Chapter 46: Framing Yue Zhaolin
[Goose Gossip Group | Can the Livestream Thread Still Survive?]
——
[Original Post]
RT.
Too many fans have unfollowed and started lashing back. Even though no specific names were mentioned when dissing the former favorite, several were decoded, and the fans caught the scent and showed up.
The thread next door has already become a battlefield. The fanwars have begun.
[1F] Fans turning anti are the scariest.
[5F] Because when they were stanning, they truly invested their real feelings…
All those million reposts on Weibo, the hate threads they reported, the sales for endorsements, the sold-out concerts — weren’t they all the face and pride upheld by fangirls?
[9F] Every day, we get called “brainless fans” and “data slaves” by bystanders. But who wants to be a data slave? It’s because of love that we wanted to give him (what the fandom believes is) the best.
[15F] Fangirls spend tons of money and time, and all they want is a little emotional return from their idol.
But even that little bit — many idols can’t manage to give.
[23F] Those who date or get married during their rising career phase;
Those who end up having kids;
Those who slack off on stage;
Those with poor skills, whose fans can only praise their styling or “improvement”;
Those who abandon singing and dancing right after debut, jumping straight into acting in fantasy costume dramas;
Those who talk nonstop about loving music, but their albums have no self-written songs — or they’re just credited in name only — and the albums aren’t cheap either. Just straight-up cash grabs.
— In my opinion, all of these are examples of idol failure.
[38F] Replying to Floor 23: Sis, you said it perfectly. Spokesperson of the masses. That comment took down 99% of the idols in C-entertainment with one sweep.
[45F] Add in the sunk cost — it’s hard to let go. But the more you stan, the more resentment you build. Chasing idols stops being emotional comfort and becomes emotional baggage.
[61F] People always say Goose Group is the Ferret Group (狌组, play on words implying they’re irrational), and yes, compared to other groups, Goose definitely spoils the Emperor Yue.
But the root reason is: Yue Zhaolin is simply a qualified idol.
That’s all there is to it.
[72F] Goose’s late-night truths.
[88F] cry.jpg
—
Starlight Building.
After the rankings were released, 36 contestants were eliminated, and a farewell scene played out on camera. The remaining trainees officially became competitors.
In one week, it would be time for the second public performance song selection.
Because the votes from the first elimination round were made public, and the gap between the lower-tier contestants was small, the atmosphere among them subtly shifted.
Tan Shen, who ranked second, earned a new nickname from some people — Yue Zhaolin’s leg pendant. A classic case of “one person succeeds, and even the chickens and dogs rise with him.”
They didn’t spare Cen Chi either, who dropped to sixth. Someone mocked: “You can’t be a bootlicker. In the end, licking gets you nowhere. Hilarious.”
Chen Fei overheard many such comments. After struggling with it for a while, he finally sought out Yue Zhaolin in private.
“Those people are just speaking out of jealousy, so they talk nonsense. But the more it’s said, the more it’s heard — eventually, it might have an impact…”
Chen Fei pressed his lips together, then said he hoped Yue Zhaolin wouldn’t put too much trust in those around him.
He didn’t name names, but it was obvious he was referring to Cen Chi and Tan Shen.
“What if they pull some shady tricks…”
“I’m not trying to sow discord! It’s just that I… I’ve been through this myself.”
He once had a childhood friend — they looked alike, got along well, always hung out together, like twins born from different mothers.
But everything started to change once they auditioned and joined the company together.
“In the company documents, his visual rating was a C, mine was an A.”
They looked almost the same — so why was there such a huge gap in the rating? After hearing things like that too often, his friend changed.
That friend would always say things with a joking tone: that his singing wasn’t good, that he sucked at dancing, that his face was a bit crooked, and his nose wasn’t sharp enough.
It’s hard to see clearly when you’re in the situation. Back then, Chen Fei suffered a lot.
To him, it was a past he could never let go of. Even just briefly mentioning it now made him feel sick to his stomach and start to tremble.
Yue Zhaolin placed a hand on his shoulder: “When someone uses the identity of a friend to put you down, it just means they’ve admitted you’re better.”
Choosing to stab someone in the back instead of competing openly — maybe it’s because, aside from their face, they couldn’t beat you anywhere else?
“…Thank you, Zhaolin,” Chen Fei snapped out of his anxious state and gave a smile, “Thinking of it like that… I suddenly feel a bit better.”
Yue Zhaolin smiled back. “I should be the one thanking you.”
After all, Chen Fei used his own reopened wound to warn him to beware of betrayal.
“I understand what you’re saying. I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” Chen Fei nodded. “Oh, and by the way — even though those people are jealous of everyone in the top ten, when it comes to you, they’re all dying to kiss up.”
“There’s even a rumor going around — that any trainee who gets close to you, or catches your eye, has a real shot at debut.”
“That rumor…”
Yue Zhaolin raised an eyebrow.
When he returned to the practice room, the first thing he saw was Tan Shen doing push-ups — the butterfly-flapping motion had toned down quite a bit.
But for Fu Xunying, it was his first time seeing it. He temporarily put aside his usual scowl toward the #2 rank and doubled over laughing, holding his stomach.
Tan Shen managed three push-ups and was already gasping like an old ox, panting hard as he said, “I’ve improved, okay? Wei Lai can vouch for me!”
Wei Lai, who was practicing in the room next door, got dragged over to join the fun. After watching one of Tan Shen’s push-ups, he rubbed his chin and said, “Hmm… there’s definitely progress.”
“Last time your wings nearly fanned me into a cold. This time? It’s more like the lowest setting on an electric fan — gentle breeze at most.”
“……”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Even Yue Zhaolin couldn’t hold back a quiet snort of laughter.
But once the laughter died down, it was back to practice.
Today’s focus was rhythm training — the whole body needed to be involved: arms, chest, hips, knees, and feet.
Yue Zhaolin was working on a dance move that looked effortless and cool on the surface, but pulling it off with real finesse was incredibly difficult.
Just like with his dance practice, he’d also begun to plan for his future — mastering singing and dancing first, then learning to compose and play guitar.
He wanted to write a song himself, as a gift for his fans. Ideally, he’d sing and play it live. That would be pretty fun, right?
After a while, as Yue Zhaolin started to hit his rhythm, Cen Chi returned, looking gloomy and downcast.
“Zhaolin, I need someone to talk to. Can I have five minutes of your time?”
Yue Zhaolin replied, “Sure. But can you wait? I still have twenty more sets. After that, it’ll be break time — perfect for five minutes.”
“I can wait.”
…
Restroom.
Yue Zhaolin was wiping off sweat with a towel that had been soaked in warm water when he heard Cen Chi’s utterly defeated voice:
“I borrowed Shu Yang’s phone.”
Yue Zhaolin: “Hm?”
“Back when I ranked second, it was because of our CP — that boost pulled me up. I am disappointed about being sixth this time, but I understand.”
He continued, “I’ve accepted being sixth… but my fans seem like they haven’t.”
In Cen Chi’s Super Topic, his solo fans — called Cen-gels (a pun on “angels”) — had started going on the offensive, launching attacks on those ranked second through fifth, accusing all four of buying fake votes.
They even reported the show to the broadcasting authority…
Just like that, four new enemies were made.
His fan group was full of a fiery spirit, like they were ready to “fight the whole world for Cen Chi.”
When Cen Chi saw the direction things were heading, the boy who hadn’t even broken down when he was completely b*llied in Korea… went dark in the eyes.
He took a deep breath: “…The thing is, I don’t want to fight the whole world.”
Especially the part where fans were mass-reporting the show — cold sweat ran down his back.
The show was made to make money. If it really got shut down because of all this, would his agency and CEO-uncle just walk away unharmed?
At this point, he didn’t even have time to dwell on being sixth — he was restless and anxious.
Suddenly, Cen Chi said, “Would it be okay if I shipbait with Fu Xunying on the way off work?”
“Act like best bros in front of fan site masters — maybe that would calm the fans down? No, wait, I have face blindness. What if I mistake him for someone else? It’s safer to shipbait with Tan Shen. I’ll ask him later. Would he agree?”
Yue Zhaolin: “……”
He kept saying “shipbait” but his eyes were dull. Even his signature golden hair had lost its shine.
At first, Yue Zhaolin had never imagined things would take this turn — but thinking about it now, as absurd as it was, it also kind of made sense.
Overall, dropping from second to sixth, the emotional tone within Cen Chi’s fandom had clearly taken a downturn — and to bring the energy back up, they needed a fanwar.
It was a way to unite the fandom again.
But if they picked a fight with the #1 — Yue Zhaolin — the cost-benefit ratio wouldn’t be great. So they shifted the conflict onto those ranked second to fifth instead.
“Once a fanwar starts, what the idol actually thinks no longer matters.”
—
The one-week period between the first elimination round and the second public performance song selection was primarily reserved for the top-ranked contestants.
Yue Zhaolin, who ranked first in the votes, had a new sponsorship commercial to shoot.
Tan Shen, who placed second, took on a job for a digital magazine (an e-mag with no physical edition, just images viewable on a phone).
Chu Li, who ranked third, also had an outside gig — he became a face model for an ancient-style NPC in a video game, as part of a collaboration between the show and the game.
Fu Xunying, in fourth place, didn’t have solo gigs but did participate in a group ad shoot.
And fifth place — Duanmu Hongxue — had… nothing.
That made him extremely anxious.
Because of his underwhelming performance on the show, his company had no choice but to burn through their over-budget funds to buy him votes.
His manager didn’t sound harsh over the phone, but the way he spoke pierced Duanmu Hongxue’s pride.
Shame and frustration surged up — he felt like he was being mocked.
“The second performance is almost here…”
If his real, organic vote count didn’t rise before the next performance, not only would his company look down on him — even the other contestants would.
Rationally, Duanmu Hongxue couldn’t accept the idea of falling into obscurity or failure.
But he couldn’t do much about it either. So his anxiety turned into irritability.
He started randomly kicking beds and slamming doors in the dorm.
His roommates silently screamed “What a lunatic” in their heads and quickly kept their distance.
“……”
“Why the hell does even Cen Chi get to film an ad…”
A single, jealous outburst sparked an idea in Duanmu Hongxue’s mind.
Cen Chi used to be ranked second — and hadn’t he dropped to sixth?
Then… couldn’t others fall too?
Tan Shen had been a model. And aren’t there a lot of gay male models? His sexuality probably wasn’t “clean.” There had to be something you could dig up on him.
Would Yue Zhaolin’s fans really be comfortable with a gay guy hovering around their idol?
Then there was Chu Li. He was the show’s chosen golden boy — untouchable. Fine, let that one go.
As for Fu Xunying, rich kids were almost never clean. He himself had a bunch of ex-girlfriends — at least a few who had ab*rtions.
But Fu Xunying wasn’t easy to mess with either.
Duanmu Hongxue scrolled through the list of names in his head again, and Yue Zhaolin’s face surfaced once more. He gritted his teeth.
He couldn’t wait around for Yue Zhaolin to fall from grace on his own.
He would add fuel to the fire.
Duanmu Hongxue pulled out his phone and messaged a WeChat contact: “Come to the dorm.”
About twenty minutes later, a staffer in a mask appeared at the door.
Duanmu Hongxue frowned. “What took you so long?”
“…Too much work.”
“Xiao Chao, sit.” He pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her into a chair. “I called you here for something serious.”
“There are blind spots in the building’s surveillance, right?”
Xiao Chao: “…Yeah.”
Duanmu Hongxue grinned. “Good.”
He stared at her delicate face and licked his lips.
“You’re going to lure Yue Zhaolin over there.”
Xiao Chao was his ex-girlfriend. Back when they were dating, Duanmu Hongxue had arranged for her to work on the show, just so he could see her all the time.
She turned out to be boring, and they broke up quickly — but surprisingly, she never quit the job.
Which now… worked perfectly for him.
Duanmu Hongxue said, “Just pretend you have a stomachache and fall toward Yue Zhaolin. Make him catch you.”
“No!”
Xiao Chao’s breath caught. Her eyes widened in shock and fear. She stood up to leave immediately, but Duanmu Hongxue grabbed her wrist.
She yanked it free with all her strength — his hand flew back and slammed into the dorm bedframe, and he let out a sharp cry of pain.
Xiao Chao’s head was burning.
She already understood what Duanmu Hongxue was trying to do — asking about surveillance blind spots, then telling her to fall on someone — he wanted to frame Yue Zhaolin in a s*x scandal.
Once she landed on him, Duanmu would take photos.
With no surveillance in that area, even if the show tried to clear things up, they wouldn’t have evidence to prove otherwise.
He really thought this all through.
But what about her?! Once those photos went public, she’d lose her job — and maybe even become socially ruined.
Duanmu Hongxue hissed, “Don’t forget — I still have your photos!”
Xiao Chao’s figure halted mid-exit.
“……”
Duanmu Hongxue grinned wide.
—
Early morning, Dorm 504.
Chu Li rushed in after finishing his face model shoot.
“The second public performance is a position evaluation, right? Like vocal, dance, and rap categories?”
Yue Zhaolin looked up.
“Yeah.”
Chu Li immediately pulled off his shirt.
“What category do you want to choose tomorrow?”
Yue Zhaolin politely lowered his head again.
“Let’s wait and see what songs are announced tomorrow. But I can already rule out rap.”
Rap songs usually required writing your own lyrics and delivering them with the right tone and flow. Yue Zhaolin’s official Mandarin pronunciation certificate wasn’t going to help with that.
“I’m more suited to being a reader than a rapper,” he said, picking up a book.
Chu Li: “What are you reading?”
“Basic Music Theory, recommended by Cen Chi.”
Chu Li: “That one? I’ve read it too — the beginning’s pretty interesting. Ah right, isn’t Cen Chi…”
Knock knock —
Someone knocked on the door.