Chapter 27
It was a strange feeling.
When Fang Huai stood on stage, it became almost impossible to look away.
There was no introduction. The structured rhythm of the final had already been broken, yet it somehow didn’t feel abrupt.
Fang Huai commanded attention—completely.
Some audience members, confused, even turned to ask the person next to them:
“Was this a planned surprise from the show?”
Normally, variety competitions had a set format—typically, a pre-recorded VCR introduction, then the contestant’s performance, followed by judges’ scoring and commentary. Many people had thought the competition was wrapping up, only for someone to appear out of nowhere.
And he didn’t just enter—he jumped straight onto the stage.
It should have been jarring. But Fang Huai’s aura and visuals were strong enough to hold the moment together. It wasn’t disruptive—just intriguing.
The person beside them gave an awkward smile. “No, he’s just—”
But suddenly, they quieted. Like many others, their eyes were involuntarily drawn toward the stage.
The entire venue fell silent. Some even held their breath.
The boy had leaped onto the stage and now stood at its center, his long lashes catching the glimmer of light.
He reached forward—his right hand, once clenched, slowly unfurled.
The next second, the music burst into life!
It was an electronic beat, simulating a heartbeat rising and falling like tidal waves. The lights flickered in sync with the rhythm, pulsing to match the boy standing at the center of the stage.
He raised one hand to his earpiece.
The audience instinctively held their breath.
The last time Fang Huai stood on this stage, he had been stiff and hesitant. But this time, it was as if every breath he took blended seamlessly into the melody.
The intro music gradually accelerated, leading up to the final blackout before the lights flared back on.
[Wait, this song?!]
[Has this kid gotten cocky from all the fan praise? Did he forget how badly he failed last time?]
[I don’t know… I feel like his whole aura is kinda different this time. I’m actually excited.]
The song was called Childish.
The lights flashed back on.
After a brief moment of darkness, every eye in the venue locked onto the stage.
And in that exact moment, the boy opened his eyes—
—And sang the first lyric.
His voice was crisp and clear, smooth yet slightly raspy, carrying the kind of soft, youthful tone that sent a shiver down the spine. Maybe it was because he was sick, but there was a faint nasal quality, a slight hoarseness—yet it somehow suited the song’s style perfectly.
This was an English song. The original artist had written it at just sixteen years old.
Xiao Wang was shocked because, although the choreography for this song wasn’t technically difficult, it had an overwhelming number of details. Even as a dance major, she found it tedious to break down every tiny movement. It took an exhausting amount of effort and patience to master.
But if performed well, the effect was stunning.
And as the first lyric left his lips, Fang Huai took a small step forward—stepping directly into the rhythm.
He wore no makeup, yet under the stage lights, his skin appeared flawless. His slightly oversized shirt didn’t seem to be his own size, and as he moved, the loose collar shifted just enough to reveal a glimpse of his pale collarbone.
Tall and slender, his entire body exuded an inexplicable elegance.
Every step he took landed perfectly on the beat. His naturally tousled hair lifted slightly with his movements. Each motion was fluid, effortless, carrying a unique blend of boyish charm—cool yet carefree, strikingly handsome in a way that felt almost unreal.
At first glance, the dance seemed laid-back.
Like a handsome high school boy dozing lazily through math class, absentmindedly reaching out to tease the tiny kitten curled up on the windowsill. Or like a teenager strolling aimlessly through the streets after school, backpack slung over one shoulder, smiling as he handed a piece of candy to a girl his age, as if time itself was an endless luxury to be spent however he pleased.
The choreography fused elements of waltz and jazz—graceful yet playful, an elegant contradiction in perfect harmony.
It looked casual on the surface, but Childish had an incredibly fast rhythm, packed with intricate details.
A normal person would be exhausted halfway through the song. Fang Huai, already running a fever, lasted only thirty seconds before a faint flush spread across his cheeks. His hearing was beginning to distort, weakening his control over the melody. He had to strain just to catch the beat of the drums in the backing track.
And yet, he didn’t miss a single step.
Countless hours of relentless practice had ingrained the choreography into his muscle memory. Even without clearly hearing the music, as long as he had the slightest outline of the rhythm, he could land on every beat with pinpoint accuracy and execute every move flawlessly.
Because of the fever, the tip of his nose and the sides of his cheeks were tinged with red. His light amber eyes were misty, almost dazed. Handsome, clean-cut—yet carrying a fragile beauty that made it impossible to look away.
After a brief silence, the audience erupted once more.
[Why does he look so damn attractive right now?! What’s happening?!]
[Am I the only one focused on his singing? Holy crap, why is his pronunciation so flawless? That British accent is killing me!]
[Younger, rebellious boyfriend type with soft kitten energy? YES. I’M IN LOVE.]
[Did he just get it all of a sudden??! I’ve seen this dance before—not trying to start drama, but he’s doing it really well. There’s just this vibe that’s hard to describe.]
Fang Huai’s singing ability had never been in question. From the very first round of auditions, his vocal talent had carried him through. But this time, while his voice remained stellar—his dance was equally mesmerizing.
Captivating. Impossible to ignore.
As a dance major, Xiao Wang saw things more clearly than the average viewer. Fang Huai must have trained himself to the highest standard—every detail of this routine was honed to perfection, so much so that it radiated an effortless, natural grace. It was what dancers called feeling the music.
She was relieved she hadn’t left the livestream earlier—but also regretted not recording this performance.
Was Fang Huai naturally gifted, or was this purely the result of relentless effort? At this point, no one could tell.
The director, however, was ecstatic.
His gamble had paid off.
He had seen Fang Huai’s rehearsal performance before—the improvement from the third round had been significant, but still far from this level.
Not only had he held his own on stage, but he had also delivered a completely unexpected and unforgettable performance.
Childish was a song that exuded youthful nonchalance, yet its rapid tempo made it deceptively difficult. The true challenge, however, lay in the bridge—a sudden tempo change that sped up even further. The electronic beat became slightly surreal, pushing the song to its climax.
Some critics called this section a misstep. But for many fans, it was the moment that made them fall in love with the song.
And now, the audience was eagerly awaiting it.
Then—an unexpected incident.
Fang Huai was wearing an off-white linen shirt, not a crisp formal white but one with a slightly vintage, beige undertone. The buttons were slightly larger than usual, and because the fit was loose, his movements often revealed glimpses of his waist or collarbone.
During a particularly sharp movement, as he arched his back, something went wrong—
The top button of his shirt suddenly popped off!
It was the very first button at the collar. With it gone, a small expanse of his chest was exposed. Fang Huai wasn’t overly muscular, but a thin layer of definition covered his collarbones and chest—subtle yet striking, like fine porcelain.
The audience was already on the verge of screaming.
And then—
The most unbelievable thing happened.
The button flew into the air—
—And landed directly between Fang Huai’s teeth.
A tall, slender boy in an oversized vintage shirt. Light amber eyes hazy with fever, cheeks slightly flushed. A delicate collarbone peeking out. And between his lips—a single button.
“……”
For a fleeting second, his amber eyes flickered with confusion.
But the very next moment, he slipped seamlessly into the next move, palming the button discreetly as he adjusted his earpiece.
A wave of screams erupted from the audience.
The live chat exploded.
[AAAAAH I’M DEAD! That was so smooth! The original choreography didn’t have that move!]
[That had to be an accident, right?! His quick reaction was insane!]
[That was adorable, hahaha! Did anyone else notice that little moment of confusion?!]
This unexpected incident only heightened the anticipation, making everyone even more eager for what was coming next.
But only Fang Huai himself knew…
His condition was terrible.
In fact, it was getting worse by the second. His head was pounding, his throat ached, and what had started as a mild fever had now escalated—bringing with it ringing ears and distorted vision. His eyes were hazy, not from deliberate performance acting, but from the sheer discomfort forcing out reflexive tears.
And the next section of the song was even harder, demanding greater precision in both singing and dancing.
He hid it well. Almost no one noticed anything unusual about him.
Except for one person.
A tall, sharp-featured man in an impeccably tailored suit stood in silence, watching the stage with a solemn gaze.
He had attended every single one of Fang Huai’s performances. He didn’t always meet him in person, but no matter how busy he was, he made sure to be there.
Tonight was no exception.
In fact, just half an hour ago, it was he who had driven Fang Huai here—while the boy was still running a fever.
Ye Yuyuan hadn’t wanted him to compete in this condition. Back then, as he looked into those pale, determined eyes, he had stayed silent for a long time. In the end, he merely pressed his lips together and relented.
This was Fang Huai’s decision to make. No one else had the right to choose for him.
Even if it hurt.
Watching that stubborn boy, pushing through despite the fever, forcing himself to be his very best—Ye Yuyuan’s chest ached with something raw and painful.
Everyone in the audience was cheering, amazed at Fang Huai’s astonishing progress.
Ye Yuyuan showed no outward reaction. His dark eyes remained composed, his expression unreadable. But his grip on the armrest had tightened—his knuckles turning pale.
Then, without warning, he stood up.
His secretary, startled, turned to him. “President Ye?”
Ye Yuyuan stared at the boy on stage for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out.
The hallway was long, faintly illuminated by distant light.
A private corridor connected the VIP viewing area on the second floor to the backstage. As he passed by one particular room, a voice from inside caught his ear.
His footsteps slowed.
For the briefest moment, a glint of cold mockery flickered in his deep, abyss-like eyes—only to disappear just as quickly.
He walked forward, passing through the staff-only passageway, until he reached a spot close to the stage.
This was an area outside the view of any cameras—yet close enough to respond to any emergencies.
Ye Yuyuan stood tall and straight. A faint glow from the stage lights brushed against his shoulders, making it seem as though frost and snow had settled upon him. He remained silent, tilting his head slightly upward, his deep black eyes softening as he gazed intently at the stage.
His heart and mind were filled entirely with his child.
Everyone was cheering for Fang Huai, mesmerized by him, hoping he would rise higher and soar farther.
Only Ye Yuyuan feared he would be left drifting without a home.
Only Ye Yuyuan worried about his pain, his sorrow, his struggles.
And only Ye Yuyuan was thinking—
If Fang Huai were to fall… how should he catch him?
