the staff, they started filing out of the rooms in groups.
“There are so many people in that group.”
“Wow, a bunch of top-rankers chose ‘Puppet on Strings’…”—Chu Li, Cen Chi, Chen Wu, Fu Xunying, Rong Ruize.
Basically a top-tier team meeting.
But… Yue Zhaolin’s not there?
“…Wait, Yue Zhaolin’s in the rap group?”
“Huh?!”
“He raps?!”
As everyone exited and began to spot each other, whispers and murmurs broke out—until that last remark stood out from the noise.
Everyone turned to look—and sure enough, Yue Zhaolin had walked out of the ‘Playing with Ambiguity’ room. With him was Tan Shen.
Tan Shen, everyone knew—his dancing had improved a lot (though not something to examine too closely), and his rap was solid. He had delivered the best rap performance in the second round.
So Tan Shen picking the rap track made sense. But Yue Zhaolin…
Was stepping out of his comfort zone?
If Yue Zhaolin could hear their thoughts, his answer would probably be:
Yes, choosing ‘Playing with Ambiguity’ was about trying something new.
Even though it’s rap, it’s melodic rap—so he’s only halfway out of his comfort zone.
Moreover, the presentation of “Playing with Ambiguity” was quite different from what people expected—and it actually suited the kind of accessory Tan Shen had mentioned before: lip cuffs that connect to ear chains. A bold style.
Meanwhile, those who chose “Puppet on Strings”: “……”
They had all piled into that group because they thought Yue Zhaolin would choose it.
And now, the one person who should’ve been there… wasn’t.
Empty. Disappointed.
Shao Meng: “……”
Li Ying: “……”
Is this fate?
Li Ying took a deep breath and smiled. “Alright, trainees, please go stand behind the sign with the name of the song you selected.”
Li Ying continued, “As you’ve probably noticed, the number of people in each group isn’t balanced. So—each mentor has the right to ‘kick out’ trainees from their group.”
“What?”
“The production team is evil. First, they let us choose our mentors, and now the mentors get to kick us? Don’t play with my feelings…”
“So this is where the trap was…”
Some were anxious. Others… hopeful.
Because the ‘Playing with Ambiguity’ rap group that Yue Zhaolin had joined was still short by one member. If someone got kicked out of an overcrowded group, maybe—just maybe—they could squeeze in?
A light at the end of the tunnel?
Just as someone was silently celebrating this genius thought, they suddenly heard the rap mentor Verse speak up:
“PD, can I kick someone out even if my group isn’t full yet?”
Everyone paused.
“…Huh?”
“Who would you even kick…?”
Li Ying assumed Verse was going for the whole tough love, real rapper persona kind of image.
Coincidentally, the director in Li Ying’s earpiece responded that it was allowed: “Of course. It’s your group. Full or not, you have the right to remove someone.”
Verse gave a crooked grin. “Alright then, I’ll just say it—I want to kick Yue Zhaolin out.”
The entire room went dead silent.
……
……
Huh?
Huh? HUH?!
Even the mentors couldn’t hide their expressions. Weren’t you the one who just said during the second performance rehearsal that you were planning to pick Yue Zhaolin for the third round? What’s going on, bro—your left and right brain fighting each other now?
Yue Zhaolin raised an eyebrow.
Verse: “Bro, you’re a great idol. I really enjoy watching your performances. But I also have to be honest with you—
You’re not the right fit for this song.”
“You might think doing rap will make you cooler, more explosive—but rap isn’t child’s play. I can see it—you’re a soft, marshmallow-core boy.”
This was a carefully crafted critique by Verse—edgy enough to be memorable, but not so harsh as to truly offend. Plus, it helped reinforce his mentor persona.
……
……
The entire room was shook.
First of all, how many trainees here can actually rap, really?
Second, didn’t Verse take on this mentor gig for the clout, the exposure, the traffic?
And now he wants to be real, talk about emotional truth, look into people’s core?
Bro.
That’s not how you build a persona.
You’re done for.
Who turns away a golden opportunity like this? No—worse, who throws the golden opportunity on the floor and then stomps on it for good measure?
Everyone in the room, in perfect mental unison:
Is he stupid?!
Verse, looking quite pleased with himself, kept playing his role. “So…” —he shrugged with practiced nonchalance— “Sorry, but I’m kicking you out.”
He looked eagerly at Yue Zhaolin, waiting for a reaction.
But the latter showed no embarrassment, no shame—he just raised an eyebrow coolly and asked, “Alright. So can I join another group now?”
Before he even finished the sentence—
“Zhaolin, come check out our group—!”
“Ahhh Zhaolin, our group’s still not full—!”