Chapter 41: Fan Meeting End
[Goose Gossip Group | Haute Couture (decoding in progress)]
——
[Original Post]
RT.
Saw a related post on the Melon Group homepage, clicked in, and the whole thread was full of mocking nicknames. That level of slander used to be reserved only for top-tier celebrities who went viral.
Back in the day, when did Melon Group members ever give a second glance to “talent show stars”?
[2F] Also came from that post. Just wanna say—
Every jab the Melon Group throws is actually just them saying, “I care about him a lot”. Honestly, they’re hitting all my guilty pleasure spots (censored censored lol).
[5F] Melon Group inherited the entertainment industry’s hierarchy of disdain: those who stan actors look down on those who stan traffic stars (popular idols), and those traffic stans look down on those who stan talent show contestants.
[17F] Any background info? Why is Melon Group reacting so strongly this time?
[31F] Let me explain.
Isn’t the film and TV industry going through a cold winter? The scripts that do get made are weak, and actors attend more red carpet events than actual filming. They’ve all basically turned into “carpet stars.”
Since there’s no juicy data to dig into, Melon Group now focuses on who’s wearing what brand, and what grade of jewelry they’re showing off.
So this haute couture piece worn by Emperor Yue really hit a nerve with them.
[49F] If even a talent show star can wear haute couture, just how useless are the actors who can’t? (lol)
[54F] I don’t even stan Emperor Yue, but this time, please let me shout: For the Moon (Yue) Clan!
[62F] We Goose folks are thriving right now.
[107F] Reporting in — latest update from the thread next door: they’re digging into the brand of the outfit now —
“There are 59 members in the Haute Couture Association. I checked all the official brand Instagram accounts, and none of them have claimed the outfit. LOL. Don’t tell me he’s wearing domestic luxury?”
“Could also be fake? If it were real haute couture, how could he look so calm?”
[113F] Isn’t Instagram blocked in China? And you checked 59 official pages… in that short time?
[125F] Wow… they really care, huh…
[141F] Replying to 107: But they’re not wrong. Usually, the moment a celeb appears in haute couture, the brand immediately posts on Instagram to claim it as their own.
Emperor Yue’s outfit still hasn’t been claimed. Just based on that, yeah… it’s a little suspicious.
[164F] Definitely odd. Especially considering how calm Emperor Yue has been the whole time.
…
[238F] Has the brand claimed it yet?
[245F] Not yet.
…
[571F] So much happening at the fan meeting — it’s been over two hours now, right? All nine of them have been busy nonstop, one mini-game or interactive segment after another.
[590F] Trainees who haven’t debuted yet really have that “fighting for their life” energy. Once they debut, it’s all just half-hearted going through the motions.
[604F] Brand claimed it yet?
[623F] Still no…
[628F] Seriously? Still no brand claim? The fan meeting has been going on this long already??
[631F] Melon Group’s already popped the champagne, saying there are only two possible explanations:
It’s a domestic “luxury” brand.
The person who borrowed the outfit didn’t tell the brand it would be worn by a talent show star. Once the brand found out, they felt tricked and refused to acknowledge it.
…
[701F] It’s been three hours now…
[723F] They’re not going to claim it anymore.
[731F] To be fair, Emperor Yue never actually said the outfit was haute couture. It was the gossipers who insisted it was, and now they’re accusing him of pretending to be rich?
[749F] I don’t get it, but Melon Group is going absolutely feral with the mockery. I’m skeptical though.
…
[823F] ?!
[831F] WTF, WTF, OMG
[845F] …Told y’all not to pop the champagne halfway through!
[876F] Melon Group got their brand claim — kind of. It’s not from the official Instagram, so it doesn’t meet their usual standards, but it’s from the founder and designer’s personal account. That counts, right?
[878F] The founder went to the fan meeting in person… took a photo of Yue Zhaolin and the black cat on the big screen… and uploaded it to their Instagram homepage…
Caption: “Angel ❤️ Devil”…
[888F] No way?!
[892F] What’s Melon Group saying now?
[899F] Half of the roast threads on the homepage are dead. The rest are just stubbornly saying “eh, it’s not that big a deal.”
—
Fan Meeting.
Unknowingly, the event had reached its final stage — the last group performance by the nine trainees: a chorus of Little Sunny Day.
This segment also included a talent showcase — Cen Chi could play guitar, so he was in charge of the accompaniment.
Yue Zhaolin had learned just yesterday that Cen Chi could play guitar, and silently added “learn an instrument” to his future goals list.
Now, as he sang the warm yet melancholic lyrics, the style of music perfectly evoked the kind of emotional climax often used at the end of concerts.
The audience below was completely silent, their eyes fixed on the stage, full of reluctance to say goodbye.
By the time the song ended, a subtle sadness had spread throughout the venue — both the stage and the audience fell into a shared, unspoken stillness.
Yue Zhaolin looked down at the crowd, his voice soft: “It’s time to say goodbye, everyone.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye…”
“Wuwuwu…”
The past three hours had flown by in the blink of an eye. Happy moments always felt too short, and the sense of attachment in the crowd was contagious, spreading from person to person.
Chu Li raised his mic: “Thank you to every Starlight Producer who came today. Even though we don’t want this to end, it’s time to part ways. I once…”
After finally wrapping up his touching speech, Duanmu Hongxue jumped in to ask for votes and reminded fans to keep supporting him.
He spoke at length, while Wei Lai kept it simple: “I won’t let your votes go to waste.”
Each of the nine trainees took turns giving closing remarks — some long, some short — all aimed at either garnering votes or expressing gratitude. Yue Zhaolin was the last.
While Mao Ding was still speaking, Yue Zhaolin pulled his earpiece mic slightly away from his mouth and called out softly:
“Cen Chi.”
“Mm?”
Cen Chi immediately turned his head.
“The thing you taught me last time…”
The two lowered their voices to speak, so they leaned in close. Seeing this moment, the “ChiYue Eternal” CP fans who couldn’t attend the fan meeting nearly lost their minds from excitement.
The comment section exploded.
People said ChiYue was showing PDA on public funds, that “Jie” (Yue Zhaolin) was teasing his puppy (Cen Chi), the owner was soothing the puppy, and from this angle—it looked like a stolen kiss.
Tide Sisters: “…???”
The comments were clearly written in Chinese, yet when strung together, somehow made no sense.
Whatever—fire back anyway.
By the time it was Yue Zhaolin’s turn to speak again, the screen was filled with Tide’s declarations of love.
Yue Zhaolin couldn’t see the live comments, but he could see a fan’s face in the crowd. He remembered her from before—the eager expression, like a little fish staring longingly.
Very cute.
Since this was the final segment, Yue Zhaolin didn’t intend to say anything too serious. With a soft chuckle, he said:
“Because of you all, I got first place, huh.”
Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted:
“The next first place will be yours too, baby!”
It was a line that should have sounded a little arrogant—but that giant “baby” tagged onto the end echoed through the vast venue, and somehow made it completely endearing.
Yue Zhaolin blinked: “……”
He must be tipsy or something—his ears were burning.
Suppressing his emotions, he used the Korean he learned from Cen Chi, the English he already knew, and the Japanese he picked up from Mao Ding, delivering a multilingual thank you to everyone.
…
Outside the venue.
Xu Mingmei had been sitting in a nearby KFC for nearly three hours, stomach full of wings, fries, and Coke, when the livestream finally ended.
Even though they didn’t attend the event in person, both she and Peng Tao felt an overwhelming sense of loss.
Xu Mingmei rested for a bit, then opened Weibo, intending to look for clips and savor the details—only to be hit by a wave of trending hashtags:
#StarlightFanMeeting
#YueZhaolinWearsHisFirstHauteCouture
#RDDesignerPostedOnInstagram
#YueZhaolinAlrightAlright
All kinds of hot searches—Tide sisters were heating one, then another, working overtime but buzzing with energy.
Xu Mingmei had been watching the whole livestream and was confused by the “haute couture” trending tag.
She clicked in—only to see photos at the top of the feed.
Huh? Isn’t that the elegant uncle who chose grace over warmth?
She even had a photo with him!
It was the first time she’d met a foreign male Tide-sister, and she had worked up the courage to ask for a picture. The elegant uncle hadn’t refused—he was friendly and agreed.
Peng Tao, looking over the trending page: “……”
“Xu Mingmei, your luck is truly unbeatable. Please—can you post that photo on Weibo? And include what the designer said?”
Those conversations made it clear: the designer had definitely come just for Yue Zhaolin.
Just imagining how thrilled the Tide fandom would be once they saw that? Unreal.
…
Behind the fan meeting venue, inside a black nanny van.
The makeup assistant pulled out her kit. “Zhaolin, we’re heading straight to the filming site later. I’ll start removing your makeup now, then you can wash—”
She turned her head mid-sentence and saw Yue Zhaolin staring blankly at his changed-out shirt.
“…What’s wrong?”
Yue Zhaolin: “I’m quitting alcohol.”
“…?”
When Yue Zhaolin had been catching the cat—and when its claws snagged his shirt—he hadn’t thought ahead at all. But the moment he stepped outside and felt the cold wind hit, his mind sobered up fast.
He suddenly thought about compensation.
High-end luxury brand haute couture typically ranged from hundreds of thousands to over a million yuan. If he had been alone in the car right now, Yue Zhaolin would absolutely have let out a whimper.
But for now, he held it in.
Liu Li, sitting in the front passenger seat, noticed his barely contained expression and chuckled:
“It’s fine. For minor damage like this, the company will cover it.”
Liu Li was the head of the Yue Zhaolin Project—overseeing business, PR, and acting as his managing agent. Essentially, she was his chief agent.
So whenever her schedule allowed, Liu Li would personally show up to monitor Yue Zhaolin’s on-site activities.
It was worth noting that, even though Yue Zhaolin hadn’t officially debuted, the number of staff assigned to him was impressive.
Liu Li added that this kind of situation was actually covered in the haute couture rental contract. As long as the company was legit, they’d always be responsible for damage on the artist’s behalf.
The dark cloud hovering over Yue Zhaolin’s head slowly began to dissipate.
Then he remembered something and asked: “Director Liu, how did that cat get into the venue?”
Security was tight on all sides of the venue, and the entrance used for the fan meeting was especially heavy. A cat slipping in unnoticed should’ve been impossible.
Liu Li replied: “The cat has an owner.”
The owner was Ma Ailen, the second son of the deputy general manager of Green Fruit, along with his influencer girlfriend.
Ma Ailen was born abroad, resented his own ethnicity and China for a time, but later decided life in China was more comfortable than overseas, so he came back—and proceeded to date a long string of influencers and models.
The current girlfriend mentioned she wanted a well-bred black cat, and Ma Ailen immediately agreed. Once he found one, the girl looked at him with sparkly-eyed admiration.
Ma Ailen, caught up in the moment, impulsively suggested taking his girlfriend to a celebrity fan meeting.
The girlfriend, however, couldn’t bear to leave the cat behind—so Ma Ailen stuffed the cat into a bag and jostled all the way over. The result? Predictably disastrous. The cat got overstimulated and stressed.
When the girlfriend tried to reach into the bag to pet it, she got scratched instead. The cat then squeezed out through a gap in the bag and began sprinting around the venue.
Yue Zhaolin: “…?”
The makeup assistant, upon hearing this whole story, didn’t seem too fazed. After all, she’d long since accepted that the world was basically a giant chaotic circus.
Makeup Assistant: “Those two probably don’t even want the cat anymore.”
A cat they’d just gotten, no real bond, and it scratched someone? Tossing it would mean nothing to them.
Liu Li nodded: “Ma Ailen originally planned to abandon it. I took over.”
Since Etienne had posted photos of Yue Zhaolin with the black cat, it was no longer just a cat—it now had value. Keeping it for now wouldn’t cost much effort.
Yue Zhaolin thought back to that little black cat, hissing like a grumpy snake.
Now, it had become a pitiful snake with a tragic backstory.
The nanny van slowly started moving when Yue Zhaolin spoke up: “Sorry, Director Liu, could we take a small detour?”
He wanted to go to the main entrance.
But before he could explain, Liu Li had already guessed his intention. She turned and said:
“Old Zhou, take us to the venue entrance.”
There, a fan support wall dedicated to Yue Zhaolin was still standing. It wouldn’t be up for long—everything was scheduled to be dismantled tonight.
Knowing Yue Zhaolin’s personality, it was obvious he’d want to take pictures and preserve the memory.
Liu Li had long noticed how sincerely Yue Zhaolin cherished his fans. And she hoped he would never change.
Because even if the industry was already twisted and deformed, wasn’t that exactly why it needed an artist like Yue Zhaolin?
Liu Li said, “Zhaolin, the next couple of days might be a bit tough for you. Etienne’s shoot won’t just be in the studio — there’ll be outdoor locations too.”
“Today, we’re heading to a church first.”
A church?
In Yue Zhaolin’s mind, that was a place for believers to chant scriptures, pray, sing hymns — and of course, where Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross.
And now, the first outdoor shoot was actually going to be there.
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