Chapter 70: Second Elimination Round
[Yueology Base | Calling all Yueologists for help — I’ve rewatched the livestream several times but still can’t figure out who’s currently favored in the Yue Family Courtyard.]
———
[Original Post]
RT.
Watched over half an hour of livestream, again and again. I always try to focus and analyze, but somehow my soul keeps getting snatched away by the family head’s beauty.
[3F] The reason the family head is the family head — the peak of beauty and dominance. So beautiful it’s reassuring.
[8F] The family head really treats us Yueologists well. No matter how shameless the interpretation, once it’s tied to his face, it somehow gains a unique charm.
[16F] Chapter 21 of “The Battle for Favor in the Yue Family Courtyard” is up! Don’t forget to check it out.
[21F] Replying to 16F: I’ve read it countless times already. Is there no other content? This child is starving for more!
[33F] I remember in the beginning “Yue Family Courtyard” only had text analyses, then people started making reaction memes, and now there’s even a webcomic version.
What a new kind of IP…
[42F] The only morally chaotic love-hate battlefield in all of C-ent. Of course it deserves some hype. [shrug]
[59F] Madam Ying, the First Wife — dissatisfied with an arranged marriage, fell for a “can’t go back to how things were” tragic romance, tried to rekindle things with the family head, but it’s not going well.
Madam Shen, the Second Wife — caught the butler’s eye and was brought into the mansion to “expand the family line.”
[68F] The once golden-haired mistress who nearly secured the title of Second Wife but was implicated due to a dowry scandal and kicked out of the courtyard.
Now he’s gone dark.
(He dyed her hair black.)
[73F] There’s also the seductive, emotionally savvy, and emotionally supportive male fox spirit — Chu Renmei… no wait, Chu Meiren.
[85F] There’s also a whole bunch without any official status.
[101F] If we’re talking about who’s most favored, it’s probably the Second Wife, right?
[123F] There’s a reason the Second Wife rose to power. In the livestream, he was gifting aprons, bringing fruit — so attentive he practically looked like a servant.
[137F] Who knows what the Second Wife was doing before entering the mansion (pure malice).
[150F] If the Second Wife climbed the ranks, that’s his own skill. Those who aren’t favored shouldn’t act all high and mighty. (pure malice)
[162F] Is no one else alarmed by that male fox outside the mansion? During the Group B selection, he saw Yue Zhaolin walking over and was practically giggling like a flower in bloom.
[175F] Chu Li really knows how to play it. He smiles whenever he sees Yue Zhaolin, and his openness toward him feels completely natural — not a hint of flattery.
[182F] I was originally just here for the gossip, but it’s really hard not to be drawn to the family head.
[201F] Honestly, I’ve always found that livestream kind of terrifying — because everyone was way too natural. Everything revolved around the family head, total attention from beginning to end.
One over-the-top display after another.
[212F] I used to scoff at the “everyone loves him” trope. Now I’m analyzing frame by frame.
[220F] Forget the trainees — even us Yueologists who came for the drama can’t help falling for the family head.
[238F] People always say the family head is a naturally born dom — the kind who, no matter how fiercely the harem fights for attention, remains completely unbothered.
Cool, powerful, and absolutely self-centered — the ultimate top-tier figure.
Will we ever get to see the family head play an emperor in our lifetime? He’d be perfect for it.
[255F] He really does only care about himself. Whether it’s fanservice or interactions — it all depends on his mood.
[264F] The reason the family head is the family head — anyone in the harem can be replaced, but the family head is the core element that the Yue Family Courtyard cannot exist without.
[278F] The family head’s butler… probably won’t be replaced either, right?
[283F] Huh?
…Right.
—
What the Yueologists don’t know is — behind the scenes, the butler is already preparing to choose two companions for study for the family head… no, two debut group members.
It’s a test run, so it wasn’t publicly announced.
After the livestream ended, the quiet vote push began.
Mao Ding and Wei Lai have no idea they’ve been “selected” — especially Wei Lai.
He was originally happy about his rise in votes, but once the increase started to seem unnatural, he grew uneasy.
In fact, after the second round of voting opened, his joint performance with Yue Zhaolin in the first competition went over quite well. Netizens dubbed it “The Monkey’s Revenge.”
With netizens rekindling their love for the “monkey,” Wei Lai’s ranking climbed from the bottom all the way to 38th. He was very satisfied.
One more push and he could make it to the next round!
But overnight, his ranking jumped from 38th to 25th.
Wei Lai: “……”
The spike in votes? Like ghosts marching through the night. Wei Lai’s scalp was about to explode.
Who bought me votes? Who’s trying to set me up? Whose cake did I accidentally step on?!
After another night, Wei Lai’s ranking climbed again — now at 21st.
Wei Lai: “……”
Among the lower-tier rankings, he was the only one to “suddenly rise from the ranks.” Wei Lai couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.
Was someone trying to buy votes for a royal contender, but got the wrong person?
But when Wei Lai looked at the curve chart the data team compiled, aside from the Everest-like spike at the beginning, the vote growth afterward didn’t resemble bot activity at all.
So who the hell was voting for him?
The monkeys? The monkey tribe?
Wei Lai, with his brain full of monkey family conspiracy theories, searched high and low but still couldn’t find the reason. He didn’t sleep well all night, and with two dark circles under his eyes, he dragged himself to the recording site.
Today was the second elimination recording.
“It’s so hot today.”
It was April — the kind of weather that changes in an instant. The sky was thick with clouds all morning, but by noon the sun was out and it was hot enough to fry an egg.
As soon as he stepped into the air-conditioned studio, Wei Lai let out a deep sigh — and looked up to see Mao Ding, whose eyes were bloodshot.
Mao Ding: “……”
A fellow sufferer has arrived.
Because Mao Ding had also risen in the rankings.
The top-tier rankings normally had huge vote numbers (excluding Yue Zhaolin), yet within just two or three days, Mao Ding had somehow made up a gap of over a million votes between him and the person above him.
He only rose one rank — to 12th place in real-time voting.
Just like Wei Lai, Mao Ding was completely baffled. He racked his brain but couldn’t figure out what he and Wei Lai possibly had in common—
Who’s voting for us?!
Whoever it is, come out. We’ll bow down first.
…
In the corner.
A few trainees gathered in small groups, whispering among themselves:
“I heard that today we’re recording both the elimination and the song selection for the third public performance?”
“To match his schedule, apparently.”
The trainee who replied subtly gestured with their chin toward the not-so-distant Yue Zhaolin, who was surrounded by a crowd like the moon encircled by stars.
“What’s he got going on?”
“How would I know?”
This round was cutting the number down from 60 to 36 — twenty-four trainees would be leaving.
If you can’t make it to the next round, what’s the point of caring about any of this?
Some trainees only truly feel the brutal reality of survival shows at the very moment they’re eliminated — and only then does their desire to stay on stage ignite.
And no matter what anyone really thought of Yue Zhaolin, no one would dare show it.
Even if he glanced over casually, they’d instinctively smile and nod.
“Do you think Yue Zhaolin even remembers our names?”
“……”
“Zhaolin, sit here.”
“Okay.”
Yue Zhaolin still had his silvery-white hair, though his black roots had started to grow out.
The makeup artist had given him a relatively sheer look to emphasize his bone structure.
The earring at the tip of his hair peeked out now and then.
After getting his ear pierced, Yue Zhaolin had a minor but persistent annoyance — he moved too much in his sleep, often rolling over and pressing down on his ear.
Last night, he tried to fix it, lying down with a perfectly straight posture to sleep.
When he woke up, it was the same as always — head buried under the blanket, curled up on his left side.
And the piercing was on his left ear.
Thankfully, the piercing was strong and hadn’t gotten infected.
Tan Shen sat down in the seat beside him, glanced at Yue Zhaolin, and said:
“Suddenly feel like you’d really suit those lip-chain-to-earring combos.”
“What?”
Tan Shen: “You know, the kind with a chain connecting an earring to a lip cuff. You’ve never tried that look before, right? Total rebellious rocker style.”
Yue Zhaolin: “I haven’t.”
Today was the song selection for the third public performance, and Yue Zhaolin had always picked songs based on three criteria:
Comfort zone, wow factor for the audience, and maximum benefit.
If a song in that rebellious-rock style happened to check all three boxes and sounded good, he just might go for it.
While the two of them were chatting, the other trainees had gradually found seats.
The setup was similar to the first elimination round — a few rows of temporary chairs for the trainees, and across from them, thirty-six shining “thrones” carved out like pedestals of glory.
Only by sitting in one could a trainee stay.
Once everyone was present, a staff member signaled, and the room quieted in perfect sync.
The host for the second round of eliminations made their entrance—
“It’s not the PD?!”
“Whoa, who is it?!”
“It’s… Teacher Shao Meng from Actual!”
The trainees’ gazes followed the new arrival — a man walking in with a warm smile, giving a slight bow in greeting.
Shao Meng stepped up to the podium:
“Hello everyone, I’m Shao Meng from Actual. Nice to meet you all — you’re all even better looking in person than on screen.”
“You’re super handsome too, Brother Shao!”
Someone chimed in, playing the role of the crowd-hypeman, and Shao Meng’s smile became noticeably more genuine.
“Originally, Mentor Ni Yanzhen was supposed to host today’s elimination, but she had a schedule conflict — so I’ll be standing in for her.”
Trainees: “Got it—”
Shao Meng glanced at Yue Zhaolin briefly, then smoothly looked away.
The two were company senior and junior, but they couldn’t appear too close on camera.
“As you all know, after this round’s ranking announcement, only 60% of the 60 trainees will be able to continue.
The remaining 40%… will be eliminated.”
After Shao Meng’s opening remarks successfully set the tone, the studio fell into silence.
The cameras captured the moment, and then he began announcing the rankings.
Though it was Shao Meng’s first time as host, he was unexpectedly efficient — no fumbling with the script, no “um”s or awkward pauses.
“60th place: Wen Junxian — 374,751 votes.”
…
“51st place: Meng Yu — 473,811 votes.”
Meng Yu, upon hearing his name, didn’t look well. He forced a smile: “……”
After walking onstage and receiving the mic, he began expressing how reluctant he was to leave. As he looked at the crowd — some already crying — it seemed like he was about to start again.
Shao Meng tactfully interrupted him with some comforting words.
—Trainees in the lower ranks might have a lot to say, but please don’t say all of it. Time is tight, and there’s still the third public performance song selection to get through.
Yue Zhaolin: “……”
Pfft.
Tan Shen laughed outright. He still remembered Meng Yu — the peerless genius who tried to morally blackmail Yue Zhaolin into switching teams during the second performance song selection.
And now he’s ranked even lower than last time?
On stage.
Shao Meng continued announcing names.
“47th place: Zhou Xiao — 519,861 votes.”
Sadly, one of the heavy hitters in the “world-famous meme paintings” series, Brother Mango, was out.
“41st place: Shu Yang — 583,924 votes.”
Another familiar name caught Yue Zhaolin’s ear — Shu Yang, the trainee who had been in the same group with him during the second public performance, practically a walking encyclopedia for fan culture.
Shu Yang had seen it coming: “……”
He gave a helpless smile — If “Crane Bell” had aired already, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. But luck just wasn’t on his side.
Shu Yang gave Yue Zhaolin a thank-you — the “young son of the martial alliance leader” look he had in Crane Bell was, without a doubt, the best styling of his life.
He didn’t say more — anything extra would feel like clout-chasing.
After stepping off stage, Shu Yang shot Yue Zhaolin another smile. Yue Zhaolin could sense his disappointment.
“Keep going.”
Starlight’s elimination didn’t mean the end.
“Okay!”
Shao Meng watched the brief interaction between the two and felt a faint twinge of emotion. Back in the day, he… Never mind. No use bringing it up now.
The rankings continued.
Soon, they reached 36th place, which, as before, was withheld until after 1st place was announced.
“35th place: Chen Fei — 1,206,521 votes.”
The first person climbed onto the throne.
“34th place…”
…
“24th place: Wei Lai — 2,715,435 votes.”
His ranking dropped a few spots because his second public performance didn’t earn him extra votes.
A mix of ecstatic disbelief, confusion, and other emotions twisted Wei Lai’s face into a kind of forced-smile meme expression: “……”
Did the production team forget to scrub bot votes? Were these numbers… real?
Compared to Wei Lai, Mao Ding’s facial control was much better — but he cried.
“12th place: Mao Ding — 3,581,259 votes.”
For comparison, the 6th-ranked trainee during the last elimination only had just over three million.
Clearly, the overall voting pool had expanded significantly.
And the numbers that followed confirmed it — vote gaps were now in the millions.
“9th place: Deng Yangbing — 5,075,628 votes.”
“Eighth place, Chen Wu — 6,123,763 votes.”
“Seventh place, Rong Ruize — 7,549,912 votes.”
The closer to the top, the fiercer the fight.
“Sixth place, Zhu Zhu — 9,376,521 votes.”
“Fifth place, Fu Xunying — 11,398,091 votes.”
“Fourth place, Cen Chi — 12,573,078 votes.”
“Third place, Chu Li — 12,701,015 votes.”
“Second place, Tan Shen — 16,517,653 votes.”
The third to fifth places were neck-and-neck — you could call it a tangle — the difference in votes wasn’t that big. But second place? That was insane.
“What?!”
Gasps erupted from the audience.
“Then first place…”
“How many votes did Yue Zhaolin get?”
As everyone knew, Tan Shen was basically Yue Zhaolin’s leg pendant — once the fans of Tide finished voting for Yue Zhaolin, the leftover votes became a “bonus” for Tan Shen.
“First place, Yue Zhaolin—” Shao Meng paused dramatically.
“With the 300,000 bonus votes from the second performance added in, the total is 65,136,357 votes!”
65,136,357 votes.
“Let’s give a round of applause to Yue Zhaolin! Once again taking first place in the votes!”
Of those, only 7% came from overseas.
The Japanese fangirls could spend, sure — but the biggest spending market was, and always would be, China.