Chapter 67: Soda Festival Ends
When Yue Zhaolin took the stage again, he didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but amidst the tidal wave of cheers, he felt like he could make out individual voices.
Replacement was in a fresh Nordic style. It wasn’t strenuous to sing, and compared to the song he performed during the initial evaluation, it was a different kind of pleasant.
Perhaps it was his imagination again, but after singing two songs back-to-back, it felt like his voice had opened up—singing became easier and more natural.
Yue Zhaolin greeted the band politely, then eagerly stepped forward.
— “I don’t want to be his replacement – and you know it perfectly well.”
His soft, gentle voice felt like a curtain falling on the Soda Festival.
— “I’m no longer satisfied with a friendship, but you can’t return to his side.”
As he continued singing, Fu Xunying, who had started off-key from the very first note, was so embarrassed by himself that he turned his head—only to find Yue Zhaolin had already walked what felt like a mile away.
Fu Xunying: “……”
Yue Zhaolin didn’t pay him any mind.
Holding the microphone in one hand, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, with hair still half-damp and most of his makeup worn off—he didn’t look disheveled at all. Instead, he looked fresh and clean.
On the large T-shaped stage, Yue Zhaolin slowed his pace, walking along the edge to wave at every section of the audience.
He kept singing. The gentleness of this closing act only made the sense of reluctance grow stronger.
Sadness spread through the air.
Because—it was time to say goodbye.
Until the final note of the last lyric faded into the night sky, everyone knew—it was truly time to say goodbye.
In his closing remarks, Yue Zhaolin said a lot, reminding the Tide fans to be careful on their way home, and to take a hot shower soon if they got caught in the rain.
The sound of reluctant sobs echoed.
“I don’t want this to end…”
“Wuwuwu, it was way too short…”
In the end, Yue Zhaolin stood under the lights, on stage, and bowed to the people who loved him.
“Bang—”
Suddenly, water mist erupted, and the stage lights flared to full brightness.
From the corner of Fu Xunying’s eye, he could see Yue Zhaolin beside him, eyes closed. In the rainbow-colored mist, his expression was nearly devout.
“……”
…
When Yue Zhaolin and Fu Xunying came offstage again, they were greeted by multi-angle cameras, as well as flowers and applause from the other trainees.
The footage would later be released as behind-the-scenes highlights.
Yue Zhaolin held a large bouquet of red roses, lowering his head to smell them. Chu Li, holding a Polaroid handed over by a staff member, asked, “Wanna take a few together?”
“Hm? Sure.”
Polaroid film is only so big—there was no way it could fit all the trainees, so most of those in the lower ranks didn’t step forward.
Meng Yu was among them.
He looked at Yue Zhaolin and thought back to the beginning…
He remembered clearly: Yue Zhaolin had only one low point—right before the show was re-edited.
At that time, Yue Zhaolin barely had any screen time, and being around him wasn’t good for Meng Yu’s image. That’s why he left Yue Zhaolin and turned to Chu Li instead.
It had been a mental knot for Meng Yu ever since. One misstep led to another. Tonight’s Soda Festival was, in all likelihood, Meng Yu’s final stage.
Meng Yu, having come to terms with the outcome, was unusually calm. He looked at Yue Zhaolin, now the center of attention, adored like the moon surrounded by stars—but something suddenly flashed through his mind.
Grabbing hold of that fleeting thought, Meng Yu broke into a cold sweat. His fingernails dug hard into his palm.
He had always assumed that the show had used the “Yue Zhaolin has no screen time” angle as a gimmick to attract viewers, but ended up overplaying it and was forced to do an emergency re-edit.
Now, Meng Yu began to retrace everything—
From the moment Yue Zhaolin and Fu Xunying first appeared at the music festival, stepping onstage with Actual;
To the way the mentors treated Yue Zhaolin in the early episodes, and his sudden surge of ambition during the first performance song selection;
And later, after the re-edit, how the staff’s attitude toward Yue Zhaolin noticeably shifted, taking him even more seriously.
Was it really just for attracting attention?
Meng Yu’s pupils contracted sharply.
“No…”
Yue Zhaolin—
was originally just a tool for the production team.
It was as if he had uncovered a secret. His excitement spiked, and a roar filled his ears—so loud and distorted it was almost deafening. He could practically feel the sweat evaporating off his skin.
Heaven had favored him—he had a new card to play.
Meng Yu understood the weight of this card. If he exposed the truth, the emotional backlash from Yue Zhaolin’s fanbase would be uncontrollable—it would definitely blow up.
Their numbers were massive, their fans highly engaged, covering all age groups. They would rage across every platform, condemning the production team and defending Yue Zhaolin.
And the louder the uproar, the more likely Starlight would go down with it.
…
On the other side, filming had just wrapped up.
Cen Chi held Yue Zhaolin’s bouquet for him. “I’ll hold this for you, Zhaolin. Go change your clothes.” The stage had sprayed water again, so his clothes were soaked.
Yue Zhaolin nodded.
But as he glanced up, he noticed something odd—on Cen Chi’s neck, there was… black-colored sweat?
Cen Chi said, “This? Ever since I dyed it black, it’s been like this.” After bleaching his blond hair to black, even the water in the shower turned dark.
Yue Zhaolin replied, “I see.” He hadn’t noticed before.
Cen Chi added, “By the way, Zhaolin, how long are you planning to keep your new hair color?”
If he didn’t switch to another color soon and just maintained the current silvery white, it could last for more than two weeks. Even if his black roots grew out a little, it wouldn’t look bad.
Yue Zhaolin said, “Not sure.”
It would depend on the style of the next performance.
After changing into a dry set of clothes, Yue Zhaolin sat in the van heading back to the hotel, listening to the others chat about what to eat for late-night snacks.
He stared out the window at the passing streetlights, his eyes unfocused, mind wandering—
He wanted to be alone.
He wanted to see the ocean.
Yue Zhaolin wasn’t in the mood to talk, and the others picked up on that, wisely choosing not to bother him.
At that same moment, the silence extended to another group: the Tide fandom.
For example, the team behind one of his main fansites that had reserved a late-night meal.
Twelve people in total, seated in a private room at a restaurant—and not a single one was speaking. All of them were staring at their phones with mysterious little smiles on their faces.
The server came in with dishes and was met with that sight: “……”
Not one of the cold dishes had been touched. The newly served hot dishes would probably go cold too. Were they still planning to eat? Should the restaurant enable anti-addiction mode?
Addiction—it was real.
Every shot of Yue Zhaolin from the Tide’s camera reels looked different, and yet they all had one thing in common—
He was vivid and irresistible.
The arc of water droplets flying from his body, the way he looked into the camera, the tiny gesture of pressing his lips together because a drop of water had seeped into them.
As soon as the server left, chaos broke loose.
Screams, wails, goofy laughter, flushed faces—every possible reaction exploded.
“…Dammit, the camera angle was so off—stupid hands! What good are you?!”
“Soda Festival was amazing. Can we come again next time?”
“I’m going through withdrawal. It hurts. The more I scroll through my album, the worse it gets.”
“Same. I feel so empty, I don’t want to do anything. Should I just send him money? Maybe I’ll renew my Green Fruit membership for ten more years?”
“Mine’s already heirloom level—saving it for my great-granddaughter.”
“I’m child-free. I’ll leave mine to my cat.”
“When is the audio version of Temperature Gap dropping? Hurry up, production team. I really want to listen to it.”
“Back during the second performance, Zhaolin didn’t choose that sexy K-pop boy group dance, and I was a little disappointed. And then he hit me with an upgraded version…”
“I fasted all last week just to fit into this dress for the festival. The moment he got wet onstage, I legit thought I was about to faint from low blood sugar.”
“Same. It was already hot, and then he came out like that—I almost had a nosebleed.”
“His body is criminally hot, slurp—”
Who’s drooling out loud?!
“Everything was so… dominant.”
“Dominant?”
“His face, his voice, his body… especially…” That Tide fan didn’t finish the sentence, but their crooked grin said everything loud and clear.
“AAAAAA you horny demon—”
The whole private room erupted in cackling from a bunch of chaotic girlies.
—
[Goose Gossip Group | HOT | “Did Yue Zhaolin just hold a concert or what?”]
[Original Post]
RT.
Who gets it—every time I see that sentence, I just start laughing. It’s so simple, but easily my personal quote of the year for 2024.
BTW, no antis, no outsiders allowed.
[3F] I saw that top comment too. The mouth on these Douyin people is truly unmatched…
[7F] Wait, what happened??
[13F] Replying to 7th floor: Originally, the Soda Festival was supposed to be a reward from the sponsor to the trainees—basically a chance to get some public exposure on a big stage.
There were other guest performers at the festival too.
But in the end, all of Douyin was just flooded with Yue Zhaolin’s clips—you literally couldn’t see anyone else. That’s when someone on Douyin dropped the savage comment:
“Did Yue Zhaolin hold a solo concert or what?”
[19F] He drained all the buzz from the entire Soda Festival. The domestic entertainment’s Purple Star really is terrifying.
[28F] Honestly, it might be the other way around. The Soda Festival gained heat because of him—its name finally broke into mainstream, and Qingpao got to ride that wave. (lol)
[35F] The key point is that short white hair of his—it’s different from a white wig you’d see in historical costumes. It was too right, like he actually stepped out of another dimension.
And then that one shout of “Jiejie”…
He instantly pulled in a whole batch of anime fan artists, and they’ve been nonstop creating content these past few days.
The fan-edit scene is on fire too.
[42F] And they’re not just editing his face, if you know what I mean.
[51F] Douyin Top Comment Highlights:
“Am I your jiejie too? [cat with finger sleeves pointing at itself.jpg]”
“Clothes can go, but Yue Zhaolin stays.”
“If he’s rich, I’ll lust. If he’s poor, I’ll move. If he’s powerful, I’ll submit. If Yue Zhaolin seduces me, I’ll obey.”
“He snapped. He let go.”
“How do fans even resist? If it were me, I’d be kissing him already. He could slap me and I’d still thank him.”
“Even just one second of this, I’ll take it.”
“New hair color unlocked: National Flirt King of C-ent.”
“Can you slap me twice, give me two million, and coax this ‘jiejie’ to sleep?”
“Is there a close-up fancam? I need it. Don’t ask why—I just NEED IT.”
[63F] …That’s just how Douyin people are.
[78F] Honestly, it’s been a long time since C-ent produced this kind of pure su idol—you know, the kind with a body that’s just right, looks great on camera, and actually has muscle when shirtless.
Nowadays it’s all bobble-headed baby faces.
[97F] Does anyone get me? I really thought his previous “God-tier 3 seconds” moment was the peak of his popularity.
[112F] I get you. That moment already caused a whole phenomenon. I didn’t think it could go any higher—but with him, it somehow makes sense.
[130F] The hype might be intangible, but the spending is very real. Just look at the Starlight recharge stats—they’ve doubled in the past few days. Ride-or-die fans are even more loyal, and new fans are pouring in.
[157F] The wildest part? He’s not just gaining new fans—he’s stealing other idols’ fans.
[168F] So many people went to the Soda Festival for other artists… and ended up jumping ship on the spot. Even fans watching through a screen were seduced into defecting.
Original fanbases are now banding together to fight Yue Zhaolin.
He’s got a growing list of “rivals”—none of whom he ever asked for. It’s hilarious.
[201F] This is too funny…
[239F] An idol = the fantasy boyfriend in the eyes of fans.
Following an idol is all about emotional value—and Yue Zhaolin delivers. Whether it’s his actual presence or the external content—Douyin trending clips, Bilibili fancams, fan edits—you name it.
He mainly attracts dream-girls, and they spend hard.
[264F] When he first appeared, I even flamed him for being a “royal pick.”
Weirdly enough, now I actually feel this proper idol energy from him.
[296F] Calling it now—C-ent idols are going to start calling fans “jiejie” next. Some people really think just using that one word is a money-making strategy.
[331F] Oh for sure. Even that “okay okay~” line he said before already got copied.
[357F] Replying to 331: …Huh?
[382F] Yeah, I think I saw it trending too—some flop idols trying to imitate him. They either came off as cringy fake gays or gave domestic abuser vibes—none of them had that Emperor Yue charm.
[404F] …They’re copying that now?
And without Emperor Yue’s face? Please, some of these seasoned showbiz veterans—after auditioning in a million shows—should stop pretending they’re innocent.
[424F] I can already imagine how they’ll start saying “jiejie” next—with that forced baby-talk cutesy voice.
Just picturing it makes me gag.
[451F] Let’s be real—Emperor Yue’s fanservice works because he’s got the skills to back it up. Without that, imitating him is just cheap pandering.
[476F] Preach, 451-sis.
[538F] Also—don’t forget, even though Emperor Yue’s been battling in the bloodbath that is idol survival shows and C-ent, he’s barely been in the spotlight for four months [ emoji].
He’s still a rookie.
So calling people “jiejie” doesn’t feel out of place.
[572F] He’s still at that age where dancing seductively for an audience would turn his ears bright red [shrug].
[601F] I’m in awe. Yue Zhaolin’s “thrives under pressure” trait is truly unbeatable. No matter how big the stage, he lives up to it—his fanbase never needs to worry about other drama.
[637F] The main thing is—he’s only 20, but he’s already tried multiple styles, and they all suit him.
Debut stage gave us tender maturity, second stage was cold ethereal celestial, and the Soda Festival? Pure sexy tease. All of it shows that his aura isn’t boxed in.
If we’re thinking big—he could actually start stepping into luxury brand campaigns next.
[651F] I used to drool over the Tide fandom, and now I’m drooling over Emperor Yue too. Both the idol and the fans are mouthwatering.
[673F] The Tide fandom must be over the moon these past couple of days.
[705F] Replying to Post 673: I peeked into their Super Topic… turns out they’re fighting.
[688F] ? Why are they fighting?
[702F] It’s actually a spending war.
The “straight-su” fans, “reverse-su” fans, and the “straight-reverse fusion” fans are battling it out. Each group made their own hashtag and are posting screenshots of how much they’ve spent. The “war” has basically reached boiling point.
[724F] …That’s such a niche form of “fighting.”
[752F] Fangirls are like that. Where the love goes, the money follows.
**TN
Dream Girls – “梦女” (mèng nǚ) is a Japanese-derived internet slang term, short for “夢女子” (yum女子, yum e joshi), which translates to “dream girl” or “dream woman”. It refers to a female fan who engages in immersive, often romantic, or familial, fantasies with characters from anime, manga, games, or other fictional media.
Purple Star – Emperor Star, a person who is destined to stand on top / dominate