Chapter 106: Finale Performance
Rong Ruize’s camera shots could still be switched to a wide angle, or cut to someone else, but the backing track couldn’t be changed in time—anyone listening to the livestream would instantly notice.
The final performance song was also supposed to be sung live, but it was set up as 80% backing track + 20% live vocals.
The performance director in charge understood that when Yue Zhaolin said “live,” he meant fully live, but that wouldn’t work—several members in this team simply couldn’t sing.
If they went full live, the risk was way too high.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, the director waited for instructions from above while urging the staff:
“Go call Rong Ruize again. He really can’t get on stage? Not even for just three minutes?!”
As long as he stepped on stage, no matter how badly he sang or danced, they could still muddle through.
The staff member was at a loss:
“I called him already, but Rong Ruize reacted very strongly. He even lost his temper and said he absolutely can’t go up.”
Rong Ruize’s condition was clearly abnormal—his emotions were extremely agitated, and the staff were afraid he might actually lash out and hit someone.
The performance director: “……”
Damn it.
Whether he was really sick or just faking it, at such a critical moment “falling ill” was as good as career suicide. From now on, who in the entertainment industry would dare to use him?
On stage, the VCR for the C-position of Suit Aesthetics began playing, causing a loud uproar in the audience.
Listening to the voice in his earpiece, the performance director gritted his teeth and said:
“…Later, we’ll turn down the backing track a little. If you can’t sing, just hide it as best as you can.”
Fu Xunying clicked his tongue and asked,
“What about Rong Ruize’s part?”
Rong Ruize was sub-vocal 3—just half a line of lyrics and a filler word. Later, he had snatched Orleans’s part, which gave him two full lines.
Orleans raised his hand: “My original part… can I sing it?!”
The moment he spoke, everyone’s eyes turned to him. Orleans’s face grew hot under the attention, but he still wanted to fight for this chance.
Ever since his part had been stolen by Rong Ruize, Orleans had broken down and lost sleep for several nights.
He couldn’t resist, so he could only pin his faint hope on cursing Rong Ruize to mess up again—that way, he could reclaim his part.
Orleans had even dreamed of it several times. In secret, he kept practicing the song—just in case Rong Ruize slipped up again.
Now that Rong Ruize had suddenly fallen ill, maybe it really was because of his curse. But he felt no guilt at all, only the wild joy of winning the lottery.
So opportunities really did come to those who were prepared!
Orleans carefully glanced at the staff’s expression, worried they wouldn’t agree:
“I can sing it for everyone first…”
And he immediately started singing.
Just one line of lyrics—Yue Zhaolin promptly said, “Orleans sings it well. I have no objections.”
Fu Xunying: “Same here.”
The others all nodded in agreement.
Deng Yangbing suggested: “There’s still half a line and a filler word. Why not give them to Yue Zhaolin? Rong Ruize’s part comes right after his, so it’ll be convenient.”
Yue Zhaolin thought it over: “I can do the first half-line. As for the filler word, how about we all say it together?”
The filler was a four-syllable “yeah.” Sung together, it would sound less thin and dry.
Mao Ding: “Sounds good!”
By then, more than half of the VCR on screen had already played. The performance director reported upward first, then glanced at the time and urged:
“Go, get up there!”
—
Most of the lights in the venue went dark, drawing all attention to the giant screen.
The VCR: “After an internal team vote, the C-position for ‘Suit Aesthetics’ is…”
“Wuuum—”
The entire arena lit up.
Amid the crowd’s gaze, the lift platform at center stage began to rise, carrying the trainees in formal wear up to the stage.
This team was in full formal attire—refined rakes, carefree young masters, noble gentlemen. Standing together in a group, the visual impact was overwhelming.
Even without close-ups, their tall, striking figures were already dazzling at first sight.
[Legs, all legs…]
[Ahhhhh, Red Rose is being made to look like a kindergarten performance!!]
[This formation is godly…]
[Male model group?!]
[You can tell just from the background audience screams in the livestream how handsome this group is. Close-ups, please, I’m begging, I need to see them!]
This time, the stage C-position was…
Yue Zhaolin.
The first shot was of him—he lifted his face, a faint, detached gaze falling on the camera, the narrow ends of his eyes casting pale shadows under the lights.
He looked like the first snow beneath moonlight, with the boundless darkness around him serving only as a backdrop. Yet he wasn’t cold—only nonchalant.
Beautiful, noble, effortlessly natural. In the depths of his eyes, there was an unreadable hint of a smile, with a trace of allure spilling between his brows.
His hands clearly held nothing, but it was easy to imagine him with a wine glass in hand, strolling through the vanity fair with ease and elegance.
The blending of two extreme atmospheres became an indescribable charm.
The audience collectively gasped.
Leading the way, he walked at the very front, with the other trainees of Suit Aesthetics following behind, moving toward their dance formation.
It was like a runway show.
The barrage of comments flew by:
[Speechless, sisters…]
[Such a CEO, such a male model.]
[This group’s intro is divine. Formal wear is too hot.]
[You’re telling me this is a talent show stage? If you said it was a high-end fashion runway, I’d believe it, sob sob sob.]
[Just kill me already.]
[If I’m not mistaken, Yue Zhaolin seems to be wearing red-soled shoes…]
[…What?!]
[Dizzy.]
[And even after all this, there are still Tide fans saying Yue Zhaolin isn’t photogenic, that he needs more screen time?]
[If he ever has offline events in the future, I have to go see him…]
[Top Visual in C-Ent]
The musical backdrop of Suit Aesthetics was the dazzling vanity fair of a life of debauchery, so the giant screen’s visuals featured wine glasses, poker chips, and crystal chandeliers.
The moment Yue Zhaolin lifted his hand and lightly tapped the air with his fingertips, the cufflinks on his wrist reflected a gemlike gleam.
At the same time, the crisp clinking of wine glasses overlapped amidst the revelry—“ding——”
The stage had officially begun.
[?]
[Is Fu Xunying’s mic too close? I can even hear his breathing.]
[Why does this group sound like there are two channels? My left and right earbuds are hearing different things?]
[The backing track and live vocals are clashing…]
[???]
The first line wasn’t Yue Zhaolin’s, so after the opening, he turned and moved to the right, the red soles of his shoes grinding against the stage floor.
The tips of his shoes drew crimson arcs across the reflective stage, perfectly overlapping with the red liquid swirling in the wine glass on the big screen.
He didn’t say a word, but the fans below were already lost in a daze of frenzy.
The tailored suit outlined his perfectly long figure, the slender yet powerful ankles wrapped in black dress socks…
Everything was dazzling, intoxicating.
As the melody of the first verse began, the tails of his suit jacket flared with his turn, revealing glimpses of his lean waist.
He raised a hand to adjust his watch; when the corner of his eyes swept past the camera, there was a casual kind of intensity.
“Ding—”
On the big screen, poker chips spun under someone’s fingertips. Yue Zhaolin pinched an invisible chip between his fingers, flicked it, and looked skyward.
The camera zoomed in on him—at the next sharp “ding,” he suddenly curled his lips into a smile and sang:
“The hands of the gamble favor a perfection without rules.”
Behind him, the seven other trainees lifted their glasses in unison, harmonizing:
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah—”
[Ahhhhhhhhhh]
[I can hear his breathing—so sexy…]
[…This stage just kills everything else in C-ent. If I were watching the livestream on-site, no matter who my original bias was, I’d switch to him in a second.]
[If anyone else said this line I’d think they were bragging, but on him—it’s just true!!!]
[I screamed on my bed, my mom thought I was possessed and splashed water all over my face.]
[I regret it, I should’ve bought a ticket.]
[I really want to see him in person… will he have any free offline events in the future? I can’t afford a fansign sob sob sob.]
The barrage was uncontrollable, and the atmosphere at the venue had already reached fever pitch.
A whistle sounded. Before the second verse’s rap began, the heel of the red-soled shoe struck the stage, like a needle stabbing straight into the heart.
The stage lights suddenly flared, refracting pale gold, like ice cubes in champagne.
Yue Zhaolin: “Neon city mirrored in the rain and fog aligned, the lapel of my suit adorned with a night rose.”
“What kind of ratio would it take to intoxicate the mind, a misaligned lotto with cufflinks as chips.”
His voice pressed low, with faint breaths audible through the headphones; the shadows of temptation in his eyes drew another wave of gasps from the audience.
The Tides already knew he had chosen rap for this stage, and were full of anticipation—but the effect went beyond anything expected.
The rap’s melody wasn’t high, just as the practice lessons had suggested. He delivered it with the flavor of late-night whispers, as if right beside the ear—teasing, soft.
And yet, even so, the listeners could clearly sense—he was a hunter.
High above, and bound to win.
As he rapped, he mimed gambling motions like “rolling dice” and “shuffling cards.”
It was devastatingly alluring.
[Ahhhhhhh this rap?!!]
[No way]
[I’m dead]
[Why does he make pulling it off sound so good, help, the decadent vibe is way too seductive.]
[This finale night is really something. Ha… ha… might as well just kill me.]
Before the chorus, there was a brief musical pause.
Amid the screams, all the trainees took off their suit jackets and tossed them to the edge of the stage.
At that moment, the big screen happened to show the “winning number”—“9,” the number of debut slots.
When they all turned back around, each of them was biting the corner of their ID badge.
[Holy shit]
[This design?!]
The chain of Yue Zhaolin’s badge dangled under his chin, scattering shards of light like a silver snake.
The chorus didn’t have large movements; it was characterized by controlled beats with the legs. The camera panned upward from his shoes—shins, knees, thighs, waist.
On his thighs, the faint outline of a circular band could be seen, tracing their shape. The strap extended upward, gradually disappearing under his shirt.
[It’s like the cameraman got mesmerized by Yue Zhaolin too—how else would the shot pan up like that…]
[What’s that protrusion ahhhh?!]
[A shirt garter.]
[It’s an absolute territory, this area is absolute territory, too suggestive, help.]
[I just dropped dead right here.]
“Ahhhhhhhhh—”
Screams erupted from every corner of the audience, the decibels blasting past their limit.
On the livestream, the noises overlapped into monkey screeches, dog howls, tiger roars—new viewers tuning in were completely confused, thinking they’d stumbled into a zoo.
Yue Zhaolin heard it too. The smile at his lips couldn’t help but slip out; as he turned, he let out a quick chuckle before quickly regaining his composure.
In the synchronized dance section, the whole group’s raised-arm waves and precise high kicks, combined with the shifting formations, created an indisputable visual feast.
As for the trainees who sang off-key or with shaky voices—paired with the visuals, it was barely passable.
Shao Meng: “…So good…”
The venue was too noisy, so Shen Zhu didn’t catch it. He leaned closer and asked, “What’s good?”
The modeling—so good.
After Yue Zhaolin took off his jacket, from the back you could even see the wire of his mic headset trailing down from his head, connected to the transmitter clipped to his waist.
From this angle, the line hung loose, outlining his slender back, the elegant curve of his spine, and his not-at-all-flat butt. There wasn’t a single spot that didn’t look good.
And since he was moving, that wire swayed along with him, making the audience stare wide-eyed, completely entranced.
…
After the “Suit Aesthetics” team finished their performance, the trainees bowed to the audience and jogged offstage. Both the live audience and the livestream viewers still hadn’t snapped out of it.
Their minds buzzed blankly, still immersed in the stage they’d just witnessed.
On Weibo, Xingqiong’s prepared top-trending hashtag didn’t even get a chance to be pushed by Tide. Just by sheer passersby power alone, in under a minute, it shot straight to number one.
In the real-time feed of #YueZhaolinSuitAesthetics#, almost all the posts were screenshots from the GreenFruit livestream. Photos from the scene were few and far between.
Curious onlookers who clicked into the trend were immediately floored by the screenshots—instantly locked in. Comment sections started wailing: Hurry up and bring out Yue Zhaolin’s direct cam!
Face stans, body stans, stage stans, suit stans—Yue Zhaolin single-handedly ticked all the boxes.
Who could watch and not end up dazed?
Originally, the final-night vote rush had nothing to do with Yue Zhaolin. After all, he was the undisputed number one. But the audience just wouldn’t listen—they insisted on voting for him.
Even if it meant spending money, they’d vote!
As a result, Yue Zhaolin’s vote count once again spiked upward, standing out on its own.
…
At the live finals, Wei Feizhang had already been on stage for several minutes, even starting to cue the next segment, before the livestream bullet comments finally snapped back to reality.
[Why do I feel like I lost my memory? I clearly watched the performance, but only a few vivid frames stuck…]
[It’s the brain’s self-protection mechanism.]
[It’s coming back to me—some of them were singing while trembling like they were being electrocuted.]
[The power of Yue Zhaolin is terrifying. I honestly had no feelings about him before, but now I’ve fallen for him.]
[Rap, tucked-in shirt, red-soled shoes, biting his work badge—just one of those would’ve been enough to kill me. He gave us a four-in-one combo. Who could resist? Totally human nature.]
[His rap sounds really good. Can he sing more in the future, or maybe someone can make an AI cover? His vocal tone is unbeatable…]
[nice body]
[Such a dreamy little brother…]
The audience on-site was also restless. Even while Wei Feizhang was speaking, the crowd below the stage couldn’t calm down.
Wei Feizhang smiled helplessly: “I’d like to remind all Starlight Producers here in the venue, and those in front of their screens—”
“Voting will close in half an hour.”
That line did the trick. The audience finally snapped back to reality, and the venue quieted down a lot.
“If the trainee you’ve picked still isn’t in a debut spot, this half hour will be your last chance.”
The small screen by the stage displayed the ranking chart, which was constantly shifting—the votes in the mid- to lower-tier were extremely close, tangled together.
As for this final half-hour, the program team was still padding airtime while quietly pushing for more votes.
First came speeches from the PD and mentors, giving evaluations of the trainees;
Then they played each contestant’s personal VCRs, where the trainees told their stories of chasing their dreams—or sometimes their parents would appear, adding emotional pull to the atmosphere.
[Save the main vocal!]
[Come on, everyone, Zhihu bro is in ninth place!]
[There’s only half an hour left until voting ends—go vote first, then watch the fancams!]
[I wish I had three heads and eight arms, I really can’t split myself enough ahhh!]
Wei Feizhang looked out at the audience, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Did the audience not notice that the Suit Aesthetics team was missing one person?
The people on-site didn’t notice, and neither did the livestream viewers—they were too busy excitedly discussing the group name.
[After these two segments, they’re going to announce the rankings and the debut group name.]
[Please, program team, just don’t make the group name too ugly, too weird, or too tacky! Something normal will do.]
[As long as it’s not called Starlight Boys, we can talk about anything else…]
The production team had to send in water-army comments to steer the topic: [Is the Suit Aesthetics group missing someone? Why do the screenshots only show eight people?]
[?]
[The person in front must have seen it wrong.]
[…Wait, no, it really is only eight people?!]
[Who’s missing? I can’t remember.]
[Process of elimination says it’s the stage-fright guy.]
[His presence was way too low.]
[Nobody cares…]
[Honestly, with Yue Zhaolin there, even if one person was gone, no one would notice (.)]
[This group being short one person and everyone failing to notice—that’s the perfect definition of nobody cares. I’m dying of laughter.]
