Chapter 88: Conflict
The groups for “Suit Aesthetics” and “Crimson Rose” each had nine members, making them large teams, so this time the parts were already divided in advance.
A staff member entered the frame and handed out lyric sheets marked with the assigned singing sections.
Yue Zhaolin: “Thank you.”
This time, the parts were divided in great detail—different singing sections were in different fonts, directly matched to background colors, with high notes all marked in red.
In both songs, the high notes were basically assigned to Main Vocal 1 or Main Vocal 2.
Yue Zhaolin was just about to decide which song to choose.
Tan Shen: “I’ll take ‘Suit Aesthetics.’”
From a style-matching perspective, “Suit Aesthetics” suited him better than “Crimson Rose,” and Tan Shen had no need to make things harder for himself.
Cen Chi & Fu Xunying: “?”
Who asked you?
PD Li Ying: “Now, trainees who have chosen their desired song and part, don’t announce it yet, because up next is—part competition.”
A staff member pushed in a board, which displayed the part distribution for the two songs: three main vocals, three sub-vocals, and three main rappers.
“The first to choose a part is Tu Kai, who ranked 18th in the third elimination round.”
Eh? Familiar tactics.
Yue Zhaolin immediately guessed the show’s arrangement.
Lower-ranked trainees got to choose first, while higher-ranked ones chose later. If two people wanted the same part, the one who picked later would be able to push out the earlier one.
Li Ying’s further explanation of the competition rules confirmed Yue Zhaolin’s guess.
Tu Kai: “……”
If he chose an easy part, he’d definitely get knocked out. But if he picked a difficult one, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. What kind of life’s suffering was this?
Honestly, as the one in 18th place, did he really have the right to choose?
Tu Kai glanced at Yue Zhaolin, gritted his teeth, took his name tag, and placed it in the “Suit Aesthetics” Sub-Vocal 3 slot.
What if… just maybe?
His heart hadn’t even settled down yet when the 17th place, Chao Leyou, loudly said “Sorry!” and swapped out Tu Kai’s name tag for his own.
Then he took Tu Kai’s tag and stuck it into the empty Sub-Vocal 3 slot of “Crimson Rose.”
On camera, the 18th place was left teetering, while the 17th place kept apologizing.
The very next second, 16th place Xin Ji also shouted “Sorry!” as he replaced the 17th’s tag with his own, then shifted the latter’s name tag into the “Crimson Rose” Sub-Vocal 2 slot.
“What the—!”
“Why is it already this intense at the start?!”
14th place Orleans watched wide-eyed: “Is this hell…?”
The reason was that both of them felt there was a higher chance Yue Zhaolin would choose “Suit Aesthetics,” so they both wanted to fight for the chance to end up on the same team as him.
Unexpectedly, even the trainees on this tier started to catch on, and the atmosphere began to grow subtly restless.
Noticing that he’d become the eye of the storm, Yue Zhaolin raised an eyebrow, still looking rather—
Accustomed to it?
14th place Orleans thought it over for a moment. Considering his “deer-like” looks, he figured going with “Crimson Rose” might work to his advantage.
Chen Wu chose “Suit Aesthetics.”
Wei Lai picked “Crimson Rose.” He wasn’t strong enough and had only been rescued back into the show, so if he went to the other group, he’d definitely get replaced. Playing it safe was the smarter move.
As more and more trainees went up to pick their parts, the empty slots gradually filled up—
“Suit Aesthetics”
Main Vocal 1: Zhu Zhu;
Main Vocal 2:
Main Vocal 3: Deng Yangbing;
Sub-Vocal 1: Fu Xunying;
Sub-Vocal 2: Chen Wu;
Sub-Vocal 3: Rong Ruize;
Main Rapper 1:
Main Rapper 2: Xin Ji;
Main Rapper 3: Mao Ding.
This song still had two vacancies, and the other group did as well.
Next, it was down to Chu Li, Cen Chi, Tan Shen, and Yue Zhaolin to make their choices in order.
Fourth-place Chu Li smiled and said: “My first public performance song ‘Necktie’ was already suit-themed, so this time I want to try a different style. I’ll pick ‘Crimson Rose.’”
And with that, he pushed Orleans over into the “Suit Aesthetics” Main Vocal 2 slot.
Orleans: “Huh?!”
Wait, bro?! With his deer-like looks, he had no way of standing out among the mature suited men!
Under the veiled looks of envy from the people around him, Orleans: …wants to die.
After that, third-place Cen Chi didn’t say much—he just reached out and replaced Zhu Zhu.
“Oh—ho!”
Someone couldn’t hold back.
This upper-rank lineup was way too dramatic!
Zhu Zhu’s face stiffened.
He had been accepted into a music academy; his vocal foundation was at least a bit stronger than most trainees, so he’d hoped to use the high-note part to whitewash his image and win back fans.
But then Cen Chi popped out of nowhere.
Even on camera, Zhu Zhu couldn’t hide his ugly expression. He couldn’t help but wonder if Cen Chi, Yue Zhaolin’s bootlicker, was deliberately retaliating against him.
But Cen Chi really wasn’t.
He had said before: if he wanted something, he’d go for it—Main Vocal 1 and Main Vocal 2 were both high-register parts, but they were exactly the opportunity for him to shine.
Zhu Zhu, having been pushed out, saw there was still a rap slot open next door, so he went there instead.
Next up was second-place Tan Shen.
Everyone guessed he would pick Rap 1, yet Tan Shen’s hand swerved suddenly—he chose Rap 2, leaving Rap 1 glaringly empty.
“Huh?!”
“Tan Shen didn’t take 1?”
“This is getting unpredictable.”
Li Ying: “Last one, trainee Yue Zhaolin, please step forward. This is the final part selection. Have you decided which song you want to choose?”
“Yes, PD.”
The moment Yue Zhaolin picked up his name tag, it was no exaggeration to say—you could hear a pin drop.
—He chose the only empty slot in “Suit Aesthetics,” the Main Rapper 1 position.
On one hand, he’d never tried a suit concept before. On the other, the Main Rap part in “Suit Aesthetics” happened to be melodic rap.
He wanted to give it a try.
“Hah?!”
“Yue Zhaolin actually picked rap?!”
“Wait—that reminds me, didn’t he want to go rap in the third public… cough—”
That certain rap mentor who had quit the show had already become an unspeakable topic.
Amid the incredulous chatter, Tan Shen let out a breath of relief. His gamble had paid off.
And what was this called?
The self-cultivation of reading the emperor’s will.
With that, the “Suit Aesthetics” lineup was complete:
Main Vocal 1: Cen Chi;
Main Vocal 2: Ao Liang’ao (Orleans);
Main Vocal 3: Deng Yangbing;
Sub-Vocal 1: Fu Xunying;
Sub-Vocal 2: Chen Wu;
Sub-Vocal 3: Rong Ruize;
Main Rapper 1: Yue Zhaolin;
Main Rapper 2: Tan Shen;
Main Rapper 3: Mao Ding.
With the group selection finished, Li Ying began explaining the rules for the personal solos.
“Trainees will need to prepare a 50-second solo performance. Any format is allowed—vocal, dance, rap, or whatever skill you want to showcase.”
The performance music could be an original composition or another artist’s work. Trainees could also seek help from mentors for rearrangements or choreography.
—That was the official line, but in reality, most final-round solos were usually produced by the companies themselves, aiming to make their trainees shine in one spectacular moment.
Xingqiong had even asked Yue Zhaolin if he had any specific style in mind.
Yue Zhaolin didn’t have any good ideas for now. His company wasn’t pushing him either—they said they already had several choreographies ready, all visually impressive, and he could pick whichever he wanted.
Li Ying raised his voice: “Alright, everyone, you can begin group practice.”
With that, Li Ying’s tasks for the day were done. Before leaving, he reminded the trainees—mainly Yue Zhaolin—that if they needed help with their solo, they could come to him.
Yue Zhaolin nodded and thanked him.
After a few polite exchanges, Li Ying said he was heading off. The trainees all called out in unison: “Goodbye, PD!”
Watching his figure disappear through the door, Yue Zhaolin said, “Let’s go too.”
First, to the practice room.
The elevator hadn’t arrived yet, but since the practice room was just one floor down, everyone felt it would be quicker to take the nearby emergency stairwell.
Yue Zhaolin walked in the middle.
Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him—it sounded like someone’s throat being choked.
“Ke—”
Yue Zhaolin instinctively turned back.
There, the fair, delicate Korean-style pretty boy Deng Yangbing was yanking on Zhu Zhu’s shirt, flinging him down the stairs like a kite let loose.
Yue Zhaolin: “Wow.”
Zhu Zhu honestly felt like he’d been tossed into a full one-eighty spin, rolling once in midair, his abdomen and thighs throbbing from slamming against the steps.
Damn it.
The shin he’d banged up earlier hurt too.
He lay sprawled on the stairs, coughing twice before cursing out: “You… are sick in the head…”
Deng Yangbing was meticulous about his looks—base makeup, concealer, styled hair—he didn’t look like he had much strength, yet he had nearly thrown Zhu Zhu to death.
Deng Yangbing’s brows pinched together, his motion of helping him up pausing: “First, I need to apologize. I really did use too much force.”
“Second, it’s because you missed your step and fell toward me from behind. Grabbing you was just reflex—I didn’t want you to fall and get hurt.”
His nasal sounds blurred, his tone soft, making him sound easy to push around.
Zhu Zhu had met plenty of effeminate types like this—imagining they were gay, pretending to avoid them out of fear of being liked, while secretly enjoying b*llying them.
Zhu Zhu opened his mouth to curse again: “You f*cking—”
“Shut up.”
This time, it was Yue Zhaolin who spoke.
Zhu Zhu instantly fell silent.
Yue Zhaolin: “You run your mouth so happily online, but in reality you only dare lash out at innocent people? Hm, is that b*llying the weak while fearing the strong?”
Zhu Zhu’s face slowly flushed red. Why was Yue Zhaolin not showing the slightest concern that he too was from the royal family?
So what if he picked an easy target to bully?
“Excuse me.”
At the stairwell entrance, Chu Li poked his head in with a smile, as if he hadn’t seen a thing, and said cheerfully to Zhu Zhu: “I need to talk to you about something. Mind if I borrow you for a bit?”
“Zhu Zhu, what do you say?”
Zhu Zhu: “……”
He didn’t want to go, but staying here would clearly be even more humiliating. “…Coming.”
Chu Li smiled.
#ChuLiCaughtArguingWithZhuZhu#, #ChuLiStandsUpForHimself#, #ChuLiTrueTemperament#—these trending hashtags were already on their way.
Thank you, fool, for delivering such a gift.
The most satisfying character-building moment yet.
…
Watching Zhu Zhu’s back as he left, Deng Yangbing let out a breath of relief: “Thank you, Zhaolin.”
Because of his unchangeable way of speaking, he had never dared to talk much since childhood. Even now, he wasn’t good at arguing, especially against people who twisted everything around like this.
“It’s fine. Let’s go,” Yue Zhaolin said.
He—or rather, “she”—had seen many people like Zhu Zhu.
This kind of person had countless bullying targets, regardless of gender, and could use any reason as justification—
Dark skin, pale skin, unattractive, too attractive, too skinny, too fat, speaking with an accent, getting good grades, studying too hard.
In elementary school, Yue Zhaolin, whose parents had divorced, had also been one of their targets.
She had fought back.
Unable to take on a whole group, she would grab one person and beat them, even using her teeth.
Maybe it was because of those school days that, when she grew up, Yue Zhaolin became used to relying on herself, trusting only herself to handle everything.
Tan Shen suddenly spoke: “Wait a sec, did he just crash and burn himself?”
Earlier, Yue Zhaolin had said Zhu Zhu only dared to talk big online, and he hadn’t denied it.
There were plenty of celebrities who did stupid things—but most of them refused to admit it, right?
Orleans was shocked: “It was really him who posted it? I thought it was just some kind of hype-for-black-red marketing stunt…”
A boy group survival show turning into a palace drama—who wouldn’t be curious about that kind of promotion?
Leeching off Yue Zhaolin’s popularity, in a way, was also a way to gain attention. At the very least, all of Yue Zhaolin’s fans now knew Zhu Zhu existed.
—Though risky, and with little chance of success, the entertainment industry was full of “history books of time.” Given enough time, maybe things could eventually be clarified.
Having spent years training in dance in Korea and witnessed countless bizarre incidents, Cen Chi spoke with the air of someone experienced: “The world is big—nothing is too strange to exist.”
The group chatted as they walked downstairs.
At the back of the line, Rong Ruize did his best to shrink his presence.
When they reached the practice room, staff waiting there handed each trainee a tablet and headphones to help them learn their parts and choreography.
Fu Xunying: “Practice vocals first?”
Yue Zhaolin: “Sure.”
This time, Yue Zhaolin’s part was mostly rap, which would require more thought and effort.
Eager to be of use, Tan Shen declared he was always available to help. As he went to sit down beside them, he lost his balance slightly and had to brace a hand behind him to steady himself.
For some reason, watching Tan Shen, Yue Zhaolin was reminded of Zhu Zhu. One had fallen, the other hadn’t—both of them had tilted backward.
Something flashed through his mind—it felt like a thought, but it slipped by too quickly to catch.
Tan Shen: “Yue—”
Yue Zhaolin raised a hand, signaling him not to speak. All at once, he seized that fleeting inspiration.
For his solo stage—he had an idea.