Chapter 65: Soda Festival
[Goose Gossip Group | “Forbidden Timespace” Chief Director Herland Officially Announces: ‘Yue Zhaolin Will Make a Cameo in the Film with a New Look’ — How Big of a Deal Is This?]
[Original Post]
RT.
Not gonna lie, this is shocking.
[1F] Melon Group lost its mind, Goose Group is stunned, and bystander netizens thought this was an April Fools’ joke continued.
[4F] He’s really going to cameo…
[8F] Hollywood may be in decline, but they’ve always been stingy with roles for China.
(And I mean good roles — not the ones that exist just to smear us. We all get that.)
But what kind of styling could possibly make Yue Zhaolin look bad?
Probably none.
He’s definitely going to benefit big from this role.
[11F] Suddenly remembered that old rumor — “Herland personally invited Yue Zhaolin, but Xingqiong turned it down.”
Laughed it off back then, but now that I think about it…?
[17F] Let’s not forget how the melon group was absolutely convinced it was fake, and even roasted it with: “Did Herland send the invite to Yue Zhaolin via QQ email or something?”
[24F] Meanwhile on another forum:
A high-luxury brand founder photographed Yue Zhaolin → “The luxury brand’s class is ruined.”
Hollywood invited Yue Zhaolin to cameo → “Hollywood has gone insane.”
[31F] At this point, haters losing their minds is basically an adrenaline shot for his fans.
[40F] I went lurking on the Super Topic —
Tide fandom is still wailing over Yue Zhaolin’s new hair color and that chubby, warped moon pendant.
Like, can we show a little respect for Hollywood?
[48F] This is the pinnacle for showbiz idols, right?
[54F] Replying to 48: Not just the ceiling — he’s reached the stratosphere.
—
Even if it’s just a cameo, it’s still Hollywood.
And it’s not like the opportunity will disappear.
Tide had its reasons for not giving Forbidden Timespace much attention—for now, let’s just say: they had no time to care!
Because at the moment, Tide’s main task was processing the series of shocks that hit them today—
First, one of their fellow fans ran into Yue Zhaolin in the airport’s VIP lounge.
The gift wasn’t successfully handed over, but they got several softly spoken “sister (jiejies)” in return.
The Tide sisters, who were only watching through their screens, felt a brief stab of jealousy—
only to be instantly soothed by Yue Zhaolin’s line: “I’ve already received everyone’s love.”
And from then on, hearing him say “sister” felt like a universal term that every Tide members could insert themselves into.
Then someone clipped the “sister” audio and turned it into a loop.
Tide listened to it 300 times, full of emotion.
Before Tide could even finish swooning, the plane from Haicheng to Hainan landed,
and the on-site fansite master uploaded the airport video footage immediately.
Tide had read from fan reports that he dyed his hair white,
but when the man actually walked out the airport doors—white hair, short sleeves, black pants—
he looked so fresh and stylish it was almost too much.
Tide: “?!” Too handsome.
Just as Tide finished recovering from the beauty shock, another blow landed—
a light yellow plush moon keychain hanging on Yue Zhaolin’s bag.
The moon design came from the graphics team in their fansite, designed by Tide themselves.
That small plush toy, so delicate, felt like a thread connecting all their love.
Add in the Forbidden Timespace cameo on top of everything, and it became a quadruple wave of joy, crashing down on Tide like one emotional tidal wave after another.
Stunned—but happy.
“……”
“……”
After a full day of emotional stimulation, Tide —neither calm nor composed—listened to the audio clip while forwarding airport candids and placing an order at the fan wish store.
Before dawn, they had already received 150,000 orders.
The riches had arrived like a flood—but the joyous-yet-painful factory contacted the store in distress: “There are too many orders. Can we change the link to a preorder?”
Even the sewing machines were about to catch fire.
The behind-the-scenes staff member in charge of this batch had already flown to Hainan, getting ready to line up overnight at the ticket check-in entrance.
“We can do it,” she said, “but the production timeline might need to be extended…”
Just as she was typing that, someone called out: “Taozi, want a sandwich?”
“Yes!”
One of the logistics team from the support station pulled a still-warm chicken fillet sandwich out of a bag for her, and also asked the surrounding Tide sisters who were preparing to queue through the night.
According to Soda Festival tradition, guest performers usually pick a song and come down from the stage to interact with the audience.
Yue Zhaolin was expected to do the same,
“so we need to check in early to snag front-row spots.”
“There are so many people this time…”
“The Soda Festival tickets aren’t expensive,”
—ranging from 88 to 588 yuan, and ironically, the expensive ones sold out first— “plus, it’s a Friday, so pretty much all the Tide sisters who could come did come.”
There were still ten hours to go before ticket check-in began.
If you asked Taozi three months ago, she probably wouldn’t have understood what her current self was doing.
She touched the moon-shaped keychain on her backpack—
She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to say this, but she truly believed that the bond between Tide and Yue Zhaolin was a visible two-way street.
Following Yue Zhaolin just makes her really happy.
“The show starts at 4 PM. Zhaolin won’t come on until 7:30.”
Since there were a lot of guest performers at the Soda Festival, the event was split into a day session and a night session.
“Bring extra food and water.”
“Will they let it through security?”
Selling snacks and soda was a revenue stream for the music festival, and water was considered risky (you never know what’s inside), so security might not allow it through.
“Food is fine. Water isn’t. But they’re selling sparkling water and bottled water inside.”
“Oh right—Taozi, did you bring a picnic mat? So you can sit when you’re tired.”
“I did!”
She had done her homework.
She thought she had prepared well enough, but once daytime arrived, Taozi realized things were even harder than expected.
Physical exhaustion was one thing—but the bigger issue was that most of the daytime performers weren’t popular.
Organizers loved to schedule events this way: save the hottest acts for last—because if they bring out the big names too early, the audience might just leave right after.
—
The international boy group KNB, who had previously had some crossover with Yue Zhaolin, performed during the day session.
By the time KNB got on stage, the festival had already been running for two hours.
Looking around, the lawn was practically covered in picnic mats.
People were sitting on the ground, eating, drinking, chatting—just not watching the performances.
On stage, the KNB members struggled to maintain their expressions.
—Audiences are a brutally honest species.
They give no one face.
Even more painful than knowing you’re not popular is standing on stage and facing a crowd that completely ignores you—a crowd that isn’t hyped up at all.
After struggling through two songs, KNB didn’t even say goodbye.
They just walked off the stage.
Backstage, Che Haojie was fuming.
“Next time I’m never coming to China again. The audience has zero respect for the stage, the vibe here sucks.”
Che Haojie, of course, conveniently ignored the fact that they’d sung off-key, that their songs had bizarre off-pitch rap sections, and verses that sounded like monotone chanting.
He was ready to hit the bars.
Che Haojie stormed off, not even noticing that Yi Zhe hadn’t followed.
Yi Zhe had changed clothes, passed security, and was now sitting in a corner of the outer area watching the big screen.
He refused to let Chen Fei get the last laugh.
If only… something went wrong during Yue Zhaolin’s stage.
Then they’d be even.
He could still one-up Chen Fei.
After 6:30 PM, the performances switched mostly to Douyin viral songs and DJ remixes of classic hits, which finally succeeded in waking up the audience.
—At least people were singing along now.
As Yi Zhe grew more anxious, time kept ticking on, and the sky grew darker and darker.
After the previous group finished performing, the host came onstage, smiling brightly:
“Let’s thank Yusheng Group for their wonderful performance! How about a round of applause?!”
Amid the clapping, the host’s smile became more genuine.
“Now, our next guest is about to arrive.”
“Everyone, have you heard of the ‘God-tier Three Seconds’?”
A stir rippled through the audience.
“Heard of it!”
“Is it Yue Zhaolin? Finally! I’ve been waiting so long my makeup’s about to melt off!”
Next, the host smoothly followed the script to lead the topic—from the viral “God-tier Three Seconds,” to Yue Zhaolin himself, and then to the show Starlight, which Yue Zhaolin participated in.
It had to be done—without that bit of context, many casual concertgoers wouldn’t understand why sixty trainees were about to take the stage.
The host’s smile deepened:
“Get ready to scream—tonight the Starlight trainees are going full throttle! Theme song: Meteor—let’s go!”
“Boom.”
The lights dimmed, and the intro music began.
Even from the back of the venue, the massive screen lit up clearly—an overhead bird’s-eye view showing a panoramic shot of the extended T-shaped stage.
The trainees, all wearing matching short-sleeved uniforms, stood along the top bar of the T.
As the camera swept across them, only one person was held in frame—Yue Zhaolin.
The camera locked on him.
One, two, three—
With the beat counting through his earpiece, Yue Zhaolin raised his gaze, his short silver-white hair catching the light.
Light-colored hair usually makes facial features stand out more, and tonight, the outer corners of his eyes had extra makeup added—not full-on smokey, but deeper.
The combination of silver hair and bold eye makeup gave him a slightly Eurasian look, but his nose bridge, cheekbones, and jawline still carried the distinct contours of an East Asian face.
There was a kind of sharp, bewitching allure.
“Aaaaahhhhhhh—!”
Even in the open-air venue, the screams twisted into a cyclone, drowning out all other noise—leaving only waves of sound pounding in your ears.
Amid the screams, Yue Zhaolin looked into the camera as if caught by surprise, raising his eyebrows slightly.
The screaming grew even louder.
The trick of having Yue Zhaolin lift his gaze into the camera—it had already been used once before by the production team during the first fan meeting.
But effectiveness matters more than novelty.
And the live audience reaction said it all.
Even slight changes in his makeup presented a completely different image from before.
No wonder Xingqiong had been willing to invest so heavily in Yue Zhaolin—the return on investment was very real.
“Yue Zhaolin! Aaaahhhh—!”
Since he didn’t have solo lines at the beginning of the song, after giving him the center position for the intro, the camera shifted to Chu Li.
When Chu Li started singing the first line, the echoes of the screams hadn’t even faded yet.
When Fu Xunying sang the second line, the crowd noise had already completely died down.
In-ear monitors could muffle external sounds—but they didn’t block them entirely.
Chu Li suppressed a smirk: “……”
It wasn’t exactly ethical, but he was lucky—he’d gotten to ride the tail end of Yue Zhaolin’s fan screams.
Then Yue Zhaolin opened his mouth to sing: “I carry a blazing dream, charging forward with all my might.”
“Aaaaaaahhhhhh—!”
The distracted audience snapped right back into focus.
The trainees on stage, wearing in-ears, could still hear the screaming.
But those like Yi Zhe, standing in the crowd, heard it even louder.
How loud?
Yue Zhaolin was singing, but his voice and the background music couldn’t be heard at all.
The screams drowned everything out.
At that moment, the big screen panned across the audience, and Yi Zhe saw many people wearing blue raincoats, moon-themed headbands, bracelets, and necklaces.
Those were…
Yue Zhaolin’s fans.
“Boom—”
Water cannons on both sides of the T-shaped stage started spraying water.
This was the first spray, so it wasn’t intense yet—but it would gradually increase.
White misty jets hit both the edge of the stage and the audience seats.
Yue Zhaolin got sprayed by the water too.
Mist landed on his hair, and he instinctively shook his head.
Realizing the motion made him look like a puppy, he laughed a little.
The main stage camera wasn’t focused on him at the moment—but the handheld camera from the audience had already zoomed in.
Realizing his “cool cat” image was crumbling,
Yue Zhaolin’s eyes widened slightly in panic.
He quickly made a recovery by forming a cat ear gesture above his head with his hands.
Then he pressed a finger to his lips and gave the audience a playful “shhh.”
— Do you understand?
“Too cute, I’m dying!”
A full-on cuteness attack—cuteness aggression triggered.
—Now I finally get why men fall for sweet girls.JPG
The song Meteor was only three and a half minutes long, and since trainees weren’t allowed to roam the stage, only the fans in the front area could capture Yue Zhaolin’s face clearly—which was such a shame.
But once Meteor ended, the rest of the performances included both first-round evaluation songs and specially arranged “wet look” stages.
The “wet look” songs came with water cannons far more intense than before—not a gentle mist, but drenching blasts that soaked the performers completely.
Tide fans were living for that.
However, songs like Cold Lover and the trippy new track Temperature Gap were scheduled much later—so that the audience wouldn’t leave right after Yue Zhaolin’s appearance.
While the trainees continued performing on stage, the event team could use aerial shots for promotional hype.
And so, for the next half hour, only unfamiliar trainees appeared on stage.
Yue Zhaolin, who had gone backstage, was like a hook—keeping the Tide fans hanging on.
Even though they had gotten used to waiting throughout the day, after seeing Yue Zhaolin, time suddenly slowed to a crawl—every second felt unbearably long.
“Why isn’t he coming out yet…”
“I’m so tired.”
“Time’s moving so slow, waaah!”
Tide made up the bulk of the audience.
And once they stopped reacting, even when popular songs were played, the crowd’s screaming felt thin and weak by comparison.
This contrast was heard loud and clear by Tan Shen and the others backstage.
Jealous?
Of course.
Across the entire domestic entertainment industry, among all the trainees who haven’t debuted yet, only Yue Zhaolin could draw such a crowd. Jealousy aside, they couldn’t replicate it.
Staff member: “Get ready to go on stage.”
“Okay.”
When Yue Zhaolin stepped onto the stage again, dressed in a well-fitted white shirt and dress pants, the sweltering air was still misty from the previous song’s water effects.
Under the pitch-black night sky, he was greeted by a deafening wave of cheers.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh—”
From the stage, Yue Zhaolin could see every silhouette, from the inner zone all the way to the outer.
Maybe he couldn’t make out faces, but scattered flashes of yellow, blue, and silver-blue were visible—signals that only they understood.
They were here for him.
On the big screen, Yue Zhaolin, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, said, “Hello everyone, I’m Yue Zhaolin.”
This time, his hair wasn’t slicked back, revealing most of his forehead, which paired perfectly with his flawless features—it had a distinct manhua vibe.
The stage lights at night cast a soft glow around him, like he was surrounded by a gentle filter.
With the slightly darkened eyeliner at the corners of his eyes, he looked more mature than he did on the show. Add to that the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt and the tailored dress pants—
It was a full-on heart attack.
The Tide fandom momentarily lost their ability to speak.
“Holy—!”
“Who did his eye makeup? I’m gonna die…”
The other group members continued with their introductions, giving the dazed and breathless Tide sisters a brief moment to recover.
Once everyone had introduced themselves, it was time for the performance. “Cold Lover” depicted the entanglement between a man and a woman during the ambiguous stage of a relationship. Tide had watched the fancam from the first public performance countless times.
To exaggerate a little, they could practically recite the lyrics and choreography by heart.
Coincidentally, this song was also a trending hit on Douyin, so even some casual viewers found it familiar. It was perfect for hyping up the atmosphere.
Right before the performance, a sudden voice broke through the noise, mixing high-pitched wails with a bold scream: “Yue Zhaolin, can you call me big sister—”
In an instant, the brainwaves of the rest of the Tide fandom synced up. With this boyfriend-style look, not getting a “sister” from him would be a crime against humanity!
Shouts echoed from all directions, wave after wave.
“Call me big sister—!”
But the venue was too noisy, and the cries weren’t synchronized. Those on stage couldn’t make out what was being said. Since the performance was about to start, the Tide fans reluctantly fell silent out of courtesy.
As the water cannons roared to life, the camera focused on the trainees on stage. The intro was the familiar one, and the camera panned across everyone—ending on Yue Zhaolin.
And this time, the shot didn’t cut away.
Within the reach of the water cannon, droplets fell on Yue Zhaolin. As soon as his shirt was soaked, the fabric darkened instantly and clung to his body.
Water droplets fell onto his hair, lashes, and lips.
Yue Zhaolin reached up and slicked his damp hair back, creating a natural swept-back look. The beads of water on his face slid down his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt.
He smiled slightly.
Because the big screen was zoomed in for a close-up, every detail was amplified—
From the trail of the water droplets to the faint smile at the corners of his mouth, and the sharp, powerful lines of his neck as he tilted his head.
A simple pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, suiting him perfectly.
This was exactly the vibe of “Cold Lover” from the first evaluation stage: a young man, fearless and entitled, simply because he was loved.
“Big sister, it’s starting now—”
Tide fandom: “…?”
“?!”
“Ahhhhhh!”