Chapter 103: Starlight Finale Night
The short introduction clips for the contestants were played in the order of voting rank, so naturally, as the number one in votes, Yue Zhaolin’s came first.
Roses were already considered a symbol of romance, and when applied to him, the fit was absolutely perfect.
The instant he smiled, an incomparable vividness burst forth.
That face wasn’t the gentle, warm kind of pretty—it was a beauty that carried aggression, unreasonable and undeniable.
The outer corners of his eyes were like peach blossoms, and under the light, his pupils reflected an amber hue. Without a word, he radiated a passionate and dangerous allure.
The moment he appeared, both the live audience and the viewers online could sum it up in one sentence: “No buildup, straight to the ultimate move.”
The livestream barrage even froze for two seconds before erupting in an explosive flood:
[Holy shit]
[I’m going to faint]
[The moment this face appeared on screen, I almost screamed out loud on the subway]
[Undeniably god-tier looks]
[Majestic, handsome, beautiful… none of these words are enough to fully capture that face]
[Top-tier male god]
[A face made for the big screen. If he doesn’t act, it’s such a waste…]
The impact of Yue Zhaolin’s first appearance was so overwhelming that the following five trainees barely received any attention from the barrage.
The production team had invited many guests to the finale night—company presidents, members from past debut groups of previous seasons, and various celebrities.
Of course, there were also self-recommended guests. After all, Starlight was a high-profile show, and appearing on finale night was a cost-effective way to gain exposure.
Among those guests was Actual.
Shao Meng sat with a few teammates, smiling lightly and applauding as they watched the big screen.
Behind Actual, Shen Zhu raised his hand to cover his mouth and whispered to Shao Meng:
“Hey, you think we can sneak backstage later to snag a group photo?”
“I have a feeling this is going to be our best-performing Weibo post in recent times.”
Shao Meng: “…”
If he didn’t know Shen Zhu well enough, he would have thought that line was a jab at how irrelevant he’d become.
Well, to be fair, he was pretty irrelevant lately.
Although the problem of losing fans in large numbers hadn’t been resolved yet, his performance in the third public stage collaboration had been solid, and fan activity had started to pick up again.
Shao Meng: “…We’ll go later.”
Finale night was three to four hours long—they had time.
Backstage.
The lower the ranking, the quieter the cheers. Several of those in the lower bracket looked noticeably uneasy.
When the last contestant’s short clip ended, the livestream camera switched back to the venue as the host took the stage.
Hosting Starlight’s finale night this time was Wei Feizhang from Happy Saturday, a top figure in the domestic hosting industry with unrivaled status.
Wei Feizhang smiled as he looked at the audience:
“Welcome, everyone, to GreenFruit Video’s Starlight Night—”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Wei Feizhang began with the usual opening remarks, introducing the guests seated beside him.
Once the formalities were done, he moved to the main topic:
“As you’ve probably noticed, the order of the short clips followed the third elimination round’s rankings.”
[See, I knew these rankings didn’t make sense—they weren’t real-time]
[As long as Yue Zhaolin’s rank didn’t change, I’m fine]
[What’s up with those real-time votes? Some people’s positions just don’t add up…]
Wei Feizhang: “In fact, the real-time rankings have already changed quite a bit.”
“Please take a look at the big screen!”
On the giant screen behind him, a horizontal bar chart appeared, showing the real-time vote counts. The lengths of the bars varied, but no actual numbers were displayed.
[Yue Zhaolin’s bar just shot way ahead!]
[This comparison is way too straightforward… it’s kind of brutal]
[If I’m not mistaken, Yue Zhaolin’s fans haven’t spent money on votes for almost a month, right? And the gap is still this big?]
[That chart looks like the “factory(厂)” character]
[Aaaaaahhhhhh!]
[So satisfying!]
[Yue Zhaolin, Tan Shen, Chu Li, Cen Chi, Fu Xunying—these five are guaranteed to debut]
[Rong Ruizhe, Mao Ding, Zhu Zhu, Deng Yangbing—they’re also in the top nine, but the gap with Chen Wu and Ao Liang’ao behind them isn’t very big]
[After Wei Lai, there’s a four-million-vote gap. Doesn’t look like it can be closed]
Rong Ruizhe, who had messed up in the third public stage, still managed to surpass Mao Ding and move up a rank. As for Zhu Zhu, he only dropped by one spot—fans were fired up with excitement.
The vote pool began to stir.
This was exactly the effect the production team wanted.
Wei Feizhang smiled and said: “Votes are not only the fans’ way of supporting their trainees, they also represent the hard work and sweat these trainees have poured in.”
“And tonight, we will put a period at the end of more than three months of effort.”
“In the end, only nine trainees will take their seats behind me—those nine shining seats—and officially debut as a group.”
“Starlight Producers, tonight it is up to you to decide the final debut lineup.”
[Why is Stage Panic Bro ranked even higher than in the third elimination? Who’s voting for him?!]
[Zhihu Bro is eighth, just barely—can’t he drop out?]
[The thought of those two debuting and standing next to Yue Zhaolin makes me sick. Yue Zhaolin can carry a whole plane, but he can’t carry trash!]
[Can we please save the main dancer? Chen Wu really has the skills. If Zhihu Bro debuts over him, I’ll lose it]
As Wei Feizhang was talking about the votes on stage, staff backstage saw the time and urged:
“Go! Get up there! Once you’re on stage, find your spot!”
The finale had been rehearsed—not just once, but multiple times—so the trainees were already familiar with their positions. They quickly ran onto the stage.
On stage.
Wei Feizhang: “Real-time voting will close at 10:30. Please cast your votes for your chosen stars!”
As the lights dimmed, the livestream camera swept across the audience seats, capturing the sea of banners and glowing name signs.
To create atmosphere, not many lights were turned on, but the audience in the front rows immediately spotted figures running up onto the stage from the corners.
The atmosphere erupted in an instant.
“They’re coming up?!”
“Ahhhh——!”
[They’re on stage!]
[I’m so nervous I could die]
[Holy shit, did I just see Yue Zhaolin?!]
At the very center of the stage stood the remaining eighteen trainees, arranged in a triangular formation.
Around the edges of the stage stood the eliminated trainees, though not everyone was present—some had not been invited by the production team.
Along with the stage lights came bursts of cold fireworks at the edges and a shower of glittering confetti, as if golden rain were falling from the sky.
At the same time, the opening notes of the show’s theme song, Meteor, began to play.
The live broadcast director cut from a wide shot to a close-up of Yue Zhaolin.
On screen, Yue Zhaolin appeared once again, dressed in a baseball jacket, his tall, slender figure standing straight and proud.
Golden confetti rained down, some falling across his hair, dazzlingly bright. One piece, by chance, landed on his lips.
Startled, he gave a brief laugh. Unbothered, he simply blew it away with a soft “huff—”.
What was clearly an accident, he salvaged with such grace that it felt like a carefully orchestrated opening.
The audience roared like wild beasts. No one could stay calm in that moment—not the fans in the venue, not the tide of voices online.
The barrage exploded into chaos.
And before the excitement could even settle, the first line of Meteor was already being sung.
Just like the lyrics—meteors that streak through the night sky, burning themselves out—as the spotlight hit, the long-accumulated energy burst forth.
With his blazing brilliance, he left a deep impression in the hearts of the audience.
At that moment, Yue Zhaolin was like the brightest star in the sky.
There was light in his eyes—youthful spirit, full of vigor and brilliance.
[Ahhhhhhh—]
[This scene is too beautiful, too divine! I can’t even take screenshots fast enough ahhhhhh]
[A youth brimming with ambition]
[…Does popularity really make someone glow? He somehow looks even better than before]
[The livestream camera is way too HD—the clearer it gets, the harder I fall…]
In the section reserved for guests beside the stage, Lei Jin kept clapping along to Meteor, his face full of wrinkles from smiling.
Lei Jin was a well-known screenwriter in the domestic entertainment industry, having produced multiple hit dramas over the past decade. Each one, without fail, carried the label of “plagiarism.”
But as long as he had a hit drama in hand, no one in the industry really cared about the scolding. Most actors still flocked to audition for his projects.
Before coming this time, Lei Jin had even posted on Weibo: “I’d love to work with Yue Zhaolin. If he’s willing, I’ll give him the male lead role.”
That, of course, immediately earned him a flood of criticism from Tide and other viewers who disliked him.
But Lei Jin didn’t mind.
Or rather, being scolded was one of the ways he kept his presence alive in the industry.
Still, he genuinely wanted to work with Yue Zhaolin.
There was no helping it—Yue Zhaolin’s qualities were just too outstanding. He looked perfect in modern attire, even better in historical costumes, and could even pull off the shaved head look for palace dramas.
As it happened, Lei Jin had just purchased the rights to a novel, and its male lead suited Yue Zhaolin perfectly.
Feigning nonchalance, Lei Jin planned to exchange a few words with Xingqiong’s people later to test the waters.
“Wow—”
At that moment, the camera cut back to Yue Zhaolin. Because the venue was wide and open, the stage lighting provided no concealment.
On a broadcast lens that exposed every flaw on other trainees’ faces like a demon-revealing mirror, Yue Zhaolin appeared as if bathed in a soft, airbrushed glow.
Screenshots from the livestream had long since been snatched up by marketing accounts and posted online for netizens to scrutinize.
Weibo’s trending list gained yet another wave of topics—almost completely dominated by Starlight.
#StarlightFinaleNight#
#YueZhaolinInFirstByALandslide#
#ZhuZhuRealtimeRankedEighth#
#YueZhaolinFifteenSecondClipSealedHisLegend#
#YueZhaolinBlowingConfetti#
#ChenWuDidn’tMakeTopNine#
#YueZhaolinMirrorThatRevealsAll#
…
In short, Yue Zhaolin was like the main dish on the trending list—take a few steps and you’d run into him again—while everything else felt like side dishes.
[Stop buying, Xingqiong, seriously stop buying. Thirty trending topics in one day—any pig would be famous by now. Can you leave some space for others?]
[Look at these pig fans playing the victim—can you open the topics and see who’s swimming naked?]
[Throwing tantrums in the barrage won’t bring your fave back]
[Is the person upstairs gonna pull the same stunt again—get exposed and then delete their account?]
[Ah, I get it now. Upstairs must be an M, right? On debut night of all days, you just have to get slapped around to feel good?]
[…]
[Why’d you even provoke them?]
[The barrage was fine before, now it’s a mess]
While the barrage was in chaos, Meteor had already reached its finale.
The cameras faithfully captured the trainees catching their breath—not just the eighteen who remained, but also the dozens who had been eliminated.
Amidst the overwhelming cheers and screams, Yue Zhaolin stood at the very front, leading all the trainees in bowing to thank the audience.
[Stop fighting—just look at the beauty!]
[The pretty one deserves the center spot]
[Wuwuwu]
On the livestream, the camera cut to Wei Feizhang. After giving an emotional lead-in, he shifted the focus to the PD and mentors.
Meanwhile, the trainees left the stage.
The next segment was the solo performances—they needed to change outfits and touch up their makeup.
While Yue Zhaolin and the others were changing outfits, the PD and several mentors would perform. After their stage, an ad break would be inserted, so the timing was just barely enough.
Before leaving the stage, Yue Zhaolin caught sight of a laser banner in the audience seats. It read:
“Yue Zhaolin, Tide only loves you—”
He had already started running offstage, but then thought of something. Turning back, he mouthed:
Me too!
…
The following mentor performances and ad break felt endlessly long.
It wasn’t that the audience disliked the mentors, but with five songs in total, plus speeches, more than twenty minutes slipped by.
[Why haven’t they fixed this problem yet? I came to watch the finale, not the mentor showcase…]
[I’m about to lose my temper waiting]
The longer it dragged on, the drier the atmosphere became, and the barrage grew increasingly irritable.
Finally, once the last mentor performance ended—ads appeared.
The livestream ads couldn’t be skipped, couldn’t be closed, they just had to be endured. The already frustrated audience grew even more agitated.
[Come on, enough already. Does the production team remember this is supposed to be a talent show?]
[That’s the 27th ad—seriously?]
[I get it with the sponsor ads, but why are completely unrelated movies being shoved in here too?]
[First time watching a live finale, and I’m so pissed I don’t even want to keep watching…]
Amidst the barrage of complaints, the live audience finally saw the long-awaited return of the trainees.
Eighteen of them stood in the center of the stage, each dressed in different styles.
Compared to the visibly formal outfits of the others, Yue Zhaolin appeared in a loose sports set.
A short-sleeved shirt, knee-length shorts, sneakers, and…
A headband.
