Chapter 20
Even after the photoshoot was completely finished, Fang Huai still had no idea where that candy had come from—he had been half-asleep at the time, and when he woke up, there was no one around, yet a lollipop was in his mouth.
Seeing that the photographer had no objections, he didn’t want to waste it, so he simply ate it seriously.
…It was actually pretty tasty.
With the poster and VCR shooting wrapped up, the next challenge, the talent showcase, arrived in just a couple of days.
The time gap between the preliminary round and the talent segment was incredibly short—the production team clearly wasn’t planning to give contestants much time to prepare. Technically speaking, this round wasn’t even an elimination phase—it was more like a fun interlude to adjust the show’s atmosphere. That said, its scores were still crucial.
Over on Lu Yu’s side, they had already set their sights on dominating this segment. And to be fair, they had every reason to be confident.
When it came to talent performances, the options were fairly predictable: singing, playing an instrument, dance, or perhaps something a little more niche, like playing the flute. But with such limited preparation time, if you didn’t have a solid foundation, standing out would be nearly impossible.
Lu Yu, however, was a different case altogether.
Even before he said a single word, his fans and PR accounts had already started hyping him up.
“We see your hard work. A setback is only temporary—it will never last forever. The brightest crown will always belong to you. Goodnight, Lu Yu. Sweet dreams. [Image]”
This was a thinly veiled jab at Fang Huai, implying that he didn’t work hard enough and that the judges and public voters had been mindless, allowing Lu Yu’s brilliance to be overshadowed.
“Shocking! Debuted at twelve, performed a sensational piano solo at the Spring Festival Gala at fourteen—it’s him?!”
This was them hyping up Lu Yu’s actual achievements.
Fang Huai’s fans, of course, refused to back down.
The problem?
They had no clue about his past.
There was nothing to hype up because they knew nothing about his history.
What worried them the most was how eerily quiet both Fang Huai and his team were.
Meanwhile, Lu Yu’s PR articles had practically flooded the internet, yet Fang Huai’s side hadn’t responded at all. This silence made his fans feel uneasy—like they had no solid ground to stand on. Some even started worrying that Fang Huai didn’t have any talent to showcase at all.
[@Lu Yu fans, do you remember how you got slapped in the face last time? I swear I heard the exact same things during the preliminary round. Heh.]
[I did a fortune reading for our boy yesterday—he’s gonna get a high score in the talent round.]
[My baby definitely has talent. Just wait and see.]
*
Finally, on the night before the talent showcase, at 11:00 PM, Lu Yu posted on Weibo.
[Lu Yu (Verified)]: I know that effort doesn’t always pay off, but I still want to try. No matter how many obstacles stand in my way, I want to charge forward. Goodnight, and have a sweet dream. [Image]
The attached photo was of a dimly lit practice room at midnight, where Lu Yu, dressed in training gear, flashed a “V” sign at the camera.
Lu Yu’s fans immediately rushed in to comfort him.
Some begged him to get some rest, while others outragedly accused the preliminary results of being rigged—after all, in their minds, Lu Yu’s performance had obviously been the best. How could he possibly have been beaten by some nobody like Fang Huai?
[Lu Lu, you got this!! We all know the preliminary round was rigged—stay strong!]
[It’s okay! Everyone sees your hard work. You’ll definitely win tomorrow!]
[……]
*
Thirty minutes later, Fang Huai quietly posted a Weibo update.
So Honest.
[Fang Huai (Verified)]: I have a talent, don’t worry. Goodnight.
[HAHAHAHA this is way too straightforward and cute!]
[Hearing that he has a talent, I can finally relax! Go, baby! Goodnight!]
[So simple and honest—doesn’t your team write scripts for you?!]
Fang Huai’s fans didn’t ask for much—as long as he showed up and didn’t mess up, they were satisfied.
Yet, somehow, he always managed to surprise them.
They hoped this time would be the same… but honestly, even if there were no surprises, that was okay.
Most of them had already lowered their expectations—Fang Huai was only human, after all. This was too difficult. But for his die-hard fans, their love wasn’t about whether he was amazing or not—they just liked him for who he was.
…Basically, they stan him like a bunch of doting moms.
*
Meanwhile—
After posting on Weibo, Fang Huai awkwardly exited the page and turned off his phone.
He had only recently started learning how to use a smartphone and still hadn’t figured out much—or rather, he barely knew anything at all.
But he knew there were people who liked him and worried about him…
He didn’t want them to worry.
So, he tried his best to learn how to post on Weibo from Shi Feiran.
As for his talent—yes, he definitely had one. He had practiced like crazy for this moment. In his opinion, it was decent enough—he shouldn’t mess up too badly, right?
The only thing he wasn’t sure about…
Was this still popular nowadays?
Shi Feiran had been pretty shocked when he first told him what he was going to perform.
Fang Huai pulled his blanket up and went to sleep. He had to wake up early tomorrow.
*
The talent showcase was very different from the preliminary round.
It was more flexible—contestants didn’t have to all gather in one place.
Starlight had a big budget, and some contestants had wild performance ideas (like figure skating), so they were allowed to choose their own venues. Each contestant would get a small film crew to follow them, and their performances would be live-streamed one by one.
There were no live audiences this time, only an online broadcast.
Fang Huai’s slot was at 11:00 AM, but he arrived at his chosen location at 7:00 AM.
A deserted grand theater in Nan City.
*
The film crew hadn’t arrived yet.
Fang Huai hadn’t even told Shi Feiran—he just came alone to familiarize himself with the space.
He had a reason for choosing this place.
The abandoned grand theater had a hole in the ceiling, letting sunlight trickle in. The stage was still clean, thanks to an earlier cleanup, but wild grass, vines, and nameless flowers had begun to creep in. The rows of seats were damaged, and a few stray cats lay lazily in the sunlight.
Fang Huai had been here before—when he was a child.
Back then, the theater wasn’t so broken down.
If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the laughter and buzzing crowd from years ago…
He even remembered sitting in the front row with Fang Jianguo, tilting his head up to watch the stage.
This place held special meaning for him.
It was one of the few childhood memories he still had.
But memories always seemed to cut off abruptly at a certain point.
Fang Huai opened his eyes, smiled a little, and turned to go backstage.
*
Next to the grand theater, there was a century-old tree.
For some reason, people had started treating it like a wishing tree, and many residents of Nan City truly believed in it. The branches were covered with small wooden plaques and paper notes, tied with red strings.
A sudden gust of wind blew through.
A small wooden plaque fell to the ground, landing right at Fang Huai’s feet.
He paused for a moment, bent down to pick it up, and glanced at the writing on it.
The handwriting was bold and powerful, strikingly beautiful.
It read: “I want to see him.”
Fang Huai froze.
He hesitated for a moment, then decided to hang the plaque back up.
As he walked to the tree, he noticed that the same red string held several other plaques—seven in total.
And all seven had been written by the same person.
Fang Huai carefully hooked the fallen plaque back in place.
But in doing so, he couldn’t help but see the other plaques.
The first six all said the same thing—”I want to see him.”
But the seventh plaque looked new—like it had just been written recently.
It said: “I want him to belong only to me.”
At the bottom, there was a single character.
“Ye.”
The wind stirred gently around him.
Fang Huai stared at the plaques for a moment.
Then, suddenly, a thought popped into his mind.
“Do these wishes… actually come true?”
“Accurate.”
A deep, rich voice suddenly came from nearby.
The voice was exceptionally pleasant to the ear. As Fang Huai would put it, it was like an unknown flower blooming in the frozen earth of the winter solstice.
“Is that so?” Fang Huai looked over and smiled.
A man in a well-fitted suit, serious and handsome, stood two steps away. His thin lips were set in a straight line as he silently gazed at him.
“Ye Yuyuan? Hello,” Fang Huai remembered his name. His light amber eyes curved slightly as he said, “If faith in this tree works, then maybe I’ll make a wish.”
A wish for a successful talent performance.
Unexpectedly, after a brief silence, Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together and suddenly said in a quiet tone:
“It’s not the tree I believe in.”
Fang Huai: “…?”
Then why did he just say it was accurate?
A sudden breeze blew by, carrying a few flower petals that landed on Fang Huai’s hair. The boy’s light-colored eyes sparkled under the sunlight, and the ends of his hair curled slightly, catching a few strands of light.
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment before stepping forward and slightly leaning down.
His dark eyes suddenly softened, diffused by the gentle light, as he looked at Fang Huai with deep sincerity.
One hand rested on Fang Huai’s shoulder while the other gently brushed away the petals that had fallen onto his hair—at first glance, the posture resembled an embrace, as if he was gathering the boy into his arms.
The silent man spoke, his voice low and deliberate, “…It’s you.”
His final syllable was almost a sigh.
He had never placed his faith in a tree.
It had always been in the boy standing before him.—He was his god.
*
Several hours later.
11 a.m.
Li Su was a Kunqu opera performer and a professor at the Nan City Academy of Traditional Opera. He was already forty years old. He had studied under Dong Rulan, a well-known figure in the national opera scene who had even performed three times on the Spring Festival Gala.
Unfortunately, fate had been unkind. Just as he reached his prime, his close friends drifted away, and his only old friend had moved to a faraway place.
That day was a weekend. As soon as Li Su’s young daughter, Li Yun, got out of bed, she grabbed her tablet and opened a live-streaming channel, watching with great interest.
Li Su had always looked down on these things. While brewing tea, he glanced at the screen casually and scoffed, “You girls are always watching these so-called ‘variety shows’ and ‘idols.’ It’s all a waste of time. Back in my day—”
Li Yun couldn’t find her earphones and had the speaker on.
Annoyed by her father’s nagging, she frowned and retorted, “Dad, this is really not a waste of time. I just like Fang Huai… He sings really well.”
Li Su let out a dismissive “heh.”
Good? What do these young people know about good music? All they ever listen to are mindless pop songs, with lyrics they barely understand and a mishmash of random styles.
He was in the performing arts himself. So many so-called “singers” didn’t even have proper foundational skills, yet they dared to call themselves stars.
That was his thought—until ten minutes later.
“Ahhh! It’s finally his turn!” Li Yun held her face excitedly and murmured, “Huaihuai, you got this!”
The live stream fell into a brief silence.
The next second, as Fang Huai’s talent performance began, Li Yun’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Oh my god! He’s actually—”
Li Su, still unimpressed, was just about to make a sarcastic remark when he suddenly heard the voice coming from the speakers.
“……”
He nearly dropped his teacup, standing up in disbelief. Staring at the screen in his daughter’s hands, he blurted out, “Yunyun, what’s this young man’s name?!”
Such an authentic singing style—there’s no way he hadn’t heard of him before!
