Chapter 29
As the final note of the song played, the lights went out.
In the vast concert hall, only glow sticks and light boards remained, emitting a faint glow. The abrupt shift in brightness caused temporary vision loss for many, and most were still immersed in the breathtaking performance they had just witnessed.
Viewers watching the live broadcast had no idea what had happened. Their screens had gone completely black, but the comment section was still scrolling rapidly.
[SO HANDSOME AHHHHH!!!]
[I didn’t care about him at all during the auditions, but now?? I’M OBSESSED.]
[You did it, my boy! I’m so lucky to be your fan.]
Casual viewers marveled. Fans swelled with pride.
But only the judges and some of the front-row audience saw what had truly happened—
The boy on stage had fallen.
One foot had stepped into empty air.
His body, utterly drained and overwhelmed, had no strength left to resist.
The loose fabric of his shirt billowed in the wind as he fell—his collarbone and shoulder line etched in a delicate yet fragile curve.
Everything happened too fast.
Even the director and staff hadn’t reacted in time.
Yet, for those who saw it, their hearts seized in an instant.
Shi Feiran shot up from his seat, eyes almost turning red.
He hadn’t been able to reach Fang Huai since the night before. Like most fans, he had stupidly believed that if Fang Huai looked fine on stage, then he must be fine.
At the judges’ table, the head judge suddenly sat up straighter, his gaze shifting toward the edge of the stage.
He had platinum-blond hair—a color that most people couldn’t pull off.
A single earring glinted on his right ear. His skin was pale, almost sickly, contrasting sharply with his handsome yet rebellious features.
He looked young—almost too young for his status, but his presence was undeniable.
During the cold winter of China’s music industry, there had been only one name that could still dominate the charts—Duan Yang.
The moment his albums dropped, they shot to #1.
He swept through every major award.
His fame stretched beyond China, burning through half the world.
Just two days ago, he had returned from his world tour.
The original head judge had scheduling conflicts, so Duan Yang was invited last minute to hold down the fort.
He had been disinterested the entire competition, barely showing any personal preference. But no one dared to comment on it—no one dared to say anything about him at all.
Duan Yang was just that kind of person. Short-tempered, confrontational, explosive at the slightest provocation.
He had even cursed out the media on live television once, calling them idiots. Very few people dared to mess with him.
He didn’t know who Fang Huai was.
When Fang Huai appeared, he only lifted his eyelids impatiently.
For a moment, he even considered taking out his hearing aids.
Very few people knew about his hearing impairment.
His vision was also bad—severely nearsighted. Beyond five meters, he couldn’t even make out people’s faces.
Whenever he found a situation annoying, he would just take out his hearing aids—instant peace and quiet.
His agent had once tried to market him as some kind of “modern Beethoven—disabled yet determined, brimming with talent.”
Duan Yang cursed him into silence before he ever got the chance.
His fingers were long and slender—pianist hands.
The pads of his index and middle fingers were calloused from years of smoking.
He reached up to touch his hearing aid and let out a lazy yawn—
Then, the singing started.
A clean, distinctive voice.
Slightly husky, a young yet captivating tone.
Even in the noisy, chaotic atmosphere, it was like a sharp clarity cutting through the haze.
Duan Yang’s fingers stopped.
His expression flickered with a trace of surprise.
For a split second, he lost focus.
His hand, mid-motion to remove his hearing aid, suddenly stilled.
And for the entire song, he never took it off.
When the music abruptly cut off, Duan Yang even felt mildly annoyed.
That’s it?! Why so short?!
He couldn’t see the stage.
All he could hear were the judges whispering beside him.
“What happened up there?”
“Did Fang Huai fall?”
“I didn’t see clearly.”
“That height… it must’ve hurt, right?”
Duan Yang hummed absently, half-listening.
The judge next to him—an idol celebrity—had been trying to start a conversation with him all night, but Duan Yang had been aloof, indifferent.
Sensing an opening, the idol finally joked, “What, don’t tell me you’ve fallen off a stage before too?”
“When I was a kid.”
Duan Yang’s tone was flat, impatient.
After saying that, he closed his eyes.
That bone-deep, freezing sensation crawled over him again—
The feeling of life draining away.
No sound.
A horrifying silence.
Even after all these years, he still remembered what it felt like to hover on the edge of death.
Both his hearing and sight had disappeared.
Only his sense of smell remained.
At first, all he could smell was cold rain, wet soil, the metallic tang of blood.
But then, at the last moment—He had suddenly caught a different scent.
Like freshly sun-dried blankets.
Warm. Clean.
With a faint hint of milk.
It had wrapped around him completely, undeniable and inescapable.
Duan Yang kept his eyes shut.
The idol, sensing he had just killed the mood, awkwardly scratched his nose and shut up.
The judges’ seats were close to the stage—but far from the edges.
None of them had seen what truly happened. For a single instant, the world plunged into darkness.
The wind lifted the hem of the boy’s shirt.
Many had a gasp caught in their throats.
Some even stood up, stepping forward instinctively.
But it was already too late.
The finale venue was huge.
For the sake of broadcasting and recording, the closest people to Fang Huai were still several meters away.
Time slowed.
The widening eyes of the front-row audience.
The director’s panicked movements.
The manager’s voice—stuck in his throat, unable to shout in time.
And then—Someone saw it.
A figure. Standing silently below the stage.
He was tall, his thin lips pressed tightly together, completely out of place amidst the surrounding noise and clamor. The chaos around him seemed to quiet down entirely in his presence. His pitch-black eyes gazed seriously and silently at the young man, carrying a somber hue due to the tight grip in his chest.
Fang Huai was in pain, suffering. In the moment of his fall, he was also afraid—but no one could see it.
Fang Huai was a god, a star. Stars are meant to shine brightly, never falling ill, never fragile. Everyone marvels at their brilliance, yet no one notices the scratches and wounds on their surface.
But Ye Yuyuan could see them.
“What happened up there? Was there an accident?”
“No idea, it’s completely silent.”
“Why aren’t the lights on yet? I want to see my baby! He must have the highest score.”
“…”
Even at this moment, very few people realized that the star was about to fall.
He was too tired.
He had walked such a long road without resting for even a second.
Many gazes pierced through the dim light, focusing on the small space at the edge of the stage. Some were confused, some curious, and some concerned…
Ye Yuyuan slightly tilted his head, standing in silence below the stage.
—Under the gaze of thousands, he reached out and caught the falling star in his arms.
*
After Stellar Light ended, Weibo exploded.
This finale had countless highlights, dominating four of the top five trending searches overnight. Not only were there shocking moments, but also an earth-shattering scandal involving Lu Yu, nearly crashing the entire platform.
The trending searches included #FangHuaiChildishVideo, #FangHuaiChampion, and #IsFangHuaiSick? The fourth one was related to Lu Yu—#LuYuCancelled.
Lu Yu was completely done for, with no chance of making a comeback. The scandals were laid out clearly. Some people had initially wanted to defend him, but after being bombarded with all the revelations, they fell into silence.
Fortunately, his downfall did not affect the airing of Stellar Light.
[Let’s light a candle.]
[I used to be a fan of his… it was like a cult. Every time something happened, they would push fans to take the fall, and when things went wrong, they’d sacrifice the fans. Absolutely disgusting.]
[His so-called talent was completely fake. He sure had some guts, though.]
However, most people were more concerned about Fang Huai’s condition.
Many were also desperate to find out the identity of the person who caught him on stage—but strangely enough, all related discussions were deleted almost instantly, preventing the topic from gaining traction.
Fang Huai was the undisputed champion of Stellar Light.
But before receiving the award, he was admitted to the hospital.
The fans were overwhelmed with guilt. When they had seen Fang Huai appear at the competition, they had assumed he was almost recovered. Now, realizing the truth, they were on the verge of breaking down.
[I’d rather he hadn’t competed and just stayed in bed to recover.]
[+1 He’s only eighteen.]
[Why was I cheering and getting excited before? What if he had fallen and no one caught him?!]
[I just want him to be happy, to do what he loves, to become who he wants to be QAQ. I don’t want him to feel so much pressure.]
Even though he had won, everyone’s mood was incredibly low.
More than anyone, they wanted Fang Huai to be okay, but this was definitely not the outcome they had hoped for.
Almost everyone was heartbroken.
The fan groups fell into complete silence. Every time someone saw their previous enthusiastic discussions about rankings or praises about Fang Huai’s progress, they felt unbearable sorrow.
And it was at this moment—
A well-known Zhihu blogger posted a long essay:
“He’s just a child. Please, let him go. @FangHuaiFans”
In the essay, the blogger harshly criticized Fang Huai’s fans for their past aggressive behavior—though those were actually false accusations spread by Lu Yu’s fans, many people who didn’t know the truth still believed them.
Then, the blogger accused the fans of putting too much pressure on Fang Huai, essentially forcing him into this situation. The entire article was dripping with blame.
On the surface, this blogger seemed to be speaking on Fang Huai’s behalf, appearing to care for his well-being. But in reality, they were using words to pressure Fang Huai’s fans, trying to push them away from him.
To be honest, the fans had never meant to hurt him. They were always so far from Fang Huai, never realizing how seriously ill he was. And all they ever did was support and encourage him to win—they had never truly forced him.
The article kept gaining traction.
When Shi Feiran saw it, he was so furious that his hands were shaking. This had to be the work of someone jealous—someone who couldn’t stand Fang Huai’s victory and was now using this method, pretending to be kind-hearted, to drive away his most loyal supporters.
Not everyone was willing to bear the weight of a moral shackle. No matter how much they loved him, if they were scolded and blamed every day, they wouldn’t be able to endure it forever.
And with Fang Huai competing while sick already being such an emotional shock to the fans, this kind of provocation…
Shi Feiran quickly contacted several major fan leaders and site admins, trying to stabilize the situation. But the feelings of sadness and guilt had already spread. In the middle of a phone call, a girl even started crying:
“I don’t deserve to like him… I…”
Shi Feiran didn’t know what to say.
*
Fang Huai woke up in the middle of the night.
He had received an IV, and his fever had gone down, but he still felt dizzy. Instinctively, he reached for his phone and opened Weibo.
What he didn’t expect was to see an overwhelming wave of apologies.
The people who liked him, encouraged him, and comforted him… were now apologizing to him with deep sorrow, sincerity, and even humility.
Why?
Fang Huai froze and started reading through the comments to piece everything together.
The hospital room was silent, except for the faint glow of his phone screen illuminating the side of his face. Fang Huai quietly stared at the screen, and after a while, a trace of displeasure rippled through his light amber eyes.
Suddenly, he felt a surge of frustration.
It wasn’t like that.
That person’s essay had painted his fans as some kind of unforgivable villains—but Fang Huai knew that wasn’t true.
Who gave them the right to make decisions for him?
Fang Huai instinctively opened Weibo, wanting to say something, but after a brief hesitation, he moved his hand away.
He couldn’t respond directly.
There had to be a better way…
His mind was still hazy.
Struggling slightly, he locked his phone and closed his eyes, deep in thought. He had slept too much during the day, so he didn’t fall asleep right away.
Then, suddenly—
He heard the door gently open.
Fang Huai was about to open his eyes when he felt a cool, gentle touch on his forehead.
Someone was checking his temperature with the back of their hand.
Fang Huai wasn’t used to this. He shifted slightly, as if trying to move away. But it seemed to be misunderstood—as if he were still weak and restless from his fever, just like before.
The next moment, his breath hitched.
Someone leaned down and, with a mix of awkwardness and solemnity, placed a light kiss on his forehead.
A faint blush crept up that person’s ears. Then, in a voice so soft yet unbelievably soothing, they whispered beside his ear—
“Good night.”
