Royal Ch.38

Chapter 38: Male Tide-sister

These two back-to-back episodes were packed with too much information, making Xu Mingmei feel dizzy and overwhelmed.

Especially the part about Yue Zhaolin falling ill and the unedited performance of the theme song—so many emotional highs and lows that the whole group in the private room remained dazed for a long time.

The subtitles didn’t use any words like “tragically beautiful” or “miserable but strong,” but Yue Zhaolin naturally exuded that kind of tension.

Peng Tao stared at the screen and suddenly said, “I think he’d be perfect for Tiger Molding.”

That one sentence was like flipping a switch—everyone else snapped out of their intense focus.

“Ahhh, I think so too! Like a white tiger!”

“I really admire Zhaolin’s sense of direction and ability to act on it immediately. Meanwhile, I can’t even get started on my Monday work until the afternoon.”

“Help, same here…”

Suddenly, someone gasped, “Wait a second—Zhaolin’s trending?!”

“What trend?”

Xu Mingmei opened the trending list, and almost the entire board was dominated by Starlight-related hashtags.

#YueZhaolinThemeSongUnedited, #YueZhaolinFaints, #StarlightDoubleEpisode—these were still fairly normal.

But then—

#YueZhaolinHerlandAuditionInvitation

Huh? Who started this clearly sabotage-in-disguise kind of rumor? Tide, assemble and fire at will on this tag.

There were also: #FuXunyingAccompaniesYueZhaolintoHospital, #MengYuMusicFestivalRegret, #ChiYueEternal, and #ChuLiandYueZhaolinRoommates

“……”

Why is everyone trying to ride on his fame? Can none of them stand on their own without Yue Zhaolin?

Anyway, now that the show’s over and the Tide’s free—keep firing!

—

[Goose Gossip Group | Chaotic Questions – Second Episode Mentions Top 9 from Round Zero Having a Fan Meeting]

—

[Original Post]

RT.

I have time to go, but there are only 1,000 seats for the event—this is way too much hunger marketing. Probably won’t even be able to get a ticket. Do any geese have other channels?

[2F] Scalpers.

[4F] Already asked ticketing—prices definitely won’t be cheap, probably starting from five figures.

[7F] No way it’s just five digits… and with only 1,000 seats, even if you have the money, you might not be able to get one.

—

The Next Day

Starlight Building

The trainees had all heard that the second episode had aired, and there was a vague sense of restlessness in the air.

Yue Zhaolin wasn’t exactly calm either, but he had other ways of decompressing—

There was a gap between the first performance and the first elimination round, during which the trainees were scheduled to film small variety segments, behind-the-scenes content, and hold fan meetings. The fan meeting was still a ways off, and filming variety and extras wouldn’t take up all the free time.

So, after confirming his filming segments with the selection manager, Yue Zhaolin headed straight to the practice room to catch up on his basics.

Basic training could generally be divided into three categories: flexibility, strength training, and coordination.

“Hoo—”

Yue Zhaolin adjusted his breathing.

He was doing a variation of the plank under the strength category. It looked simple, but activated a lot of muscles and was great for training the core.

Being strong and having core strength were two different things. When Yue Zhaolin had first started learning dance, he didn’t yet understand where to channel his power—his moves looked like a gorilla throwing punches.

Afterward, he began to grasp the technique, but since he hadn’t fully mastered it, he often relied on exaggerating his limb movements to compensate for the lack of core strength.

The only way to fix this was to practice more—until it became muscle memory.

Next to him, Tan Shen let out a weak cry for help: “Yue Zhaolin… how much longer does this song have? I really can’t hold on…”

Planking builds abdominal pressure, which made it hard for Tan Shen to breathe—let alone speak. His words came out like air being squeezed through his throat.

Not far away, Wei Lai had already burst into laughter, rolling on the floor clutching his stomach.

Because not only was Tan Shen’s form all wrong, but once he actually got into position, his arms shook so violently it looked like butterfly wings flapping.

Wei Lai, who was right next to him, almost caught a cold from being fanned by Tan Shen’s “wings.”

Yue Zhaolin: “…”

He took a deep breath and tried not to look at Tan Shen—because if someone had that much determination, they could succeed at anything.

Thirty seconds later, the music ended.

Yue Zhaolin collapsed into a seated position on the floor. Not far from him lay Tan Shen, hair a mess, completely still, looking like he’d been thoroughly ravaged.

Wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, Wei Lai said, “Tan Shen, maybe you should eat more? Replenish a little first—then you’ll have energy to work out.”

That was easier said than done. Yue Zhaolin, who had eaten at the cafeteria with Tan Shen many times, had noticed he seemed to have a bit of an aversion to food.

Tan Shen weakly waved him off. “I just need to rest for a bit.”

Knock knock—

There was a knock at the door, and a selection manager poked their head in, spotting Yue Zhaolin in the practice room right away. “Zhaolin, come with me for a moment.”

“Okay.”

Yue Zhaolin got up and left.

Not long after, two male selection managers wearing face masks and staff badges entered the room. “This section might be used as footage. It looked a little messy on camera, so we’re here to tidy up a bit.”

Wei Lai responded quickly, “Sure, no problem.”

Suddenly, Tan Shen spoke up, “You can take care of the bottles—leave the bag to me.”

One of them, whose hand had just hovered over Yue Zhaolin’s backpack, froze for a second, then pulled his hand back. “Alright.”

…

Yue Zhaolin had gone out to film a short variety segment involving a blind-touch horror box. When he returned to the practice room, only Tan Shen was there—and his expression was… off.

“What’s wrong?”

Tan Shen pulled him into the restroom. Even though he wasn’t wearing a mic, he still lowered his voice to explain the strange feeling he’d gotten earlier.

“Even though the guy didn’t do anything, and I don’t have any solid evidence, I just had a gut feeling something was off,” Tan Shen said with a shrug, blunt as ever.

“Should I be extra cautious?”

Yue Zhaolin replied, “No need.”

Tan Shen: “?”

His brows furrowed. “Hold on. That’s out of character for you, my lord. Ignoring it? That’s clearly not your style.”

Yue Zhaolin’s mouth twitched, and he almost let out a “tsk.”

“What I meant was: I don’t need to personally keep an eye on it. As for your suspicion, I can report it directly to the show’s staff—they can keep watch.”

Tan Shen’s eyes narrowed, then suddenly lit up as he exclaimed in a dramatic Taiwanese accent, “Wah, so that’s what you meant!”

Yue Zhaolin: “?”

His hand itched to hit something.

…

The production team was a bit surprised when they received Yue Zhaolin’s request, but they still assigned someone to quietly monitor the selection manager Tan Shen had flagged.

They kept watch—without making a move—for several days.

“No suspicious activity?”

Yue Zhaolin stuffed a bite of beef into his mouth. “Mm. The feedback I got was that everything seemed normal—no unusual behavior.”

Tan Shen clicked his tongue. “Alright, but I still stand by my gut feeling.”

“Mm. I’ll have them keep an eye on him a bit longer.”

Just then, Fu Xunying came over with a lunch tray, dark circles under his eyes. “Can I sit here?” he asked—though he’d already plopped down before finishing the sentence.

Yue Zhaolin asked, “What were you doing last night?”

Fu Xunying, who was shoveling rice into his mouth, immediately looked guilty and choked on his food. “Pfft—cough!”

Cen Chi blurted out, “Aigoo.”

“…Cough, I’ll get you a new tray,” Fu Xunying offered between coughs.

Cen Chi looked at him with disdain. “No need. I’ll do it.”

Tan Shen chimed in, grinning, “Oh-ho? You’re acting suspicious—better fess up!”

Fu Xunying pretended not to hear him. “…”

Fess up to what? That he’d spent all night watching CP-edits?

That damn Shu Yang kept recommending them, and once Fu Xunying started watching, he couldn’t stop.

All the edits were CPs featuring Yue Zhaolin—

Cen Chi’s “ChiYue Eternal”, Meng Yu’s “Yue Yu Yun Mu”, Tan Shen’s “Love You Deserve”, Chu Li’s “Lin Shen Shi Jianli”, and even one titled “ZhaoXun.”

In these fan-made edits, Yue Zhaolin had every possible character trope—secret agent, chaebol heir, lab experiment, even some kind of Alpha. Fu Xunying found it all bizarre yet strangely intriguing—and before he knew it, it was past 4 a.m.

Fu Xunying awkwardly changed the subject: “We’re gathering in the big classroom later, right?”

The top nine from Round Zero’s vote were supposed to film a reaction segment—looking excited upon hearing that their reward was a fan meeting.

As Fu Xunying tried to brush things off, Yue Zhaolin gave him a glance. Fu Xunying instinctively looked away.

Hmm. Was this somehow… related to him?

Well, now he was interested.

But today’s schedule was packed, so he decided to ask about it later when he remembered.

Today included not only filming, but also wardrobe fitting, makeup testing, and a rehearsal for the fan meeting.

…

Thirty minutes later, in the makeup room.

Yue Zhaolin had his own private room. His styling team came from a studio that had long collaborated with Xingqiong—the same one responsible for his look during the initial evaluation.

“Zhaolin, let’s start by picking an outfit.”

The assistant carefully rolled in several movable wardrobes. When opened, they revealed a wide array of clothing.

Yue Zhaolin raised his brows. “That many?”

The stylist smiled. “These are all unreleased looks from R.D’s 20XX fall/winter collection—both ready-to-wear and haute couture.”

This also meant that whatever Yue Zhaolin chose to wear for the fan meeting would be the first public appearance of that look worldwide.

A global first look—also known as a First Look—was a symbol of a celebrity’s commercial value. To qualify for a First Look, one had to meet strict conditions.

Luxury brands often required artists to sign an exclusivity agreement in advance—no wearing any other haute couture brands for several months leading up to the First Look.

Clearly, Étienne Delorme had no intention of following that rule.

The stylist added, “Well… that’s one of the perks of being independent, I suppose? If R.D ever gets acquired, Étienne might not have this much freedom.”

In France, there was a major luxury conglomerate called ER, which had been acquiring luxury brands since the 1980s. Two of the “Big Three” luxury houses, along with nearly every high-end brand familiar to Chinese consumers, were already under ER’s umbrella.

ER had recognized R.D’s potential as far back as the early 2000s and had made multiple acquisition offers—but Étienne had never given in.

The makeup artist chimed in, “I looked it up—Étienne founded R.D. in 1986. He was eighteen at the time. That makes him… fifty-six now?”

Foreign media, besides constantly praising Étienne’s genius in design, often zeroed in on his dazzling and chaotic personal life.

“Foreigners do age faster, but judging from the photos, his figure’s still similar to the male models he often uses—tall and slender.”

As the stylists chatted away, Yue Zhaolin’s eyes landed on a piece of clothing that struck him like love at first sight.

“This one?”

The stylist followed his gaze and saw it—a shirt.

Embroidered across it was a snake made of gemstones and diamonds, winding its way across the fabric.

Where the snake slithered, the shirt had subtle cutouts—just enough to hint at skin, not too revealing, but suggestive.

The tail began to coil from the waist upward, and the head extended just below the collar, silently revealing a pair of emerald-green eyes.

The snake’s body was slender, not overly dramatic, and it paired perfectly with the crisp white of the shirt.

Under the light, the gems reflected just enough glint to make the serpent seem as if it were winking.

“Let’s try this one first.”

Aside from the shirt, there were still other items to test.

Luxury fashion divides into detailed categories: besides ready-to-wear, there are also jewelry, footwear, handbags, watches, perfumes, cosmetics, and more—with various sub-lines in each.

R.D. dabbled in all of these, but its most renowned line was its ready-to-wear.

That’s why Liu Li’s strategy was: Yue Zhaolin could wear R.D.’s clothes, but when it came to accessories like jewelry, watches, and shoes for public events, he shouldn’t go full-R.D. from head to toe.

Being tied too closely to one brand might hurt his chances for broader luxury endorsements down the line.

And so, Yue Zhaolin spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of fittings, rehearsals, and prep.

By the time the sun rose again—it was the day of the fan meeting for the top nine.

…

Outside the Fan Meeting Venue

“I must’ve used up all my luck before—ugh, what do I have to eat to restore my lucky aura?” Xu Mingmei groaned.

Peng Tao replied, “Should we go burn some incense or something?”

Neither of them had managed to snag a ticket to today’s fan meeting, but they still showed up outside the venue, clinging to a sliver of hope—after all, there were always scalpers hanging around concert entrances. What if the fan meeting had some too…?

Even though they both knew it was a long shot.

Xu Mingmei sighed, “Since we’re already here, let’s go take some photos at the fan support wall.”

Yue Zhaolin’s fan support station—six fanbases collaborating, with Moonlight-wishing as the lead—had spent several hours setting up an entire row of support walls outside the venue.

Moon motifs, tides, roses, and photos of Yue Zhaolin surrounded at the center—stunningly arranged, clearly crafted with care, and obviously not cheap.

Xu Mingmei and Peng Tao got in line to take photos. Not long after, a tall, deep-featured foreigner queued up behind them.

He was wearing a face mask, but the wrinkles between his brows revealed his age. His hair was entirely white—dyed, clearly—but immaculately styled. His outfit looked understated at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it was anything but: a fine tailored suit, polished leather shoes, and a subtle yet expensive-smelling cologne. He looked like he was here to meet someone very important.

Xu Mingmei kept glancing back at him.

Peng Tao grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her forward, whispering, “Hey, tone it down. Keep staring and he’s definitely gonna think something’s up.”

Xu Mingmei leaned in and murmured in Peng Tao’s ear, “No, but aren’t you the least bit curious? It’s my first time seeing… a foreign male Tide-sister!”

Peng Tao: “?”

…Male Tide-sister?

Is that even… correct?

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