All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH22

Chapter 22

Ye Yuyuan’s hand froze for a moment.

He cleared his throat lightly, lowered his gaze, and continued wiping the water off Fang Huai’s face. The makeup remover that had accidentally gotten into his eyes had been washed away by his tears. When Fang Huai opened his eyes, he found the man right in front of him.

The two of them locked eyes for a long moment.

Soft light streamed in through the small window, reflecting in the boy’s clear, light amber eyes. Fang Huai looked at Ye Yuyuan—there wasn’t much expression on the man’s face, but his usually cold gaze was unexpectedly gentle.

A thought suddenly popped into Fang Huai’s mind—he wanted to be friends with Ye Yuyuan. The kind of friend who could drop by each other’s place, chat about random things.

He even wanted to invite Ye Yuyuan to visit his childhood home in the mountains. The morning glories by the door were really beautiful.

Fang Huai had never had many friends growing up. He hadn’t met many people, and he wasn’t naturally outgoing either.

But before the idea of being friends could settle in his mind, he dismissed it.

Forget it. It felt too abrupt.

The atmosphere was quiet.

Ye Yuyuan’s movements were gentle. After wiping off the water, his fingers accidentally brushed against the corner of Fang Huai’s lips. Fang Huai didn’t react much, but Ye Yuyuan, on the other hand, subconsciously curled his fingers, cleared his throat, and averted his gaze uncomfortably.

Ye Yuyuan paused for a moment and asked in a low voice, “Does it still hurt?”

Fang Huai shook his head.

“You should use a warm compress.” Ye Yuyuan repeated the instructions coming through his AI earpiece, albeit a little unpracticed. “It’s best to buy some eye drops. Before bed, use a towel soaked in warm water.”

Fang Huai nodded, thinking—impressive.

He actually said twenty-five words in one go.

After Ye Yuyuan finished speaking, the two fell silent again.

Neither of them was particularly talkative. Fang Huai wasn’t the quiet type, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. The light fell on the wooden floor, and the small room was engulfed in silence.

Suddenly, Ye Yuyuan’s phone vibrated.

The serious and reserved man expressionlessly declined the call.

Two seconds later, the phone vibrated again.

Ye Yuyuan declined it again.

“Do you have something to take care of?” Fang Huai thought for a moment and said, “Thanks for helping me just now. If you’re busy, you can—”

“I’m not.” Ye Yuyuan replied flatly.

Fang Huai was startled and glanced toward the doorway.

The secretary had just run over, forehead drenched in cold sweat, forcing out an awkward laugh. “Just passing by.”

There was an urgent meeting.

Ye Yuyuan: “……”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and the air pressure around him dropped instantly.

*

Ten minutes later.

As they walked out of the abandoned theater, the secretary kept sneaking glances at Ye Yuyuan’s face—if the R&D department hadn’t had an emergency, he really wouldn’t have dared to interrupt. Although President Ye wasn’t an unreasonable boss, still…

After walking a few steps, the secretary noticed something unusual.

The serious and handsome man was, as always, silent, but his dark eyes didn’t show any signs of frustration or displeasure.

Secretary: “?”

Even after getting into the car, Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze, and a softness spread in his eyes.

In his hand, he held two small bags of tea.

The packaging was transparent and somewhat plain, with a small note stuck on it in Fang Huai’s rushed handwriting—“Hope you like it.”

It was the tea provided by the show’s sponsors—affordable, from one of Stellar Light’s partners. When Ye Yuyuan had previously commented that the tea was “very sweet,” Fang Huai had misunderstood and assumed he liked it. Before parting, he had quietly handed the tea to him.

Ye Yuyuan carefully folded the sticky note and held it in his palm.

The next second—

A faint shimmer of light flashed, and moments later, the note vanished into thin air.

—Precious things should always be well preserved.

He had created a small private space specifically for storing these things. Now, there were already two notes inside.

To avoid creases, Ye Yuyuan carefully flipped through the sticky note. Because of this, he didn’t see the small, hastily written line on the back—

“Can we be friends?”

—Fang Huai

*

The talent performance segment of Stellar Light had also come to an end.

From this round onward, public votes would officially count toward the final scores. Fans of all contestants were fervently campaigning for votes. Meanwhile, the hashtag #Fang Huai Lip-Syncing# continued to gain traction, closely followed by #Fang Huai Fans Are Rabid Dogs#.

[Did he really lip-sync? I didn’t watch the livestream, but I saw the initial auditions and thought he was pretty good.]

[Pfft, anyone with a brain can tell. His opera-style singing is barely amateur at best. How could he ‘sing’ like that? Use your common sense!]

[Hey, shhh. If you keep talking, a certain construction worker’s fans are gonna come barking and biting. Be careful—they’re rabid dogs, and when they go crazy, they’ll even jump the wall.]

Fang Huai’s fans were absolutely furious.

[We can’t lose our composure! Everyone, stay calm and don’t give them any ammunition.]

[I usually have a good temper, but seeing this kind of situation makes me want to reach through the screen and punch someone!!!]

[Our boy is getting bullied, and we’re just supposed to stay silent? What kind of logic is that???]

You had to admit, Lu Yu’s fans played this PR game well. They knew Fang Huai’s fans would push back, so they preemptively labeled them as “rabid dogs.” Now, no matter what they said—even rational arguments proving that lip-syncing was impossible—they were dismissed as delusional fangirls or biased “mom-fans.”

In reality, Fang Huai’s fans weren’t actually behaving as wildly as the internet claimed. At most, they had vented their anger in the heat of the moment. The later toxic comments? Many were from random internet users or even Lu Yu’s fans, pretending to be Fang Huai’s supporters to smear his reputation.

But how would the general public know how dirty the entertainment industry could be? They simply believed whoever shouted the loudest. And now that the narrative had been set, many casual viewers—who hadn’t even watched the livestream—were parroting the claim that Fang Huai lip-synced and that his fans were aggressive lunatics.

Public voting had opened during the live broadcast. Initially, when Fang Huai performed, he held an overwhelming lead in votes. When Lu Yu’s act came on, he caught up significantly but was still behind.

Now, with the smear campaign in full swing, the gap between them was rapidly shrinking. In just thirty minutes, Lu Yu was already on the verge of overtaking him.

All of this had unfolded in just half a day since the talent segment ended.

Shi Feiran was anxious as well. He wasn’t entirely powerless to turn things around—but he needed time. And right now, time was the one thing they lacked.

Fang Huai, however, was unaware of any of this.

He had finished his performance that morning, skipped rest, changed clothes, and went straight into practice that afternoon. He knew how much he lagged behind others, so he didn’t dare slack off for even a second.

That evening—

Fang Huai usually had his dinner at the small Shaxian snack shop next door after practice. He planned to do the same today. But just as he stepped out of the Starlight Entertainment building, he was immediately surrounded by a large crowd.

Fang Huai froze.

…He had first gained attention through Lin Rui’s video, but at that time, he was still an unknown, and not many people knew his whereabouts. Later, after Stellar Light’s auditions, his popularity skyrocketed—but his team had done a great job shielding him from the public eye.

Because of that, Fang Huai still wasn’t fully aware of just how “famous” he had become.

Today, however, Shi Feiran had been too busy dealing with the trending controversy to keep an eye on him. He had told Fang Huai to skip practice and go home to rest instead. Fang Huai had agreed in words—but turned around and went straight back to the company.

And that was how he ended up running straight into a crowd of waiting reporters and paparazzi.

In the age of instant information, the media wasted no time in tracking him down.

“Mr. Fang, did you really lip-sync during this morning’s talent performance?”

—That was how the more polite paparazzi phrased it. The more shameless ones, however, framed it differently:

“When you used Professor Dong Rulan’s old recordings to fake your singing, weren’t you afraid of getting exposed?”

“Due to your lip-syncing, Stellar Light seems to be considering disqualifying you from the competition. Is that true?”

“……”

Fang Huai froze.

So many people. He had never seen such a scene before.

The tall and slender teenager wore a simple T-shirt and sports shorts. His light amber eyes were bright and clear, his nose slightly reddened from the evening breeze. He was handsome, clean-cut—still just a boy.

He looked seriously at the first reporter and answered calmly,

“I didn’t lip-sync. I sang it myself.”

As for the rest of the questions, he didn’t quite understand them, but he could tell they weren’t anything good, so he chose not to respond.

“Is that so?” The reporters didn’t believe him. They pressed on relentlessly.

“Your fans are nothing but a bunch of rabid maniacs, attacking people all over Weibo. Did you order them to do that?”

“If you really didn’t lip-sync, then why are your fans acting so triggered on Weibo, completely lacking manners, biting people like a pack of wild dogs?”

The logic in this was completely flawed—if someone was falsely accused, weren’t they allowed to defend themselves? But by now, no one cared about logic.

Fang Huai fell silent for a moment.

Until now, his expression had remained calm, even gentle. But at this moment, the faint upward curve of his lips slowly flattened.

He was starting to get angry.

Because of Fang Jianguo’s influence, Fang Huai wasn’t someone who got angry easily. It was a rare occurrence. And now was one of those rare moments.

His light amber eyes still shone brightly.

“Rabid dogs?” He repeated the words.

He had his own phone now.

He knew about his “Weibo.” He didn’t know how to use it well, but he knew that under his posts were words from his “fans.”

They were good people.

They were kind, supportive, and never demanded anything from him. They had cheered him on through his lowest points. And he trusted them.

…Unconditionally.

Just like how, when no one else had ever believed in him, they had.

For some reason, he suddenly thought of that little robot that had once said, “I like you.” His gaze lowered slightly, a soft smile touching his lips. When he looked up at the reporter again, his expression had returned to calm.

“Oh? But it’s already trending on Weibo,” the reporter sneered. “A bunch of unhinged, low-class mad dogs—”

“Shut up.”

His voice was calm.

The surrounding reporters all froze.

They had never expected Fang Huai to speak in such a tone, with such an expression.

He had always seemed so harmless, so pure—almost everyone believed he was incapable of anger, a rural kid who could be easily manipulated.

Turns out, he wasn’t.

Under the dusky evening sky, the boy’s expression remained mild and peaceful. The golden sunset reflected in his light amber eyes, his features youthful and untainted.

But something in the atmosphere had shifted.

“They are not dogs,” Fang Huai said, then smiled faintly. “This is.”

He whistled softly.

Nearby, a small pack of stray dogs that had been napping suddenly perked up their ears.

The next second—several deep, excited “woof woof”s rang out. A few large stray dogs dashed toward Fang Huai, rubbing affectionately against his palm.

Then, they turned to face the reporters.

And their gazes were far from friendly.

The strays were big, their fangs sharp—some even drooling slightly. At a glance, they looked more like wolves than dogs.

The aggressive reporters suddenly broke into cold sweats.

They instinctively took a step back, forcing themselves to stay calm. “This is illegal! Threatening people with animals, this is—this is recorded evidence—”

But after saying that, they realized—those dogs weren’t actually attacking.

They were just scaring them.

But God, it was terrifying!

Who knew if the dogs would suddenly lunge? Who knew if they had rabies?! And Fang Huai’s sudden shift in demeanor—so unpredictable, so unreadable—only made them more afraid.

“Not only are your fans rabid dogs,” one reporter gritted his teeth as he retreated half a step, “but you are too, Fang Huai—”

Fang Huai looked at him, silent.

His light-colored eyes remained quiet and untroubled, still carrying that easygoing warmth.

The young man paused for a moment and then asked seriously, “Do you want to see what a real mad dog looks like?”

The reporter glared. “What do you mean—”

The next second.

The stray dogs that had been relatively well-behaved just moments ago suddenly reared up on their hind legs and barked fiercely at the reporters! They didn’t bite or even touch anyone, but their ferocious stance was enough to send shivers down spines.

A few reporters instinctively felt their legs go weak. When they finally snapped out of it, they turned and ran!

They were scared, but even more, they felt sure now—someone from the countryside was still just that, a country bumpkin. No sense of propriety at all! Did he not care about his reputation at all?!

Fang Huai was nothing but a mad dog!

Behind them.

The clean and handsome young man chuckled, pulled out some money, and bought some jerky to share with the stray dogs. The dogs, who had just looked so menacing, were now obediently rubbing against Fang Huai’s palms, each one competing for his affection.

Fang Huai gently thanked each of them. “Thank you.”

Then, he patted the dust off his clothes, quietly walked back into the Starlight Entertainment building, and dialed Shi Feiran’s number.

Something had to be going on, and he was being kept in the dark.

That wouldn’t do.

*

Meanwhile.

At the Nan City Grand Theater, a classic opera performance was about to debut that evening, attracting quite a few traditional opera enthusiasts. Coincidentally, it was a Kunqu opera. Among the younger, more well-informed audience members, some had already caught wind of the online rumors about Fang Huai’s alleged lip-syncing on Stellar Light.

One of them, a young man in his twenties, was only a half-hearted opera fan. For him, listening to this was half a passion, half a way to show off. The ticket was quite a rare find, and when he first got it, he had flaunted it in every way possible on social media.

As he took his seat, he began chatting smugly with the person next to him.

“That Fang Huai kid must be desperate for fame. He even dared to use Professor Dong’s old recordings to fake his performance… that takes some nerve.”

The middle-aged man beside him was a bit more rational.

“My daughter was watching Stellar Light this morning, and I caught a few glimpses. That kid actually sings quite well. He’s got depth. Sure, he sounds a bit like Professor Dong, but I don’t think he was lip-syncing—it wouldn’t even be possible, right? Professor Dong’s old recordings weren’t that clear back then. Seems more like he’s being framed.”

“First of all, he’s not being framed. He’s obviously lip-syncing. He’s just an amateur—how could he possibly have that level of skill?” The young man waved dismissively.

“And even if he was framed, so what? These days, whatever the internet says is the truth. What, is Professor Dong himself going to come out and defend him? Ha!”

He was, of course, joking.

Professor Dong hadn’t appeared in public for ages. He used to give a few lectures here and there, but lately, rumors said he had fully retired to a quiet life of raising birds and tending to his garden. Even if he was aware of this situation, why would he come forward for some nobody?

Soon, the performance was about to begin.

And then—The doors slowly swung open.

An elderly man stood at the entrance, leaning on a cane, his expression gentle and kind.

For a moment, all the cameras in the room froze.

The next second—flash after flash erupted like a frenzied storm!

Some of the opera fans in the audience were so overwhelmed with excitement that they jumped up, shouting at the top of their lungs—

“Professor Dong!!”

The reporters went absolutely wild—this was a legend of the opera world! There were barely a handful of such figures still alive today!

They swarmed around him, each one pushing forward to ask their questions.

But Dong Rulan simply smiled and said, “No rush, the performance comes first.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he added, “Oh, right… my student told me something today. You young folks have a show called Stellar Light, don’t you? I heard there’s a young boy in it, named Fang Huai?”

The reporters froze for a moment.

“Y-yes…”

Hearing this, they were confused.

Was Professor Dong about to personally condemn the lip-syncing scandal? That didn’t quite fit his style.

At that thought, that “Fang Huai” kid seemed both pitiful and infuriating—infuriating because of the alleged lip-syncing, and pitiful because he was about to be publicly humiliated.

Many people around them had similar thoughts, their expressions turning complicated.

Until the next second.

“I admire him,” Dong Rulan said slowly. He paused slightly, then added, “He sings very well.”

The old man was smiling.

But his eyes carried a certain coldness, a clear message written all over them—Don’t you dare bully my kid.

His protectiveness was unmistakable.

The reporters: “…”
The crowd: “…”

This short clip was uploaded to Weibo.

In just ten minutes, Weibo exploded!

Meanwhile, Lu Yu’s manager had been actively stirring up the online drama, guiding fans to keep spreading negativity. His thinking was the same as everyone else’s—there was no way a legendary figure like Dong Rulan would personally come out to defend Fang Huai. The fan-made audio comparisons lacked weight, so what was there to be afraid of?

The next second, he opened Weibo—and was completely stunned.

W-what the hell just happened?!

Not far away, Lu Yu sat silently, watching Weibo. At first, there was a faint smile on his lips. But as he kept reading, that smile slowly faded.

Now, his face had turned slightly pale.