Wu Heng didn’t hear a word Lin Mengzhi was saying. It was only after he landed that he realized something had appeared above his head—something that really didn’t fit his usual image.

Before anyone could wax nostalgic about days gone by, the group crowded around Wu Heng, pressed him down, parted his hair, and began studying the thing’s appearance and growth mechanism.

Wu Heng squatted on the ground, feeling as if countless lice were crawling over his scalp.

The flower bud’s stem drooped downward, suspending a small bulb. The folds were faint; both the stalk and the bud were covered in tiny soft barbs.

“The thorns are soft!” Wu Zhi exclaimed in surprise.

“It kind of looks like the head of a Venus flytrap,” Shen Ping’an said.

Ruan Silian glanced at the bud on Wu Heng’s head, then at Shen Ping’an. “Why don’t you have a flower bud?”

Propping himself up on his knees and bending forward, Lin Mengzhi said, “The main body is inside Wu Heng. Shen Ping’an’s functions might not be that complete.”

“Poppies can be used medicinally. If it’s a mutated poppy, maybe it can even relieve pain—I can smell it,” Chen Meng said as he stretched his arm into the middle, about to pluck it.

“Get lost—grow your own flower if you want one!” Wu Zhi shoved Chen Meng away hard.

Wu Heng sat on moss that had already lost all its moisture, his expression blank. “We’d better determine our direction of travel first.”

After he spoke, he pulled out a map from somewhere. It wasn’t an old pre–apocalypse map—it was new.

“Where did this come from?” Lin Mengzhi sat down on the spot.

Wu Heng slowly unfolded the map, his gaze dark and unreadable. “The class monitor just stuffed it into my hand.”

There had once been rumors at their school about seniors changing their university preferences for the sake of early romance. Most people sighed that it wasn’t worth it, loudly condemning lovestruck foolishness for ruining one’s future. Wu Heng had always been indifferent to other people’s affairs, let alone judging choices that didn’t affect him.

But now, deep in the dead-silent primeval forest, Wu Heng felt that his own situation wasn’t much different from those students in the rumors—both had encountered, in their lives, a weight on the scale that could be weighed against their future.

It was strange. He hadn’t even managed to successfully take a single bite of Xie Chongyi.

How could that person make him feel so reluctant to let go?

Could it be that he, too, was like Shen Ping’an? That there was something wrong with Xie Chongyi’s blood? That he, too, would turn into an insect?

“A’Heng, what are you spacing out for? Are we really here?” Lin Mengzhi pointed to a red mark on the map.

Ruan Silian had tied up her hair. She didn’t have any special abilities, so she couldn’t see clearly like the others. The ground beneath the tree canopy was already pitch-dark, impossible to see even an arm’s length ahead.

“…There are words here. The green dot in the northwest corner is Kuhuang. We’re heading to Yaozhou—either crossing the river or passing through the primeval forest,” Shen Ping’an said, scanning their surroundings. The dense, dark shrubs were taller than a person. Ferns grew intertwined among them, and the tree trunks resembled impenetrable walls.

He pressed his palm to the ground. Vines sprouted and curled up behind everyone, forming a temporary, small safe zone so they could confidently plan their next moves.

“Are there really savages in Shenjian?” Lin Mengzhi read the words clearly and stroked his chin. “Do savages eat people? What do they turn into after mutating? Super savages? How are we supposed to deal with them?”

Wu Heng snapped out of his daze, lowering his eyes, looking calm and quiet.

“They’re just legends. Although ancient texts record them, there’s no direct evidence proving the existence—or past existence—of savages. No hair, fossils, or images. So I don’t believe savages exist.”

Wu Zhi didn’t understand. “I don’t think savages exist either.”

Lin Mengzhi still insisted, “Then are all those rumors baseless?”

“Then you can go into the mountains and check for yourself,” Shen Ping’an said, lowering his head. “For now, look at the map first.”

Everyone leaned over the map. Doctor Chen came too, but the others held their noses and pushed him away.

“It really stinks!”

“Doctor Chen, do you need to pee? Go ahead then.”

“Doctor Chen will keep watch nearby.”

Wu Heng held the map. “The first place we’ll pass through isn’t Shenjian—it’s Yunling. After that comes Shenjian. Shenjian is bigger, but the danger level of Yunling and Shenjian should be about the same.”

“The geographic location of Yunling makes it inherently challenging. Although Liu Ning didn’t specifically emphasize it, Yunling—before the apocalypse—served as a boundary in multiple domains: geography, culture, cuisine, climate, and more. If you’re interested, we could go straight through Yunling, and you’d clearly feel the contrast in climate.”

Ruan Silian and Shen Ping’an both nodded.

Lin Mengzhi looked confused. He leaned over and tried to spread the map. “Is it really written in such detail?”

“…No, it isn’t.”

“‘The Great Barrier of the World’ refers to Yunling,” Ruan Silian said, tracing her finger over the map. She couldn’t see clearly, but she could vaguely distinguish a few differently shaded areas.

“Maybe we’ll encounter giant pandas, crested ibises, or takin,” Shen Ping’an added.

“Go, go, go! Let’s go through it! Tomorrow we go!” Lin Mengzhi didn’t understand all the species, but he knew what a giant panda was.

Shen Ping’an replied flatly, “If it’s a mutated giant panda, eating us would probably be no more difficult than chewing peanuts.”

Wu Zhi exclaimed with delight, “That would still be so cute!”

Wu Heng remained motionless. “But we’re still over ninety kilometers from Qinling. Walking twenty kilometers a day, it’ll take five days to reach the foot of Yunling.”

“Preliminary estimates suggest the earthquake hasn’t shifted the mountains. Yunling has multiple entrances. Once we arrive, the closest point is Kuyongkou. We could cross directly south, about forty to fifty kilometers,” Wu Heng analyzed calmly. “But that’s based on pre-apocalypse conditions. The map only gives a rough outline. The area and length haven’t changed, but what the terrain looks like now, or what creatures inhabit it, we won’t know until we go in.”

“Right now, we could head west to nearby towns or counties, find a car—or buy one—and drive along passable roads into Yunling. That would save us a lot of time,” Wu Heng rolled up the map. “Also, we’ll need to prepare more supplies.”

X flew above Lin Mengzhi’s head, circling. After pressing down on his hair, it seemed ready to sleep.

The others stood up as well. Shen Ping’an adjusted the straps and waist belt of his backpack, tightened the water bottle, and fastened his cap.

X, which had already been sitting, suddenly stood up. It stretched its neck in one direction, spread its wings, and remained motionless.

Something rustled through the shrubs.

A sharp tearing sound cut through the air.

Lin Mengzhi’s fireball had just appeared in his hand when Wu Heng swatted it away. He quickly muttered, “Burning the mountain will land you in jail,” and a huge green leaf appeared above his head.

The leaf looked soft, but it radiated a hard, icy sheen.

Bang! Bang! Crackle! Crackle!

After a series of explosive sounds, the disturbance outside ceased. X poked its head out.

“Wow!”

The entire bird toppled from Lin Mengzhi’s head. A spiky chestnut embedded firmly into its feathers, its sharp points piercing through.

Vines had crept along the ground, and with a loud creak, a thunderous rumble came from above—a lush chestnut tree had fallen beside them.

“It’s safe now,” Wu Heng said, retracting the leaf shield. He walked to the fallen chestnut tree and stomped on a chestnut. The spiky shell split open, revealing a nut barely the size of a peanut.

“So tiny,” Lin Mengzhi said, hugging a pitiful X closer. “Can’t eat it.”

Shen Ping’an added, “Too dry, no moisture. Hardly any chance for it to grow well.”

“Why use such a sympathetic tone? It just tried to kill us!”

“Maybe it’s also a form of new biodiversity,” Wu Heng remarked calmly.

Stepping over the fallen canopy, Lin Mengzhi and Wu Zhi bickered loudly. Shen Ping’an responded to each of their remarks, while Doctor Chen stank unbearably—being put into a pocket dimension made him much more bearable than having him around. Wu Heng walked at the front, clearing the path, with Ruan Silian following behind.

Shadows flickered throughout the forest. The scent of plants had never been so strong—dry, bitter.

Passing through them felt as though countless eyes were watching from all sides.

Wu Heng raised a branch of a tall tree, letting Ruan Silian pass first, then set it down.

“I actually can’t protect you either.” His voice was low, drowned out by the chattering behind him, but Ruan Silian happened to hear it.

A faint smile appeared on Ruan Silian’s face. “Being by your side is safer than being with the others. It’s my own choice. If the judgment is wrong, it’s not your fault.”

“Why do you say that?” Wu Heng asked, looking at the vast, dense forest, uncertain when they would find a way out. He didn’t understand how Ruan Silian had reached that conclusion.

“Because I feel from you that rules exist to serve people,” Ruan Silian said, wiping the sweat from her face with the back of her hand, smiling gently. “When the subject becomes the rules themselves, everyone is in danger.”

“So, rather than saying I follow you, I’m following a concept. I hope that everyone can be happy, joyful, and safe.”

Wu Heng held a juvenile chestnut. Without peeling the shell, he tossed it into his mouth. It was soft, sweet.

After chewing, he nodded. “Mm. You’ve tried.”

Branches and leaves constantly brushed overhead. After walking a long stretch, Wu Heng paused slightly, calmly raising his hand to touch above his head.

The bud was still there.

Last time, he had pulled the sprout straight off. This time, he didn’t dare.

He had promised to give the first blooming flower to Xie Chongyi. If he couldn’t produce it when they met, the other would get angry.

—

“Stop watering it! If you overwater it, where are you going to find another one?” Xue Shen took the water bottle from Xie Chongyi’s hand. “Everyone else needs water, and you’ll turn a whole pot of flowers into mush.”

The plastic flowerpot was missing a chunk. The soil was damp, water spilling over the rim. The central green sprout was barely half an index finger tall—thin, fragile, and incomparable to its true body.

Xie Chongyi grabbed the water bottle back and poured the remaining water straight onto the sprout. The poppy seedling collapsed under the heavy flow.

“…”

“Childish,” Xue Qi commented from the side.

“You don’t want him to leave, you could just say so. Why blow up instead of talking?” Xue Shen said, carrying Xue Qi—who had changed into clean clothes—over to the bed.

When he turned back, Xie Chongyi was holding a flowerpot, bent over, pouring the water out the window.

Childish. Pointless.

The collar of Xie Chongyi’s uniform was half undone. After emptying the excess water, he placed the pot on the windowsill and said lightly, “If he did it only after I told him, no point.”

“If you don’t tell him, how would he know?”

“If he’s interested in me, do I even need to tell him?”

“…Then you just wait and see if you can get a grand wedding.”

Xie Chongyi’s eyelashes flickered. He used his fingers to prop the tiny sprout that had fallen into the mud. “You noticed?”

“It’s written all over your face.”

“You can already see it, and he still wants me to say it,” Xie Chongyi said plaintively, struggling to hide his frustration. “And he said I was lacking love?”

“Aren’t you?” Xue Shen sat at the desk, writing his work log as usual.

“That’s not the same thing,” Xie Chongyi replied. He took a toothpick, stuck it into the soil next to the sprout, plucked a hair, and carefully tied the sprout to the toothpick.

Watching this, Xue Shen knew there was no hope—his friend had always been stubborn and unreasonable.

Leaning over his desk, Xue Shen wrote a few lines, then paused, sighing: “Colonel Xie would be relieved to see you finally wearing this uniform.”

The boy’s uniform buttons were undone, sleeves rolled up. His stray hair partially covered his dark brows, and he said coldly, “Just for now. This outfit is easier for walking.”

Xue Shen pretended not to notice the coldness in his friend’s eyes and continued: “At this pace, the zombie tide might take over half a month to end. Then we continue on to Jingzhou. Wu Dian and Sheng Jiang are bringing Professor Ye, so they won’t move fast.”

“Professor Ye still has to bring his students and their loved ones. In short… it’s troublesome,” Xie Chongyi said, leaning against the window. He realized he hadn’t taken Wu Heng to meet Professor Ye yet.

Xue Shen added, “Dou Lu cried all night and hasn’t eaten. Before she goes to bed later, remind her to eat. If she doesn’t, it’s fine—she’ll eat when she’s hungry.”

“Teacher Ying really needs someone to pay more attention to him. He’s far too capable of causing people to turn on each other for no reason. Knowing everyone’s dark side and successfully amplifying it is genuinely a terrifying ability,” Xue Shen shook his head in awe, then couldn’t resist teasing Xie Chongyi. “You’re probably more easily provoked than before—you’ve just been through heartbreak.”

Xie Chongyi shot Xue Shen a displeased glance. “He didn’t reject me.”

Xue Shen had already turned away, muttering under his breath, “Maybe worse than a rejection.”

Footsteps echoed behind them. Following the sound, Xue Shen saw that Xie Chongyi had already left the room, and the door closed behind him.

…

Xie Chongyi left the inn and made his way to the outer city of Kuhuang.

Mo Xie’s supernatural protective barrier still stood, so the guards didn’t need to intervene personally. They only needed to take turns keeping watch to ensure no undead slipped through.

As Xie Chongyi crossed the barrier, his presence triggered the zombie tide into frenzied howls, all of them rushing toward his location.

A faint, almost ethereal long sword appeared in Xie Chongyi’s hand. When he swung it, the blade’s radius extended dozens of meters. Zombies fell in waves, the ever-pushing tide seemingly cleaved by some massive force.

Carelessly, Xie Chongyi swung a second strike. His face, cleaned just last night, now bore fresh streaks of blood from somewhere, making his expression all the more indifferent.

A shadow leapt into the air.

Caw!

A mutated zombie, growing multiple arms, sprang from the horde. Its mouth dripped with slime, and its dark fingers clawed viciously toward a human neck.

Xie Chongyi sheathed his blade, not even using his supernatural ability. Instead, he picked up a chipped iron sword lying on the ground. It was clearly a weapon forged by the Kuhuang base—heavy, crude, and ill-suited for combat, meant only for hacking at unresisting zombies.

Yet in Xie Chongyi’s hands, it moved as lightly as a world-renowned sword. He gripped the hilt and, with astonishing speed, struck at the mutated zombie. The three arms on its left side were cut down in unison, blood spraying like hot wind.

The zombie lunged, snapping its jaws at a human neck. Xie Chongyi remained expressionless. With a metallic clang, the tip of his sword pierced the zombie’s shoulder blade.

The zombie felt no pain, but its movements were instantly restrained, and it reared its head, letting out a guttural roar.

Xie Chongyi leaned closer. The sword’s hilt spun in his hand as the blade sank further. Against all odds, the blade bent slightly inside the zombie’s body, cutting through its neck and straight into the skull.

He released both sword and zombie at the same time.

Only after the zombie collapsed did Xie Chongyi turn back toward the protective wall. Yet, a sense of gloom lingered. His mood hadn’t lifted an iota.

He leaned against the base’s wall, rough plaster falling onto his shoulders and epaulets. He didn’t bother brushing it off, squinting thoughtfully. Perhaps this is what growing up feels like.

—

At dawn, the group trudged through scattered dew onto a mottled road. In their view lay several zombie corpses sprawled across the ground.

They had initially been still.

Sensing the scent of food, one emitted a weak growl, propping itself up and looking around frantically.

“Snap!”

Lin Mengzhi and Shen Ping’an both retracted their blades, discarding the rotting heads in their hands and quickly absorbing the energy cores from the skulls.

“Where to next?” Lin Mengzhi asked.

“A few kilometers west is a small village,” Wu Heng replied, using vines to search the roadside cabins. He found nothing inside, but behind one cabin stood a wild apple tree, laden with fruit—small, shriveled from lack of water.

When the poppy dragged out a broken tree full of red fruit, the others jumped in surprise.

“Eat,” Wu Heng said, tossing the tree into the middle of the road, in a tone like calling a dog to dinner.

Before anyone could react, he proceeded to throw out biscuits, milk, dried red dates, and an entire bucket of bottled water, one by one.

“Eat,” he repeated, in the same commanding tone.

Lin Mengzhi broke some small branches and laid them across the relatively clean road, arranging the food on top. “I’m starving to death here!”

“Smells… kind of okay,” he said, picking up a bag of biscuits and sniffing it. The expiration date was fine. He tore open the package—inside was the scent of milk, but no actual flavor. The flavor, it seemed, was all on the outside.

“Doctor Chen is in the pocket dimension!” Wu Zhi shouted.

In Wu Heng’s hands was a neatly cut slab of bear meat, roughly ten kilograms. He placed it flat on a large leaf and sliced it into pieces about half the size of a fist, then divided it between himself and X for a shared meal.

The others knew Wu Heng was a carnivorous plant, so they weren’t surprised. Instead, they focused on eating heartily.

Although they still didn’t have a roof to shield them from wind or rain, the oppressive, controlled feeling of the base was gone. They could go wherever they wanted, level up while fighting monsters, and—most importantly—decide for themselves how to proceed next.

Wu Heng ate three large pieces of meat, one of which was wolf meat, along with a few slices of bamboo shoots.

Afterward, with supplies provided by Wu Heng, everyone washed their faces and brushed their teeth.

No one wanted to put their personal items back into Wu Heng’s pocket dimension, afraid they would carry a scent.

Shen Ping’an stretched nearby, performing a few warm-up exercises. Lin Mengzhi mimicked him for a moment and declared loudly, “When we reach the village, I’m taking a proper shower—stinking with sweat all over!”

Wu Zhi bit into a sweet, juicy wild apple and gazed down the bend in the road.

“Brother, someone’s coming.”

The wobbling figures appeared—it was obvious without needing to guess. But there wasn’t just one zombie; several teams streamed forward in sequence.

X, fully fed, flapped its wings. It leapt from Wu Zhi’s head, spreading its wings to cover the entire road, slashing lazily at the zombie horde. Realizing that a horizontal cut wouldn’t kill them, it drew its wings in and began stepping on their heads with its claws—one foot, one zombie—sending dirty blood flying. The energy cores within the zombies released power in streams into X’s body.

Proudly, it flew back to Wu Heng to claim credit. But Wu Heng noticed a streak of red tangled on its claw.

Vines crawled down from Wu Heng’s shoulder, pulling the object from the bird’s claws.

Unfolded, the dirty cloth revealed a flag, with the characters “Anxi” written on it.

Wu Heng’s eyes flickered. These zombies had come from Anxi—they were the third batch of survivors Kuhuang was set to take in.

Ruan Silian stood at Wu Heng’s right and said softly, “There was probably an accident on the way. They were wiped out.”

Wu Heng rolled up the flag. Before he could do anything else, a crying sound came from across the road—helpless, terrified.

A small zombie. A girl. Two messy little braids swung back and forth behind her head.

“Waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—”

She stretched both hands forward. Her hollow gray‑yellow eyes were threaded with bloodshot veins. She could actually speak, though the words were slurred and broken.

“I wanna go… Kuhuang… find… doggie… doggie… waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—”

She cried like a ghost wailing, rising and falling, sticky and drawn-out.

Shen Ping’an stopped stretching and walked toward the little girl.

“Wait,” Wu Heng called to him. He strode over and crouched in front of the small zombie. She immediately tried to pounce.

The boy pressed a long, slender finger against her forehead.

“Do you know how to get to Kuhuang?” Wu Heng asked, slipping the rolled-up flag into the knitted teddy-bear pouch hanging from her neck.

“Hooh hooh… Kuhuang… doggie…”

Wu Heng took a small notebook out of his canvas bag. Wu Zhi pointed at the little zombie and threatened, “Don’t move, or I’ll scoop your brain out right now!”

Tearing out a page, Wu Heng wrote a few words on it, folded it twice, tied it with an extremely thin vine into a little bow, and placed it into the zombie girl’s pocket.

He smiled softly—so faint it was almost imperceptible.

“Go find your doggie.”

The little zombie’s body stiffened noticeably. She sniffed, continued her low sobbing, and then shuffled forward.

“Hooh hooh… Kuhuang… class monitor… miss you… waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—waaah—”

<< _ >>

The post Eaten Ch.111 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

Early July.

The weather in the city was unbearably hot — the temperature outside had soared past thirty-five degrees, and even staying there for a second felt like torture. Not even the combined trending heat of #ZengKaiInLove, #ZengKaiScandal, and #ZengKaiNoCasualties on social media could rival a tenth of the real temperature outside.

Even so, plenty of people were still out and about in the city center.

They weren’t there for work, nor for dates — their purpose was to stop by the mall and take photos or videos of the person displayed on the giant LED screen.

Whether it was beautifully arranged photos or smoothly edited clips, the screen kept switching between them endlessly.

The only constant was the same face appearing in each one.

Some people held up their phones furtively, afraid of being seen.

Some openly pressed their shutter buttons in rapid succession.

Some even switched to selfie mode, grinning brightly.

Here and there, passersby chatted casually—

“Isn’t that Lai Yudong, the one who’s super popular lately?”

“He’s been popular for over two years already.”

“Oh please, you know I don’t really follow the entertainment industry.”

…

“Woke up too early — came out shopping and ran into my bias’s birthday support.”

“Didn’t he go on Countdown to Survival?”

“Yeah, he went on Idol Season three times too — didn’t join the group the last two.”

…

“Buying a birthday ad screen in the city center of a top-tier city — his fans must be loaded.”

“Wait, fans buy those? I always thought they were official.”

“It’s basically like buying an ad spot.”

…

Meanwhile, in the same city — inside a solo interview room.

The camera was aimed at a young man with soft violet-gray hair sitting in the center.

With fill lights and reflectors working together to cast a gentle, natural glow, his already handsome features looked as if they’d stepped straight out of a comic book.

He held a microphone printed with the Sky Video logo and said,

“Hello friends from Sky Entertainment, I’m Lai Yudong.”

He was, of course, the very person featured in those birthday ads — former StarEpoch member Lai Yudong.

It had already been a year since his last solo interview with Sky Entertainment. Back then, StarEpoch had just disbanded, and each member came in one by one to record an individual segment.

This time, there wasn’t any big event behind it — just a routine interview born of continued popularity.

“We heard you’ve been working on a new album lately. Could you share when it might be released?”

“If all goes well, it should come out next month.”

…

“Recently, you’ve appeared on a variety show as a host. Are you planning to shift your career in that direction?”

“I don’t think being an idol and being a host are mutually exclusive.”

…

Entertainment interviews were nothing like the cutthroat atmosphere of audition programs — the questions were mild, and Lai Yudong answered them smoothly while enjoying the cool breeze from the air conditioner.

Of course, if every question lacked bite, it wouldn’t be Sky Video’s signature style.

“Some netizens believe that the first show you hosted being an S-tier variety program was largely due to your popularity — they jokingly call you the pioneer of a new genre: the ‘traffic host.’ What’s your take on that?”

Faced with the sharp question, Lai Yudong couldn’t help but laugh — not in irritation, but as if he’d just heard a poorly told joke.

Then he straightened up slightly, his expression poised and courteous as he replied with a polite smile:

“I recommend applying to XX Media University.”

His gentle tone couldn’t conceal the quiet confidence behind it — the meaning between the lines was clear enough:

Questioning his professional ability? What a joke.

Of course, that was only what outsiders would say — if you asked him directly, he’d deny it at once, with a mildly puzzled look as though he couldn’t understand where such an idea even came from.

The interview ended with a cheerful birthday greeting, and the camera switched off.

Lai Yudong thanked the staff politely, then left the studio with his team.

Even though today was his twenty-second birthday, that didn’t mean he had the luxury of rest. The day had only just begun, and he still had to rush straight to his next job — in fact, there was more than one lined up for later.

…

StarEpoch disbanded in June.

On the day they disbanded, that shameless system vanished along with its comment-barrage feature.

It had appeared out of nowhere, and disappeared just as abruptly, leaving Lai Yudong sometimes wondering if it had all been a figment of his imagination — some relapse of adolescent delusion that he’d invented to justify his impulsive decision to join a survival show.

But every time he rewatched his debut stage solo or the additional performance stage, he became absolutely certain the system had been real.

There was no way he himself would have done something that ridiculous.

Another piece of proof was the so-called empty-shell company the system had set up on its own — LYD Entertainment. Coincidentally, after the group disbanded, he had no plans to sign with any other company, choosing instead to form his own team and go independent.

Naturally, he didn’t have the same massive resources as someone backed by a corporate giant, but at least he was free from all the usual restrictions.

For example — he was able to extend an olive branch to Liang Zhisheng, whose contract was nearing expiration.

Liang Zhisheng had been torn between continuing as a half-in, half-out small-time streamer or returning to a more conventional career path. Then, out of nowhere, came a middle-ground opportunity — with solid pay, and a boss who happened to be a close friend.

So, without hesitation, he joined the studio.

Rather than saying he was working for someone, it was more like they were fighting side by side.

By the second year after StarEpoch’s disbandment, Lai Yudong officially graduated from XX Media University.

During that period, he juggled both work and studies, and even in the middle of his packed schedule, he still managed to squeeze out time to travel to the capital to take the Mandarin Level 1-A certification and the host qualification exam.

The host qualification certificate was something he only received this year — there was no helping it, since students weren’t allowed to take the exam until their senior year.

He took the test last year, got the results early this year, and had only had the certificate in hand for a few months. To formally register as a certified host, he still needed to accumulate a full year of related work experience.

The road ahead was long but bright — and to have started out as the host of an S-tier variety show was already an exceptionally high starting point.

Even as an idol, he’d only ever appeared on a handful of S-tier shows before.

Just like he said during the interview: being an idol was something he would continue doing.

When one’s ability reaches a certain level, it opens new paths — some actors eventually go on to become directors themselves. He wasn’t quite at that level yet, but what used to be a single-choice question had now become a multiple-choice one — and this time, he wanted to choose all of them.

So, right after the interview, his next appointment was to meet with Xu An to confirm the final stages of his upcoming album.

This would be Lai Yudong’s first solo album, titled “Winter Tree (柊)” — the name formed by combining the radical from “Yu (柚/Pomelo)” and the character “Dong (冬/Winter)” from his real name.

It was his own idea — since both names represented parts of himself that he could never let go of, he might as well merge them into one.

Lai Yudong had long planned to approach Xu An for a collaboration, but back when he was still in the group, company restrictions made it impossible. He had to set the idea aside. After the disbandment, he thought he’d finally have time to pick it back up — only to find himself busier than ever, with barely any time left to devote fully to the album’s production.

Xu An wasn’t exactly free either — though his schedule was more flexible than Lai Yudong’s, he still had his hands full with music variety shows, OSTs, and his own albums.

In the end, after countless rounds of schedule adjustments and back-and-forth communication, the two of them finally managed to bring the solo album to life — piece by painstaking piece.

In the car, Liang Zhisheng handed an eye mask to the violet-gray–haired young man who was yawning nonstop.

“Lailai, Li Xu asked if he could reserve a copy of the album in advance. He’s worried he won’t be fast enough to grab one when pre-orders open.”

“How is he still so straightforward yet so roundabout at the same time?”

Lai Yudong accepted the eye mask with a helpless sigh. For such a small thing, it would’ve been much quicker to ask him directly — but Li Xu always preferred beating around the bush.

“Ask him this instead: did he save any concert tickets for you and Xu An?”

“Oh, definitely,” Liang Zhisheng replied with a laugh.

“Then I’ve definitely saved one for him too.”

Lai Yudong slipped on the eye mask.

“Isn’t he inviting me as a guest for one of his tour stops next month? I’ll bring it to him then.”

“Alright. Get some rest, I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

Speaking of Li Xu, it was impossible not to mention how remarkably true to himself he’d remained.

After the disbandment, he actually debuted as a virtual idol, using a “two-dimensional suit” — his character’s setting was that of a demon who had to debut in the human world to restore his family’s glory. He took it very seriously, too: his virtual streams and real-life streams ran on completely separate accounts, a model of “dual-line development, non-interference.”

He even gifted Lai Yudong, for his birthday last year, a set of expensive motion-capture equipment and a custom-made virtual suit — the design was based on Lai Yudong himself, but with a chuunibyou-style twist: “a light-borne messenger blessed with the power of the merfolk.”

Lai Yudong: “…”

The long-buried memories of his chuunibyou phase suddenly began to attack him.

Back to Lai Yudong — his work schedule was more intense than that of a full-time college student.

Just a few days ago, he’d finished performing at several concerts. Early this morning, he’d flown in and gone straight to the hotel. After attending a vocal class in the morning, he went straight to record the interview with Sky Entertainment.

Now, he was on his way to Xu An’s recording studio.

That would take him until about noon — and still, there would be no lunch break, because he had a business meeting next: a face-to-face discussion with the director about his upcoming variety show hosting gig.

And even that wasn’t the end of his day.

That afternoon, there was still a birthday livehouse event — a small-scale fan meeting with a live performance.

It followed the same format as last year: a 1,000-person venue, real-name ticketing, and tickets priced at 0.1 yuan each, which even included a cup of milk tea for every attendee.

Liang Zhisheng had once tried to persuade Lai Yudong to adjust the ticket price — not necessarily to make money, but at least to break even, to avoid having to pay out of pocket for his own performance.

But the young boss had shut him down with a single, baffled question:

“Isn’t the birthday person supposed to treat the guests?”

Liang had no comeback for that.

As both a friend and work partner, Liang Zhisheng saw his job as ensuring two things: that the quality of the work stayed high, and that Lai Yudong remained happy — and, ideally, that he didn’t get scammed in the process.

So in the end, he just let it be.

After all, Lai Yudong was destined to be a free and happy superstar.

…

When he left Xu An’s studio, the clock had already struck noon.

Lai Yudong didn’t even have time for lunch — he went straight to his next destination by car.

The variety show he was meeting about wasn’t some lavish, high-budget production. In fact, compared with the many programs he’d been on, this one could barely squeeze into the mid-tier bracket at best.

Even when Sky Video had invited him to serve as the initiator for Season 4 of “Climbing to Stardom”, the pre-production work hadn’t required his personal involvement.

The reason he cared so much about this particular show was because it was one of the rare domestic music performance programs, and when he saw the guest list under consideration, he recognized a lot of familiar names—

Su Junzhe, Mo Li, Zhou Rui, Yin Zizhen…

Hmm, and also Qu Junwei and Cheng Jinghao, though those two didn’t really count.

After StarEpoch disbanded, every member had gone on to do quite well for themselves.

Zhao Yifeng was constantly appearing on music shows; Qu Xincheng had filmed several campus idol dramas in a row — in short, everyone’s names still showed up regularly on trending searches, variety shows, or film and TV projects.

None of them had fallen into that old, tragic path of “peaked at debut, forgotten after disbandment.”

But many of his friends who never debuted were still struggling down that same path — thrashing and paddling, hoping to make even the tiniest splash.

Yet before those small ripples could ever be seen by the public, they vanished quietly into the vast sea without a trace.

Even his former teammates — the ones who’d done relatively well — now relied mostly on personal charm or specific skills to maintain public attention. None of them had had another high-profile singing-and-dancing stage since, aside from occasional appearances at music festivals.

By contrast, Lai Yudong was the one who had managed to continue thriving in the vocal-and-dance scene — and, in fact, the only one who had.

That was thanks to his solid public image and his appearances on several high-profile variety shows. Combined with his strong professional skills, the online sentiment around him remained overwhelmingly positive.

He had to admit — he was one of the lucky few.

The entertainment industry never lacked stages, but whether one could stand on them because of ability or something else was always a question with no easy answer.

Lai Yudong wanted to contribute something — not only to repay the friends who had supported him, but also to make sure that truly talented people could be seen by the public.

A music performance program like this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

—Inside the meeting room—

“Guests on the show won’t receive performance fees, and they have to handle their own styling. Compared with other programs, the low production cost is an advantage.

But if a performance show could really be both low-cost and high-reward—or even just moderately rewarding—it would’ve already flooded the market like slow-life shows, talent competitions, or reasoning programs.”

Seated across from the director and producer, Lai Yudong took a slow, steady breath before calmly giving his opinion:

“In reality, music shows are extremely rare, and the few that exist have all flopped quietly.

If we follow the old templates, I think the outcome will be about the same — it’s not something that can be fixed just by making it ‘well-produced’ or ‘sincere.’”

“Music shows aren’t mainstream in our country, but we still want to give it a try.” The director let out a sigh. “That’s why we invited you to be the main producer — we want to take a gamble and change the status quo.”

“Thank you very much for your trust.” Lai Yudong gave a helpless smile; he hadn’t expected to be entrusted with such a mission. “But I’m not at the level where I can single-handedly carry an entire show. Besides, this is meant to be a stage for idols to perform their songs, not my personal showcase.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve studied some foreign music programs and have a few humble ideas. I’m not sure if they’re feasible.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“In other countries, music shows usually air on television and combine broadcast exposure with public voting. That gives them both popularity and competitiveness — similar to the concept of talent shows. Of course, getting a variety show on national TV is difficult. Even Climbing to Stardom didn’t make it, so we can set that aside for now. But there are other aspects we can still learn from.”

Lai Yudong continued calmly, “First, a dual-channel format with both live and recorded broadcasts — that ensures real-time engagement and lets viewers watch all performances without skipping ahead.

Second, a voting system — free votes only, no need to monetize it like talent shows do. We can use verified accounts and limit the number of votes per episode.

Third, a reward mechanism — if the only thing people win is an empty title, it won’t inspire any real sense of competition.”

“These are just ideal conditions, but I think it’s a cost-effective plan. If you think it’s workable, I can even borrow better sound equipment so we can present the best possible performance on stage.”

The director and producer were left dumbfounded.

The two exchanged incredulous looks — they’d thought most celebrities would just show up and let the crew handle everything. Having a guest who not only studied the show’s structure but came prepared with constructive ideas? That was rare enough — and from a top-tier idol, it was practically unheard of.

Those trending hashtags — #LaiYudongIsSincere, #LaiYudongTheModelIdol, #LaiYudongAndFansMutualSupport — wait, so they weren’t just a manufactured PR image?

“No problem at all!” the director agreed immediately, his eyes now burning with excitement and newfound respect. “We also want to make this show the best it can be. We’ll do everything we can to meet your requests — but there might be some concerns regarding the voting and rewards.”

He straightened his posture and explained, “Normally, the money fans spend on voting becomes part of the reward budget. Even paid voting barely covers it — free voting is practically impossible.”

“That’s not an issue. The reward money can come out of my appearance fee,” Lai Yudong said lightly, dropping a bombshell as if it were nothing. “It’s unreasonable for a music program to spend all its guest budget on just the main producer anyway. Besides, my fee isn’t exactly a small number.”

“Y-you can do that?” the director stammered in disbelief.

“I can.” Lai Yudong’s tone was calm. “But what I mean is that I will decide how to allocate the rewards — not that you’ll simply cut my fee and decide on the prizes without consulting me. Also, I want the authority to invite guests and have a say in stage design.”

He smiled warmly. “If there are no objections, let’s settle it like that.”

——

“Wait, wait, aren’t you going a bit overboard? Lailai, listen to me—this show’s appearance fee was already low to begin with! And now you’re planning to personally pay for promo banners and featured recommendations — every single episode!?”

Hearing this explosive update, Liang Zhisheng nearly spat out his drink. He tried to talk the other man out of it by sheer persistence.

“That’s right.” The young man with ash-violet hair looked perfectly at ease, his dark eyes curving into a beautiful crescent shape. “Are you planning to perform on the show? I could invite you.”

“…I don’t even have a song to promote. Am I supposed to promote your new album?”

“You could.”

“Don’t—just kidding. I have absolutely no desire to dance.” Liang Zhisheng sighed in defeat. “Fine, go if you want. Seems like a lot of old friends will be there anyway—just treat it like a class reunion. As long as you’re happy.”

“More accurately, it’s a thank-you reunion.” Lai Yudong lowered his gaze. When he looked up again, his smiling eyes were soft, fixed gently on the sky in the distance. “What I’m doing may be just a drop in the ocean for the industry, but I still hope to bring about a small change. Even if, in the end, it’s just a utopia built from love and gratitude—or a mirage born of my own wishful thinking—I won’t regret it.”

He tilted his head, meeting a pair of brown eyes. “I want everyone to be able to chase their dreams without distraction.”

It felt like he had gone back to that day during the talent show, when someone kindly reminded him to talk more in front of the camera.

He had always faced forward with his best self—and he wished his friends would never have their kindness and effort go to waste.

Never give up. Keep climbing to the top.

“Oh—right, I’m heading downtown later. I want to check out the big birthday support screen. Do you want to come?”

“Not later—you’ve got your birthday fan meeting later.”

“I’ll go after that.”

“You’ve got a flight tonight. There’s that luxury brand endorsement event tomorrow—did you forget?”

“I know. There’s still time.”

“Brother, boss, my dear ancestor, my precious son—our great superstar Lai Yudong—are you ever not tired?”

“Tired, sure,” he said with a faint smile, “but no matter what, I still want to see my birthday support with my own eyes.”

…

[Lai Yudong Pomelo: [Image] Thank you all for the birthday gifts — I’ve received them! ]

[Lai Yudong Pomelo: I’m really happy to have your company for my 22nd birthday, and even happier that you’ve been with me from 19 all the way to now — and into the future. I’ll also do my best to be there for you every single day ^^]

[Lai Yudong Pomelo: I hope all the beautiful things in this world will meet you like an unexpected breeze. I love you all.]

—————————————————————

Author’s note:

Info Drop —

Post-disbandment careers:

Su Junzhe — Singer-dancer, choreography instructor

Lai Yudong — Singer-dancer, host

Mo Li — Singer-dancer

Zhao Yifeng — Singer

Qu Xincheng — Actor

Bai Xuanhe — Singer-dancer

Li Xu — Rapper, virtual streamer

The story is officially complete!

<< TOC

**TN

The author actually added three more extras, but I don’t have a copy of them. They were hard to get. So this story ends here. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

The post Trainee Ch.120 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

[300F] OP – Lai Yudong’s new airport hairstyle — he tied up a tiny bun [image]

The hair tie was provided by Zhao Yifeng as a friendly gesture. He braided his hair before takeoff, and after landing it came loose. If you zoom in, you can see it’s the same hair tie [image].

[301F] Teacher Zhao finally fulfilled his promise hahaha

[302F] The true Pomelo little sprout

[303F] I’ll take him away! (rolls up sleeves)

[304F] Feng-baby posted on Starlight saying he lost a game hhhh

[305F] 24-line friendship forever, cheers!

…

[382F] OP – Lai Yudong’s fansite master and Li Xu’s fansite master jointly exposed a sasaeng (stalker fan). Afterwards, both fan clubs and StarEpoch’s official Weibo account released statements condemning sasaeng behavior. The company has reported it to the police.

[383F] Please control the sasaengs, save our idols.

[384F] Why is it sasaengs again…

[385F] It’s normal — means he’s getting famous.

[386F] Every time something outrageous happens, someone just has to say “it’s normal,” as if being harassed by sasaengs is part of an idol’s job description.

[388F] But honestly, Yuzu’s type does tend to attract sasaengs.

[389F] I remember last time a sasaeng called Yuzu, and Xiao Hong snatched the phone and yelled at them.

[390F] LMAO, the sasaeng getting scolded by their own fave might’ve triggered their masochist side; but getting scolded by a teammate probably made them explode in rage.

[391F] Don’t mention it, my fave got scolded by fans from two fandoms for “being nosy” and “disrespectful,” and even passerby netizens joined in saying he had a bad attitude toward fans. No good deed goes unpunished.

[392F] Reply to [391F]: That was just a small number of extreme solo stans. Most Yuzu fans really appreciate Li Xu stepping in to help quq

[393F] Reply to [391F]: Teammates helping each other out doesn’t need fans to butt in, right? Why don’t you mention that when your idol was being harassed offline by antis, it was Lai Yudong who stepped in to save the situation? When my fave got cursed out by sjb because of your fave, did you ever speak up to defend mine?

[394F] Here it comes, the classic 27-line fight.

[395F] If you want to argue, take it to DMs — or better yet, argue right in front of the sasaengs.

[396F] No matter what, we must firmly oppose sasaengs! Stop catering to them! Stop giving them attention!

……

[466F] OP – StarEpoch appeared on the Sky Entertainment Awards red carpet — all in suits [image]

[467F] The even-numbered line looks so good together.

[468F] Congrats to Lai-baby for landing a solo trending topic!

[469F] I used to love judging unfiltered celeb pics as a snarky passerby… now that I’m a fan, I just hope my own boy doesn’t get judged.

[470F] It’s fine — hardly anyone in the plaza is calling them ugly. Our little scrappy group is full of visuals, be confident!

[471F] I’ve seen tons of posts praising our White Ash Tree’s body kkkk

[472F] Good proportions are key to pulling off a suit — especially head-to-body ratio, otherwise you just look like a bobblehead.

[473F] Yuzu’s slim, but not stick-thin — the kid’s proportions are chef’s kiss prpr

[474F] Even Su Su, the smallest member in the group, looks great — he’s got such a strong presence.

[475F] Reply to [474F]: Su Su’s only “small” within our group. He’s still 179.5 cm barefoot — in most groups he’d count as tall hhhh

[476F] Reply to [466F]: They all look about the same height in this photo — did someone sneak in a lift doge

[477F] Honestly, the members’ real heights and ages aren’t that far apart.

……

[501F] OP – “Climbing to Stardom” Season 2 just announced its special guest performers — Mo Li, Lai Yudong, and Qu Xincheng will appear in the third public performance.

[502F] The three suns are shining together!

[503F] Reply to [502F]: Aaaa stop being so funny

[504F] srsly tho, how does lyd count as any kind of “prince” lmao wipes sweat

[505F] Little Pomelo’s good opportunities come from his own hard work. Surely no one actually thinks it’s because of the company? Surely not, surely not, surely not??

[506F] One from Si Jia Ent (prince), one from Sky Entertainment (prince), and one who’s the group’s most popular and profitable — a perfect lineup.

[507F] How many groups are in the third public stage again? Watching survival shows now feels like something from a past life.

[508F] Reply to [507F]: Five groups, plus two guest performers from other idol groups.

[509F] Reply to [507F]: Mo Li’s former teammate + a web drama actor.

[510F] This season’s about girl groups — don’t tell me they’ll be dancing girl group choreo hhhh

[511F] I’m watching Star 2 live right now. Xiao Qu will arrive later due to schedule conflicts. Mo Li’s song is a feminine, “blend-into-the-vibe” kind of girl group dance (?). Yuzu’s is more like a mini-drama performance…?

[512F] It’s a revenge plot where the playboy gets dumped and punished by beautiful women — Yuzu’s playing the playboy

[513F] For real or not hahahahaha

[514F] My first reaction was: that role is so far from Yuzu’s real image, poor baby’s gonna struggle… but on second thought, imagining it in the context of their group dynamics—somehow it fits way too well hahahahahaha

[515F] Reply to [514F]: LOL isn’t that just like that one interview? When they were asked who they got along with best in the group — everyone except Mo Li (who played it safe) answered Yuzu.

[516F] I vaguely remember a similar question back when they first debuted. Only Teacher Zhao and Li Hong answered Yuzu back then — Su Su’s answer at the time was Mo Li.

[517F] That’s because a lot of people’s real closest friends didn’t debut with them (lol).

[518F] I’m curious — what did Yuzu answer?

[519F] Reply to [518F]: Of course he played it safe too hhhhhh

[520F] But Yuzu said the person he most wanted to travel with was Zhao Yifeng, the one he wanted to play games with was Li Xu, and if he could only bring one person to a deserted island, he’d pick Su Junzhe.

[521F] Guys, go watch Yuzu’s team’s live stream right now! The baby who used to rely on his teammates’ support has grown enough to mentor trainees himself — I’m so proud, mom tears

[522F] It’s been a year since debut, and lyd really is improving at a pace you can see with the naked eye.

[523F] A born idol — he’s made for this life.

[524F] I think calling 2 a “born idol” isn’t entirely accurate. I’m not his solo fan, more like a casual follower, but you can tell he does everything with excellence. Even if he weren’t an idol, with his talent and character, he’d still shine in any field.

[525F] Exactly. It’s like — some people fail high school and become rappers, while others do great in their main job and make music on the side. Both can be good, but there’s still a difference.

[526F] The casuals compliment him even better than the fans do, I’m crying smoke

[527F] I wonder what path 2 will choose after the group disbands. His looks are too good to not be an idol, but if he only stays an idol, that also feels like a waste.

[528F] As a Yuzu fan, I’m fine with whatever — as long as he doesn’t take trash jobs for easy money. Even occasional brand deals are okay.

[529F] Reply to [528F]: The love of fangirls is truly magnificent (sigh).

…

[611F] OP – StarEpoch’s disbandment reality show has finished airing on Sky Video — five episodes total, and today marks the finale.

[612F] How is it ending already… (melancholy)

[613F] I want to watch the last episode, but I don’t dare to ;u;

[614F] To those who’ve finished watching — how was it? Should I prepare a few packs of tissues?

[615F] Reply to [614F]: It’s not deliberately sentimental, but I started crying the moment I pressed play on the finale.

[616F] The last game had everyone write down a secret or a heartfelt message on a slip of paper anonymously. Then they mixed the papers in a box, each person drew one, and read it out loud — without revealing who wrote it.

[617F] Just reading them? They didn’t show them to the camera?

[618F] Reply to [617F]: Nope. Probably so fans wouldn’t analyze the handwriting and guess who wrote what.

[619F] Here’s a summary of what each member drew:

Su: “I’ll keep standing on stage in the future.”

Lai: “I want to be my real self.”

Mo: “Let’s go watch fireworks together — you haven’t forgotten, right?”

Zhao: “I love you all.”

Qu: “I don’t want to disband. I don’t want to be left behind.”

Bai: “Thank you.”

Li: “Li Xu forgot to transfer me last night’s dinner money.”

[620F] What the heck was that last one hahaha

[621F] Xiao Hong probably drew the one Teacher Zhao wrote, right? He’s never into the whole “heartfelt message” stuff kkkkk

[622F] The funniest part was Li Hong saying that he ordered that takeout himself last night

[623F] Can’t really guess — Su Su’s note could apply to several people, and Brother Bai’s “thank you” kind of sounds like something the team leader would write…

[624F] Reply to [623F]: No way it’s lyd — if he wrote it, it’d definitely be “Thank you all.”

[625F] The fireworks one kinda sounds like Yuzu — he’s mentioned watching fireworks before — but the tone feels slightly off.

[626F] “Be my real self” screams Xiao Hong. He’s a rapper, after all — keep it real.

[627F] Why do I feel like Xiao Qu drew his own paper?

[628F] Reply to [627F]: That would be so awkward lmao 233

[629F] Given Xiao Qu’s luck, that’s… not impossible

[630F] Teacher Zhao drawing “I love you all” is hilarious — total character break hahaha

[631F] Reply to [630F]: Please, I’m begging y’all, stop pushing the “lone wolf” narrative on Brother Feng! He actually gets along great with his teammates!!

[632F] When he said “I love you all,” I just burst into tears on the spot

[633F] He did look really sincere when reading it. I don’t get how anyone could find it funny.

[634F] “I love you all” was probably written by 2, right? There was one frame where 4 leaned over to whisper something to 2.

[635F] Reply to [634F]: I also think Yuzu wrote it, but that reasoning’s a bit of a stretch — no matter what Teacher Zhao drew, it wouldn’t stop those two from sticking close together lol

[711F] OP – The first show of the disbandment concert has successfully concluded.

[712F] Huge thanks to all the solo-fan sisters for their cooperation — the whole venue glowing in Xinglan Blue was absolutely beautiful!

[713F] Thank you, everyone, for giving this year-and-a-half-long dream such a perfect ending!

[714F] I couldn’t go in person or watch the livestream, and yet I’m still sobbing so loudly

[715F] Can someone please tell this poor stay-at-home stargazer what happened TT

[716F] Guess I really did become the unlucky one “left at home to watch the stars” now…

[717F] Aside from the usual group performances, everyone had a solo stage, plus several unit stages.

[718F] The one that stuck with me most was the four-person stage with Xiao Su, Yuzu, Brother Feng, and Hong’er. I totally didn’t expect the high notes to be sung by Yuzu, the two rap sections by Xiao Su and Brother Feng, and the dance solo by Li Xu!

[719F] Main theme: no one doing their usual job doge

[720F] Are you sure this wasn’t meant to be a comedy act?

[721F] Main vocal, main dancer, main rapper, and visual all gathered together, huh?

[722F] Reply to [718F]: That stage was amazing — highly recommend watching the fancams.

[723F] Maple Honey Pomelo Black Tea Su Biscuit combo was such a delightful surprise, I pity those who don’t get it.

[724F] Your unit name sounds like an afternoon tea set…

[725F] Reply to [724F]: Maple Honey Pomelo Black Tea with Su Biscuits, Cookies, and free Jasmine on the side doge

[726F] Who was the first one to cry?

[727F] Reply to [726F]: Xiao Qu — he started crying really early, I think around the middle of the concert.

[728F] Nope, it was even earlier — after the very first stage. A fansite caught him secretly wiping his tears

[729F] I’m shocked, I thought Lai Yudong would be the first to cry.

[730F] Yuzu once said that if he expects something to happen, he doesn’t cry easily.

[731F] Reply to [730F]: Yeah, he seems like the type who cries more at surprises — like when something catches him off guard, his reactions are really emotionally charged.

[732F] Reply to [730F]: But he still cried anyway.

[733F] Xiao Qu started crying first, Yuzu went to comfort him — and then ended up crying himself.

After that batch, during the mid-concert talk, the odd-numbered line all broke down except for Su Su. Then Yuzu joined in, and ended up making Brother Bai cry too.

By the end, it was those same few crying again. Su Su shed a few tears, but not like Xiao Qu and Yuzu — just one or two drops. Brother Feng’s eyes were red, but he didn’t actually cry.

[734F] It was supposed to be touching and emotional, but reading the description somehow sounds hilarious hhhh

[735F] How does someone manage to cry while comforting someone else?!

[736F] If they cried that hard during the first concert, what’s gonna happen at the last one (worried)

…

[990F] StarEpoch has officially disbanded. Congratulations to all seven members on their graduation!

May you keep charging forward bravely in your new paths — united you were a blazing flame, apart you are a sky full of stars. Here’s to the story of your Star Epoch!

[991F] Congrats on graduating, babies! May your futures all be filled with flowers!

[992F] A year and a half went by so fast…

[993F] Feels like it was just the debut night yesterday, and now they’ve disbanded T^T

[994F] Seeing everyone’s new IDs without the team prefix feels surreal.

[995F] Attaching photos of the world’s best Captain Yu’s fireworks [image] and seven sparklers [image].

[996F] Reply to [995F]: Don’t stab my heart again, I’m crying.

[997F] OP, will you still keep posting updates about the members after disbandment? qwq

[998F] OP – Reply to [997F]: Yes.

[999F] OP – Just like the title says—StarEpoch is forever unfinished.

—————————————————————

Author’s note:

Info Drop —

Su Junzhe: “I want to be my true self.”

Lai Yudong: “I love you all.”

Mo Li: “I’ll keep standing on the stage.”

Zhao Yifeng: “Li Xu forgot to pay me back for last night’s dinner.”

Qu Xincheng: “I don’t want to disband. I don’t want to be left behind.”

Bai Xuanhe: “Let’s go watch fireworks together—remember?”

Li Xu: “Thank you.”

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.119 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

[Topic] Record Thread: A Complete Overview of StarEpoch Events (Ongoing)

OP: Unofficial — just a group fan who loves compiling information.

Includes:

→ Business activities, livestreams, variety shows, data, and other daily updates or events;

→ Group, sub-unit, solo, and external collaborations — basically anything related to the members of StarEpoch.

Does not include:

→ Fandom conflicts, unverified rumors, stalker photos, or any private/personal information about family members or non-public friends.

(If necessary, some posts may be deleted.)

Although I’m a soulless reposting robot, manual compilation inevitably has gaps — Stargazers are welcome to correct or add information~

Let’s communicate kindly, stan rationally, and keep it love and peace

[1F] Bookmarking.

[2F] Our little group finally has a summary thread like this!

[3F] Yay! Group fans, rise up!

[4F] Hope OP keeps this thread running for a long time. I’m so tired of having to dig through solo stan or shipper posts just to find info. I don’t want to wander anymore QAQ

[5F] OP, are you a neutral group fan or biased toward certain members?

[6F] Reply to 5F: Maybe don’t ask that — otherwise people will start arguing again. Like “team stan pretending to be group stan,” or “solo fans isolating others”… Several threads next door already turned into battlefields or got nuked because of that…

[7F] Someone’s already doing the work — don’t nitpick. If you’re so capable, make your own compilation.

[8F] Don’t glare at 5F. Looking at OP’s profile, they’re a “Platinum P.” Probably one side of a ship that didn’t debut together and is still salty. Instead of being mad that their fave’s fanbase spends less, they blame the teammates.

[9F] Please don’t drag the Platinum CP into this. Not every shipper is that unhinged.

[10F] By “external collaborations,” do you mean livestreams, variety shows, and Weibo interactions — not external CPs, right?

[11F] This is the StarEpoch discussion board, not the Climbing to Stardom trainees board! Fans of those who didn’t debut, stop coming here to beg for crumbs!

[12F] Huh? 5F didn’t even say anything bad, why such a strong reaction?

[13F] Reply to 12F: I was as naïve as you a few months ago.

[14F] It was already chaotic before debut and no one stepped up to play peacemaker. Why should the official group fans be expected to be “the bigger person” after debut? Everyone knows post-debut conflicts are even more tangled covers mouth and laughs

[15F] [This post has been deleted by the OP.]

[16F] [Post failed moderation review.]

[17F] So many people trying to stir up trouble here (munches melon seeds).

[18F] I’m late — what did the two deleted posts say?

[19F] (OP) The first full album Nebula contains eight songs in total.

In this album, the seven members each represent a different nebula and created a song accordingly — for example, Su Junzhe corresponds to the Carina Nebula, Lai Yudong to the Trifid Nebula, and Mo Li to the Crab Nebula.

Under certain conditions, a nebula can transform into a star — this concept inspired the creation of the eighth track, which is also the title song.

[20F] (OP) The album comes in two versions: Deluxe Edition and Standard Edition.

Each version includes:

One set of special cards, one set of pre-order cards, and two sets of album cards;

One group card and seven individual cards make up a full set;

Each album includes two random standard cards, with pre-orders receiving one additional pre-order card.

During the sale period:

The Standard Edition has no quantity or purchase limit.

The Deluxe Edition is limited to 400 copies, with a limit of one per ID.

Photo card preview: [image] (The official account only posted a blurred version — find unboxing videos yourself if you want the clear one.)

Sales Chart for Standard Edition: [image]

(No breakdown of individual sales for the Deluxe Edition.)

Sales summary (short version): 2, 1, 4, 3, 7, 5, 6

[21F] Wait, I didn’t pay attention when buying — does that mean each member has their own solo song?

[22F] Reply to 21F: What, does your “solo song” feature all seven people singing together?

[23F] Rather than saying each song belongs to one person, it’s more like all seven members participated in the creation of all seven songs — discussing the genre, theme, lyrics, MV, etc. with the producers.

That said, each song tends to highlight one member’s personal style more strongly.

[24F] So basically it’s like Calabash Brothers — each one has a color and a special power, and they have to work together in the end to save Grandpa.

[25F] I originally thought the album concept sounded classy, but now that someone mentioned Calabash Brothers, I completely lost it

[26F] Help— I can’t unsee seven guys in Calabash Brothers costumes, screaming internally!!!

[27F] Reply to 20F: Why isn’t the center member the one carrying the sales?

[28F] I think we can make the ranking a bit clearer in text—

Tier 1: 2, 1

Tier 2: 4, 3

Tier 3: 7, 5, 6

[29F] I’m honestly surprised that member #3’s fandom only ranked fourth. During the show they were solidly top three, clearly above the rest — and now post-debut they’ve dropped to the second tier and even lost to #4’s fandom.

[30F] Everyone already said post-debut popularity always reshuffles.

[31F] Remember their first group merch — that digital magazine? Back then, #1’s fandom bought the most, #2’s fandom ranked fourth and got mocked for “losing fans.” How come the album sales ranking flipped this time?

[32F] You think Yuzu fans are dumb? LMAO.

[33F] That digital magazine was just a cash grab — buying one copy was enough to show support. But the album comes with four different sets of photo cards.

[34F] Key point: photo cards.

[35F] First, the photo cards drive sales.

Second, whoever bought that digital magazine got scammed.

Third, the group merch came right after the finale — Yuzu fans were already broke from the finals.

[36F] There’s another reason (not sure if I should say it): the digital magazine was cheap, just a few yuan per copy, so Zhe’s fans could rely on large numbers to push volume. But albums are more expensive — students are definitely more willing to buy a cheap e-magazine than a pricey physical album.

[37F] Is this sales chart even accurate? Don’t tell me it’s some fake data a major fan made up.

[38F] LOL, people can’t stand seeing their fave not in first place — now they’re claiming it’s fake data.

[39F] Reply to 37F: Did you even buy the album yourself?

[40F] Typical teammate fan behavior — can’t handle reality, huh.

[41] (OP) Reply to 37F: The numbers come from official platform sales data.

[42F] For those who don’t know — the album sales links are split between individual and group versions.

Each member’s solo link shows their individual and group sales separately, but only for the standard edition.

The deluxe edition has a single shared link, which is why OP’s chart doesn’t include it — we just know it sold out instantly.

[43F] We also know that 2’s special edition photo card is basically priceless (doge).

[44F] Wait—one set has 8 cards, and there are only 400 deluxe copies. That means there are just 50 full sets of special cards?

[45F] Reply to 44F: Yep.

[46F] I pulled together a group of a hundred people and still couldn’t grab a deluxe copy…

[47F] Reply to 46F: My main question is— how do you even know a hundred people willing to help you snipe special editions?!

[48F] People used to ask me, “What’s something money can’t buy?” I used to say happiness.

Now I say: Yuzu’s special-edition photo card.

[49F] If we ranked the special photo cards by price, Yuzu’s would be sitting alone in Tier 0.

[50F] Is it really that crazy? How much does one special card even cost?

[51F] Reply to 50F: Five figures.

[52F] Reply to 50F: Put it this way — if you offered ¥10,000, people would laugh and call you a dreamer.

[53F] There’s one up for auction on Xianyu right now — go watch the rich ladies battle it out.

[54F] OMG… I do not understand the world of rich fans…

[55F] Why on earth can a single card be that expensive?

[56F] Because scarcity drives value.

[57F] Still, it’s just a piece of printed paper worth a few cents to make. Isn’t that just blatant exploitation?

[58F] Exactly. Too many gullible fans — capitalism loves people like you.

[59F] To be fair, the special edition album itself was only around 200–300 yuan. The company didn’t profit from the resold cards going for sky-high prices (not defending the capitalists though).

[60F] Some of you sound really sour. If all rare cards are equally scarce, then why is only Yuzu’s worth that much?

What, did Si Jia Ent secretly glue diamonds on his?

[61F] Don’t be so funny— if their own card sold for five figures, some fans would have it engraved on their foreheads by now~

[62F] The idols themselves aren’t even bothered by card prices, but their fans are about to explode.

[63F] I just want to know — is 2’s special card really that pretty, or are his fans just spoiling him?

[64F] Reply to 63F: I’m not even a fan, but yes — it’s genuinely that pretty.

Objectively gorgeous. If it weren’t so insanely expensive, I’d want one just to collect

[65F] The hair color matches his corresponding Trifid Nebula — base is white, with pink and cobalt-blue highlights. The stylist nailed the gradient; it looks absolutely dreamy!! I’m already planning to ask my hairdresser to recreate it.

[66F] Looks like this [image]

[67F] Rich fans feast, poor fans starve

[68F] So beautiful… my dream card…

[69F] If this card were included among the standard ones, the album sales would skyrocket for sure.

[70F] Reply to 69F: I bet the company never expected the price to blow up this much, lol.

[71F] Doesn’t matter — Yuzu doesn’t sell by volume. We Yuzu fans belong to the blue-blood luxury tier

[72F] Reply to 66F: Did you buy that or pull it yourself?

[73F] Reply to 72F: I pulled it myself hahaha.

[74F] You lucky, fast-handed gacha goddess (tears).

[75F] No money, no speed, no luck — I’m emotionally destroyed.

[76F] Reply to 73F: Baby, are you selling it? Price negotiable (cute.jpg).

[77F] Reply to 73F: Same, I’m waiting in line too.

[78F] …Are you guys seriously negotiating here already?

[79F] Sorry, not selling for now. I did think about it — I definitely couldn’t afford it if I had to buy it myself — but after looking at it a few more times, I decided to keep it, haha. Maybe I’ll reconsider if I’m broke someday.

[80F] The ultimate heirloom of fangirls: the out-of-print photo card.

[81F] Just wondering — what’s the going rate for the special cards? I’ve got too many biases and wanna see if any are within my budget (peeks in).

[82F] Only 2’s is five digits. The others are in the four-digit range — basically matching the sales ranking.

[78F] Su’s card goes for 7,000+ yuan;

#3 and #4 are around 3,500–4,500;

the rest are 1,000–2,000, and the group card sits around 1,000.

[79F] Damn! The others aren’t cheap either!!!

[80F] Well, the supply’s tiny. The album cards aren’t nearly as expensive — even Yuzu’s priciest one is just 200–300 yuan.

[81F] My fave’s card is only a few dozen yuan… being a “backliner” does have its perks (silent sigh).

[82F] As a Su-Yu dual stan, I can’t even laugh right now.

[83F] Watch me go all the way to StarEpoch’s disbandment without ever pulling my bias’s card

[84F] I’m so crushed — I really, really want Yuzu’s special card, but even if I stopped eating and drinking for a year, my allowance still wouldn’t cover one.

[85F] Reply to 84F: Hug, baby

Follow your means when stanning. Rich fans have their way of showing love, and regular fans have theirs — don’t let these things make you anxious.

[86F] Exactly — even that six-yuan digital magazine was great, and the official Weibo photos are great too. Photo cards aren’t essentials.

[87F] Think of it this way — even if a card gets resold for tens of thousands, my idol doesn’t earn a cent from it. It just lets certain people treat him like a money-making tool—

[88F] Yuzu wouldn’t love you any less just because you don’t own a special card, nor would he treat fans differently based on how much they spend. Our boy shares his love and gratitude equally with every Yuzu fan.

[89F] Exactly! As long as you love Yuzu, he’ll definitely love you too

[90F] I remember Lailai subtly mentioned on Starlight that MVs are free—and they move! Hahaha.

[91F] Reply to 90F: What do you mean by that?

[92F] The photocard uses the same look as in the album — guess they just want us to go watch the MV directly.

[93F] They’re allowed to say that kind of thing?

[94F] Yuzu’s just promoting the MV

[95F] Only someone like 7 would actually get called in by the company for that kind of comment lol

[96F] Li Hong: “Physical magazines can hold takeout or be used as toilet paper in emergencies. What’s the point of buying multiple copies of an e-magazine? Even pulling gacha in a mobile game is more useful.”

[97F] LMAO did Hong really say that??

[98F] Oh yeah, I remember! He said it during a livestream, and the next day he posted on Starlight complaining that the company called him in for a talk

[99F] China’s Model Employee

[100F] Si Jia Ent: “So you’re the punk stopping us from milking the fans, huh?”

[101F] Genuine question — do idols get a cut from album sales?

[102F] Replying to 101L: usually yes for individual links; for group links it’s split evenly.

[103F] Man, compared to my ex-bias — acting like doing promotions is torture. But the moment money’s involved, boom, second personality appears and he’s all flirty with fans. If you criticize him, fellow fans will just tell you to shut up.

[104F] If we’re being honest, the more an idol acts like they care about fans, the more money they end up getting fans to spend. The ones who are openly money-minded are dumb and short-sighted, but at least you can see them coming.

[105F] At least those ones try to charm people. My ex-bias went money-grabbing without even pretending to be nice — all attitude and arrogance. His fans either say “he’s staying true to himself” or “he’s tired, we should be understanding.” Screw that — I’m tired too, but I still have to smile at my demanding clients while earning a fraction of his paycheck.

[106F] Honestly, stanning idols is like opening blind boxes.

[107F] I can feel the resentment radiating from the post above

[108F] If it’s not working out, just move on — the next one will be better.

…

[211F] OP here

707 dorm members had an offline gathering.

No group photos, no firsthand witnesses, no direct evidence — but the clues we do have are enough to confirm it happened:

All four shared the same IP address.

The restaurant background in Liang Zhisheng’s food photo and Lai Yudong’s selfie turned out to be the same Cantonese restaurant.

That night, Liang Zhisheng started a livestream. There was a jacket on the sofa — zooming in showed it was size XL (Liang’s known size is L). Later, Li Xu’s fans found that it was the same jacket seen on the airport pick-up day.

During the livestream, you could hear voices from the next room — suspected to be Xu An.

[212] Team Leeuwenhoek is on the case.

[213F] I could’ve ignored the other clues, but what’s with the third one!? Why are we even checking clothing sizes!? I’m crying!

[214F] Is that how professional singers are supposed to use their voices? hhhh

[215F] I saw the second clue too — that Cantonese place is right near my house. Perfectly missed them.

[216F] Even worse for me — I was at that restaurant at the same time as them

[217F] Reply to 216F: No one recognized them??

[218F] Reply to 217F: There’s this thing called a private room.

[219F] I’m speechless. Why do they have to be so secretive? It’s not like they’re in some underground relationship. Just eating with friends — do they really need to hide it from fans?

[220F] +1, and they couldn’t even show us a peek on the livestream.

[221F] Haha, knew it — 707 fans are the most bottom-tier of bottom-tiers.

[222F] Well said. Everyone upstairs, chip in together to pay their breach-of-contract fee.

[223F] ??? Eating together counts as breaching a contract now?

[224F] Bro… did you think this was some company team-building or class reunion or something…

[225F] They’re under a company now — especially 2 and 7 in the group. Even just mentioning them together counts as drawing traffic and promotion, let alone appearing together on a livestream. That’s considered a commercial activity, and Si Jia Ent absolutely doesn’t allow it, okay? Have you never followed an idol survival show group before?

[226F] Now you see why the ones who didn’t debut are treated like nobodies. Where were you all during the competition?

[227F] Same thing happened during An Mu’s concert tour — some 707 fans went nuts, stirring things up in the comment section and individual fan forums, and in the end An fans flamed 2 and 7 instead. I was so mad, I’m embarrassed to even call myself a 707 fan now.

[228F] No official fan club, no proper fan management.

[229F] I’m genuinely afraid certain fans will ruin the relationship between the actual members. Later on, even after disbandment, they might have to publicly avoid each other…

[230F] Totally normal — this is the path every fandom must take, hahaha.

[231F] I can’t stand some of those chaos-loving group fans and toxic solos. Every time, it’s some lunatic stirring the pot, normal fans argue back, and then get lumped in with the lunatics — endless cycle —

[232F] That’s how extremists are: they either want to act like the idol’s dad, or want the idol to be their dad. Normal people either get attacked by them, or give in and turn into extremists themselves.

[233F] I’m wilting. It was supposed to be something nice — how did it turn into this?

[234F] Achievement unlocked: “A world where only normal people get hurt.”

[235F] Give me back my pure land! (wails)

[236F] Forget the entertainment industry — even cats and dogs get judged. Once there are enough people, there’s no such thing as a pure land in any fandom.

[237F] My personal rule: as long as I’m enjoying myself, my own heart is the last pure land, yay.

[238F] I don’t know about other fandoms, but I really believe in the four from 707 dorm! Their friendship won’t be shaken!

[239F] So did 2 and 7 also go to Xu An’s concert tour? I know Mama Liang went — he posted pictures.

[240F] Reply to 239F: I know it’s not a great thought, but suddenly I really wish the group would just disband and give my fave his freedom back… He can’t even post about going to a concert…

[241F] Hand me the “solo stan” baton.

[242F] I hope when I wake up tomorrow, StarEpoch will have disbanded ^^

[243F] I feel so conflicted — I want them to stay together forever, but I also don’t want them to keep being restricted by the company quq

[245F] All of you yelling for disbandment, get out. Coming into a group-fan thread to call for disbandment — are you sick?

[246F] Group fans have this obsession with “happily ever after,” not caring about the individual members. They only care about the big happy ending, forcing seven people with completely different goals to be tied together for life.

[247F] But isn’t it possible that group activities are actually more beneficial than solo ones?

[248F] Exactly — the group still has buzz, but once they go solo, they fade fast. It’s what happens to most temporary project groups.

[249F] I don’t know whose solo career you think would flop, but it sure isn’t my fave.

[250F] Wouldn’t “mutual success” be the best outcome?

[251F] Seven people together are definitely stronger than one. If someone was that capable of making it alone, why join a boy group in the first place?

[252F] Calling parasitism and being parasitized “mutual success”? Impressive.

[253F] If you look down on the group, then don’t vote your fave into debut next time.

[254F] What, so my fave can’t even redeem a “boy group trial experience ticket”?

[255F] LMAO, the live version just started.

[256F] Stop arguing already! If you want to fight, go argue in the dance studio!

[257F] Nah, take it to the little black room instead hhhh

[258F] Don’t start fights in the record thread — how many times has this happened already? Aren’t you tired?

[259F] In a completely ignored corner of the internet, Yuzu just posted a nine-grid selfie on Weibo.

[260F] Just saw it and came back — what a beautiful boy.

[261F] Yuzu-baby’s selfie skills keep getting better and better. Did he secretly take a class or something hhhh

[262F] I’m dying I was wondering why not a single Yuzu fan jumped into the argument upstairs — turns out they were all captured by the main himself.

[263F] Eirene (devoutly).

—————————————————————————

Author’s note:

Info Drop —

Fandom names:

Su Junzhe — Zhe Sugar / Cane Candy

Lai Yudong — Xiyu Sugar / Pomelo Candy

Mo Li — Coffee Curry

Zhao Yifeng — Maple

Qu Xincheng — Music

Bai Xuanhe — He Card / Greeting Card

Li Xu — Hong Xu / Red Dawn

Eirene: the Greek goddess of peace

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.118 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

The USB drive — like a spark of hope — was taken away by Su Junzhe. The final mission would, in all likelihood, be successfully completed. For the members left behind in the research institute, ensuring their own safety had instead become the side quest.

At the stairwell, the three of them leaned over the railing like a trio of weasels, peering down at the zombies wandering below.

Dozens of zombies had flooded into the institute. Having lost their target, they were now scattered throughout every corner. It wasn’t as densely packed as what Su Junzhe had seen earlier, but the difficulty hadn’t decreased — in fact, the scattered formation had blocked every possible route of escape.

In other words, rushing down recklessly would only result in being caught on the spot.

Zhao Yifeng sighed. “Why did this episode have to be an escape mission?”

If it were a survival-type round, he’d have found a hidden spot to quietly wait out the timer — the chaos of the world would have nothing to do with him.

“But there’s nowhere to escape to,” Li Xu frowned. “Isn’t this like the Calabash Brothers rescuing Grandpa? One goes down, one gets eliminated.”

Lai Yudong remained silent in thought. Unless they did what people do during a fire — tying bed sheets into a rope and climbing down from the second floor — they had no other choice.

But without professional guidance, that method wasn’t safe. The “survival” in Countdown to Survival wasn’t the same as survival in a fire drill — there was a world of difference between racing and escaping. Unless absolutely necessary, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Besides, the bed sheets had already flown off along with the USB drive.

Thus, the only remaining option was to sacrifice at least one person to lure the zombies away.

“I’ll go downstairs and draw them off. You two take the chance to run for it.” Lai Yudong was, as always, the first to step forward at moments like this.

“No way.” Li Xu rejected it immediately — but his reason wasn’t anything touching like “you’re our captain,” “we’re a team,” “we can’t abandon anyone,” “we share blessings and hardships,” or “let me do my part too.”

His reason was brutally practical: “I can’t remember the way.”

He added another reason, like a patch to the first: “Zhao Yifeng runs so damn slow — if he gets eliminated, I’m done for too. And it’s not like he remembers the layout either.”

[I can’t believe that actually convinced me]

[Yuzu’s probably the only one who explored the entire first floor and actually remembers the way]

[Hong, just admit you want to go. No need to be so roundabout, lol]

[This kid’s the type who works hard and gets no thanks for it]

[His fans are used to it — that mouth of his gets him scolded by group fans every other day]

Lai Yudong didn’t need the barrage comments to realize what Li Xu meant — it was obvious he didn’t want him to be the one to go.

And the reasoning was sound. The first floor had several dead ends — one wrong turn and you’d be cornered by the NPCs. The fact that Li Xu could remember where the infirmary was already proved he had the best grasp of the layout.

Even setting that aside, speed was directly tied to survival rate — and he was the fastest of the three.

To give a counterexample: Zhao Yifeng was all heart and no stamina. He’d probably make it down the stairs, turn a corner, and immediately get caught. The NPCs would finish the job and return to their patrol routes — a matter of ten seconds, maybe less — giving his teammates no time to escape at all.

All things considered, Li Xu was the most suitable teammate to be sacrificed in this round.

No one expected their earlier bickering to become reality so quickly.

“When you go down, head straight to the right — that’s the farthest spot from the entrance,” Lai Yudong said, giving tactical advice to their soon-to-be heavenly recruit. “If you have the time, try to lure them into a room. Hide behind the door and lock them in — zombies can’t open doors, so that’ll stop them from wandering back out.”

“Got it.” Li Xu gave a fierce glare. “If I’m sacrificing myself like this and you two still can’t get out, you’re absolutely hopeless.”

Lai Yudong replied smoothly, already an expert at flattery: “If we can’t escape, it just proves we can’t live without you.”

Zhao Yifeng clapped in agreement. “Our Hong always delivers. Amazing.”

Li Xu: “…Can you two not pull that crap right now?”

Amid his teammates’ wave after wave of praise, Li Xu almost lost himself in the moment. After surveying the situation below and following Lai Yudong’s instructions, he bravely descended the stairs.

His footsteps rang out unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

The moment he set foot on the first floor, the zombies seemed to have spotted a gift from nature — they lunged at him all at once.

[Brave Honghong, fearless in the face of danger!]
[Hold down the screen to boost Brother Hong’s speed!]
[Don’t forget, this is live!]
[Please, I’m begging, hold them off a little longer—praying]
[If you get eliminated right away, I’ll be the first to laugh at you hahahaha (armor: I’m a fan)]
[I don’t think one person’s enough, the zombies are too many and too spread out — he won’t be able to draw most of them away]

[It’s fine, there’s still Teacher Zhao — that’s like Yuzu carrying a resurrection buff]
[Sounds more like he’s carrying a pack of tissues]
[Prophet of the round: Su Junzhe hahahahaha]

When the timing felt right, Lai Yudong gave the order: “Run!”

He leapt three steps at a time, reaching the temporarily safe first floor in no time.

Zhao Yifeng, by contrast, wasn’t short and had long legs, yet somehow managed to descend in tiny, cautious steps, leaving half a flight of stairs’ distance between them despite starting together.

As the barrage put it—

Our delicate, helpless lead vocalist.

Afraid his lagging teammate might get snatched by a zombie jumping out from some corner, Lai Yudong waited a few seconds before moving on.

Not long after they started running, their smartwatches chimed twice in quick succession:

“StarEpoch – Li Xu has been eliminated.”
“StarEpoch – Su Junzhe has completed the mission.”

The two exchanged a glance — before they could say anything, a hoarse growl froze them both in place.

The broadcast drew in nearby zombies. They tilted their stiff bodies and lurched toward the sound. Because they had been too far apart, they hadn’t been drawn away by Li Xu earlier and had simply been lingering in place until now.

Worse still, they were closing in from all directions, sealing off every possible escape route.

The moment zombie silhouettes appeared at the corner, Zhao Yifeng rushed forward without hesitation, throwing his full weight onto two NPCs that lunged at him in a frenzy.

“I can’t run anymore! Go—now!”

He wasn’t lying. The day’s exertion easily surpassed back-to-back singing-and-dancing stages without rest, and with all the danger and adrenaline, his stamina had hit rock bottom.

Of course, there was also something he didn’t say — that he had survived this long without contributing anything useful.

If death was inevitable, he might as well choose the better way to die.

In that critical moment, Lai Yudong didn’t waste time arguing. Even a second of hesitation would make Zhao Yifeng’s sacrifice meaningless. Without looking back, he seized the opening Zhao Yifeng created and charged forward.

As they brushed shoulders in passing, he shouted his thanks: “Thank you!”

He turned the corner — his teammate and the zombies vanished behind him.

There were no screams, no muttered last words — it was as if nothing had happened at all.

“StarEpoch – Zhao Yifeng has been eliminated.”

[Teacher Zhao was so decisive 5555]

[Who says our delicate, helpless lead vocalist can’t have a cool moment!]

[Xiao Hong and Xiao Feng T^T…]

[Protecting the best maple honey pomelo black tea trio in the world]

[Yuzu, run! Don’t stop!]

[Even though Brother Curly’s already completed the mission, I’m still so nervous]

[He’s so far from the main entrance…]

[And there are still a few zombies by the door — escaping won’t be easy]

Before Lai Yudong could even catch his breath, the two zombies that had grabbed Zhao Yifeng broke free and began chasing after him — leading the rest of the horde that had gathered from all directions.

The chase wasn’t over yet — at every turn, he ran into new NPCs, who joined the growing mob like snowballing chaos rolling down a hill.

At this point, Lai Yudong had become a fugitive Yuzu from Disneyland.

He had a very reasonable suspicion that the production crew had notified all nearby zombies to come after him — just to crank up the difficulty.

Thankfully, his goal was crystal clear.

Though he was running in the direction of the institute’s main entrance, that wasn’t his actual destination.

The barrage’s concerns had crossed his mind too.

If the door was blocked by NPCs, he’d be forced to act as bait. And if, in trying to shake them off, he happened to bump into another zombie wandering nearby, he’d be surrounded from both sides — Game Over.

So his true destination was the corridor by the windows, which was much closer.

Back when he and his teammates were forced apart, Lai Yudong had spent a bit of extra time on his return trip — deliberately opening every window along that corridor, just in case something like this happened.

Now, skidding to a stop before one of them, he didn’t have to waste a single second fumbling with the latch. At the critical moment, he braced his hands on the sill and, with smooth, practiced movement, vaulted out through the open window — escaping the zombies’ grasp by a hair’s breadth.

His feet hit the ground. Without looking back, he sprinted toward the bus. Behind him, the NPCs let out dutiful, blood-curdling roars.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears — thump-thump-thump.

He’d made it out.

[Holy sh*t, he actually pulled that off]

[So smart — he planned that far ahead]

[If he hadn’t opened those windows earlier, he never would’ve had time to climb out]

[Good thing Captain Yuzu was the one who stayed till the end]

[Flashback to Grotesque… (dazed)]

[+1, the movements are identical — except this time, it’s not Stone Block Hong being flipped]

There were barely any zombies outside — almost none worth noting.

Lai Yudong didn’t know whether any were still chasing him, and frankly, he didn’t care.

He threw everything he had into the final sprint—past the guard booth, out through the park gates—and the first thing he saw was the curly-haired boy pressed against the bus window, palms flat on the glass.

“Come on!” Su Junzhe shouted, voice bursting with excitement.

The bus door swung open to welcome its final victor.

Lai Yudong climbed aboard in long strides, exchanging a perfectly timed high-five with Su Junzhe, who’d left his seat just to greet him.

“Finally, someone to keep me company!” Su Junzhe shook the silver-haired boy’s shoulder with a grin. “Watching the broadcast alone was killing me. The eliminated teammates wouldn’t hang out with me—but hey, is it over now? It seems like everyone else got eliminated?”

Before Lai Yudong could answer, his smartwatch did it for him—

“StarEpoch – Lai Yudong has completed the mission.”

“Players cleared: 2. Eliminated: 5.”

“Game over.”

…

That night, phones buzzed nonstop. Experienced Yuzu-fans didn’t even need to check; they already knew which app it was.

Their idol’s habit of posting on Starlight rivaled the traveling frog’s obsession with sending postcards.

Sure enough, when they opened it—

[StarEpoch–Lai Yudong：Run, run, run! Keep running!]

[StarEpoch–Lai Yudong：Joined the show I’ve been following today, and met a totally unexpected friend o(〃▽〃)o]

[StarEpoch–Lai Yudong：Everyone was super kind and helpful, but we made a rule on the bus—anyone eliminated has to split the bill and treat the rest, even if they were heroically sacrificed. No mercy! ]

[StarEpoch–Lai Yudong：[photo] Sorry, but the congee-base hotpot was way too good. I’m getting another plate of beef shank ^q^]

—————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Info Drop —

Strongest subjects by member:

Su Junzhe — Mathematics

Lai Yudong — Chinese

Mo Li — Physics

Zhao Yifeng — Chemistry

Qu Xincheng — Fine Arts

Bai Xuanhe — Physical Education

Li Xu — English

Actually, I’ve never tried congee-based hotpot myself (…) but my friends say it’s delicious! I’m planning to find time to try it later!

Next chapter will be in forum format~

Similar to the second public episode — a compilation-style, fragmented record of events during the group’s active period, with part of it touching on what happened after disbandment.

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.117 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

The plan to murder Dr. Liang ended in failure.

First, there were no suitable tools for the job.

Second, they hadn’t gotten their hands on the USB drive.

Third, the story hadn’t yet reached its end.

Not one reason stemmed from friendship — in fact, it was precisely because they were close that the plan had seemed all the more reasonable to carry out immediately.

As an NPC, Liang Zhisheng’s role was to advance the plot and issue missions. He explained that he didn’t have much time left. He had injected himself with an early prototype of the antidote, which was the only reason he was still alive, but that prototype merely delayed the mutation. His body would never hold out until the final version of the antidote was developed.

Li Xu shook his head. “Guess we’ll have to finish him off after all.”

Liang Zhisheng nearly lost control of the NPC shell containing his real self. “Do you have some kind of obsession with this?”

Li Xu crossed his arms. “Then what do you suggest? You said it yourself—you can’t be saved.”

“In movies, keeping an infected person in the team is just asking for trouble,” Lai Yudong added, “Rather than letting you turn into a monster and die in humiliation, we might as well let you go out like a hero.”

Liang Zhisheng: “……”

The kids have grown up, and their wings have hardened.

[That’s some slick talking]

[He’s got a point. Can’t stand those bleeding hearts in zombie movies]

[Am I the only one who thinks 2 and 7 went too far? I’d hate to be their friend]

[It’s not even real—why so serious about a game]

[So tragic! Let me be their friend instead, I can handle the tears]

[Some people clearly don’t have friends…]

[Group fans, don’t stir the pot—707 isn’t for you to pick and choose]

After the commotion, the group headed to the laboratory to retrieve the USB drive. Their next step was to leave the research institute and return to the bus with it — that would count as mission complete.

But Liang Zhisheng couldn’t change his fate. He insisted on dying in the research institute.

“Please,” he said solemnly, “make sure you bring this hope back.”

The story seemed to be approaching its conclusion — yet Lai Yudong couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t that simple.

Not only was the plot progressing blandly, but the supposed “racing” element was practically nonexistent. From start to finish, he hadn’t really run much at all—it felt more like an immersive live-action drama. The only ones who probably got the full experience were Bai Su and Su Junzhe outside.

Also, what was the deal with the warehouse? Was it just for show?

Just as they were leaving, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

The walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“Uh-oh, I think I did something bad!” Su Junzhe’s bright, slightly breathless voice came through, the sound of panting faintly audible—it seemed he was speaking while running. “The warehouse was full of zombies! And I think I accidentally let them all out!”

[He’s in trouble, hahaha]

[Come on, Su’s too good-natured to mean harm]

[Moral of the story: don’t go opening random doors]

[Wait—is this the hidden route unlocking?]

—Of course.

Lai Yudong instinctively glanced at Liang Zhisheng, then pressed the walkie-talkie button. “Rough estimate—how many?”

“No idea, maybe a few dozen? Anyway, they’re all behind me now—at least twenty or thirty?” Su Junzhe added cheerfully, “Quite the spectacle, really.”

“Twenty or thirty?” Zhao Yifeng swayed weakly, already out of breath before he’d even started running. “Just eliminate me here and now. Doctor, how much longer until you mutate?”

Li Xu scoffed, unimpressed. “What’s there to be scared of? As long as you run faster than the fastest one, it doesn’t matter if there are a hundred.”

Expressionless, Zhao Yifeng clapped. “Well said. Your reward: go downstairs and draw their attention.”

“I’ll go then,” Li Xu said nonchalantly.

Lai Yudong, meanwhile, focused on the plot and questioned the logic. “Why were so many zombies locked in the warehouse? A normal person couldn’t have rounded up that many. Were you the one who did it?”

Before Liang Zhisheng could respond, Su Junzhe’s startled voice sounded again:

“Huh? The zombies stopped chasing me. They’re heading toward the research institute instead… That’s weird—was the door open?”

“No, that door requires a keycard to open.” Lai Yudong’s gaze locked onto Liang Zhisheng’s face, his tone shifting into the in-game persona. “Start talking, Dr. Shi.”

There had only ever been one living NPC mentioned so far—under normal circumstances, it was impossible for a new one to appear out of nowhere.

And this one’s identity was already steeped in suspicion.

“What a pity,” Liang Zhisheng lowered his head with a soft laugh. “I originally planned to release the zombies after you’d left, so you’d have no chance to escape. But since someone opened it early—well, no harm done.”

[Knew it—never trust a zombie scenario to stay peaceful]

[Wait, so Su didn’t actually mess things up? It didn’t matter whether he opened it or not?]

[Might actually be a good thing—early discovery means lower difficulty]

[If 1 hadn’t opened the warehouse, it would’ve triggered right after they exited the lab, giving them less time to flee]

[But now they’re trapped inside the research institute. Originally, they could’ve just made a run for it]

[Not necessarily—the doctor could’ve locked the main door to trap them, then released the zombies later for a “surprise.” Besides, even if they escaped, they’d still be surrounded outside]

[So that’s why things felt too calm before—this is the real setup]

[Zombie rule #1: never skip the horde]

Lai Yudong recalled his earlier conversation with Li Xu on the bus. “So, the antidote was just a decoy?”

“No,” Liang Zhisheng sighed. “The antidote is real, and the data is genuine. The zombies in the warehouse were the failed experimental subjects.”

He spoke with cold, unfeeling honesty:

“But I’m already infected. What use is the formula to me now? I won’t last long enough to see it completed. Since I can’t enjoy the fruits of my own work… I’ll take humanity’s last hope to the grave with me.”

“You’ve got no scientific spirit at all!” Li Xu snapped furiously. “Told you we should’ve just finished him off!”

Lai Yudong pressed on, unwilling to let it go. “Failed experiments? Don’t tell me you used live humans—”

“Don’t argue with him,” Zhao Yifeng cut in, pacing anxiously in circles. “It’s all just part of the story setup! Even if he says they were humans, no one actually dies. But if we don’t run now, we will get eliminated for real.”

Lai Yudong tilted his head. “Can zombies climb stairs?”

Zhao Yifeng: “…No idea, the staff didn’t say.”

“They can’t,” Liang Zhisheng offered helpfully.

[Yuzu: emotional but still rational, lmao]

[F-type: “You’ve lost your scientific spirit!” (immersed in the story)

T-type: “Run, you idiot!” (plot irrelevant)]

[Pretty sure only 4 and 6 are T-types in this group]

[Stop worrying about your loaf-shaped bodies]

Lai Yudong didn’t really understand the difference between T and F types; his thinking was simpler. They were guests on a variety show, after all—if they followed through every plot line, the audience would get to see a more complete story.

But Zhao Yifeng’s point also made sense—the show’s main focus was on racing and survival, not storytelling.

And even if something got skipped, post-production would surely fill in the gaps.

Once he’d sorted out his priorities, Lai Yudong and his two teammates left the lab. The second floor was an officially designated safe zone, while Liang Zhisheng, having fulfilled his purpose as an NPC, stayed where he was—awaiting the fate of turning into a zombie.

“Su Junzhe, where are you?” Lai Yudong immediately called out to the teammate who could coordinate with them from outside.

“I’m crouching near the security booth,” Su Junzhe replied.

“Is it safe?”

“More or less. Most of the zombies seem to have gotten some kind of signal and went inside. Only a few are still wandering around outside.”

“Go to the left side of the research institute’s main entrance. I’ll hand the USB drive to you,” Lai Yudong said rapidly but clearly, each word crisp and precise, his instructions leaving no room for confusion. “Once you’ve got it, head straight back to the bus. Don’t worry about us—you’re our backup plan.”

“Got it, I’m on my way now,” Su Junzhe replied without hesitation. He didn’t ask for details; his trust in his captain was absolute.

Likewise, Zhao Yifeng and Li Xu raised no objections. They followed closely behind their captain, like sailors chasing the only lighthouse on a dark sea.

[How are they even gonna hand it over?]

[Toss it down?]

[From the second floor? It’ll just break on impact, what are you thinking]

[Worth a shot though, never know haha]

Of course, Lai Yudong wasn’t the type to rely on low-probability miracles.

Following the layout he remembered, he turned a few corners and reached his destination—sure enough, the structure mirrored that of the first floor: another infirmary.

He yanked the white sheet off a hospital cot. After Qu Xincheng’s earlier “incident,” he made a point of checking under the bed for any overly dedicated NPCs. Whether due to luck or providence, it was empty.

“Using the bedsheet to wrap the USB?” Zhao Yifeng guessed as soon as he entered, already piecing together Lai Yudong’s plan.

“Yeah. It’ll soften the fall, and it’s big enough that it won’t get lost.”

Lai Yudong talked as he worked, folding the sheet several times to create padding thick enough to protect the drive, then tying two tight knots to keep it from coming loose.

Everything was ready—the USB was wrapped up tighter than a block of dynamite.

After confirming Su Junzhe’s position, they met across a floor’s distance. Just as the bundle was tossed out the second-floor window, Lai Yudong’s sharp eyes caught something moving behind him.

“Zombie behind you!” he shouted urgently.

“It’s fine!” Su Junzhe bent down, grabbed the bundle, and sprinted toward the bus like a flash of lightning, leaving the zombies far behind with effortless agility.

He even had the energy to wave cheerfully at his teammates upstairs. “I’m heading off first! You guys do your best to escape!”

Seeing Su Junzhe make it out safely, Lai Yudong crossed his index fingers in front of the camera, forming an X. “Throwing things from high places is dangerous—please don’t imitate this. Program effects only.”

“Does the second floor count as ‘high’?” Li Xu muttered.

“Anything above two meters does.”

“…Alright, that’s—very precise.”

“Thank you.”

—————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Character Animal Assignments (Official):

Su Junzhe — Fox

Lai Yudong — Deer

Mo Li — Butterfly

Zhao Yifeng — Snake

Qu Xincheng — Rabbit

Bai Xuanhe — Large Dog

Li Xu — Parrot

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.116 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

Qu Xincheng’s elimination was, without question, a devastating blow.

Before anyone had time to grieve, news of Mo Li and Bai Xuanhe’s eliminations followed one after another.

Mo Li had heard Qu Xincheng’s earth-shattering scream and, overcome with sympathy, left his hiding spot to see if he could help. The result: he was immediately caught by a zombie that had just left the infirmary.

As for Bai Xuanhe—he fell victim to his walkie-talkie yet again. His teammate’s cry for help drew the zombies that he’d only just managed to shake off. This time, he wasn’t lucky enough to escape.

They hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Dr. Shi’s shadow, and the group had already lost three members.

[? I just went to pour myself a glass of water, how come my wife and son are both gone now]

[Who’s the wife? Who’s the son? / doge]

[Brother Bai got eliminated before even entering the lab, that’s so tragic]

[The remaining team setup doesn’t look promising]

[Captain Yu has a timid Hong on the left, a frail Feng on the right, and the only one without double debuffs—Su—is wandering off alone…]

[This round’s doomed. Let’s just restart, hhh]

[Look on the bright side—1 and 2 could coordinate from the inside and outside]

Amidst all the misfortune, there was one bit of luck: Su Junzhe, who had been with Bai Xuanhe, managed to survive.

The moment he heard movement over the walkie-talkie, he went on full alert, ready to bolt at any time—and indeed, he successfully escaped the clutches of the zombies.

Using the walkie-talkie, he informed his teammates that, during his escape, he had discovered a building resembling a warehouse and planned to explore it alone.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine by yourself?” Lai Yudong asked, worried that Su Junzhe would follow in the footsteps of the three who’d fallen before him.

“I’ll be fine. If something happens, I can run,” Su Junzhe said with confidence born of skill. “The production team wouldn’t set up a warehouse just for decoration—there’s probably a clue inside. Besides, splitting up is safer; it lowers the risk of all of us getting wiped out in one go.”

“Splitting up could also get us picked off one by one, just like before.”

“Then sell off Xiao Feng and Xiao Hong,” Su Junzhe said lightly, the horrific content of his words completely at odds with the cute nicknames he used.

Lai Yudong: “…”

You there? @.TeamSpirit

“Hey, has it occurred to you two that I can actually hear your conversation?” Li Xu switched on his mic. “Selling Zhao Yifeng is one thing, but can I at least be spared, okay?”

“Has it occurred to you that I’m standing right next to you?” Zhao Yifeng joined in gloomily. “So this is how it goes— the dragon slayer becomes the dragon, huh?”

Li Xu was baffled. “Weren’t you shouting the whole way that you wanted to be eliminated?”

“I clearly said I wanted a quick and painless one.”

“Not the same thing?”

“At this rate, you’d better watch out—if you ever beef with another rapper, you’ll lose the diss battle.”

“…”

There was no curse more vicious to a rapper than that.

The conversation over the walkie-talkie continued.

As Lai Yudong kept questioning Li Xu and Zhao Yifeng about their exact location, he strode quickly back their way, worried that in the blink of an eye, he might lose yet another teammate.

Even so, he didn’t neglect preparation or reconnaissance. He swept through every room he passed, and opened every window along the corridor.

The former was to search for clues and build a map; the latter, for emergencies.

Unfortunately, he found nothing of value.

What he did find was Qu Xincheng’s final resting place—a zombie wedged under the infirmary bed.

The dead are gone; the living must move on.

Note to self: try not to run this way when escaping later.

Before long, Lai Yudong successfully regrouped with his two teammates. Following the indicators on their smartwatches, they headed to the second floor—where they finally found Dr. Shi, who had gone missing in the story’s plot.

Dr. Shi was the key figure in this mission—and the only NPC who still seemed capable of normal communication.

When they found him, he was lying motionless on the lab floor.

As the member with the smallest courage stat, Li Xu timidly stood at the front. Trying to keep up appearances, he forced himself to act calm, perfectly embodying the phrase “saving face while suffering inside.”

“Is he infected? He’s not gonna suddenly jump up and flick my forehead, right?”

“Judging by the situation, it’s probably not good,” Lai Yudong said, stepping past him to crouch beside the NPC. “But not that bad yet—it should at least trigger a bit of plot first. Dr. Shi? Are you okay?”

“Still alive?” Zhao Yifeng asked.

“Most likely. If not, the production team would’ve just put in a dummy.”

Despite saying that, Lai Yudong still reached out to check for breath. But the NPC’s face was buried in his arm, making it hard to tell. So Lai Yudong carefully moved the arm aside and turned the man’s face upward.

The moment he got a clear look, the NPC suddenly opened his eyes—and gave him a goofy, vacant smile.

“…”

Lai Yudong fell silent for a second, then—with a complicated expression—gently turned the man’s head back to its original position, as if he’d just seen something profoundly unsettling.

“What happened?” Li Xu was completely lost.

Lai Yudong sighed. “That’s not Dr. Shi.”

“What!?” Li Xu broke out in a cold sweat. “He got switched? Or did we find the wrong guy? Wait—how do you even know he’s not Dr. Shi? Don’t tell me you’re the mole again!?”

“You’ll know when you see it.” Lai Yudong’s tone was vague.

Suspicious and uneasy, Li Xu crept forward. He copied Lai Yudong’s movements, crouched down, and turned the NPC’s face upright.

The instant their eyes met, he shot backward like a spring-loaded toy.

“Holy sh*t!!!”

He leapt half a meter away, his eyes wide in sheer disbelief—as though he’d just seen a ghost.

“Ahem.” Lai Yudong made a zipping-his-lips gesture, then turned to explain to the utterly confused Zhao Yifeng. “Not Dr. Shi—it’s Dr. Liang.”

That’s right. The person playing Dr. Shi was none other than their old friend, Liang Zhisheng.

The livestream chat instantly exploded.

[WHO?? Liang Zhisheng!???]

[Mama Liang, why are you lying there—]

[WOC! My old COC actually reunited before disbanding?? A post-breakup meal this good, I’m feasting!!]

[Is the production team secretly 707 stans?]

[Wait, do they even still keep in touch? I thought their on-show interactions were all scripted.]

[Of course they do! It’s just that Yu and Hong debuted, so they can’t openly hang out. Probably waiting till the group officially disbands to stick together in public again.]

[Other people have secret little couples; they’re a secret big family.]

[Who in 707 could act that well anyway?]

[Yuzu’s got real self-control. If it were me, I’d be screaming louder than Hong’er.]

Li Xu, startled out of his wits, had reflexively flung Liang Zhisheng in the opposite direction. Luckily, Lai Yudong reacted fast enough to catch him midair—saving his former roommate from hitting the ground like a tossed decorative ball.

Seeing this, Zhao Yifeng quietly took a step back. He suddenly felt… redundant, wrapped in a vague, indescribable awkwardness.

Could they maybe swap him for another vocalist?

Or better yet, bring Qu Xincheng back, so this could become a full “Lai Yudong’s Old and New Roommates” collection.

“Why is it you!?” Li Xu jabbed a trembling finger at Liang Zhisheng, his voice quivering so hard it was unclear whether from fright or excitement. “You couldn’t even give us a heads-up!? Wait, right—there’s probably an NDA… but you blocked the camera way too perfectly! You totally did that on purpose!”

“What are you even talking about?”

Liang Zhisheng had an impressive sense of commitment.

For a non-professional actor, managing not to laugh while surrounded by friends was no small feat—yet somehow, he pulled it off.

“This is my research facility,” he said, his tone brisk and authoritative. “I should be the one asking you questions. Were you sent by the Shelter? How did you get in here? Why are there only three of you? Didn’t the Shelter tell you how important this mission is?”

“Yes,” Lai Yudong replied, propping his chin on his hand with practiced calm. “We got in using the security booth’s keycard. The rest of our teammates have been sacrificed, and one more is outside providing support. So—talk to us, Dr. Liang. What’s the situation?”

“I’m Dr. Shi,” Liang Zhisheng corrected sternly, full of righteous indignation.

“…Alright. Dr. Shi, have you developed the antidote?”

“Of course,” he said, slipping seamlessly back into character. “All the experimental data and the formula are in my lab. As long as you bring the USB drive back, humanity will be saved.”

Lai Yudong followed up logically, “Then why are there so many zombies roaming around the facility? Is it related to your disappearance?”

“As you can see, the research institute has fallen,” Liang explained solemnly. “I’ve been unable to reach either the communications hub or the Shelter.”

“Then why were you lying on the ground? Low blood sugar?”

Liang Zhisheng pressed his lips together, then confessed gravely, “To tell you the truth—I’ve already been infected.”

The bombshell dropped.

Li Xu immediately waved a hand with flair. “Alright then, let’s just finish him off quickly—cut the problem at the root.”

Liang Zhisheng: “?”

“Hold up.” Lai Yudong stopped the eager Li Xu before he could act. “Let’s at least wait until he hands over the USB first.”

Liang Zhisheng: “??”

Zhao Yifeng was stunned. “Wait—what? You’re not even going to try saving him? Isn’t there supposed to be an antidote?”

[Liang Zhisheng: Do I really have to die here?]

[Breaking news: Dorm 707 has officially fallen apart]

[If you’re going to get eliminated by an NPC anyway, might as well eliminate the NPC first]

[Great, now my wife, my son, and my mom have all become zombie chow ]

[Dark humor of the day: “Three generations under one roof”—except the roof is heaven]

—————————————————————

Author’s Note:                

Info Drop —

MOBA role specialization by lane:

Su Junzhe — Mid / Support

Lai Yudong — Mid / Jungle / Support

Mo Li — ADC / Support

Zhao Yifeng — Mid / ADC

Qu Xincheng — Top / Support

Bai Xuanhe — Top / Jungle

Li Xu — ADC / Jungle

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.115 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

Upholding the principle that life comes first, the one who finally lured the zombies away was Su Junzhe.

Don’t be fooled by his small size or the fact that he’s the team’s “cute member.” His strength is enough to drag Lai Yudong along with him, or to physically block his stage teammates inside the practice room. When he runs, he’s as light as the wind.

Other people have “gap moe” — he might be pure “split personality moe.”

Taking advantage of Su Junzhe drawing the NPCs’ aggro, Lai Yudong rushed into the cramped security booth. With the efficiency of a dorm manager during room inspection, he rummaged through the drawers and successfully found a keycard.

“Go!” he called to the others.

The group crossed the safe square that Bai Xuanhe had cleared. With a beep, the card swiped through the sensor — the first checkpoint was smoothly cleared.

“The research institute’s security is seriously lacking,” Li Xu commented sharply. “No wonder it fell so easily. The keycard’s that easy to find, and the main gate’s this easy to open? Shouldn’t they at least have doors several meters thick?”

“The production budget was limited,” Zhao Yifeng said sympathetically. “It’s already a miracle they didn’t make the doors out of glass.”

Lai Yudong didn’t rush inside. He lifted his walkie-talkie, concerned for the two teammates whose survival was uncertain. “Are you guys okay? We can go in now.”

“Ahhh we’re doomed! I just got clear!” Bai Xuanhe’s wail crackled through the static — the zombies’ roars were clearly audible in the background.

“What happened? Did I lure the zombies to you?” Lai Yudong asked guiltily — he’d forgotten that speaking up at the wrong time could easily screw over his teammates.

“No, but your voice came out of nowhere and scared me. I screamed, and that scream brought all the zombies over.”

“…”

Lai Yudong switched channels to ask the other one, “What about Su Junzhe?”

“Shook them off~!” Su Junzhe’s voice burst through, bright and syrupy, like taking a sunny sip of Teletubby baby milk. “You guys go in first, I think I just saw Bai Xuanhe — I’m going to find him.”

Qu Xincheng pressed his hands together in mock prayer. “Rest in peace, Bai Xuanhe.”

“I’m still alive!!” Bai Xuanhe shouted back.

[Su Junzhe’s coming for you — how is that any different from being dead / doge]

[Question: what happened to our curly-haired little bro?]

[Being locked up with an NPC vs. being locked up with Su Su — a truly impossible dilemma]

[I believe Su Su means well going to save Brother Bai, but I also believe he’s up to no good]

[This is the definition of literary contradiction (literally falling backward)]

[Xiao Su is a bad kitty]

Time was limited; they couldn’t just stand frozen at the door. The directors might even send NPCs to hurry them along. Besides, with the half-ally, half-rival Su Junzhe going to back him up, there was no need to worry too much about Bai Xuanhe’s safety.

After all, Su Junzhe was still human — not a zombie.

To make it easier for the two of them to catch up with the main group, Lai Yudong tucked the keycard into the soil of a potted plant. He relayed the message to them, then led his teammates on a brave charge into the research institute.

At this point, only five people remained in the team.

The accident happened quickly. Turning a corner — surprise, love at first fright — they collided head-on with a wandering zombie.

A hand draped in tattered cloth shot straight forward, reaching for Lai Yudong at the front. His body reacted before his mind did; after narrowly dodging the grab, he finally realized what had happened.

“Run!!”

In the chaos, Lai Yudong seized Mo Li’s wrist with one hand and caught the hem of Li Xu’s clothes with the other, whipping around and bolting instinctively.

Only after the two of them had started running did he let go — he didn’t want to slow them down in the hallway.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help the timid Qu Xincheng, but their positions were simply too far apart. He could only save whoever was closest — whoever he could reach.

“Where are we going?” Li Xu managed to ask, barely keeping pace near the front of the group.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lai Yudong said calmly. “Just lose him first — take a few turns, or find somewhere to hide.”

At the back of the line, Zhao Yifeng was running purely on willpower. “Can we even shake him off? That NPC’s fast!“

[Dorae-Yu, think of something quick!]

[I’m afraid they’ll end up shaking off Teacher Zhao too, lmao]

[That dodge from the white-haired guy was insane — one second later and he’d have been eliminated]

[This reminds me of the time Dong-baby hooked his cup strap]

[Yes yes yes! I noticed then how quick his reflexes were! A freestyle prodigy (not really)]

[They’re too close to the NPC, it’s gonna be hard to lose him]

The ideal was beautiful — reality was cruel.

Unfortunately, at the very next corner, they ran right into a new NPC zombie drawn over by the noise.

“There’s another one ahead!” Lai Yudong slammed on the brakes, abandoning the turn and choosing to sprint straight instead.

But the teammates behind him couldn’t react in time. The sudden zombie blocked their way like a wall of flesh, sealing off three paths at the intersection. They couldn’t go forward or back — they had no choice but to veer into another passage.

The new zombie chased Lai Yudong.

The old zombies chased Li Xu and the others.

With danger closing in, the team didn’t have the luxury to panic. Only Mo Li, positioned in the middle, still had the composure to assess the chaos. “Lai Yudong’s gone? Did we lose him?”

“Shouldn’t it be he’s the one who got left behind!?” Li Xu, now forced into the lead, felt completely helpless. “He’s alone! We’re four!”

Zhao Yifeng was panting so hard he could barely speak. “We… might soon… be one person… too…”

“This setting makes no sense!” Li Xu was like a walking barrage of complaints — with built-in voice commentary. “Every zombie show under the same theme has some way to fight them, and all we can do is run!”

“You can’t attack the NPCs!” Mo Li shouted in panic.

“I meant the show’s rules, not that I want to hit them!” Li Xu retorted. “Like—couldn’t they give us some inflatable batons or something!? Why is it that if a zombie so much as touches us, we’re instantly infected!? With that kind of power gap, it’s a miracle humanity isn’t extinct already!”

[I was wondering the same thing]

[Then it wouldn’t be a survival race anymore, it’d be “Beat Up the Kids: The Show”]

[Players are destined to be at the bottom of the food chain here]

[At least the guy’s got spirit]

Unfortunately, not everyone had as much spirit as Li Xu.

Realizing that, Mo Li quickly suggested they split up. If everyone clustered together, it was harder to escape—and even if someone got caught, at least it wouldn’t be a total party wipe.

As for which one the zombies would pick, that depended entirely on luck.

And as it turned out, those who screamed the loudest often had the worst luck. Qu Xincheng had the dubious honor of being the zombies’ chosen one.

“Why meeeee!!!”

Qu Xincheng couldn’t believe it. He’d done good deeds all his life, never harmed anyone, and yet, at the critical moment, he’d become fate’s designated sacrifice—the Chosen of the Zombies.

Worse still, he’d managed to run himself right into a dead end.

Getting eliminated was one thing—but getting caught by a zombie? That was serious!

He was definitely going to have nightmares tonight.

Clinging to a desperate hope for survival, Qu Xincheng flung open a nearby door. Judging by the setup, it looked like an infirmary.

But bad luck refused to leave his side.

The door lock was broken. It wouldn’t close—just a light push, and it would swing right open again.

—What kind of cursed luck is this!?

At this point, there was no turning back. Qu Xincheng could only accept his fate and frantically look for somewhere to hide.

His gaze landed on the bed behind the curtain. Maybe—just maybe—if he crawled underneath, he could survive this round.

The staff had said that zombies wouldn’t bend down or look under things for no reason — so, if necessary, it was possible to hide. And since he hadn’t crawled under the bed right in front of the zombie’s eyes… maybe that didn’t count as being chased anymore, right?

Whether it would work or not, this was his only option.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Qu Xincheng scrambled under the bed like a tiny hamster, curling up into a weak, helpless, pitiful little ball. He shut his eyes and prayed devoutly that the NPC would show mercy and move on.

But soon, he sensed that something was wrong.

Why did the zombie’s groans sound… so close?

Did it really come that fast? How had it entered without footsteps?

“Urghhh—”

Wait—that wasn’t coming from the front!

From the position he was lying in, the sound should have come from ahead of him… but it was so close, it felt like someone was whispering right behind his ear.

Frowning in confusion, Qu Xincheng opened his eyes. Through the gap between the sheet and the floor, he saw a pair of feet slowly shuffling away. The zombie, having lost its target, calmed down from its frenzy and returned to its sluggish, staggering state.

The zombie left.

Qu Xincheng let out a long sigh of relief and rolled onto his back, lying face-up. Just as he did, his hand landed on something warm.

He turned his head—

—and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a zombie struggling and thrashing beside him.

The walkie-talkie slipped from his trembling hand.

The zombie bared its teeth and glared at him fiercely—which also perfectly explained why the sounds had been coming from the wrong direction earlier.

Qu Xincheng: “…”

Qu Xincheng: “AAAAAAH HELP MEEEE!!!”

Can someone please tell him why there was already a zombie stuck under the bed!?

Props to the NPC actors for their dedication—

but seriously, this was so unnecessary!!

……

Lai Yudong had also been driven into a dead end.

With his speed, shaking off a zombie would’ve been easy—if only there were somewhere to run.

Technically, he could have ducked into a room, locked the zombie out, and waited safely until the time ran out. But this was a team-based mission, one that required everyone’s cooperation. Locked outside weren’t just NPCs—his teammates were, too.

He was cautious by nature, yes—but more importantly, he was StarEpoch’s captain.

Bai Xuanhe and Su Junzhe’s fates were still unknown, and the rest were all scattered, fleeing for their lives. He couldn’t just close a door and wash his hands of it all.

So Lai Yudong flung open every door he passed, one after another, until he finally placed his hopes on the last one—a clean, spacious office furnished with a sofa and a desk set.

He darted inside, the zombie right on his heels.

[gg, nowhere left to run]

[This is brutal—don’t they even get a map?]

[There are barely any normal NPCs this round; only one of the doctors seemed human, the rest are all zombies]

[Wait, no respawns this time?]

[Nope, pure human effort—no power-ups, no extra lives]

[My poor Yuzu T^T]

But Lai Yudong didn’t believe this would be where he fell.

He’d checked each room for a reason—to find one that gave him options, obstacles he could use to his advantage.

The silver-haired youth darted behind the office desk. Just when everyone thought the first eliminated player was about to appear, he suddenly planted a foot on the leather office chair, narrowly dodging the zombie’s grasp. In one smooth motion, he pushed off with his legs, vaulted up onto the desk, and then leapt down from the other side.

With a soft thud, he landed lightly on the floor and bolted straight for the doorway without looking back.

The entire maneuver took less than three seconds.

[Holy crap]

[He actually escaped?!]

[Theoretically doable, but you’d have to be insanely fast—otherwise the NPC would’ve blocked the way]

[He really didn’t get touched—the NPC just froze for a second]

[That was so intense oh my god!!]

[No wonder he wasted time checking every door earlier]

[I can’t even talk properly anymore, he’s so freaking cool, Dong you legend!!]

The NPC had clearly been caught off guard. Though it quickly turned around and gave chase, the moment had already passed.

Lai Yudong not only escaped unscathed—he even remembered to shut the door behind him. From the other side, he pressed his body hard against it as the zombie pounded furiously, the force so strong it nearly shoved him off balance.

Composed as ever, he said evenly, “Zombies can’t open doors, right?”

It was a reminder to the NPC—as a player, not a plea from a “human.”

Sure enough, after a few seconds, the pounding stopped. Silence returned.

[Absolute legend—first player to ever trap an NPC]

[He just broke the fourth wall mid-game]

[What’s his name? I demand he gets a return appearance!]

[Incredible adaptability under pressure]

[Please support our tiny but mighty group’s only visual and captain—Lai Yudong~]

Lai Yudong finally let out a long breath of relief.

The whole chase hadn’t been physically exhausting, but the tension alone was enough to leave his heart racing.

Just as he was about to contact his teammates, his walkie-talkie crackled—there was a heavy thud, followed by a familiar voice screaming:

“AAAAAAH HELP MEEEEE!!!”

A second later, his smartwatch chimed with a crisp ding, followed by an automated announcement:

“StarEpoch – Qu Xincheng has been eliminated.”

[The crown prince has fallen—]

[Was that… him sitting on the walkie-talkie?]

[The sooner you die, the sooner you’re freed. Early elimination, less suffering.]

[Honestly, not a bad outcome.]

[Go in peace, Prince.]

Lai Yudong: “……”

What the hell just happened? He’d only been away from the group for a few minutes.

—————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Info Drop —

Luck ranking:

Li Xu (Metaphysical Representative) > Lai Yudong (Miraculously escapes misfortune every time) > Bai Xuanhe (Uses IQ to offset bad luck) > Zhao Yifeng (Blessing or curse, who knows) > Mo Li (Average human luck) > Su Junzhe (Overpowers fate with sheer ability) > Qu Xincheng (Sacrificed all luck to become the Prince)

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.114 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

The seven of them hid behind the fence, whispering to discuss their plan.

“It’s too open—there are almost no obstacles. This kind of terrain isn’t suitable for running away.” Bai Xuanhe pulled his head back and reported his observations. “But the zombies are pretty spread out. If we’re careful, we should be able to avoid alerting them.”

“But they’re wearing headsets,” Lai Yudong, a loyal viewer of Countdown to Survival, wasn’t as optimistic. “As soon as the director gives the order, they’ll all turn their heads toward you at once.”

Bai Xuanhe: “…The way you said that is terrifying.”

[You really understand how the production team works]

[Silver-haired hottie’s definitely been watching the show]

[That’s exactly how Xiao Yin got caught last time QWQ]

[It’s a zombie theme, it’s not gonna be peaceful anyway]

“Here’s the plan—I’ll go first and show you how it’s done. If it’s fine, you can follow the same route.” Bai Xuanhe decided to take the risk himself. It was broad daylight; a few NPCs couldn’t scare him.

Mo Li asked worriedly, “What if an NPC chases you?”

“Then I run. Either block them at the gate or lose them somewhere—I’m fast,” Bai Xuanhe shrugged. “Worst case, I’ll be the first one eliminated.”

Neither the plan nor Bai Xuanhe himself reassured Lai Yudong. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, stay here. I can be eliminated first, but you can’t get kicked out so early—you’re the backbone of this team.” Bai Xuanhe knew just how crucial Lai Yudong was as their stabilizing force. “Alright, I’m off. Wait for good news.”

Just before leaving, he added, “If I get chased, I’ll lure the NPCs away. Use that chance to move across.”

After saying that, he strode confidently toward the open field where the zombies were wandering.

Qu Xincheng watched Bai Xuanhe’s back with worry. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Their friendship dated back to the tough times they shared after debuting as a group. The three of them had bought a home projector together—if the movie lineup that night included a horror film, Qu Xincheng would quietly slip into Bai Xuanhe’s room and swap places with Su Junzhe.

Little by little, their bond skyrocketed.

“If there’s a problem, we can’t do anything about it,” Lai Yudong said, fully aware of Bai Xuanhe’s personality. “As long as he thinks he’s fine, the more you try to stop him, the more fired up he gets. Might as well let him give it a try.”

At least he could serve as a test case for the rest of them.

Bai Xuanhe moved swiftly among the zombies, his body agile and precise, as if he were dodging invisible laser beams.

At one point, a zombie nearly turned and caught him, but he quickly twisted aside, using another zombie as cover, inching forward carefully yet daringly.

Zhao Yifeng was dumbfounded. “Does he have to be that flexible?”

“The NPCs follow fixed routes,” Lai Yudong explained his observation. “If you can plan out the optimal path, it makes things a lot easier.”

Zhao Yifeng, well aware of his own coordination, replied, “Theory doesn’t always translate to reality—kind of like how getting a driver’s license doesn’t matter if you can’t afford a car.”

[Perfect challenge for our dance-line baby]

[I was just thinking we shouldn’t torment Teacher Zhao’s old bones—but wait, Brother Bai’s even older]

[What old bones? Brother Bai’s only twenty-two, he’s the oldest in the group but still young—]

[Honestly, running straight through sounds safer than all that sneaking around]

[Don’t underestimate the NPCs though]

While they were talking, Bai Xuanhe finally reached the research facility with great effort. He examined the entrance, pulling the door, then pushing it, then just stood there blankly in front of it—frozen, with no idea what to do next.

A few seconds later, he turned around and shouted toward his teammates, “There’s no keycard! I can’t get in!”

In that instant, all the zombies froze mid-step, then turned their heads in unison—locking onto Bai Xuanhe, who was standing at the research facility entrance.

The scene they had imagined… had just come true.

Lai Yudong went silent for a second, then picked up the walkie-talkie. “Bai Xuanhe, the difference between us and cavemen is that we know how to use tools.”

“I forgot!!” Bai Xuanhe’s voice came through the walkie-talkie.

[Aaaah I’m dying laughing]

[I wasn’t even laughing before, but as soon as the team leader opened his mouth, I’m wheezing ]

[Brother Bai, that’s a walkie-talkie, not a brick]

[Is this what they call “delivering your own head on a silver platter”?]

[Bai Xuanhe, just accept your fate in peace]

The zombies, who had been shuffling sluggishly moments ago, suddenly roared and lunged toward the source of the sound—the only human in sight—with terrifying speed, fast enough to capture anyone slower on the spot.

Bai Xuanhe didn’t hesitate for even a second—he turned and ran.

Brains sacrificed, legs blessed.

Bai Xuanhe was already a fast runner, and with his long legs, his speed surged even more. He bolted so fast it almost left an afterimage, maintaining a steady gap between himself and the pack of pursuing zombies.

At a sharp turn, he disappeared behind the research building, leading the NPCs away with him.

“Don’t worry about me! Just find a way into the lab!”

Those were his last words before vanishing from sight.

“Don’t let Bai Xuanhe’s sacrifice go to waste,” Lai Yudong called his stunned teammates back to focus. “The priority now is to find that keycard.”

Li Xu frowned. “Where’s the keycard? They didn’t give us any clues.”

As soon as he said that, everyone’s smartwatches lit up, displaying their first hint.

“—Proceed to the security booth and locate the keycard.”

Mo Li read the message on his watch aloud, instantly regretting it. “So Xuanhe went there for nothing? We could’ve just waited here for the task update!”

“Probably not,” Lai Yudong shook his head. “If that were the case, the task would’ve appeared on our watches from the start, not several minutes later. My guess is that someone had to reach the lab entrance to trigger the condition.”

Zhao Yifeng folded his arms, sighing. “So basically, the production team just had to toy with us first?”

“Pretty much,” Lai Yudong said lightly. “It’s a game, after all.”

[Did he really just say that out loud hhhh]

[3’s “I wanna say it but I better not” expression was priceless]

[Every teammate here is testing Mo Li’s survival instincts]

[I’m terrified that after graduation Mo Li’s gonna lose all his filters too]

[The entertainment industry’s full of chaotic geniuses]

[Come on, Brother Feng was just joking! Why’s everyone acting like it’s forbidden speech? ]

Now that they knew where to go, things became a bit clearer.

The security booth wasn’t hard to find—it stood near the main gate, visible from where they were if they just peeked out.

However, inside the booth was a zombie relentlessly slapping the glass.

The skin and muscles on its jaw had long decayed, leaving the gums exposed. Bloody handprints smeared the windows and door, the dark brown blood half-coagulated—one look was enough to imagine the stench of rot that would spill out the moment the door opened.

It was like déjà vu—throwback to the “healing phone booth” task.

But this scene was far more terrifying.

“What do we do? Someone’s definitely gotta lure the zombie away.” Zhao Yifeng shrank back behind the fence, speaking with the honesty of a frail modern college student. “I mean, I could go, but I’d probably get caught before you even find the keycard. And that zombie looks way too aggressive—I might not even last a few seconds.”

“I’ll go,” Lai Yudong volunteered. He was fairly confident in his running speed.

[Is SE2 actually fast?]

[We can’t lose Captain Yuzu]

[That zombie looks terrifying—I swear it’s about to pounce]

[Maybe just call Bai Xuanhe back?]

[He’s already being chased—one more won’t make a difference, right? 233]

[In the end, Brother Bai carries all the suffering.jpg]

The barrage of comments wasn’t the only resistance—his teammates didn’t want Lai Yudong to go either.

“But…”

Qu Xincheng hesitated, sneaking a glance at Su Junzhe. It wasn’t that he had any issue with him personally—but he was genuinely afraid that this guy was a ticking time bomb, ready to emotionally damage his teammates at any moment.

Whether it was that eerie laughter echoing right beside your ear or scaring him before the NPCs could, both were experiences his heart could no longer handle.

If Lai Yudong left, Su Junzhe would be unstoppable—and Zhao Yifeng, the only other brave one in the group, definitely wouldn’t bother to rein him in. The world would soon fall into chaos—completely ruled by trolls.

The game’s difficulty level would easily shoot up three notches.

Qu Xincheng racked his brain for a solid excuse, thinking so hard his CPU was about to fry. In the end, he recycled one of Bai Xuanhe’s earlier justifications.

“It’s better if the captain stays behind… right?”

“Hm?”

Lai Yudong looked down at the sleeve Qu Xincheng was clutching. He hadn’t expected to be stopped again when volunteering for a task—it made him start to wonder if his past stint as the group’s “undercover traitor” had left a lasting shadow on them.

So he cracked a dark little joke. “Then how about you go?”

Qu Xincheng: “…”

Qu Xincheng: “There isn’t a third option?”

————————————————————

Author’s Note:

Info Drop —

D&D Nine Alignments:

Su Junzhe — Chaotic Neutral

Lai Yudong — Neutral Good

Mo Li — Lawful Neutral

Zhao Yifeng — Chaotic Good

Qu Xincheng — Lawful Good

Bai Xuanhe — Neutral Good

Li Xu — Chaotic Good

(The above are their normal alignments based on personality. The “Chaotic Evil Fun-Gremlin” mode only unlocks when they start messing around.)

<< _ >>

The post Trainee Ch.113 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.

StarEpoch’s first full-group album, Nebula, was officially released.

In addition to the basic and most important internal promotions that made up the bulk of sales, external publicity couldn’t be neglected—such as buying front-page slots on music apps, trending on Weibo, and having industry connections help repost content.

This time, the company arranged for them to appear on a variety show to promote the album.

“Countdown to Survival” was a live-action racing show where players had to evade NPCs and complete missions—in simple terms, a large-scale version of cops and robbers. Each episode invited different celebrity guests based on a specific theme. While repeat appearances were allowed, there were no fixed cast members.

The first season featured actors, all of whom were invited from the acting industry. This current season focused on idols—anyone who debuted as or could be considered an idol, whether through a company launch or a survival show, qualified.

For example, previous episodes featured Qu Junwei and Cheng Jinghao; the last episode had Yin Zizhen.

Because of its special guest system, the show’s advantage was its wide general-audience reach—and its drawback was the same: the audience reach was wide. Viewers cared more about the show itself than about individual guests, so whether one could leave a good impression depended entirely on luck and personal performance.

This episode was a StarEpoch special.

“—Welcome StarEpoch to Countdown to Survival!“

On the bus heading to the filming location, the staff greeted the guests with enthusiasm and began introducing the group’s performance history and new album, which had been prepared in advance.

The live director smoothly switched to the accompanying introduction clip.

[Dream collaboration! My favorite group on my favorite show!]

[This group’s visuals are insane.]

[Personally, I think they’re the best-looking boy group that’s ever been on the show.]

[Be bold—better-looking than 99% of male idols out there.]

[Sure, SE is known as the “perfect visuals” group, but only 2 and 5 could rival 99% of idols…]

[There’s still a difference—5 can only rival 98%.]

[Who’s the silver-haired guy, second from the left? This is very important to me.]

The long-missed sight of scrolling comments filled the screen again, giving Lai Yudong a feeling that was both strange and familiar.

It had been a while since he’d last seen live comments—not because of any tragic yet faintly realistic reason like “debuted at the peak, disbanded into obscurity,” but simply because he had been too busy with work, constantly on the move.

Comments were only enabled during live broadcasts of shows and performances, but not every endorsement or variety show was like Climbing to Stardom, which aired both live and recorded versions. And without company permission, he wasn’t allowed to start his own livestreams.

On top of that, he had been buried in album production lately—participating in lyric writing, music video design, and styling concepts—so his workload suddenly skyrocketed.

Some less important interviews and photo shoots were either postponed or canceled altogether; there was no such thing as the “adults want everything.jpg” option for him.

He had already started being selective about the projects he took on, instead of waiting around for work like when he’d just debuted from the talent show.

It was a situation that career-focused fans found deeply satisfying.

“Let’s start with self-introductions,” the staff prompted, moving the program along.

SE didn’t have the habit of always introducing themselves according to seniority or screen time, so the order followed their seating, from left to right.

The first to speak was Li Xu, who kept it short and neat:

“I’m StarEpoch’s Li Xu.”

In sharp contrast, Lai Yudong, who followed him, was much more personable:

“Hello everyone, I’m StarEpoch’s Lai Yudong, and also the leader of our group. I’ve been watching this show for a long time, so I’m really happy to be here with my teammates on Countdown to Survival.”

[That’s such a captain-style introduction, lol 233]

[Whoa! Xiao Yu dyed his hair silver!]

[First time seeing a male idol pull off that color without a disaster]

[He’s so pale he’s practically glowing]

[Shouldn’t they be buying a trending tag like #LaiYudongMangaBoyComeToLife#?]

[Why do I feel like I’ve seen this guy somewhere before?]

[I thought he was the cold, aloof type, but once he spoke… he actually sounds really gentle?]

[That’s exactly how he tricked fans back in the day, lol (doge)]

Just as the comments said, Lai Yudong’s hair was now a shade of silver even lighter than platinum—under the blazing summer sun, it looked like a patch of snow that had accidentally wandered into the heat.

He had dyed it for the new album. Most of the members had changed their hair color too. While they could discuss with the MV director, brand stylist, and the company’s styling team, the final decision on color was made by the company.

Fortunately, Sijia Entertainment’s aesthetics were reliable—they didn’t force anyone into bizarre or tacky looks.

For example, Li Xu went from bright red to dark crimson, Mo Li from gold to blue-black, and Qu Xincheng from black to peach pink.

Lai Yudong’s hair color, however, was his own choice. He believed silver fit the album’s concept better and suited his styling, so after several rounds of negotiation with the team, he managed to get it approved.

As for the trending tag fans mentioned, the company only planned to buy one for the group album, not for individual members.

Still, on the day his new hair color was officially revealed, he was instantly posted across major forums and fan bots, shared countless times, and went viral almost immediately.

Even his old college roommate—someone who barely cared about pop culture—sent him a private message with a screenshot of one of those posts, asking if the person in the picture was really him and whether he needed help managing the comments.

Lai Yudong honestly hadn’t expected a simple dye job to cause such a stir.

To be fair, he was the member of StarEpoch who went viral the most often—though always for looks-related reasons, which made it seem like his only redeeming quality was his face. But at least his popularity wasn’t artificially inflated with “bought” hashtags that had only a few pity comments under them.

And truthfully, he couldn’t think of anything else about himself that could go viral anyway. Still, going viral is better than not going viral at all—he might as well be content with that.

Compared to his previous viral moments—from live stages and fan meetings to the finale of the survival show—this time’s reaction was on another level. The buzz around his new hair color seemed to rival even that legendary debut-defining moment—the god-tier ending pose from the show’s theme song performance.

And the key point was—he hadn’t even done anything.

Just a few candid photos taken by a fansite preview master, and boom.

His old college roommate commented,

“What’s that saying again? Oh right—‘Every Chinese person is secretly into white-haired characters.’ You probably just hit everyone’s aesthetic kink.”

Lai Yudong: “……”

Why did that sound so uncomfortably close to the truth?

He quickly gave up trying to make sense of it.

Going viral was practically a form of mysticism. Whether you blew up or not depended entirely on luck—no matter how much capital or planning went into it, the ripples it caused were never as powerful as the waves kicked up by pure chance.

But that was getting off track.

The self-introductions wrapped up with Mo Li, after which the staff began explaining this episode’s mission plot.

“Year SC2023. The apocalypse has arrived. Humanity is suffering from a massive zombie virus outbreak, and cities around the world have fallen into ruins. Recently, the shelter received news that Dr. Shi has developed an effective antidote for the zombie infection. However, along with that message came a distress signal—and since then, all contact has been lost.

With the shelter’s manpower insufficient to send in a full rescue team, you seven have been entrusted with a critical mission: form a squad and head to the research facility to investigate.”

“Your objectives are as follows:

Find Dr. Shi.

Obtain the antidote and its formula.

Escape successfully.”

“Elimination rules:

If you are caught by a zombie.

If you are scratched by a zombie and fail to use the antidote within thirty seconds.”

“Any questions?”

[Yesss! It’s a zombie theme!]

[Sounds like a big-budget setup!]

[Curious if the NPCs will have full zombie makeup or just lazy smears of paint lol]

[I want to see something straight out of a movie scene!]

[Qu’er looks petrified]

[LMAO even outside, he still can’t escape horror scenarios]

Lai Yudong raised his hand and asked, “What exactly counts as a successful escape? Do we need to reach a specific location?”

“The criteria for a successful escape will change according to the storyline,” the staff explained.

“When that happens, the information will be sent to you through the smartwatches provided by the production team. Besides mission updates, the watches will also show your teammates’ elimination status in real time.”

Got it—this time it was an open-ended mission.

Lai Yudong asked again, “What exactly makes us get spotted by zombies?”

“If you enter their line of sight, you’ll be noticed,” the staff replied. “They also react to sound, but they won’t bend down or look around without reason. So you can hide when necessary—as long as they’re not already chasing you.”

“How many NPCs are there?”

“You’ll find out when you get there,” the staff said mysteriously. “It’s the apocalypse, after all—you never know what’s waiting out there. Any other questions?”

Qu Xincheng had only one concern: “Is it scary?”

“Only mildly,” the staff reassured him. “About as scary as a typical zombie movie. Don’t worry too much—our show focuses on racing and evasion, not on horror or jump scares like a haunted house.”

[Qu’er’s definition of “mildly scary” is probably very different from everyone else’s]

[It’s fine, just stick with Captain Yuzu ]

[Right! There’s no traitor role this time—we can leave everything to Yuzu!]

[Though technically… Lai Yudong’s just brave. This is a racing game. He can’t seriously carry Qu’er on his back while running, right?]

[Captain shouldering responsibility = Captain literally shouldering his teammates]

Lai Yudong: “?”

Please don’t assign him weird extra challenges!

“Shouldering responsibility” was one thing, but dragging Qu Xincheng along was more realistic—though even then, he couldn’t guarantee avoiding the NPCs. Rumor had it the zombies were all professionally trained performers; he might not even be able to protect himself.

The bus finally arrived at the filming site.

Before they got off, staff handed out gear: each member received a smartwatch, a walkie-talkie, and a set of protective pads.

Su Junzhe pointed excitedly out the window: “Look! What a huge base!”

Zhao Yifeng took one glance and sighed wearily: “Looks like we’re gonna run ourselves to death…”

His stamina and running speed were both atrocious—so bad it was almost painful to watch. Exercise had always been his lifelong enemy, and he’d already mentally prepared himself to be the first one eliminated.

The research facility was about the size of a hospital building. In front of it stretched a wide open field, with scattered groups of zombie NPCs shambling about. The number didn’t look too high from here, but who knew what awaited inside the facility.

To get in, they would first have to cross that open field.

“Just hearing the background story already makes me feel doomed,” Li Xu said, leaning against the window. The zombie NPCs’ makeup was way too realistic—it made his scalp tingle.

“What if there’s no antidote at all, and that so-called doctor just made it up to save his own skin?”

“Or maybe the shelter just doesn’t like us,” Lai Yudong replied as he bent down to strap on his knee pads.

“Like, you ate one extra bowl of rice one day, and they’ve held a grudge ever since—so they sent us out here to die.”

“You sure have an imagination.”

“Not really. Internal conflict plots in shows always go like that.”

“…Who fights to the death over an extra bowl of rice!?”

“Food’s scarce in the apocalypse,” Lai Yudong said with a perfectly straight face, spouting nonsense.

“What if we just stay on the bus and refuse to go out—would that count as a successful escape? We can coordinate our statements ahead of time and report that Dr. Shi passed away inside.”

“And just lie here in the bus with the AC on?” Li Xu retorted. “I don’t know about ‘escaping successfully,’ but we’d definitely make the hot search.”

Lai Yudong straightened up and solemnly patted his shoulder.

“Then I’ll leave that glorious mission to you. I’m getting off first.”

Li Xu’s face darkened as he smacked the hand away.

“Get lost.”

[Mind officially opened.jpg]

[Not gonna lie, they actually have a point]

[Is Yuzu about to play prophet again?]

[‘I’m getting off first’ — the movie]

After getting out of the car, the seven of them stood in their designated spots, facing the open field.

“The duration of this game is 90 minutes. Please make sure to protect yourselves, complete your tasks, and survive until the end!”

“Now, the game begins—”

At the staff member’s command, the countdown on their watches started ticking.

Remaining time —

1:29:59

—————————————————————

Author’s note:

Info Drop —

Strength ranking:

Su Junzhe > Bai Xuanhe > Lai Yudong > Mo Li > Qu Xincheng > Li Xu > Zhao Yifeng

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The post Trainee Ch.112 first appeared on A Wandering Potato.