Chapter 26
Lightboards with “Go, Baby!” and “Huaihuai, You Got This!” glowed lonely yet bright in the dim venue.
There were many of them, scattered across different sections. Unlike other fans, they didn’t scream or cheer—they just held up their lightboards, silently and stubbornly.
One person wasn’t there.
But his name shined in every corner of the venue.
They knew—Fang Huai probably wouldn’t make it here.
Wouldn’t be able to stand on stage and receive the applause, the cheers, the glory he deserved.
But they wanted his name to be here; Wanted it to light up this stage; Wanted it to never fade away.
During a break between performances, the head judge noticed the glowing signs.
He raised an eyebrow.
The mystery guest judge was young—almost too young. His skin was pale, nearly sickly white. A single earring dangled from his left ear, and he lounged in his seat with a handsome yet careless air, looking perpetually bored, even on camera.
He stared at the lightboards for a moment before turning to the person next to him.
“Who’s Fang Huai?”
The judge beside him chuckled and explained, “A contestant. He’s sick, seems like he withdrew.”
The guest judge gave a disinterested “oh.”
Maybe the production team still had hope—Fang Huai’s performance slot was scheduled last.
But even when the second-to-last contestant took the stage, he still hadn’t shown up.
Miracles had happened before.
During the auditions; During the preliminary rounds; During the talent showcase.
But not this time.
People began to realize—Fang Huai wasn’t coming.
He wasn’t a god.
He could get tired; He could fall sick; He couldn’t always fulfill every expectation, every wish.
And yet—
It still felt unfair.
They felt unfairness on his behalf.
But…
“It’s okay if he’s not here.”
“The place you long to reach—one day, you will get there. Because—”
“You are already shining.”
Many fans flocked to Fang Huai’s Weibo to leave comments.
It wasn’t comfort.
It wasn’t pity.
Fang Huai’s last post was from the day before—just two simple words: “Good night.”
His posts were always simple, never filled with cutesy emojis or unnecessary words. But he would seriously respond to fans’ questions.
The slogan of “Stellar Light” was: “Stand at the highest place and touch the light of the stars.”
And so, fans naturally started a hashtag campaign on Weibo.
“You don’t need to reach out. You are already a star.”
He had been shining all along.
The second-to-last contestant was Lu Yu.
The scene was eerily similar to the preliminary round.
Back then, Fang Huai was late too.
But at that time—
He didn’t have as many people supporting him. Not as many people had seen his worth.
And yet—
Back then… he made it.
Lu Yu’s singing and dancing were solid.
He chose the right style, and despite his past scandals, his performance still drew loud cheers from the audience.
[Lu Yu’s performance was great! I don’t get why you guys keep hating on him. Jealous much?]
[Come on, we all know what’s going on here. If Lu Yu wins tonight, it’s pure luck. He’s just picking up the leftovers.]
[And? What’s wrong with luck? Lmao. Unlike your fave—who has neither luck nor skill. Deserved to flop forever.]
Toxic comments like these were quickly deleted by the moderators.
But Fang Huai’s fans were still waiting.
Still hoping.
What if…?
On stage, Lu Yu finished his speech.
The host stood by, ready to read out the sponsor’s ad script—
Once that was done, the judges would give scores, and the final wrap-up would begin.
The show wouldn’t keep 200,000 live viewers waiting for one person.
Even if Fang Huai showed up now, it would be too late.
Even if he made it—wouldn’t he still need time to change outfits? Get his makeup done?
The show wouldn’t leave such a huge gap for him.
Just as Lu Yu stepped off the stage,
The female host gripped her microphone, preparing to step forward—
Then suddenly—
The main doors swung open.
And light poured in.
The cameras were already rolling.
Once filming began, the doors were never supposed to be opened.
Unless—Someone realized something.
[HOLY SH*T, IS HE REALLY HERE LAST MINUTE AGAIN?!]
[Is it still possible? But there’s no time for makeup!]
[I don’t even know what to say. I just want to cry.]
But unlike last time, when Fang Huai rushed in at the last second—This time, the entire venue fell silent.
Everyone was watching him.
A boy stood there, dressed in a slightly oversized white shirt, his pants cuffed just enough to reveal a slender, pale ankle.
He looked like a high school student who had just gotten out of class.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
His light amber eyes shimmered like water, and the flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded yet.
Fang Huai still had a fever.
The high fever had broken, but the low-grade fever lingered, and complications kept coming in waves.
He had been drifting in and out of dreams until evening.
When he finally opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling,
The first thought that surfaced in his mind was—Today is the final of Stellar Light.
He was coming. Fang Huai thought, he had to come.
So many people… were waiting for him.
So he came.
The venue fell into silence for nearly half a minute.
The female host stood frozen with the microphone in hand, glancing toward the executive director for help. The director pressed his earpiece, listening for a moment before gesturing to her—indicating, not yet.
Just now, in his earpiece, that same cold, low voice from before had spoken again:
“Delay.”
The director signaled to the crew. A single spotlight locked onto the entrance, trailing forward with each step the young man took.
His heart pounded violently as he made the decision. Delaying the program for three minutes just for Fang Huai—this was all he could do. Even if Ye Yuyuan hadn’t asked for it, he would have done the same.
It was a risk. A championship seed player arriving at the last moment was undeniably dramatic, but if Fang Huai failed in his performance, if the entire rhythm of the final was thrown off, neither he nor the show would escape an avalanche of criticism.
And the odds of failure were high—after all, his singing and dancing in the third round had been terrible. He had no leverage.
A high-stakes gamble with little chance of winning.
The crowd parted, opening a path leading straight to the stage, and Fang Huai walked along it.
A tense silence hung over the venue.
Like water at the brink of boiling over, emotions simmered—until—
A fan holding a light board suddenly burst into tears.
“Huaihuai, you got this,” she sobbed.
And then, all the pent-up emotions erupted at once—whether excitement or sheer relief after enduring immense pressure, as if they had survived a disaster.
“Huaihuai, you got this!”
“Go for it, baby!!”
“No pressure, we all believe in you.”
The voices started small, scattered, then gathered, growing louder.
Finally, as if rehearsed, every Fang Huai fan in the venue shouted in unison:
“Fang Huai, you got this!”
“No need to reach out—you’re already a star.”
No need to reach out—you’re already a star.
Born in obscurity, as insignificant as dust.
A star buried beneath layers of sand has always been shining—only its light was unseen.
Now, they had seen it. And in the future, more people would see it too.
Sooner or later, his name would be etched into the heart of the light, never to fade.
Fang Huai was stunned.
He took half a step back and solemnly bowed in the direction of the voices.
No words. No sound needed.
A deeply reverent bow, held for ten full seconds.
Finally, he looked at the people holding up his name in lights, smiled, and stepped forward.
The young man, embraced by the light, walked onto the stage.
The stage was high, about chest-level to Fang Huai. The stairs were off to the side—but that would take too long. The rhythm of the final had already been disrupted; even a one-minute delay would be costly.
[No makeup? No outfit change?]
[No time. He has to go on directly—definitely a disadvantage.]
[As long as he made it, that’s all that matters. Really.]
“Do you need us to get you a ladder?” the assistant director asked.
“No need.”
Fang Huai looked at him, smiled, and shook his head.
Then, with one hand gripping the edge of the stage, he lightly leaped—
His loose shirt lifted slightly, revealing a smooth, well-defined waistline. The breeze tousled his hair as he agilely swung himself up onto the stage, the movement crisp and effortlessly cool.
The air, stagnant for so long, suddenly began to flow again.
“Fang Huai, catch!” someone shouted from the audience.
Fang Huai raised a hand and caught the object thrown toward him.
“Thanks.”
It was a headset mic.
He fastened it, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Without makeup, under the stage lights, his porcelain-white skin looked flawless—handsome and pristine, as if every beam of light favored him.
He squinted slightly at the audience and smiled.
“Fang Huai, I like you!” In the silence, a few fans suddenly shouted.
“I like you guys too,” he said earnestly. “Very much.”
Fans gripped their light boards, nodding tearfully.
After those words, he closed his eyes. One by one, the stage lights dimmed until only a single spotlight remained.
Truthfully, he wasn’t in good shape.
Low fever, dizziness, complications causing tinnitus and auditory distortion.
But none of that mattered now.
Standing at the center of the stage—at the center of all the light—he opened his right hand, palm facing upward. His eyelashes, dusted with light, slowly lifted—
The music struck like a thunderclap!
*
Xiao Wang was an art student, a junior at Nan City Dance Academy. She had been following Stellar Light recently, but unlike some fans, she didn’t like Fang Huai.
Xiao Wang was a face enthusiast, but not just a face enthusiast—this was a singing-and-dancing competition, after all. If she wanted to admire good looks, she could just look at photo shoots or runway shows.
A contestant who couldn’t dance was nothing more than a decorative vase to her.
And Fang Huai was that vase.
Not even a particularly successful one, she thought with some disdain. She wasn’t into that clean-cut, boy-next-door type. Idol fandom wasn’t about raising a kid—what was the point of a celebrity with zero hormonal appeal?
At 8 PM sharp, Xiao Wang opened the livestream.
She had specifically asked a friend about the final. The friend said Fang Huai would probably forfeit, which was why she even bothered to watch.
After all, during the third round, Fang Huai’s dancing had been painful to watch. How could his fans still have the nerve to say things like “Do you know how hard he works?” or “He’s improving!” when his performance was that bad?
So, when Xiao Wang saw Fang Huai arrive at the last moment and the director immediately cut the camera to him, she rolled her eyes dramatically, ready to exit the livestream.
Suddenly, her finger froze mid-air.
It was that moment—when Fang Huai braced himself on the edge of the stage and flipped up in one smooth motion.
Fang Huai had a lean, tall figure with well-proportioned limbs. Today, he happened to be wearing a slightly oversized shirt, highlighting the elegant lines from his wrist bone to his elbow. And as his movement lifted the hem of his shirt slightly, it inadvertently revealed a sliver of his waistline.
His hair was tousled by the wind.
Xiao Wang blinked, momentarily dazed.
—As a dance student, she was naturally sensitive to movement. The same routine, the same steps—when performed by a professional versus an amateur, the difference was stark. Amateurs often looked awkward due to a lack of foundation and awareness—they simply hadn’t “clicked” with dance yet.
Even something as simple as leaping onto a stage—some did it stiffly and lifelessly. Fang Huai had been like that before. His last performance wasn’t that terrible—he had clearly paid attention to detail—but his movements were rigid, tense, completely lacking in natural flow.
But now, something had changed.
The livestream chat was noticing it too.
[Holy—was that flip just now actually kinda hot? I wasn’t ready for this.]
[Made a gif of it. Dare I hope he’s finally getting it? It’d be a shame for someone with his physique to suck at dancing.]
[Is this one of those cases where accumulation leads to transformation? He’s definitely not naturally gifted—if he were, his last dance wouldn’t have been that disastrous.]
Xiao Wang hesitated, then withdrew her hand and decided to watch for ten more minutes. Just ten minutes—it wouldn’t waste too much time.
Then Fang Huai stepped into the center of the stage, clipped on his headset mic, and stood under the gathered lights.
The moment the music started, Xiao Wang’s eyes widened in surprise.
—It’s this song?!
