Royal Ch.91

Chapter 91: “Imagine you’re flirting with someone”

[My cuteness-aggression is acting up, I just want to stuff Yueyue in my mouth]

[I’ve followed lots of idols before, from Japan and Korea too, but I’ve never been this addicted. Yue Zhaolin is truly someone who gives sincerity in exchange for sincerity.]

[His growth, the way he cares about fans, and the respect he has for his career as an idol—he doesn’t put it into words, but everyone can see it.]

[He’s just… super genuine.]

[I first got into him because of his looks, stayed because of the stage, and fell for his personality. I often wonder how someone so perfect can exist.]

[Whenever I feel unhappy, I watch fan-cam compilations from the Soda Festival. Seeing him do his best to fulfill fans’ requests makes all the work stress feel lighter.]

[That’s why Tide sisters are so many—it’s because you can clearly feel that you’re cherished.]

[Yue Zhaolin is really amazing.]

[TvT]

[To say something a little dampening: Yue is great, but we shouldn’t use our own will to force him into what he should or shouldn’t do (.)]

[In other fandoms, there are lots of people who try to dictate, but Yue isn’t some hollow puppet without a soul. He knows what he should do—just trust him.]

[Exactly.]

[Ughhh I want to meet him so badly.]

[So empty, so lonely, I just want to fast-forward to finale night and make him cry. Otherwise what’s the point of living a life where I can’t eat Yue Zhaolin?]

[Finale night is 5/17, I’ve already started counting down the days on my fingers.]

[Already looking forward to when the contract ends.]

[I honestly don’t expect anything from the group anymore, I’m ready to just focus on Yue alone.]

[When that sacrifice-to-the-heavens script got leaked, I instantly started disliking that bunch of trainees equally, and also the production team that used Yue’s name to stir up hype for the show.]

[+1]

[By the way, if the voting channel reopens, will you guys still spend money?]

[Nope.]

[During the third performance the votes were over a hundred million, even if you only count 9%, that’s still ten million. That’s already a top-three result in the upper circle (hands on hips smugly).]

[Even if later it was just one free vote per day, as long as you had enough accounts, you could still keep a huge lead.]

[Maybe I’d micro-spend? But rather than handing money to the production team, I’d much rather support Zhaolin’s endorsements and activities. After all, the purchasing power of the fandom = commercial value.]

[If voting really opens again, everyone needs to be careful about the usual survival-show tactics—right before the finale there will definitely be fan-abuse and vote-pushing.]

[Everyone, hold on tight to your wallets, don’t get tricked.]

[Exactly!]

—

At first, Zhu Zhu only thought of himself as unlucky.

If it had been a tax scandal or a sleeping-around scandal that made netizens boycott him, he might have been grudgingly convinced. But b*llying? Why should that get him condemned?

The industry was full of b*llies.

There were countless cases—exposures, self-exposures—but as long as you had a representative work, as long as you had traffic, you could get past it with an apology, sometimes without even needing to apologize.

So when his true identity was exposed on Zhihu, Zhu Zhu panicked, but not for long before he calmed down. He still had the company behind him; the company would whitewash things for him.

But after just one night, that confidence was shaken.

He saw the trending searches.

On the trending list, Zhu Zhu saw a paparazzi’s secretly filmed video. In the footage, his perfunctory attitude, gloominess, and hideous expressions were all laid bare.

It was unbearable to watch.

Zhu Zhu scrolled through the comments again and again, nearly all the way to the bottom, yet couldn’t find even a single fan speaking up for him. Not one.

The comment section was filled only with Yue Zhaolin’s fans flaunting his “records,” Chu Li’s fans stepping on him to build up their idol’s “real” persona, and ignorant netizens being used as weapons to curse him.

He could no longer keep his composure—he had to contact the company again. After all the investment already poured into him, with so much sunk cost, the company had to make sure he debuted.

On the other end of the line came a familiar voice:

“Regarding your situation, the higher-ups are already in a meeting. Just focus on recording the show, don’t lose your composure.”

Zhu Zhu couldn’t help but panic:

“Didn’t we buy a debut spot?! Why—”

“Shut up, you idiot! Haven’t you learned your lesson yet? First check if anyone’s around you before you speak!”

Zhu Zhu jolted, cold sweat breaking out, and only then remembered—this was an empty room.

“You know it was bought, so how could you forget that Yue Zhaolin and Chu Li are Green Fruit’s main pushes? And you even handed over leverage yourself.”

The company never imagined Zhu Zhu could be this stupid. They hadn’t reminded him every little step, and he’d walked right into the trap—getting filmed, turning it into a scandal.

As for now, his non-anonymous Zhihu account had been “an accident,” and the paparazzi catching him confronting Chu Li was also “an accident.”

Every pitfall stepped into, every bit of ground lost.

“I’ll ask you one last time—why did you suddenly target Yue Zhaolin?”

Everything had collapsed because of that one slanderous reply about Yue Zhaolin.

Zhu Zhu: “……”

On the day of the third-round elimination recording, he had taken the initiative to greet Yue Zhaolin. The other didn’t even respond, and let that Wei Lai mock him right to his face.

He just wanted to vent a little, that was all.

“…Fine. Got it.”

The call ended. Zhu Zhu had already bitten through the inside of his cheek, his mouth full of blood. What he hadn’t said was—the root of it all was envy.

He regretted it now. He should have stayed put, kept his head down, debuted alongside Yue Zhaolin, and left everything else for later.

Would the company still protect him?

Hard to say.

And Rong Ruize, faintly seeing this truth, was living in constant fear.

He too was a capital-backed candidate, but now Zhu Zhu already showed signs of falling…

On Douyin, Zhu Zhu seemed to have provoked public outrage. With the boost of countless marketing accounts, his “crimes” were painted as unforgivable—

[Analyzing Zhu Zhu’s slanderous, fantasy-driven post about Yue Zhaolin on Zhihu, I realized he’s exactly the most disgusting type of person back in school—the two-faced backstabber.]

[Looking back at Zhu Zhu’s past stages, he’s clearly just a royal who doesn’t deserve his position. Like a workplace nepotism hire brought to life.]

[Why try to downplay b*llying? A b*llied person’s whole life will be soaked in dampness, unable to save themselves, left only to lick their festering wounds alone.]

Rong Ruize didn’t understand why things had escalated to this point. It was like a massive public trial.

A national spectacle.

Such concentrated, precise attacks could only mean this was premeditated.

Was someone pushing it?

Xingqiong? Or… the production team?

After all, right before the finale, the production team always ramped up marketing. Every contestant was just a tool, all for the grand closing act.

And if “royals” were tools too, didn’t that mean they could be discarded as well?

Rong Ruize didn’t dare think too deeply. At this point, Zhu Zhu gave him the chilling sense of—

*If the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.

He had already made mistakes in the third round. Before finale night, would the program team also throw him on the altar? Expose his fake panic disorder?

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door: “Rong Ruize, the PD and mentors are coming. Are you ready?”

“All set, just a moment.”

Rong Ruize hurried out.

…

Starlight had continued the Korean survival-show style—the finale song came with mentor guidance sessions, where the mentors also evaluated whether the members could handle their assigned parts.

Today was the vocal class.

All eighteen trainees gathered in one classroom first, to undergo their “trial.”

After coming out of the bathroom, Rong Ruize walked to the classroom together with the members of Suit Aesthetics. The group chatted here and there, their words scattered.

But with Yue Zhaolin around, Rong Ruize felt pressure and didn’t dare move closer. So he could only overhear Fu Xunying talking to Yue Zhaolin up front.

“Next time I’ll pick rap too. You sounded pretty cool rapping—ah, no, wait, there won’t be a next time.”

Yue Zhaolin: “Mm.”

He didn’t mean to be curt. He was still thinking about his rap part and didn’t know how to respond. Not replying would be impolite, so he just said, “Mm.”

Fu Xunying: “……”

He knew Yue Zhaolin was just being straightforward, but it still left him a bit choked.

“Oh, right—what did you think of my singing?”

Tan Shen: “I listened. Your pitch wasn’t bad, but you sounded out of breath. It was like listening to Morse code—choppy, broken up into short bursts.”

Fu Xunying: “…”

…Who asked you?

He glanced at Tan Shen, and suddenly noticed the change in him. He was nothing like the stick-insect figure from before. His body now looked… upright.

Tall, too. Compared to the group of trainees behind him, he really did stand out—like a crane among chickens. That long-dormant competitive spark in Fu Xunying suddenly flickered again.

He’d seen plenty of glow-ups from dieting, but this was the first time he’d seen someone glow up from bulking up.

Yue Zhaolin didn’t notice any of the undercurrents behind him. He pushed open the door and stepped into the large classroom. The staff had almost finished setting up the equipment.

“Zhaolin, your group will go on later.”

Yue Zhaolin: “Okay.”

Not long after, PD Li entered with the mentors. This time, only two had come—Mentor Jia for vocals, and Mentor Nana for rap.

Yue Zhaolin stood and greeted PD Li and the others. PD Li smiled and nodded, but among the group of trainees, he patted only Yue Zhaolin’s back.

PD Li and the mentors sat down, exchanged a glance, and said:

“Let’s start with Scarlet Rose. It’s the only song in the show so far about chasing dreams—not an easy one to sing.”

There weren’t many “royals” in this group, which made it easier to nitpick. But the truth was—

They were even worse than PD Li had expected.

Yue Zhaolin sat off to the side and listened through the entire performance with backing track. After a few seconds of silence, PD Li finally praised Chu Li, saying he sang with “a lot of oxygen.”

Yue Zhaolin: “……”

Well… a new kind of compliment.

Fu Xunying whispered, “Don’t worry, they’ll crank up the backing track volume on finale night.”

Mm, about what he’d expected.

Li Ying gave a subtle sigh and, sticking to the script provided by the production team, pointed out the flaws of the lead vocal 1, then asked other trainees to try singing the part.

Even though some of these trainees might one day become Li Ying’s competitors, after years as a PD, he couldn’t help but step into the role—

Angry at their lack of effort.

Yes, the platform was used to faking things. But the guidance, the resources, the promotion—it wasn’t fake. All of that was real, piled onto these trainees.

And still, they barely practiced.

If, as the fandom slang goes, “attracting fans is all down to luck and vibes,” then they might as well skip survival shows entirely and just hole up in a temple praying for fortune.

Yue Zhaolin being first in votes was only natural.

As the trainees took turns trying out the parts, Li Ying listened to each one, his frown deepening.

Finally they got through this section. He picked up the lyric sheet for Suit Aesthetics.

“Next group, let’s go. Call for the backing track when you’re ready.”

Lead Vocal 1 was Cen Chi, who sang the opening verse. He was fairly steady.

Then it moved to Lead Vocal 2. Orleans started singing with a faint airy, bubbling tone—maybe his throat wasn’t warmed up yet. It didn’t sound terrible, but it wasn’t good either.

And then it was Yue Zhaolin’s turn.

Rap was a brand-new challenge for him, one he had to put his full energy into.

Suit Aesthetics had crisp, distinct drumbeats, and even the saxophone touches typical of jazz.

So it couldn’t be delivered too “light,” but if he pushed too hard it would come off greasy.

He tightened his core just slightly, relaxed his shoulders, and began:

“Neon reflections in the rainy mist, tailored suits with roses in the night.”

“What’s the formula to drown the mind in reverie, cufflinks as chips in a skewed lotto game.”

Li Ying couldn’t help but look up at Yue Zhaolin with a surprised smile.

He’d never heard Yue rap before. Hearing it for the first time, the effect was unexpectedly good—not just the emotion, but rhythmically, it was solid.

But Li Ying’s delight didn’t last long—

Rong Ruize… had blanked on the lyrics again.

At least this time he recovered somewhat: he skipped the first half of a line and came in on the second half.

Once might’ve been a slip. Twice made an impression—and raised speculation.

Everyone’s thoughts overlapped: Don’t tell me he’s going to forget his lyrics again on finals night?!

Rong Ruize’s throat was dry.

He could feel the weight of people’s stares pressing on him. His vision and hearing both fuzzed for a moment, and before he realized it, their group’s turn was already over.

Li Ying spoke up first: “Let’s start with Zhaolin.”

Smiling, he said, “Hard work doesn’t lie. You sang even better than I expected.”

Yue Zhaolin: “Thank you, PD.”

Rap mentor Nana added: “That was your first time rapping? I could tell you really worked on it. Just like PD Li said, you exceeded my expectations.”

“Your diction wasn’t stiff, you gave it space and rhythm, you landed right on beat. But—”

Here came the turn.

“It’s missing a little emotion. Can you share what this verse means to you?”

If it were any other trainee, the program team would never let the mentor ask this kind of question. But for Yue Zhaolin, it was fine—because he wasn’t just an empty head.

Yue Zhaolin chose his words carefully:

“Just looking at this section, it feels like searching for balance between rationality and temptation. But that balance isn’t really stable—and maybe it’s not that important either.”

Wanting to indulge and get drunk on the thrill, betting with cufflinks itself is already daring. But then, the choreography brings in the use of an employee badge, which makes people think of the strict, distant atmosphere of the workplace.

The two moods are cleverly intertwined.

“Exactly. That’s the part that hooks people. So you need to add emotion—step into the game, become one of the players in this dangerous thrill.”

“Imagine you’re flirting with someone. Not actually flirting, but showing that casual, playful control. Can you try to tap into that?”

Yue Zhaolin thought for a moment. He had never really flirted with anyone. If he had to count… maybe that time at the Soda Festival—

When he performed the wet-stage special track Temperature Gap just for Tide in the audience.

Hmm.

He wondered what Tide was doing right now.

<< _ >>

**TN

If the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold – Figuratively: when one part falls, the other cannot survive either — their fates are tied together.

Is anyone still reading this story? If not, I’ll just drop it and focus on Trainee. I saw the reviews on NU, and it looks like a lot of readers have already dropped this. Not blaming them, though.