Chapter 85: Halftime Break
The last starseeker finished signing and left. Rows of seats in the audience stood empty, and in the chilly venue only a few scattered trainees and staff remained.
Lai Yudong stretched lazily, loosening his tense body and mind. A full hour of high-intensity interaction had drained more energy than he’d expected—almost like defending before mentors for the same length of time, and without even a prepared script.
“Are you okay?” Su Junzhe asked with concern. “Do you feel unwell anywhere? If you do, you need to say so.”
“Nah.” Lai Yudong shook his head.
He was a little tired, but not to the point of forcing himself. Compared to the grit it took to push through dance practice, this was barely worth mentioning.
Not knowing the situation, Mo Li leaned in and asked, “Are you sick? I heard someone was sent to the hospital early this morning—wasn’t that you?”
“It was him,” Su Junzhe leaned forward to say. “His fever almost hit forty degrees—I nearly died of shock when I saw the thermometer!”
The one who thought he’d nearly died of shock was Lai Yudong himself: “It was thirty-eight-something, where did forty come from…”
“Point eight!”
“The fever’s gone already.”
Su Junzhe decided to call in reinforcements: “I’m going to secretly tell Li Xu, have him scold you again.”
Lai Yudong was fearless: “He can’t win against me.”
Clearly, he had already forgotten about that pitiful little Yuzu, curled up under the blanket, shivering.
“Susu’s right—you were practically burning up.” Drawing on his own past debut experience, Mo Li tried to persuade him: “The finals are just days away. For now, don’t go to Teacher Jin’s or Susu’s dance classes. The finals will definitely be tougher than the earlier stages, and you’ll have to learn more than one song.”
Su Junzhe crossed his arms in an “X” over his chest: “Exactly! Refuse all visitors!”
“I know.” Lai Yudong felt they were exaggerating. He wasn’t at the point of rushing straight from a fading fever into nonstop dance practice.
The finals would be announced on Friday—by then, he should be mostly recovered.
After the signing event ended, Lai Yudong and the others split into two groups. With staff accompanying him, he headed to the hospital for an IV drip, while the small gifts from fans were entrusted to Xu An to take back for him.
Even though he bundled himself up tightly, Li Xu’s prediction still came true: someone secretly snapped photos and posted them online.
——
[Thread Topic] Just asking—Is this Lai Yudong?
[Original Poster]
Ran into him at the hospital, not totally sure. Can any fans confirm? [image]
1F: Who’s Lai Yudong?
2F: It’s Yuzu. You mean you don’t know Yuzu’s real name is Lai Yudong?
3F: That’s obviously Yuzu. Even I, as an An-fan, could recognize him.
4F: ? How can you recognize him when he’s so covered up? I’m a Yuzu-fan and I can’t even tell… (dazed)
5F: Maybe it’s the unique aura of a handsome guy. I can recognize Yuzu-baby just from his back.
6F: That’s Yuzu—same clothes he wore at today’s signing event. [image]
7F: Oh man, straight from a signing event to an IV drip? This guy’s that hardcore?
8F: Tsk tsk, this wave of suffering hits right in the feels.
9F: Talk about timing—getting sick turned into automatic fan-angst farming. Genius move.
10F: Poor baby. Sick and still dragged by us Yuzu-fans to an offline event, unlike some people who get to spend a whole weekend napping in their dorms! Sigh! We Yuzu-fans are too cruel!
11F: OP, do you have any close-up shots? Wanna see qwq
12F (OP) Replying to 11: He went into a private room for the IV, and I’ve already left. Sorry!
——
Within a minute, the post was quickly re-shared to Miura Yuki’s dedicated forum, where it floated on the homepage alongside the freshly uploaded signing event videos—both competing fiercely for attention.
In the end, it was a wealthy Yuzu-fan who had attended the signing in person that stepped in to calm everyone down.
First, she shared the reassuring news that Lai Yudong’s fever had already subsided, temporarily easing most fans’ worries. Then, she stayed up late editing and uploaded a video compilation of his signing event looks.
Clicking open the compilation, the BGM was a sweet, fan-edit standard song.
The first to appear was the light-blond boy wearing a gothic-style mini top hat. The black hat was clipped onto the left side of his hair, adorned with a black and a blue rose on the brim, connected by a golden chain that curved between the two ends.
He lifted his eyes toward the camera, lips curving slightly, every gesture carrying the air of a graceful young nobleman.
The scene cut: the light-blond boy picked up a pair of black cat ears and put them on. The fluffy ears were fastened with silver earrings dangling cross pendants, making him look both striking and adorable.
A fan sitting across from him seemed to request something; embarrassed, he covered his mouth and laughed for a few seconds, then struck a playful fist-pose in a cutesy way.
The very next second, the tone shifted.
The light-blond boy stared in disbelief at the hat in front of him. From his surprised expression, you could read his struggle to comprehend why such a thing even existed. But he still obediently accepted it with both hands.
It was a wool felt hat in the shape of a melon cap.
Unexpectedly, when it sat on his head it wasn’t as ridiculous as one might think—on the contrary, it gave him a kind of silly charm.
And then, another second later…
In just one short video, Lai Yudong transformed into “Miracle Yuzu,” sporting more looks in a single day than he had during the entire audition show. Some fans had even brought multiple sets of hair accessories, reveling in the fun of dressing up their idol on the spot.
The wealthy Yuzu-fan uploaded the compilation to a video platform, and with the collective effort of Yuzu-fans, the views skyrocketed. The algorithm then pushed it to casual viewers and passerby fans. With so many factors working together, the video quickly shot to the trending list, attracting even more casuals and onlookers—a virtuous cycle.
It had to be said: beauty bewitched the heart.
Some passersby couldn’t resist clicking just because the thumbnail was so striking. After watching the video, they were completely dazzled, leaving comments to ask who this person was. Within seconds, they were bombarded with endless fan recommendations.
And then they saw the name—Miura Yuki.
Good grief, it was him again.
A person may not trip twice on the same stone, but they can fall in love with the same face.
Every time, it was his look that lured them in; every time, it turned out to be the same person. At this point, not becoming a fan almost felt impolite.
For someone to keep gaining fans even in the third stage of the competition—that was no ordinary skill.
Meanwhile, completely unaware, Lai Yudong rode back to the filming site. Today was his last day of IV treatment; for the next few days, he’d only need to take medicine.
The familiar scrolling comments returned:
[Li!ve! Yu!zu!ba!by!]
[I couldn’t eat or drink these past few hours without seeing Yuzu in the livestream QAQ]
[Did Yuyu go to the hospital for an IV?]
[Poor baby, feeling unwell but still going to that scam signing event where he doesn’t even get a single cent]
Lai Yudong waved with a smile at the nearest camera, showing a lively and energetic side to ease everyone’s worries.
“I’m back. I’m fine now. I’ll take proper rest from here on.”
[So good, even reporting his safety—like a little traveling Yuzu hhhh]
[When are you sending mom a postcard?]
[Xiao Lai, take good care of yourself!]
Taking the elevator up to the seventh floor, Lai Yudong pushed open the door of dorm 707, and a stream of melodious piano notes spilled out.
Xu An was seated at the electronic keyboard that Liang Zhisheng had left behind, his nimble fingers dancing across the black and white keys. From time to time, he hummed softly along with the tune. Beside him, Li Xu rested his chin in his hand, gazing with starry-eyed devotion, completely intoxicated by his idol’s performance.
Lai Yudong felt like he was intruding a little.
Maybe he should go hang out in dorm 706 for a bit instead? There were two people there too, after all.
It was rare for Li Xu and Xu An to have a moment alone together. He didn’t want to be the third wheel, barging in on the intimate “idol and fan” bonding session.
Just as Lai Yudong was about to thoughtfully pull the door shut, Li Xu suddenly noticed him.
“Miura, when did you get back? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Lai Yudong shrugged helplessly. “I knocked, but you two were too into it.”
The sudden voice from behind startled Xu An so much that he flinched. The graceful melody crashed into chaotic noise, and he quickly lifted his hands off the keys. “I put all your stuff on the desk. There was a lot, so Su Junzhe helped carry some of it.”
“Thanks, I’ll go sort it out.”
Lai Yudong walked over to the desk, piled high with gifts.
There were so many plush toys and headbands it looked like he could set up a street stall with them, but by far the largest share was handwritten letters. Many fans who couldn’t come in person had entrusted others to deliver them, and just one Yuzu-fan from the support club had handed him an entire stack.
Reading through them would probably take a lot of time.
With a rare stretch of quiet downtime, going through handwritten letters seemed like a good choice.
He packed the other gifts into his suitcase, then removed his makeup, washed up, and took his medicine. Once everything was ready, he crawled under the covers with the stack of letters propped beside his pillow.
Each letter was unique.
“[To the best Yuzu-baby…]”
“[To Lai Yudong…]”
“[To my dear darling wifey…]”
“[Hello, Yuki…]”
Some of the handwriting and expressions carried a youthful awkwardness, hinting that the writers weren’t very old. Others revealed a maturity that only came with age.
Some letters spilled over with long accounts, detailing their emotional journey since becoming his fan. Others contained only a few lines of blessings, or even just a doodle.
Some were written with a casual familiarity, like chatting with an old friend. Others were cautious, carefully phrased in honorifics, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
…
The only thing they all had in common—
Every single letter he received was written for him, filled with heartfelt sincerity.
Perhaps they couldn’t meet now, and maybe they would never meet at all. Yet they still found ways to pass along these words, this devotion, into his hands—transforming fleeting, untouchable scrolling comments into tangible letters he could hold.
The barrier of space had been broken. The barrier of distance had been broken too.
He found it profoundly romantic.
What he took away from this signing event was probably no less than what the fans themselves had gained.
Lai Yudong gently opened each envelope and read every letter word for word. Under the drowsy side effects of cold medicine, his mind grew heavier and heavier, his vision gradually blurring.
He didn’t know which letter he was on when he finally dozed off, still clutching it in his hand.
The sheet of paper rested lightly against his cheek—like affection falling softly onto his face.
It was a scene both beautiful and tranquil.
…
“—Wake up! Filming starts soon!”
A familiar voice called him out of his dreams, accompanied by a gentle shake of his shoulder. He blinked blearily, and through the hazy blur of his vision, he recognized the figure by the bright red in front of him.
For a moment, he thought he’d fallen asleep on the practice room floor again.
But the soft surface beneath him contradicted that idea. Slowly, the memories before he closed his eyes returned.
That’s right—he’d fallen asleep while reading the letters.
Lai Yudong rubbed his eyes and only then realized that the half-finished handwritten letter he’d been reading before bed had vanished.
“Where’s the letter?” His voice carried a faint nasal tone.
“I put it by your pillow. You could at least open your eyes and look.” Li Xu couldn’t bring himself to keep shaking his half-conscious roommate awake. Normally, Lai Yudong would’ve snapped up instantly, not dragged himself out of bed like this. “Want to take a sick day? It’s not a Triple-Sequence shoot anyway—you could probably miss it.”
“No need.” Lai Yudong blinked himself awake for a few seconds, then slowly sat up, the quilt sliding down off his shoulders. “I’ll get up and wash my face… Did they say what we’re filming?”
“No idea. Just said to gather on the dot.” Li Xu shrugged. “Hurry up, I’ll wait for you.”
“So touched.” Lai Yudong slipped on his slippers with satisfaction. He remembered how Li Xu used to just head off alone without a second thought. “You’re finally not a lone wolf anymore.”
As expected, Li Xu immediately gave him a look like he’d rather bolt right then and there, glaring fiercely. “Shut up already. I’m giving you three minutes—any longer and I’m gone.”
“Nooo, Brother Xu, you have to wait for me.”
“…One minute.”
“Sorry! Coming right now.”
Brother Xu show mercy!