Chapter 75: Changing C-Position
Switching the center wasn’t a big deal for Li Ying.
But if it were the Li Ying from eight years ago, he’d probably think his future self was crazy—fans used to say that Li Ying had a “C-position obsession.”
Whether it was an event or a stage performance, he had to stand in the center. If there wasn’t a center spot available, he’d create one for himself.
Back then, Li Ying had also debuted through a survival show. He was full of spirit and youthful arrogance, thinking he was so amazing he could fly—one man carrying the whole group.
Eight years had passed. Li Ying had experienced a lot—people, events, ups and downs. He’d stood in the center more times than he could count, and his youthful pride had been polished into charm and finesse.
Objectively speaking, switching out of the center now had a higher return.
He voluntarily gave his original part to Yue Zhaolin, and the benefits had indeed gone to Yue Zhaolin. Their interactions deepened.
Even after the show ended, their relationship could be something to work with.
Previously, the only connections between Li Ying and Yue Zhaolin—aside from being PD and trainee—were things that couldn’t really be talked about publicly, like the fact they were both victims of a sasaeng.
—One of Li Ying’s fans, a particularly extreme sasaeng, had essentially “resurrected” under the new name God Descends Tonight and started harassing Yue Zhaolin instead.
Even though Yue Zhaolin gave Li Ying the strongest sense of threat, this feeling of “shared trauma” actually made Li Ying more fond of him than he was of the other trainees.
…
“Zhaolin, Zhaolin?”
Yue Zhaolin snapped back to attention. “PD?”
Yue Zhaolin was seated while Li Ying was standing, so from his elevated perspective, he could clearly see the bloodshot veins in Yue Zhaolin’s eyes.
Li Ying said, “There wasn’t much time to prepare for this performance, it’s been tough. But once we finish recording the third performance stage tomorrow, you’ll finally get some proper rest.”
Tomorrow night, episode eight would also air. After that, only three more episodes remained—then it would be the live finale.
There was a time gap between the pre-recorded episodes and the live finale, so the trainees had three weeks to prepare for the final performance—plenty of time, relatively speaking.
“Zhaolin.”
Li Ying called Yue Zhaolin’s name. “If the intro of Puppet had you performing in the center, how would you choreograph it?”
Yue Zhaolin: “…?”
His brain didn’t quite catch up yet, but his instincts told him something was off. “Are you saying…?”
Li Ying smiled faintly.
…
“Switch the center?”
Chu Li, already in full makeup and costume, was in the practice room with the others, planning to run through the performance one more time before the rehearsal. That’s when they heard Li Ying bring up the suggestion.
Li Ying said, “Yes, because after Zhaolin’s styling was done, I realized he fits the concept of the song even better than I imagined. So I’d like to ask everyone’s opinion.”
Fu Xunying glanced behind Li Ying—Yue Zhaolin wasn’t with him.
When did he see him?
Speak of the devil—and the devil appears.
Freshly touched-up from the makeup room, Yue Zhaolin pushed the door open and walked in.
“Waaah—”
The loudest one shouting was Chu Li.
Yue Zhaolin already had naturally fox-like eyes, but this time his eye makeup was darker and more defined, emphasizing the eye sockets—giving him an exotic, mixed-blood look. He was even wearing gray-colored contacts.
With short silver-white hair and slightly droopy eyelids from exhaustion—
Chen Wu remarked, “This look really relies on good modeling.”
Hearing the voices, Yue Zhaolin looked up—and immediately saw the other five with matching “doll” makeup. The overall styling was cohesive, and the attention to detail was impressive.
Chu Li said, “PD, I have no objections!”
The intro was only eleven seconds long. For the first seven, he didn’t have to move at all; his part didn’t start until the last few seconds. Even if they re-choreographed it, it wouldn’t affect him much.
Chen Wu: “+1.”
Fu Xunying: “No objections from me either.”
Everyone had already voiced their opinions. Rong Ruize grinned and said, “So that means Zhaolin’s got the center at the beginning and the end, huh?”
Cen Chi glanced at him.
Li Ying’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s right. You could say it ties the whole performance together.”
“The rest of you will keep your original intro moves. Only Zhaolin and I will adjust ours. Thanks for your hard work—let’s play the music again and run it a few times to see how it looks. Zhaolin, you’re up.”
“Okay.”
Fu Xunying wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but somehow, those two seemed a little closer than before.
They said “a few run-throughs,” but before long, a staff member came to call them—Puppet Group was up for rehearsal.
Li Ying said, “Alright, we’re on our way.”
Since the intro had changed, the camera angles for the performance needed to be adjusted as well. Li Ying planned to head over early to explain the new setup to the director and cameramen.
Their group filed out in full force, just as they crossed paths with the Playing with Ambiguity group.
Verse was still wearing his signature sunglasses, his hair in dreadlocks, and a chunky gold chain around his neck.
He saw Yue Zhaolin, and his lips twitched. He had already apologized, but Yue Zhaolin still wouldn’t let it go, so Verse had decided to just dig in his heels and stay combative.
But the moment he saw Yue Zhaolin’s makeup, Verse swore inwardly, bitter and resentful—Damn it. That guy’s stealing the spotlight again.
Just when Verse thought he’d have to lie low a little longer, a golden opportunity for revenge dropped right into his lap—
Puppet had changed their center.
He had heard it with his own ears.
Verse rubbed at the tattoo on his arm, partially covered by a bandage. An idea hit him almost instantly: he’d leak the news about the center change.
He’d say Yue Zhaolin stole Li Ying’s center position.
Yue Zhaolin was a trending idol—and so was Li Ying. If a fight broke out between their fanbases, Li Ying’s fans would definitely cause a scene. And since the episode hadn’t aired yet, Yue Zhaolin wouldn’t be able to explain himself.
It’d be a good way to vent some frustration.
Verse called out, “Mo Li? Mo Li?”
A young male assistant came over with a smile. “Brother, Sister Mo isn’t here today. If there’s anything you need, you can just tell me—I can take care of it for you too.”
Verse clicked his tongue. “You? No way.” Out of the whole staff, only Mo Li actually got things done properly. “I’ll call her… ugh, forget it.”
Mo Li was too timid. She’d already backed down the last time they confronted Yue Zhaolin. She probably wouldn’t help with this either—just nag and make a fuss.
Women just don’t have any guts.
Looks like he’d have to do it himself.
Oh, and while he was at it, might as well spread another rumor about Tan Shen.
Ever since Verse turned down Yue Zhaolin, he’d become the subject of private gossip among the trainees. But no one dared show it to his face—
Except Tan Shen. That kid had never once looked away from him. Verse found it seriously irritating. During practice, he’d made an effort to exclude and pressure him, dragging the others into it too.
But Tan Shen acted like nothing was wrong. Thick-skinned, and somehow, his rap just kept getting better.
Verse didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to feel a very real sense of threat.
Neither Tan Shen nor Yue Zhaolin had any idea what Verse was plotting.
The rehearsal for Puppet went smoothly. Whether it was the newly choreographed intro or the intricate formations, there wasn’t a single mistake.
Clap, clap—
As the performance ended, applause rose from the audience.
Panting, Yue Zhaolin pushed himself up with one hand. After catching his breath, he bowed toward the staff offstage and followed Li Ying down the stairs.
“Watch your step.”
Cen Chi, who was walking behind Yue Zhaolin, suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm—
The stage stairs were right on the edge, just over a meter wide, and Yue Zhaolin had nearly missed a step.
Yue Zhaolin reacted a second later. “Thanks.”
Cen Chi frowned, noticing he didn’t look well. “You’ve practiced enough already. How about going to bed early tonight and catching up on sleep?”
These past few days, Yue Zhaolin had been burning himself out like a flame at full blaze.
Yue Zhaolin knew he’d been pushing himself too hard lately. His mental state wasn’t great, so he agreed to get more rest. “Mm. I’ll sleep in a bit tomorrow.”
But tonight—he was still going to practice.
After the rehearsal, Yue Zhaolin removed his makeup and threw himself back into training.
Time flew as he practiced.
That evening, Wei Lai, who was on duty for meal delivery, brought him a beef set meal. Yue Zhaolin had high energy demands and needed carbs, so there was rice too.
While eating, Yue Zhaolin suddenly thought of his teammate from the second performance—Orleans.
Now he was craving some Orleans-style grilled wings.
Just as Yue Zhaolin was reminiscing about the taste of those wings, Chu Li came back in, wiping tears from his eyes. Yue Zhaolin’s expression immediately turned cold. “What happened?”
“Huh?”
Realizing he’d caused a misunderstanding, Chu Li quickly explained, “It’s nothing, really. I just got too into character while acting and couldn’t snap out of the emotion.”
Because the practice time for the third performance was short, the trainees were under a lot of pressure. Many weren’t performing well, so the production team had a bright idea—
Let the trainees call their family and friends, break down crying about how hard they’d been working and how little time they had. Basically, sell sob stories to win over fans.
So Chu Li went and acted it out.
He gave a full performance—snot and tears included.
Chu Li squinted as he smiled, his eyes turning into narrow slits. “Zhaolin, why don’t you go make a call too? Doesn’t matter if you really cry or fake it—it’s pretty cathartic either way.”
Yue Zhaolin: “Mm…” In a certain sense, Chu Li was a genius.
Even though Yue Zhaolin hadn’t felt like crying, he still went. A staff member led him to a room with a camera installed on the ceiling.
—A surveillance-style angle, to make the call look more like a raw, emotional moment.
Yue Zhaolin picked up the phone on the table and first sent a message to ask if the other party was available. After getting a yes, he started a video call.
Ding-dong.
As soon as it connected, the screen showed a black cat curled up and sleeping.
No one ever said the call had to be to a human, right? Yue Zhaolin: loophole exploited.JPG
“Lai Lai?”
“……”
“Lai Lai?”
The black fluffball seemed slightly annoyed, flicked its tail, and let out a hoarse, raspy “meow.” It didn’t sound like a cat—more like a cicada.
“That sounded kind of rough.”
Yue Zhaolin chuckled.
The green-eyed black cat lifted its head, yawned, shook out its ears, and when it noticed the phone, it pawed at the camera.
“You understood that?”
Of course not.
Maybe it was still half-asleep, because in just a moment, it curled back up again.
Five minutes later, the staff member waiting outside figured time was about up and glanced through the glass—
Yue Zhaolin had fallen asleep on the table, and the cat on the phone screen was also sleeping.
When the staffer opened the door, they could still hear the cat purring softly.
Yue Zhaolin opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps. He glanced at his phone and ended the call. “…Sorry, sister. I fell asleep.”
“It’s fine.”
Yue Zhaolin went to the restroom, splashed his face with cold water, and returned to the practice room once he felt more awake.
Tonight was the final sprint.
Tomorrow—it would be the third public performance.
—
“I want to see the third performance! Why don’t I have a ticket?!” Xu Mingmei was pacing the room, clutching her head and wailing in despair.
Peng Tao was slumped on the couch like a dead fish.
Chasing offline events was truly addictive. She’d seen the second performance and was still riding the high—but the price for third performance tickets had doubled.
She hesitated for just a moment, and the ticket vendor already posted on their social feed: Sold out.
Couldn’t win the lottery draw, couldn’t buy a ticket either—what kind of cruel fate was this?
She had assumed she’d get in this time too, so she’d already ordered custom postcards and photo cards on Taobao, ready to hand out to other Tide sisters at the venue.
“Are we still going tomorrow?”
“Yes. At the very least, I want to deliver the gifts.”
Xu Mingmei ranted herself into dizziness, then grabbed her phone and collapsed next to Peng Tao.
“Ah, fansite just posted pics!”
Yue Zhaolin’s post-shoot candids.
Peng Tao tilted her head to glance. “Visuals on point as always. But… did he get thinner?” She zoomed in on the photo. “Feels like his chest shrank.”
Xu Mingmei: “…That’s a bit much.”
“Xu Mingmei, don’t project your dirty mind onto me. Don’t I always lose chest fat first when dieting?”
Xu Mingmei: “…Everything went downhill after that Soda Festival, sob.”
Anyone who saw Yue Zhaolin perform Temperature Gap live and didn’t feel something—well, their self-control must be monk-tier.
“I didn’t want this either!”
“I think I’ve gained self-control now. When they air the second performance tomorrow, I won’t scream.”
Peng Tao: “……”
‘Like hell I believe that.’
Xu Mingmei said, “Oh right, QingPao’s official Douyin account has been posting Zhaolin nonstop lately. One gossip blogger even claimed he’s going to be their brand ambassador—do you think it’s true?”
Peng Tao replied, “Wow, even the wild rumors these days are this low-tier? Weren’t they all saying before he was going to endorse several international luxury brands and perform at Coachella, the hottest music festival abroad?”
Hollywood didn’t count—because that one actually came true.
“……”
Somewhere, poor low-tier QingPao was probably crying its heart out after hearing that.