Chapter 31
This was the third day after the Stellar Light finals.
The finals had taken place at night, and Fang Huai hadn’t been able to participate in the latter half—after finishing his segment, he had left immediately. His acceptance speech and award collection were handled by his manager.
As the winner of a talent show like this, there were, of course, various rewards.
Aside from the cash prize, there were also opportunities to release an album, promotional activities, and various resources. Even though Fang Huai had been sick and had slept for more than a full day, the production team didn’t skip any of the standard promotional steps. The night of the finals, they had already rolled out press releases and posters.
@StellarLightOfficial Weibo (Verified): A perfect conclusion—thank you all for being with us every step of the way. No need to reach out, for you have already become a star. Keep shining always. [Image][Image]
Since Fang Huai hadn’t been able to join the final group photo, they used a promotional picture taken earlier. In the image, the young man was sitting in soft afternoon light, dozing off with a lollipop in his mouth. His light amber eyes were drooping slightly in drowsiness, his handsomeness carrying a casual yet endearing charm.
[This face… Oh my god, I’m dead.]
[Can you stop using that stupid phrase “No need to reach out, for you have already become a star”? That was made up by his bloodsucking fans—it’s disgusting.]
[Agreed. Fang Huai’s fans must be monsters. They treat stanning like a debt collection—don’t come back unless you win first place, huh? Ridiculous.]
Some unknown party had stirred up a wave of negativity. No matter what news about Fang Huai came out, the narrative kept getting twisted into either blaming his fans or pitying him.
And for more than half a day, Fang Huai’s fans had remained silent.
That day was a Saturday. In the evening, the Shiju Gala, a prestigious domestic music awards event, was scheduled to take place.
Of course, in recent years, many singers had transitioned into acting, so the red carpet wasn’t just for musicians anymore—it had become a stage for multi-talented celebrities with dual careers in music and entertainment.
Then, just two hours before the event began, the official Shiju account dropped a bombshell:
Fang Huai would be walking the red carpet!
People had mixed reactions. One of Fang Huai’s long-time fans couldn’t hold back and posted a Weibo update:
@LittlePaws: Has our baby recovered already? And he’s going to the red carpet now? Please don’t overwork yourself! QAQ @ShijuGalaOfficialWeibo(Verfied): Surprise guest @FangHuai—exciting, right?”
“Little Paws” was an old fan and a well-known fan leader. She had attended every selection round of Stellar Light to support Fang Huai, and her photos were always high quality, attracting a crowd of excited fans under her Weibo posts.
But this time was different.
[Fake. Too fake. Keep pretending. If you really cared about his health, why didn’t you say anything earlier?]
[Isn’t this exactly what you all wanted? Working nonstop, winning awards every day. Who cares if idols have human rights, right? Ha.]
[Disgusting.]
Seeing so many hateful comments flooding in, the young girl panicked and felt a wave of distress. She bit her lip hard and pressed her finger toward the delete button—
Just then, a notification popped up. Someone had shared her post.
“@FangHuai(Verified): The fever’s gone, don’t worry about me.
Her gaze lingered on that little “Verified” for a long time, her eyes gradually turning blank with disbelief.
It was… real.
The real Fang Huai!
Her eyes widened. After a long pause, she clenched her phone tightly.
She suddenly wanted to cry.
Fang Huai’s first Weibo post after winning Stellar Light wasn’t about celebrating his victory but instead reassuring an old fan who had been ridiculed and criticized. He didn’t say much, but his actions made his stance clear.
Winning had brought him a wave of new fans, and since he hadn’t posted anything new, those fans had been leaving messages on his old posts, waiting impatiently. Now, they all rushed over.
Of course, the comment section was still filled with mixed opinions—mocking remarks about Fang Huai’s fans were pushed to the top, with people pretending to “feel sorry” for him, saying he was burdened by a group of “blood-sucking” followers.
But the longtime fans sensed something.
They didn’t argue, didn’t try to defend themselves.
Instead, they quietly sat in front of their TVs and computers, waiting for the Shiju Gala to begin.
*
The stylist was blow-drying Fang Huai’s hair. His hair was soft, with a slightly lighter shade under the light, and the ends curled up a little. He usually looked both handsome and youthful, so an overly formal style wouldn’t suit him.
Fang Huai stared at his reflection in the mirror, a little dazed.
He was wearing a light gray suit with a single button, no tie. He looked sharp and handsome. Considering how rushed everything had been, finding something this well-fitted and high-end was already impressive.
But Fang Huai kept looking at himself in the mirror, feeling that something was off.
After a while, he turned to the stylist and asked, “Is this the only outfit available?”
“Yes,” the stylist shrugged. “We didn’t have much time. What kind of style do you prefer?”
Fang Huai let out a slightly disappointed “Oh.”
After thinking for a moment, he hesitantly gestured as he tried to explain, “I want—”
“Like this?”
A deep, smooth voice interrupted from the doorway.
Fang Huai and the stylist turned to look, both momentarily stunned.
The assistants and crew standing nearby also looked toward the door, their expressions gradually shifting into pure bewilderment.
The man was tall, standing silently in the doorway, bathed in the fading evening light. In his hands, he held a suit—custom-tailored, perfectly pressed, and of exceptional quality. High-end suits couldn’t be folded; they had to be carried like this.
With Ye Yuyuan’s status, when had he ever done something like this for someone else?
Yet, despite the slightly unfamiliar action and the way everyone was staring at him, his expression remained as calm and indifferent as ever.
When Fang Huai’s gaze met his, Ye Yuyuan’s thin lips pressed together slightly, and his fingers curled slightly.
After a brief discussion, the stylist and assistants all left, leaving just the two of them in the quiet room.
The young man’s light amber eyes blinked, and a soft smile gradually spread across his lips.
“Ye Yuyuan.” He spoke the name carefully, much more fluently this time. “Hello.”
Ye Yuyuan responded with a faint “Mm.”
Fang Huai then turned his attention to the suit.
This time, his expression was a little different.
“You don’t like it?” Ye Yuyuan asked, frowning slightly.
Fang Huai shook his head—quite the opposite.
It was almost exactly what he had envisioned.
Why was it that Ye Yuyuan always appeared exactly when he needed him the most? Fang Huai couldn’t help but wonder as he looked at the silent man.
Ye Yuyuan hung the suit on the clothing rack and fell into another brief silence.
He wanted to stay a little longer, but he couldn’t seem to find a good enough reason.
“I…”
Ye Yuyuan had just spoken one word when he suddenly froze, cutting himself off abruptly.
Fang Huai was reaching for the suit.
—He had already taken off the light gray blazer, and half of his shirt buttons were undone, hanging loosely over his frame. The curtains were drawn, but the evening light still seeped through the gaps, casting a faint glow over him. His open collar revealed a stretch of porcelain-white skin, and the curve of his collarbones to his shoulders was strikingly elegant.
He wasn’t the frail and delicate kind of thin—his features were sharp yet handsome, and the light seemed to linger over his skin in a way that felt almost… suggestive.
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
His eyes darkened slightly.
Fang Huai: “…?”
Noticing Ye Yuyuan’s expression, Fang Huai instinctively thought he had done something wrong. “Sorry.”
But in truth, he had no idea what his mistake was.
Growing up with Fang Jianguo, he never really had a sense of personal space. Even during Stellar Light‘s recording, backstage was often cramped. When they were in a rush and couldn’t find an empty dressing room, everyone would just change right then and there—no one paid much attention to it.
There was only an hour left before the event started, and time was tight. The stylist earlier had even helped him put on his clothes directly, casually commenting on his physique in the process.
Ye Yuyuan: “It’s fine.”
His voice was slightly hoarse as he turned away, the tips of his ears faintly warm.
Fang Huai hesitated for a moment, checked the time, and quickly changed into the suit.
The rustling sound of fabric moving filled the silence behind him.
Ye Yuyuan’s index finger curled slightly.
It wasn’t until Fang Huai finished dressing and said, “I’m done,” that Ye Yuyuan’s posture stiffened slightly, and he finally turned back around.
Fang Huai, focused on the upcoming red carpet, was adjusting his tie while glancing at the notebook beside him.
He was worried that his illness had left him with some lingering forgetfulness, so he had written down everything he needed to do, line by line, just to be safe.
Fang Huai wasn’t very good at tying ties, and he was distracted. His first attempt was a complete mess, while the second one ended up too stiff and formal. Coming back to his senses, he lowered his light-colored eyes and looked at the tie with a troubled expression.
“…”
The evening light slowly spread across the floor.
After a moment, a pair of hands appeared in his field of vision.
The fingers were long and well-defined—hands that wrote code, hands that painted. A callus had formed on the pad of the middle finger from years of holding a pen.
These hands were beautiful. The way they moved through the fabric of the tie was graceful, almost like a form of art.
Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze and silently helped Fang Huai tie his tie.
They were very close now. Fang Huai could catch the faint scent of cedar—cool and crisp, not like any cologne, yet strangely familiar.
The warm breeze of early evening brushed past them, gentle and soft. The distant noise from outside barely reached them. The late summer light cast their shadows onto the floor, making them appear almost intimate.
Ye Yuyuan’s gaze flickered toward the floor-length mirror. Seeing their reflection together, he calmly looked away as if nothing had happened.
Fang Huai suddenly felt happy.
“I’m really happy,” he said seriously.
To have Ye Yuyuan as a friend.
Since last night, Fang Huai had been thinking about what gift he could give Ye Yuyuan or what he could do for him in return.
Ye Yuyuan had helped him so much—far beyond what money could measure.
Warmth in the winter, charcoal in the snow.
Fang Huai cherished it deeply.
Ye Yuyuan’s fingers paused for a brief moment. Then, a faint blush spread from the tips of his ears down to his neck.
“It’s nothing,” he replied coolly.
The tie was now tied in a half-Windsor knot—elegant yet not overly formal, perfectly suited to Fang Huai’s age.
Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together slightly, as if he wanted to say something.
But just then, Fang Huai’s phone, which was resting on the table, suddenly rang.
It was a call from the event staff. There was a last-minute change in plans, and the schedule was moving faster than expected.
Fang Huai stood up.
His styling was more or less complete, and the staff, along with Shi Feiran, were waiting outside.
His hand rested on the door handle.
Then, he hesitated.
Letting go of the handle, he turned back.
He looked at Ye Yuyuan.
The stern, handsome man was also looking at him in silence, the evening light resting on his shoulders.
After a moment, Ye Yuyuan’s deep black eyes softened. In a low voice, he said, “It suits you.”
The suit and the tie—they both suited him well.
He looked good.
So good that it was hard to look away.
Fang Huai’s eyes curved with a smile, the light amber in them glowing warmly.
“Thank you.”
The door closed softly.
Ye Yuyuan’s index finger lightly touched his ear, lingering for a moment before he moved it away.
His gaze, despite himself, softened.
*
7:00 PM.
The Shiji Gala officially began. As a prestigious event, the flash of cameras illuminated half the sky. Several high-profile celebrities had already walked the red carpet, fueling the excitement.
Many people were eagerly waiting for one particular “mystery guest”—Fang Huai. Their emotions varied—staff members were on edge, worried that he might mess up; fans feared he wasn’t familiar with red carpet etiquette and could embarrass himself; while others, intrigued, simply wanted to see the young man who had miraculously turned the tables in Stellar Light.
Not everyone could handle the red carpet. Some looked great in photos but lost their charm under live cameras—getting overshadowed, having weak presence, or showing off disastrous outfits.
This year, Visual Huaguo’s photographers were also present. They were infamous for their ruthlessly honest photography—zero retouching. Many celebrities would personally ask them not to take photos in advance. But Fang Huai’s attendance was so last-minute that Shi Feiran had no idea they were coming and hadn’t put in any requests.
Fang Huai’s turn came later in the lineup—a position typically reserved for high-profile or scene-stealing guests. As per Shiji Gala’s tradition, mystery guests didn’t compete for awards but were allowed to perform a short one-minute act if they wished.
“And next, a guest that many of you have been looking forward to.” The female host, holding her microphone, deliberately built up suspense. “Who has touched the light of the stars?”
“Fang Huai!” A few hesitant voices called out.
It wasn’t that Fang Huai lacked popularity—far from it. His Stellar Light championship title and multiple viral moments had made him one of the most talked-about names at the event.
Some of his fans were already in place, armed with cameras and recording gear. However, due to recent online backlash, they felt too self-conscious to shout his name like the others. Instead, they awkwardly smiled, shrinking back in silence.
Only then did the host remember the controversy online—Fang Huai’s fans had been heavily criticized these past few days. They were afraid to say anything, too scared to even hold up their light boards. Instead, they quietly wore their fan merch and showed up to support him in the most discreet way possible.
She wanted to say something to lighten the mood—but suddenly, she stopped.
The previously noisy venue fell into sudden silence.
Only the sound of camera shutters clicking relentlessly remained.
A young man stepped onto the red carpet.
He was tall and slender, with minimal makeup, yet looked shockingly handsome and effortlessly clean-cut on camera. The youthful energy around him was impossible to suppress.
Many had worried that Fang Huai wouldn’t have the presence to command the red carpet. But now, those same people found themselves speechless.
Who said youth wasn’t suited for the red carpet?
His porcelain-white skin gleamed under the lights, as if bathed in their radiance. When he smiled slightly, his light-colored eyes shimmered, as if holding a thousand stars.
He rarely wore such formal attire, yet his custom-made suit was a breathtaking deep starlit blue. The rich hue suited him perfectly—the gem-studded cufflinks weren’t too heavy, striking a balance between elegance and charm, with an air of quiet nobility.
For a moment, everyone else around him faded into the background.
“Fang Huai! You look amazing!”
A random onlooker couldn’t hold back their excitement and shouted.
Fang Huai’s fans usually called him “Zai Zai” (little cub) or “Huai Huai”—only strangers would call him by his full name.
Meanwhile, his fans simply pressed their camera shutters in silence.
They hid in the crowd, proud of him yet feeling a bittersweet ache, cheering for him quietly from the shadows.
“Thank you.” Fang Huai smiled. “You look great too.”
The host was momentarily surprised but quickly recovered and continued, “First, congratulations to Fang Huai for winning Stellar Light! You didn’t get much time to share your thoughts during the show—do you have anything you’d like to say to the audience now?”
She deliberately used the word “audience” instead of “fans.”
Fang Huai’s fans had been under heavy scrutiny lately, and the host figured he might want to distance himself from them. If she had said “fans,” it could’ve made things awkward for him.
Some fans picked up on this choice of words. They merely smiled, lowered their heads further, and fidgeted with their cameras, feeling a little embarrassed.
Through the lens, the boy stood in the center of the red carpet—as if glowing.
He was meant to shine.
But unexpectedly, he fell silent.
His light amber eyes flickered slightly. After a brief pause, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile—and said seriously:
“I don’t have anything to say to the audience.”
“But I do have something to say to my fans.”
The host froze.
So did the surrounding media and fans. Sensing a moment worth capturing, reporters instinctively pushed their microphones closer.
The host hadn’t expected this and didn’t want any trouble. Normally, every guest on the red carpet said a few words, but it wasn’t mandatory. She hesitated, then chuckled awkwardly, “Well, we can talk about that later. For now, let’s—”
But Fang Huai had already begun.
Dressed in his starlit-blue suit, he faced the camera head-on—and also the fans hiding in the shadows.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. His light-colored eyes shimmered under the lights, holding a quiet gentleness.
He had already taken the microphone from the staff. Holding it firmly, he parted his lips.
“They’ve always said I’m a star,” he began. “They say that I…”
At this, Fang Huai suddenly let out a small, bashful laugh, rubbing the tip of his slightly reddened nose with his index finger.
“‘Don’t need to reach for the stars—because I am one.’”
He paused.
The murmuring crowd slowly fell silent.
Everyone listened.
And then, in his clear, youthful voice—one that carried an unexpected sense of sincerity and weight—he said:
“I want to tell them…”
“Actually—”
“You are my stars.”
The host’s mouth fell open, but no words came out.
Cameras clicked furiously. Several of Fang Huai’s fans lowered their heads, their lips curving slightly—before their eyes suddenly turned red.
But what happened next stunned everyone.
In the very next second—
The lights dimmed.
The massive LED screen shifted, its imagery transforming into a vast, slowly drifting starry sky.
Only then did people remember—the mystery guest had the option to perform a one-minute special act.
In the soft, glowing twilight, the boy’s clean, warm voice trickled through the air like a gentle stream.
He smiled lightly as he spoke:
“And so, this song…”
“Is for my stars.”
