All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH23

Chapter 23

Dong Rulan had been absent from the public eye for so long that many younger people no longer even knew what he looked like. But they had heard of his achievements.

A true master—one of the most senior and most highly honored figures in the opera world. Everyone of his generation was a household name.

And this just happened to be a Kunqu opera performance, meaning the audience was filled with opera enthusiasts. Many younger attendees were still puzzled, but the middle-aged and elderly fans were already on their feet, some even tearing up.

They looked no different from excited young fanboys.

After saying “He sings very well,” Dong Rulan simply smiled at the cameras, let his student help him to a seat, and calmly began watching the performance—as if he had just casually mentioned it in passing.

Yet, as people struggled to contain their excitement, a new discussion began.

“Who is Fang Huai?”

“A rising star? Never heard of him.”

“My daughter was watching some variety show, and I think that name came up, but I don’t really remember.”

The young man who had been confidently making his argument suddenly froze mid-sentence.

—Just moments ago, he had been saying, “Fang Huai definitely lip-synced. And even if he didn’t, like hell Professor Dong would ever personally step up to clear his name.”

Now: “…”

Damn. That’s gotta hurt.

*

Meanwhile.

The short video quickly racked up over ten thousand shares on Weibo.

The person who posted it was an opera enthusiast—a young professional woman who enjoyed Kunqu opera and also happened to be following Stellar Light. She had watched the live stream that morning. At first, she had no strong opinion on Fang Huai, but by the end of it, she was completely won over by his talent.

And then, to her complete shock, she stumbled upon this dramatic turn of events in the evening!

The internet was still catching up, and at this moment, Lu Yu’s fans—as well as fans of some other contestants—were still gleefully mocking Fang Huai for allegedly lip-syncing, throwing around insults.

[Lip-syncing scum, get out of the entertainment industry.]
[Even daring to ride on Professor Dong’s coattails? Dumb and shameless.]
[Fans misbehave, idols pay the price. Some rabid dog fans are harassing me and threatening to doxx me—can I call the police?]
[…]

The young professional tagged a well-known Weibo gossip account and posted the video.

Her hands had been shaking as she recorded it, so the footage was a bit shaky. But since she had a front-row seat, everything was captured clearly.

The old man in the video looked gentle, his voice well-preserved, and his demeanor steady—a presence shaped by a lifetime in his profession.

[Today, my student told me something. You young folks have a show called Stellar Light, right? I heard there’s a young man in it, named Fang Huai?]

[I admire him. He sings very well.]

His words were clear and deliberate, spoken with absolute sincerity—definitely not a joke.

And the moment the video was posted, Weibo exploded.

*

The first to react was the Kunqu opera fan community.

Several major influencers shared the video without even watching it all the way through—just seeing Professor Dong’s face was enough to make them excitedly repost.

It took about twenty minutes before Stellar Light viewers finally caught on, and chatter started picking up.

[Oh my god, oh my god, @LuYuFans, your guy just ran headfirst into a brick wall, HAHAHA.]
[Anyone who still says he lip-synced, I’m coming for you through the screen.]
[This is the definition of a slap in the face.]

Because the opera community had been too overwhelmed to provide context at first, they hadn’t clearly stated that this was Professor Dong himself in the video.

Which led to the funniest moment yet—Lu Yu’s fans unknowingly set themselves up for disaster.

One of Lu Yu’s biggest fan accounts confidently posted:

@XiaoluChongYa: Who is this old guy? Is he the chairman of the Kunqu Association or some big-shot CEO? How exactly is this a ‘slap in the face’? So what if he admires Fang Huai? Just because he likes Fang Huai, that trash suddenly didn’t lip-sync? LMAO. Whether he lip-synced or not isn’t up to him to decide—only Professor Dong’s word matters!”

The moment they hit “post,” something felt off.

Strangely enough, Fang Huai’s fans… weren’t angrily lashing out.

Instead, they were just laughing in the comments.

[LMAO 2333333]
[You win, you make the rules. HAHAHA this is peak comedy.]
[You’re absolutely right. Professor Dong does get the final say. Pfft.]
[Sis, delete the tweet before it’s too late.]

The fan leader was stunned.

And then—she saw a screenshot from the Spring Festival Gala a few years ago… featuring Dong Rulan’s opera performance.

The person on stage was exactly the same as the one in the video.

The fan leader: “…”

Damn.

*

This time, Fang Huai’s fans were incredibly polite.

They had learned their lesson—earlier, their excitement had drawn a lot of negative attention to their idol. After some reflection, they tried to be more mindful. Of course, the main source of the rumors wasn’t actually them—it was the fake fans deliberately stirring the pot.

[@LuYuFans, kindly take a look.]

[This is what Professor Dong said himself—‘He sings well. I admire him.’ Or do you believe our boy has godlike powers and somehow bribed Professor Dong into making a false statement?]

[Dumb and toxic—please keep those three words for yourselves. No need to thank us.]

[@LuYuFans, does your face hurt? If it does, we recommend applying some ice water, sweetie.]

Lu Yu’s fans: “…”

Professor Dong actually stepped forward?

…How is this possible?!

This thought flashed through the minds of countless people—including Lu Yu himself and his manager.

Lu Yu’s face had turned pale. He exchanged a tense look with his manager, both scrambling to figure out their next move.

*

In China’s idol survival shows, only the winner matters.

This was a golden opportunity—one that had to be seized, no matter the cost.

Lu Yu had fully expected to dominate the talent segment. His team had already marketed it, bought promo posts, and secured media coverage.

Beyond that, he had paid an additional price—and yet, despite everything, this damn rural nobody still made it through.

What the hell was so special about him?!

*

Meanwhile, Lu Yu’s most aggressive fans were absolutely dumbfounded.

Some had just wanted to cause chaos, while others had genuinely believed that Fang Huai lip-synced and stole Lu Yu’s spotlight.

Now? They were starting to doubt everything.

[Professor Dong himself denied it. There’s literally no better evidence than this. So what was all that confidence from Lu Yu’s side about? I think I just switched sides.]

[Wait… was Lu Yu the one behind this smear campaign? That’s kind of disgusting.]

[No lip-syncing? Fang Huai’s actually that good? How is that even possible?!]

[Okay, fine, maybe he didn’t lip-sync. But Fang Huai’s fans are rabid attack dogs—there’s no denying that.]

People weren’t stupid.

They could tell exactly who had started this entire mess.

And as a result, Lu Yu’s Weibo followers started dropping—fast.

His manager’s face turned completely black.

And it didn’t stop there.

The shift in public opinion directly impacted the talent competition’s voting results.

Lu Yu had originally surpassed Fang Huai in votes.

But now? Fang Huai’s vote count began to surge—like crazy.

Li Yun clutched her phone, her heart pounding, nervously watching the numbers climb.

Her father, Li Su, had already told Professor Dong about Fang Huai. She had expected Professor Dong to react, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would personally step in. This was truly an unexpected surprise.

However, Lu Yu had a large fan base, and with the previous wave of publicity—plus the fact that Fang Huai’s fans had been labeled as “mad dogs”—even though Fang Huai’s votes were skyrocketing, they were still trailing behind.

“We need to find a way to get more votes for our boy,” Li Yun murmured.

Lu Yu’s team was using the dirtiest tactic for vote-pulling: belittling the competition. They definitely couldn’t do the same, but what was the best way to help their boy gain votes effectively?

She joined a fan group where Fang Huai’s main supporters gathered. At that moment, the group was discussing the issue.

[What do you all think about a retweet giveaway?]

[Our influence isn’t strong enough.]

[Should we pay a big influencer for promotion?]

[…]

A user named “User178656” repeated: [Retweet giveaway?]

Li Yun noticed this and found it a little strange for a moment. That person seemed like they had traveled from ten years ago—their profile picture was the default penguin icon, and their username was just a system-generated default. But she quickly moved on to other concerns.

*

8:00 PM, Ptah Headquarters

An emergency research and development meeting had just concluded. Usually, Ye Yuyuan would stay behind to give further instructions, but today, he uncharacteristically stood up and was the first to leave the meeting room.

His secretary followed closely behind.

The man was dressed in a perfectly tailored high-end suit, buttoned up meticulously to the top. His thin lips were pressed into a straight line, and a faint frown rested between his brows. Back in his office, he wordlessly turned on his tablet and watched for twenty minutes.

After twenty minutes, Ye Yuyuan switched off the tablet and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.

The secretary waited in silence.

After a moment of silence, Ye Yuyuan asked in a low voice,

“What does ‘retweet giveaway’ mean?”

*

Fang Huai called Shi Feiran.

Shi Feiran spoke vaguely, glossing over the key points—he didn’t really want Fang Huai to know the details. One reason was that, given Fang Huai’s current situation, even if he knew, he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

The other reason… he just wanted Fang Huai to always remain carefree, even if that idea was a bit ridiculous.

Fang Huai was an exceptionally pure-hearted kid.

Shi Feiran couldn’t fully explain why, but he really didn’t want Fang Huai to know about all this, so he instinctively kept it from him. As a result, after the call ended, Fang Huai was still completely in the dark.

Based on his current level of understanding, he really couldn’t piece together the truth from Shi Feiran’s ambiguous words.

Fang Huai sat cross-legged in the training room. Night had fallen, and the Star Entertainment building had grown quiet once again. Moonlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

What he did know was…

Earlier, those reporters had said, “Everyone is calling your fans mad dogs.”

Fang Huai picked up his phone and clumsily typed out a Weibo post.

“I believe in you.”

Just five words, yet it took him nearly ten minutes to type. He could only use handwriting input and wasn’t very familiar with how to operate it, so he fumbled through it before finally posting.

Once the post was up, many of Fang Huai’s fans saw those five words and suddenly felt their eyes sting with emotion.

Normally, when they defended Fang Huai and fought back against haters, their words were sharp and relentless, often accompanied by lengthy, 800-word rebuttals. But now, facing their keyboards, they found themselves at a loss for words.

The hashtag #FangHuaiFansAreMadDogs was still trending high on the hot search list.

Many fans told themselves it was fine. After all, they were the ones being insulted, not Fang Huai. As long as their boy was okay, that was all that mattered.

But deep down, there was still a tiny pang of grievance.

Typically, when fans were attacked—especially in such a heated controversy—most celebrities would distance themselves, sever ties, and disown their fan base.

Very few… or rather, almost no idols would step forward to protect their fans. After all, idols were often blamed for their fans’ actions, and once labels like “doxxers” or “mad dogs” were attached, the easiest way out was to disown the fanbase—otherwise, the idol themselves would also face criticism.

But at this moment, Fang Huai stood up.

For many, the emotions they felt were indescribable. One moment, they thought Fang Huai shouldn’t have spoken up; the next, their hearts swelled with a bittersweet feeling, as if tasting something sweet on the tip of their tongues amidst the strange turmoil in their chests.

Any lingering grievances in their hearts disappeared entirely.

[Baby, liking you is such a happy thing.]

[You really didn’t have to stand up for us. Truly, we all understand. Now the haters will come after you too.]

[Huai Huai, I always thought I was the one protecting you… but I never expected you’d turn around and protect us instead…]

[Baby, I’m sorry… Mama ended up dragging you into hate again QAQ.]

“……”

Fang Huai looked at the comments and smiled.

He wanted to reply to each one, but he typed too slowly, so he could only pick a few to respond to.

He put down his phone and let out a long breath.

There wasn’t much he could do, and at this moment, he suddenly realized how small and powerless he was. He didn’t even fully understand how all of this started, but one thing was certain—

It was because he still wasn’t enough.

Not good enough.

He wanted to become better. So good that the people who liked him would never have to endure insults or disdain again.

The moonlight was quiet.

His light amber eyes reflected its glow, soft and pure, slowly filling with something deep inside.

—Originally, he had joined the talent show simply to fulfill Fang Jianguo’s wish. Later, he wanted more people to hear his songs. But now, the desire to become better surged within him stronger than ever before.

The training room was on the first floor, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was a wide-open space.

A Maybach sat quietly in the distance.

A stern, handsome man stood in silence. He was positioned just outside the reach of a streetlamp’s glow, his broad shoulders brushed with a faint, soft light.

His dark eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, seemed unexpectedly gentle in that fleeting moment.

He lowered his head, holding a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other, lightly outlining shapes on the paper.

The drawing depicted a young boy.

His light-colored eyes seemed to hold a sky full of stars—clean and impossibly handsome. His eyelashes drooped slightly, as if he were lost in a beautiful dream, or perhaps taking a lazy afternoon nap on the brightest spring day.

That night.

A well-known but usually silent Weibo artist with a considerable following posted a new tweet.

“Bu Tu (Verified): Retweet giveaway. Vote for Stellar Light @FangHuai(Verified). Ten lucky winners will receive a limited-edition Ptah tablet (5th generation). [Image]”

This artist didn’t produce work frequently, but their skill was undeniably top-tier. Because they rarely engaged in social interactions or online discussions, they had nonetheless amassed a dedicated fanbase. But when these fans saw the words “Ten lucky winners will receive a limited-edition Ptah tablet (5th generation)”, they all fell into stunned silence.

…What the hell?!

Ten winners???

This model was just released last month and hadn’t even hit the consumer market yet. There were supposedly only 100 units worldwide. Was this person hacked? Were they secretly rich? Or… were they actually related to Ye Yuyuan?!

That said, the artwork attached to the post maintained its usual high quality.

It was a pencil sketch—of Fang Huai.

The strokes were gentle, flowing with delicate tenderness. The boy in the drawing seemed to be cherished by the entire world, untouched by hardship, pure and innocent.

In the corner of the drawing, a line of text was written. The normally bold and powerful handwriting was softened, every stroke and turn carrying an unmistakable gentleness—

“May you always be carefree.”

His deity did not need to grow up.

Fang Huai could stay in his utopia forever—always innocent, always romantic, always untouched by the harshness of the world.

All the suffering and burdens… let him bear them instead.

---

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