Chapter 95: Livestream
On the way back to the camp with Fu Xunying, the buzz was already starting to ferment.
This trip to the live house had actually been carefully planned by Xingqiong, but they hadn’t told Yue Zhaolin beforehand—so that the effect would come off more natural.
But before the band’s lead singer could cue Yue Zhaolin, he had already “gone on stage.”
And the fan chosen wasn’t a plant, so every bit of emotion she showed on stage—her surprise, her fluster, her instinctive hesitation—was completely real.
Her reaction was very easy for the audience to empathize with. But from another angle, she was also too lucky, which was bound to trigger feelings of imbalance among other fans.
At this point, Liu Li couldn’t tell if it was just coincidence, or if Yue Zhaolin had done it on purpose—
When facing the fan, he didn’t ask things like “What’s your name?” or “Do you like live houses?”—questions that would be too direct.
If he had asked, that overly precise and specific targeting would have made the imbalance even worse.
From a marketing perspective, asking would’ve been better. The more interaction between Yue Zhaolin and the fan on stage, the more it would stir up the fan circle’s emotions.
And since Yue Zhaolin’s core fanbase consisted largely of “dream-girl” fans, their jealousy would’ve been huge.
As it was, fans might still feel uncomfortable watching, but it was also easier for them to digest those feelings.
A bit of a missed opportunity.
…
Fu Xunying didn’t understand either.
If he had been the one on stage, he wouldn’t have handled it like Yue Zhaolin—he would’ve focused more on showcasing himself.
For instance, when a fan cried, he would’ve stepped forward to give her a gentlemanly hand-hug. In clips circulating later, he would have been the “highlight” of the scene.
But Yue Zhaolin was different—he gave the fan time to calm down, which caused what should’ve been the focal point of the scene to fade away significantly.
Although he did later consider helping her touch up her makeup, it was far too gentle and proper. Not that Yue Zhaolin’s reaction was wrong, but Fu Xunying’s first thought was—
Fake.
The moment that thought flashed across his mind, Fu Xunying was startled.
Because he and Yue Zhaolin were brothers, and he truly respected him as a person. Yet subconsciously, he had used such a malicious assumption to judge him.
That was why Fu Xunying couldn’t understand.
When Xingqiong signed Yue Zhaolin, they didn’t need any “smoothing things over” or “cleaning up after him,” which proved he hadn’t done any shady deals. But Yue Zhaolin still handled things so skillfully—it just didn’t add up.
Fu Xunying had always thought Yue Zhaolin was just pandering to fans, but tonight… he couldn’t put it into words.
He wanted to ask Yue Zhaolin, yet hesitated, not knowing how to phrase it.
That hesitation lasted through most of the ride back.
Yue Zhaolin noticed, but didn’t ask.
In an earlier call, he had confirmed the livestream schedule with the program team. His own segment remained the same, but he requested one extra bit:
A dorm tour.
Who wouldn’t be curious about Yue Zhaolin’s dorm?
But since the dorm wasn’t his alone, and Chu Li and Cen Chi weren’t there, the crew asked if they could tidy the place up beforehand.
Yue Zhaolin had no objections. He nodded, agreed, and after hanging up, Fu Xunying still looked like he had words stuck in his throat.
“What is it?”
“…Nothing.”
Fu Xunying didn’t answer directly. After all, the thought itself was strange to say out loud—and even if he asked, how could Yue Zhaolin possibly respond?
If Yue Zhaolin could hear his thoughts, he would’ve found it easy to answer—
His reactions had been instinctive, simply what he felt was right to do.
In his view, the bond between fans and idols also needed nurturing if it was to grow closer.
There was an old saying in the entertainment world: “No one will love you forever, but there will always be someone who loves you.”
It was a reminder that fans coming and going was only natural.
A part of Yue Zhaolin’s unease stemmed from the first half of that saying.
He knew he probably couldn’t change that iron law, but he could at least try to extend the “time limit” of love—that was the goal he was working toward.
Besides, Yue Zhaolin didn’t think he had actually done all that much.
If he were still a girl, he could’ve given fans stronger comfort—for example, wiping away her tears directly, or giving her a hug.
Then, belatedly remembering something, Yue Zhaolin asked casually, “Cen Chi didn’t come out?”
He had truly forgotten about him.
“No.” But that was nothing unusual—Cen Chi definitely had a car to pick him up.
Logically, Fu Xunying could have stayed behind with Cen Chi to keep listening to music, but he ended up getting in the car with Yue Zhaolin instead.
Fu Xunying said, “Even if I don’t get in now, the company’s going to call me later, telling me to show my face in your livestream.”
To avoid that, he chose to return to the base together with Yue Zhaolin. Still, he had no interest in hovering over Yue Zhaolin during the stream; it wasn’t his duty to play the third wheel.
“Ahem, anyway, I’ll just go back to the dorm and lie down. The livestream’s yours, don’t mind me.”
“Alright.”
“We’re here, let’s get out.”
The two of them got out of the car and entered the dorm building. Since it was the holidays, hardly anyone was around, so the elevator came quickly.
Ding—
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Fu Xunying’s brows knitted tightly. “Tsk, reeks of smoke.”
Both staff and trainees smoked, but always in hiding—never this brazenly. Smoking inside the elevator? Unbelievable.
Yue Zhaolin also frowned. “Let’s take the one over there instead.”
He hated the smell of smoke too—for one, secondhand smoke was unhealthy, and for another, it was just plain disgusting.
They switched to another elevator, and the air was much better. But Yue Zhaolin had let his guard down too early—when the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, another wave of stench rolled in.
The manager’s eyes flicked over and landed on the trash bin at the elevator entrance—on top was a cigarette butt, stubbed out.
If it were just the lingering smell, the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, so they could turn a blind eye. But using the trash bin as an ashtray? That was going too far.
The manager wrapped the butt in a tissue and tossed it back in the bin. “Sorry, I’ll have to report this.”
With nine-tenths of the trainees away, it was more likely to have been a staff member. And most likely one of the few who had just been sent over to clean.
Still, the manager couldn’t understand it—trainees might be on break, but management wasn’t. For someone to treat the trash bin like an ashtray… that was just malicious.
Once the security cameras were checked, could they really get away?
…
[Ding—The blogger you follow has gone live!]
The official Starlight account sent out a livestream push. Starving Tides fans clicked in at concert-ticket-snatching speed.
Livestream title: Starlight Livestream Diary: Yue Zhaolin Edition — Xiao Yue Left Behind
[Here we go—]
[Baby]
[Pfft, why is the title “Xiao Yue Left Behind”? Oh, because all the other trainees went home for the holidays? Hahaha]
[Sigh, not in the dorms?]
Yue Zhaolin glanced at the camera, thought the angle was a little crooked, and reached out to adjust it. “Mm, haven’t gone back to the dorm yet—this is the dorm rooftop.”
“Everyone else went home?”
[They did!]
[All safe back home]
[So jealous of Tides fans in Haicheng, I live too far—takes me two hours by high-speed rail. I want to bump into Yue too, wuwuwu]
[Douyin is flooded with duet clips, I’ve watched that fan’s repo so many times—crying and jealous at the same time]
[I’ll hold my breath until Yue Zhaolin comes to comfort me.JPG]
The impact of being personally rescued by the idol himself was just too much—fans couldn’t stay rational.
But honestly, most of these words were just playful whining. They only needed a little coaxing to be soothed.
He deliberately played along: “Ah, then how should I comfort you? Will you teach me?”
Yue Zhaolin never saw this kind of fan-like whining as a burden or pressure. Instead, Tides’ little displays of affection were so cute that he couldn’t help but smile.
The rooftop breeze lifted the ends of his hair; his smile carried the warmth of spring.
As soon as he finished speaking, the livestream chat turned into a screaming machine, completely bewitched.
[Aaaaahhhh how can you be like this?!]
[Look at his expression—he’s doing this on purpose! This man is dangerous ahhhh]
[Cat-boy teasing incident, back from the dead]
[I was supposed to be asleep right now—thank goodness I clicked in. Totally worth it!]
[I never knew I was this easy to coax. He only said two sentences and I’ve already surrendered. Why can’t I be stronger?!]
[What kind of move is this……]
Yue Zhaolin chuckled softly. This kind of move only worked on people who cared.
Because the fans cared about him, they were easy to soothe. Of course, he didn’t intend to stop there.
For better lighting during the stream, a lamp had been set up on the rooftop. The warm yellow glow fell across Yue Zhaolin’s face, even catching the fine hairs on his skin.
The night breeze lifted his hair again, and a soft halo enveloped him—serene, beautiful, like a piece of warm jade under the moonlight.
“Tonight’s sky is really pretty. Let me show you.” He picked up the phone and switched to the rear camera.
The vast night sky stretched like a pitch-black curtain, stars scattered across it like fireflies.
He aimed the lens toward the neon lights in the distance, his voice carrying a smile: “Over there—that’s where the drone show takes place.”
Because of the surprise the Tide fans had once given him, he always looked at that patch of sky with anticipation.
[?!]
[Baby, did you drink or something?]
[Succubus. This is literally a succubus…]
[So sentimental today]
[Godly]
[I declare—I’ve been coaxed back to happiness]
[Nope, not me, I’m still not okay. At least make Yue Zhaolin sing two more songs (struggling to resist)]
“Want to hear me sing? Sure.”
Yue Zhaolin thought for a moment. “But don’t you need authorization or to buy the rights for covers?”
[Singing just a few lines should be fine!]
[Wuwuwu, I just want to hear every song pass through Yue Zhaolin’s lips]
[A Japanese song! Renai Circulation! I can’t even imagine how cute it would sound coming from Yue’s mouth—I’d probably get a nosebleed]
[Chronicles of Saturn!]
[Cantonese song!!]
[While he’s not in seclusion, request as many as we can]
[Ah, what does seclusion mean? Does it mean he won’t appear at all after this? Do we have to wait until debut night to see him again?]
[How is that any different from being widowed?!]
Yue Zhaolin: “?”
He was still right here—how had this suddenly become widowhood?
…
The chat was lively and fans were happy, but behind the screen, someone else was cursing furiously.
“F*ck, why hasn’t he gone back to the dorm yet?”
Were those brainless fans really unable to see that all of Yue Zhaolin’s so-called gentlemanly gestures were just an act? Perfect boyfriend? Please—it was still all about his looks.
Thinking of his plan, he managed to calm down a little.
His gaze landed on the ever-rising viewer count in the top corner of the screen—each one of them a witness.
The moment Yue Zhaolin returned to the dorm, he would pretend not to know there was a livestream—walk in, and drop to his knees.
He would then say the lines he’d already prepared—on the surface begging for mercy, but in fact listing Yue Zhaolin’s “crimes”—
That he was domineering, that he led certain trainees to b*lly others, that the marks on his own neck had caused him to lose sleep at night, too scared to even fall asleep.
A man’s knees are worth gold—kneeling meant he had no way out. No matter how reasonable Yue Zhaolin might be, it would make him seem unreasonable.
And with his preemptive framing, the mud would already be slung.
The paid trolls would drag out old rumors of Yue Zhaolin b*llying, using those scraps of hearsay as “evidence” to prove his moral corruption.
And once he knelt, plenty of people would sympathize with him—especially men. Since most of Yue Zhaolin’s fans were women, they would inevitably lash out. The crazier the fans cursed, the more likely they’d get officially called out.
By then, Yue Zhaolin would no longer be able to maintain that lofty, untouchable façade—and that thought delighted him.
Wasn’t Yue Zhaolin supposed to be the perfect idol?
Just wait—he’d be torn apart by backlash.