Chapter 87: Group Performance Tracks
Starlight really wanted to promote this season’s group, so a packed schedule had already been set for after their debut.
In addition to the essential group endorsements, there would be group variety filming, debut song MV filming, debut documentary filming, and plenty more high-exposure appearances—
Even though it had declined a bit, there was still the foundational national variety show, Happy Big Saturday;
Several drama OSTs;
Fashion magazines’ annual parties—over the past two years, there had been more red carpets in domestic entertainment than actual projects, with every side determined to outshine the others on the carpet;
Guest spots on music variety shows across satellite channels, flying guest roles in outdoor variety shows, music award ceremonies;
There was even the 618 Gala.
Looking at the schedule, Ma Tao let out a broad, Maitreya-like laugh. Everything was ready—once the finale night was over, they would immediately start pushing out content.
“Director Ma, something’s happened.”
The assistant rushed in after knocking, speaking anxiously. Ma Tao dropped his smile. “What is it?”
The assistant handed over a tablet. “There’s a post on Zhihu—‘How do you view Yue Zhaolin?’ Zhu Zhu replied, but he didn’t do it anonymously, and people dug it up.”
Ma Tao: “……”
First it was Meng Yu, now it was Zhu Zhu. Could these trainees, who hadn’t even finished their studies, stop stirring up trouble for once?
[How do you view Yue Zhaolin?]
[Tianzhu Speaker: A super phony hiding behind the mask of a ‘saintly’ persona. Only female fans with rock-bottom judgment would believe he’s pure and unpretentious, right?
As someone who often deals with celebrities in the industry, whenever I see fans trying to push that “lotus unsullied by the mud” persona onto him, I can’t help but laugh.
The more people crowd around him, the more it looks like he has good connections—but in truth, not really. Fu Xunying used to absolutely dislike him and had no desire to hype up a CP with him.
Later on, his company forced him to hype up a CP with Yue Zhaolin, and only then did their relationship “improve.”
Don’t believe it? Just go watch the show. Between the initial grading and the first performance, the two of them had zero interactions, no appearances together at all. CP fans even claimed it was their “cold war period.”
……]
In this answer, practically all the top-ranked trainees got named, with a neatly packaged “analysis” that, at first glance, really did look like it came from someone with insider knowledge.
In recent years, Zhihu had also turned into a battleground of public opinion for celebrities. Criticism outweighed praise—or rather, critical posts simply spread more easily.
So once this answer went up, it didn’t take long before it was pushed onto the homepages of users interested in Yue Zhaolin.
Over a thousand likes, over a thousand comments—it instantly blew up into a full-on dogfight.
Of course, by now the answer was gone, and the Zhihu account had been deleted. But long-time gossip veterans were already prepared.
Screenshots of Zhu Zhu’s answer, recordings of his profile page—everything was saved.
Naturally, his older answers got dug up too, and one of them dragged back the b*llying scandal he had supposedly “washed clean.”
[Why is it that b*llies always live better than the b*llied? How long must justice be delayed?]
Tianzhu Speaker: “Because only those with power and influence can b*lly. Of course b*llies live better.”
Even on its own, the sentence left a sour taste. Put together with Zhu Zhu’s identity and the b*llying rumors he had “clarified,” it became even more delicate.
It was practically a self-confession.
Idiot.
Ma Tao took a sip of tea. He wasn’t all that worried—after all, it wasn’t Chu Li or Yue Zhaolin who’d pulled this stupid stunt. Those two were the only real GrapeFruit people.
“What’s RiYao’s response?” Zhu Zhu’s agency was RiYao Entertainment.
“For now, no comment.”
As long as Zhu Zhu could debut alongside Yue Zhaolin, he’d get to ride Yue Zhaolin’s fame and collect his share of the group’s activities—so of course, playing dead was the safest move.
Ma Tao let out a small laugh. He’d taken a swipe at the entire top circle without shedding a drop of blood—pretty good at getting cheap shots in. Not stepping on someone would’ve felt like a waste.
In Zhu Zhu’s answer, he’d also dragged Chu Li, saying Chu Li only got along with Yue Zhaolin because he was a fence-sitter—slick, worldly, and opportunistic.
Perfect. Break down to build up.
GrapeFruit had always treated the talent show as a stepping stone, letting Chu Li draw in fans first before placing him in the group. Beyond his suitable appearance, the other advantage was Chu Li’s natural, unforced acting.
Ma Tao tapped the table.
It was about time for Chu Li and Zhu Zhu to “have a conflict.” Shot from a paparazzi angle, it would look more authentic.
Up to now, Chu Li only had the safe labels of “trained in dance” and “natural-born ancient-style face.” This time, he could take the chance to step on Zhu Zhu and carve out another persona.
“Today’s the finale song selection, right?”
“Yes.”
“Once he’s chosen, go notify him.”
——
[Goose Gossip Group丨Three men can make a show, let alone dozens crammed together. But this is the first time I’ve seen a Zhihu account get exposed, hahaha!]
[Main Post]
RT.
If you haven’t caught up on the drama, just go search “Zhihu bro” on Bilibili—I nearly died laughing at the bullet comments.
[1F] Congrats on the new nickname: Zhihu Bro.
[4F] This hidden emperor, the one with the least presence and weakest ability, finally got exposed. I’m honestly worried now—worried he won’t survive this wave of cyberb*llying.
[8F] Just a couple days ago, the Tide fandom scored a massive win, their morale is sky-high. Why would he provoke them of all people? And now? Tide: Squad pic.jpg.
[13F] Breaking—Weibo post from someone claiming to be Zhihu Bro’s b*llying victim is already trending!
[17F] Zhihu Bro’s only two moments of real hype: first, when he got exposed for b*llying; second, this self-detonation truck crash. Shouldn’t we just call him B*llying Bro instead?
[23F] I was wondering how they even tracked him down from his Zhihu account, then I looked at the questions he’d answered—
“Any students from Berklee College of Music here? Please share—is Berklee actually a diploma mill?”
“What’s it like being a guy over 1.8m tall?”
“For good-looking guys who can also sing, what kind of privileges do you get in dating?”
[27F] Reading his answers is basically a criminal profile: student at Berklee (or dropped out/suspended), height 183cm, decent-looking, can sing (but can’t dance, otherwise he would’ve bragged about it).
Oh, and a history of b*llying.
All that’s missing is his ID number.
[34F] Zhihu Bro, I’m dying of laughter.
[37F] Zhihu Bro’s character sucks, but his writing’s not bad. That one post even baited quite a few Yue-antis into praising him underneath, actually thinking he was some industry insider.
[42F] Honestly, after reading through the whole thing, I only have one thought— Is Zhihu Bro actually a Yue-mom stan? Hinting that Yue Zhaolin’s a universal heartthrob?
Back in the third performance, Crown Prince Ying carried Emperor Yue on his back—because he was “immersed” in the CP act.
Chu Li handed that plum blossom to Emperor Yue during the center-pick—also “immersed” in the CP act.
Tan Shen and Cen Chi followed Emperor Yue—again, because they were “immersed” in the CP act.
Is acting immersion really that easy? Or is it just one look at Yue Zhaolin and bam, you’re in character?
[47F] Good grief—whole lineup of Movie Kings.
[52F] Forget it, don’t drag the name of mom stans through the mud.
[55F] Most important point: Zhihu Bro, as Emperor Yue’s classmate, only brought up “fake popularity.” Which just shows—he had nothing else on him.
[61F] From this we can infer: Emperor Yue doesn’t smoke. (If Zhihu Bro had ever smelled smoke, he would’ve said it ages ago.)
[67F] He’s not that different off-camera compared to on. (Otherwise Zhihu Bro would’ve claimed he was acting.)
[72F] He doesn’t cling to the top-rank crowd, nor does he look down on the lower-rank crowd. (Because Zhihu Bro said he’s good at managing relationships, and he’s got quite a few supporters among the lower ranks too.)
[75F] The eternal pastime of Chinese people: reading comprehension.jpg
·
Starlight Building.
Zhu Zhu forced himself to stay calm as he entered the room for finale song selection. With only eighteen trainees left, they had switched to a smaller room.
The trainees present were talking in low voices.
Zhu Zhu couldn’t shake the feeling they were talking about him. His mouth twitched, his face darkening.
As he walked past, the people who’d been chatting looked over at him. Normally, that would’ve been nothing worth noticing, but right now it felt unbearably glaring.
Back when he spread rumors about Yue Zhaolin on Zhihu, Zhu Zhu had known that targeting Yue Zhaolin alone wasn’t enough. He had to drag more people down too, to make it look believable.
But in the end, he’d only managed to offend the entire top circle.
Some of those trainees’ companies were on the same level as Riyao Entertainment, most were even bigger.
Zhu Zhu, worried about retaliation, went to his company for help. They told him to just sit tight, act like nothing had happened. Once he debuted, he’d get to “perform team spirit” with those same people. By then, his failure to post anonymously would be nothing but a dusty page in history—he’d be whitewashed clean.
For once, Zhu Zhu actually forced a smile, greeted a few people, then stood in his spot.
He was lost in his messy thoughts when the door opened again—Chu Li, Cen Chi, and Yue Zhaolin came in. Zhu Zhu remembered the three of them shared a dorm.
Just as he braced himself, thinking Yue Zhaolin was about to come for him, Chu Li smiled and walked right up to him.
“Zhu Zhu, after the song selection’s done, shall we have a talk?”
Zhu Zhu’s smile twisted awkwardly. “…No need for that.”
Then he turned his head—and locked eyes with Yue Zhaolin. Yue Zhaolin’s brows arched ever so slightly, and he took a single step in Zhu Zhu’s direction. That alone sent Zhu Zhu into a panic, stumbling backward.
But he forgot he was standing right in front of the steps. One step back—his calf caught, his balance went, and with a loud thud, he hit the ground.
Since it was a small room, the program team had set up steps similar to those used for graduation photos, the kind with tiered platforms. Easy to assemble, sturdy material.
Which meant—
It was really loud.
The staff on-site jumped in shock and rushed over to check. Seeing Zhu Zhu lying on the steps, groaning in pain, they quickly asked if he’d hit his head.
The scene was chaos.
Tan Shen leaned over, looking cheeky as he waggled his brows at Yue Zhaolin and teased:
“Look at that aura of yours, that death-glare—this humble servant is in awe.”
Yue Zhaolin shot him a glance.
Tan Shen, smooth as water, cupped his hands in mock salute:
“This humble servant withdraws at once.”
Yue Zhaolin’s eyes shifted back to Zhu Zhu, who had mostly recovered by now. But his psychological defenses were so flimsy that it gave off a sense of… not even worth the trouble.
Still, Tide was bound to be furious. Whenever it involved him, Tide always swept everything clean.
Thinking of that, Yue Zhaolin couldn’t help but let out a faint smile.
Fu Xunying had somehow walked over without anyone noticing. He cleared his throat, looking a little guilty.
Zhu Zhu’s Zhihu answer was full of rumors, yes—but back then, he had been giving Yue Zhaolin the cold shoulder, unilaterally.
Wasn’t that just immaturity? It was in the past already, and yet people insisted on digging it up again.
Always one to use his privileges when he could, Fu Xunying immediately contacted his company. But Xingqiong didn’t step in for that reason alone when it came to “retaliating” against Zhu Zhu.
—Protecting their own artists was the company’s job. They couldn’t just let people land blows straight on their face and still turn the other cheek, could they?
In this area, Xingqiong had always done well. Yue Zhaolin trusted them on that.
…
Once staff had confirmed Zhu Zhu was fine, the official recording began.
This time’s theme was the finale night song selection, and the host was Li Ying.
Looking across at the eighteen trainees, Li Ying’s gaze paused. His tone carried surprise:
“Trainee Yue Zhaolin—have you dyed your hair back to black?”
His voice carried a note of sentiment:
“It feels like the third performance only just ended. Seeing your new hair color, I suddenly realized how fast time has flown.”
Li Ying then looked back toward the trainees opposite him, and sighed with emotion:
“From the first evaluation, to the re-evaluation with the theme song, to three performances—that’s five assessments in total. Everyone who can still stand here now, you’ve all done really well.”
Of course, for some, the gold content wasn’t exactly high. But the polite lines still had to be said. As soon as Li Ying’s words landed, all the trainees clapped and bowed together.
Li Ying continued: “For the final evaluation—that is, after finale night—only half of you will remain. Nine will debut as a group.”
Under the trainees’ tense stares, Li Ying added:
“The final evaluation will be divided into three parts: the full group performance, the unit battles, and the individual solos.”
—There would also be stages with mentors and special guests, but those didn’t concern the trainees.
Li Ying: “The full group performance tracks will be the show’s theme song Meteor and the debut song symbolizing the nine-member lineup, Boundless Starfield.”
Meteor would open the stage, and Boundless Starfield would close it.
The latter could only be performed by the final debut members, but all eighteen trainees would learn it—after all, until the very end, no one knew who would make the cut.
As soon as Li Ying finished speaking, the screen behind him began playing Boundless Starfield.
The style of the song matched its title perfectly: it evoked images of vast open plains, the eternal night sky, and dreams taking flight.
Watching the choreography on the screen—energetic, blooming with the vibrancy of youth—Yue Zhaolin felt as if the very step closer to debut had taken shape before his eyes.
He drew a quiet breath, a rare flicker of nervousness stirring in him.
After the trainees had discussed for a while and the cameras had captured enough material, Li Ying spoke again, introducing the rules for the group battle portion.
“This time, the group battle will only be divided into two teams. There will no longer be vocal, dance, or rap categories, but rather—
All-rounder.”
Two songs had been prepared for the group battle. The moment the track preview was about to play, everyone held their breath, straining their ears—this was the finale selection, no room for mistakes.
“The first song: Suit Aesthetics.”
The title alone made it clear—it was a song meant to be performed in suits.
The prelude, built from minimalist electronic beats, created a kind of “breath-like” intimacy.
The vocals that followed highlighted the power of the human voice, and both the lyrics and delivery carried a distinctly “refined scoundrel” flavor.
One sequence had the performers with hands in pockets, moving mostly with footwork; the camera panned from polished leather shoes upward until it landed on the choreographer’s face, ID badge dangling from his mouth—sending the entire room into an uproar.
“I’m picking this group!”
“That part of the choreography looks amazing—”
The moves weren’t hip thrusts or waist twists, so they didn’t feel greasy, but they were still memorable. Paired with the formalwear, anyone who picked this stage would have a definite advantage.
“The second song: Crimson Rose.”
Using the red rose as a metaphor for “me,” it depicted a group of passionate young men chasing their dreams. A very classic idol-style song, perfectly in line with the show’s core theme of dreams.
The rose would face storms, meet butterflies pausing on its petals, endure the chill after sunset, and cradle the dewdrops of dawn.
The choreography reflected the same imagery.
Fiery dreams, pounding hearts—like roses blooming brilliantly on stage.
Choreography: dazzling.
That was the word that popped into Yue Zhaolin’s head.
He steadied himself. If one were to make a simple distinction—Suit Aesthetics was the “mature man” stage, while Crimson Rose was the “teenage boy” stage.