Chapter 73
Fang Huai: “…”
Why exactly was he disagreeing? Fang Huai was confused.
Or maybe Ye Yuyuan still saw him as a kid—like those strict parents who forbid their children from dating too early?
“Alright then,” he finally said. “You might change your mind later.”
The young man lowered his head, flipping the skewers with an air of indifference, his entire posture radiating the rebellious energy of a nonviolent protester.
Ye Yuyuan hesitated, watching him.
Wondering if his words had been too harsh, he softened his tone and said,
“You’re still young. Thinking about this kind of thing now isn’t appropriate.”
Fang Huai: “…” Yep, just as I thought.
Fang Huai and Ye Yuyuan rarely disagreed. He hadn’t expected the two of them to argue over this. What exactly was Ye Yuyuan thinking?
Fang Huai was a little annoyed. The nervous, heart-racing feeling from earlier was now completely replaced by frustration.
Before, Fang Huai saw Ye Yuyuan as a friend, but because of their age difference, Ye Yuyuan also played a somewhat parental role in his life.
For the first time, Fang Huai understood why teenagers rebel against their parents.
“Yeah, so what? I’m dating early.” Fang Huai laughed casually. “Isn’t that normal? You’re too old-fashioned.”
Ye Yuyuan: “…………”
“Regardless, I won’t agree to this,” he said stiffly. “You don’t even understand what love is yet.”
Fang Huai fell silent.
“I do,” the young man muttered in protest.
The camera had been focused elsewhere the entire time, only now slowly panning over.
[??? What did I miss???]
[Ye always sounds like a stubborn old dad.]
[I’m going crazy—who does my baby like?! I’m gonna lose it!! My precious child should stay my little baby forever! 5555]
[Sorry, but a washed-up flop who can’t even sell albums has no right to date. What love? He’s just stirring up drama for clout. Disgusting. Can the camera cut away?]
[No one forced you to watch, now get lost.]
All the way until the barbecue ended, the two of them didn’t speak again. Anyone with eyes could tell they were in a disagreement.
After cleaning up the grill and trash, Fang Huai walked back with Yin Wanyue, chatting along the way, while Ye Yuyuan trailed at the back of the group, making no eye contact with him.
It was Friday, and tomorrow was another date day. At 9 PM, the director gathered everyone together to explain the rules for the next day.
“Tomorrow is date day. The rules are mostly the same as before, with a slight difference.”
“At 6 PM, you will all meet at a Western restaurant in Nan City.”
Just like before, pairs would be randomly formed, dividing them into three groups.
The comment section exploded upon hearing this.
[Seriously?? Then can I go camp outside that restaurant and wait for my dear Film Emperor Feng?!]
[I get that you’re all excited, but calm down and check the name of the restaurant.]
[Ehhhh, so I have this second-generation rich friend, the kind with a villa in the city center. They’ve been trying to book a table there since last November, and they still haven’t gotten in. This restaurant’s per-person meal cost is equivalent to a regular white-collar worker’s monthly salary. Props to the production team.]
After all, this was the same production team that managed to invite both Ye Yuyuan and Feng Lang. Thinking about it, it actually made sense.
After the rules were announced, everyone went back to their rooms.
The text message selections over the past few days had been… well, chaotic.
Almost every contestant had been paired with someone in a CP (couple pairing), and the fans were fervently “investing” in their favorites. Fang Huai had sent messages to Yin Wanyue, Lin Huan, and Ye Yuyuan, but ever since the aquarium visit, most of his texts had been going to Ye Yuyuan. Ironically, despite being the most mutually picked pair, they didn’t have many scenes together, so their CP wasn’t particularly popular yet.
Fang Huai didn’t go back to his room right away. The thought of facing Ye Yuyuan made it hard for him to adjust his emotions, so he wandered off to the public balcony instead.
“Hey.”
Seeing someone already there, Fang Huai paused before nodding in greeting.
Duan Yang held a cigarette between his fingers, his skin an almost sickly pale. He glanced at Fang Huai before putting out the cigarette.
“Not in a good mood?” he asked, his voice deep and husky from smoking.
Fang Huai sat backward on a small stool, leaning against the backrest. He shook his head, then nodded. “A little.”
He wasn’t particularly close with Duan Yang—they had barely spoken before—but there was an odd sense of familiarity between them, like long-lost relatives. Come to think of it, he had felt the same way when he first met Feng Lang and Ye Yuyuan. That feeling had faded over time as they spent more time together.
Duan Yang wasn’t known for having a good temper, but he was surprisingly easygoing when talking to Fang Huai.
“I liked that song,” Duan Yang said slowly.
He assumed Fang Huai was upset over the album sales.
“You mean Abyss Moonlight?” Fang Huai asked.
“No,” Duan Yang replied. “Heartbeat.“
“Oh… Thanks.” Fang Huai wasn’t sure what to make of that.
He wasn’t great at socializing, but for some reason, talking to Duan Yang felt relatively effortless.
They didn’t say much else. After a while of quiet, they both turned to head back.
As they reached a fork in the corridor, Duan Yang suddenly spoke from behind him.
“Thank you.”
Fang Huai didn’t quite catch it. “Huh?”
Duan Yang stared at him nonchalantly for a moment, not repeating himself. Instead, he changed the subject.
“I just realized I was wrong earlier. You don’t seem to be upset about album sales, do you?”
“Well,” Fang Huai admitted, “not exactly. Though… that’s part of it too.”
“My intuition is pretty accurate. The person you like isn’t indifferent to you either,”
Duan Yang thought for a moment, then suddenly let out a chuckle and shook his head. “He’s just a bit dumb.”
Fang Huai: “…”
“Go on, good night.” Duan Yang ruffled his hair like a good friend, shoved one hand into his pocket, and casually said goodbye.
“Good night.” Fang Huai felt a bit confused but also amused. More than anything, he felt much lighter as he headed back to his room.
*
11:00 PM.
“Fang Huai,”
Ye Yuyuan hesitated for a moment. Holding a cup of hot tea, he walked to Fang Huai’s bedside and asked in a low voice, “Are you asleep?”
The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. It cast a faint, solitary glow over the man’s figure.
Fang Huai said nothing.
Ye Yuyuan paused before continuing:
“Sorry, I… my tone earlier might not have been appropriate. If you’re still awake, can we talk?”
Of course, Fang Huai wasn’t asleep. Just five minutes ago, he had glanced at his phone, its glow reflecting on his face.
Still, he remained silent.
After a long while, a muffled voice finally came from under the covers, “Asleep.”
Ye Yuyuan said nothing.
He placed the hot tea on the bedside table and waited for a bit longer. Fang Huai still didn’t speak, but he was listening closely. Eventually, the sound of shifting fabric reached his ears—Ye Yuyuan had lain down on the bed.
Fang Huai: “…”
Seriously? Just like that?
A moment later, his phone vibrated.
Fang Huai picked it up and saw a long text message from Ye Yuyuan.
“Huaihuai, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things without considering your feelings first.
But personally, I believe there are more important things in your life right now. If it’s true love, it can withstand the test of time. Why not set it aside for now and focus on yourself?”
It all sounded so proper and dignified—every single word urging him to give up on that person.
Fang Huai turned off his phone without replying.
A few moments later, a rebellious thought popped into his head. He grabbed his phone again and slowly typed a few words.
Minutes later, Ye Yuyuan received a reply.
He took a quiet breath and opened the message.
— “I just like him.”
— “And I’ll like him for a lifetime.”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
The phone’s glow flickered on his face.
He sat there in silence, his eyelids lowering to hide his deep, unreadable gaze.
He stayed quiet for a long time, his expression darkening slightly.
*
Due to the promotion from Signal of the Heartbeat, the digital sales of Abyss Moonlight saw a modest surge, which in turn boosted the sales of the physical album.
Only at this point did Shi Feiran finally let out the breath he had been holding.
At least it wasn’t a complete dead end—there was still a chance. He had observed that while the album’s overall popularity wasn’t high, its approval rating was. And by “approval rating,” he meant audience retention—most people who seriously listened to it ended up recommending it to others. If word-of-mouth continued to grow, there was a real possibility of a turnaround.
However, before he could fully celebrate, a well-known Weibo influencer named Sharp-Tongued Music Critic Uncle Mango suddenly posted about Abyss Moonlight.
As his name suggested, this big-name influencer specialized in music reviews. Over the years, he had built a reputation for his sharp and brutally honest critiques. Though he occasionally praised artists, he was far more notorious for tearing them apart.
His fans hailed him as the “last honest voice in the industry,” “a sharp and independent critic,” and “a really cool guy.”
But insiders knew the truth—he was simply paid to do his job. His entire “independent and unbiased” persona was carefully crafted for clout. With a massive following, his posts and reviews could easily manipulate public opinion.
If someone paid him to attack an artist, he could single-handedly destroy an album—and even the artist’s career—through his reviews, strategic discourse control, and comment manipulation. This was the terrifying power of public opinion.
“I heard that a certain traffic idol just released his debut album. Lots of people have been hyping it up lately, so Uncle Mango went ahead and bought a copy. This fresh-faced little idol sure has plenty of talents—like performing acrobatics, snatching resources, stepping on others, plagiarizing, and orchestrating drama for clout. (And don’t tell me there’s no evidence—his team is very skilled. If Uncle Mango wants to stay in this industry, I can’t spill too much.)
As for this album… well.”
What followed was a scathing critique of Abyss Moonlight, attacking it from every possible angle.
His approach wasn’t blatant slander that could be easily debunked; instead, he mixed truth with falsehood, making his words seem deceptively reasonable at first glance.
As soon as the post went live, the haters erupted in excitement.
[Uncle Mango truly is the last honest voice in the industry. Everyone else is blindly hyping this guy up, but only he dares to speak the truth.]
[Uncle is spot on! Fang Huai doesn’t even know how to play the piano—listening to him is pure torture… it’s all thanks to the audio engineers.]
[Wait, that’s not true, right? He doesn’t have all those scandals. The blogger sounds like a paid hater.]
[Excuse me, but Uncle Mango has never taken money for reviews, okay? Also, I actually listened to the album—what kind of garbage is this? Even my cat could play better on a piano. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and waste your money.]
[With all this promo, the album sales are still trash? That just proves he’s completely irrelevant and talentless. Flops always love calling themselves ‘artists’ to cope, lol.]
Fang Huai’s fans and those who had actually listened to the album were furious. But the moment they tried to defend him, the critic fired back with another post.
@Sharp-Tongued Music Critic Uncle Mango V:
“I deliberately didn’t name names because I didn’t want to be attacked by this little idol’s rabid fans, but I guess I couldn’t avoid it. Can any of you honestly say this album is actually good? You can’t, right? It’s just a poorly made cash grab.
If you’re so high and mighty about your ‘artistic integrity’ and ‘elitist music,’ then show me a Silver Birch Award. Got the guts?”
He had already received insider information—Fang Huai’s album hadn’t been shortlisted for this year’s Silver Birch Awards. That’s why he had the confidence to make such a bold claim.
Originally, the chief judge for the Silver Birch Awards was an overseas Chinese musician. However, due to an unexpected business trip, the review process ended up in the hands of none other than Li Guoyang—someone notorious for his jealousy and pettiness.
Because of that Weibo post, the album’s sales, which had just started to pick up, plummeted back to rock bottom in an instant.
This time, the backlash was even worse than before. Anyone who tried to recommend Abyss Moonlight was immediately accused of being a paid bot, while criticizing the album had become the new “politically correct” stance.
The fans were absolutely furious.
[I’m livid!!! This ‘Uncle Mango’ has powerful backing and has been stirring up trouble in the industry for a long time. Remember those other artists who got blacklisted and forced out of the industry because they offended the wrong people? Yeah, that was his doing…]
[He’s mastered the art of lying, but the worst part is that we can’t even expose him. We can’t force every random person to actually listen to the album. I’m going insane.]
[I just hope our boy doesn’t let this get to him. He should focus on finishing Signal of the Heartbeat first. Soon, Frost will start promotions—if we can just hold on until then, there might still be a turnaround.]
*
The Next Day, 7 PM – Vesses Restaurant, Nan City
Vesses was a Michelin three-star restaurant—the only one in the entire province. It mainly catered to the upper-middle class, and securing a reservation required not just money but also the right connections.
So when Signal of the Heartbeat announced they’d be live-streaming an episode from here, everyone was surprised. Of course, it wasn’t hard to guess—it was probably thanks to the status of certain cast members.
Fang Huai, Lin Huan, and Yin Wanyue aside, the remaining three participants were all incredibly wealthy. Over the past few days, the show had given viewers a glimpse into the extravagant lifestyles of the rich.
The lighting was set to the perfect level, casting a soft and intimate glow over the dining area. The atmosphere was quiet and slightly romantic, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of glasses. A cellist in an evening dress played a gentle Irish ballad from the corner, accompanied by the soft notes of a piano.
By sheer coincidence, Fang Huai and Yin Wanyue were paired up… to work in the kitchen.
It was unclear what the other four were assigned to, but the two of them arrived at 7 PM, only to be handed assistant chef uniforms by the staff. After changing, they were immediately sent to wash dishes, scrub plates, and help with vegetable prep.
Fang Huai was visibly distracted.
Yin Wanyue wasn’t in a great mood either. She had spent the entire afternoon arguing with haters online, growing more and more frustrated as the smear campaign gained traction. Even now, she was still seething, barely managing to keep her cool in front of the cameras.
[Came here from Uncle Mango’s post—who’s this supposedly ‘legendary’ flop pretty boy Fang Huai? Looks average to me. Bet he’s had plastic surgery.]
[Get lost!! You brain-dead haters have no shame. NMSL.]
[Can we not bring drama into a variety show? I just came to watch people fall in love. I’m out.]
[This is seriously off-putting. If you wanna sell albums, just sell them. What does a variety show have to do with it? Stop bringing it up every damn day. We get it, your fave flopped.]
The comment section was getting too toxic, so the show’s moderators temporarily disabled live comments and switched the camera feed.
The production team had assigned them specific tasks, but neither of them was focused enough to properly follow the instructions.
Yin Wanyue thought to herself—Fang Huai might have said he didn’t care, but deep down, he must, right?
After all, this was his hard work—his passion project. And yet, with just a few words, all of its value had been erased, reduced to nothing. Anyone would be upset, anyone would be hurt.
No matter how mature he tried to act, he was still just a young man who had only recently come of age.
At eight o’clock, Fang Huai was given a ten-minute break.
He had nothing in particular to do, so he stood quietly in the hallway outside the kitchen, staring blankly at the corner of the wall.
The atmosphere in the restaurant was calm, with people speaking in hushed tones. About half a minute later, a voice drifted in from a distance, gradually growing closer. It seemed like a guest was on a phone call.
“Yeah, I’m at Vesses… Just got back to the country today, and guess what my distant cousin gave me as a ‘welcome home’ gift? Some trashy album. … Yes, I do like music,” the girl chuckled, “but that doesn’t mean I like garbage. Have you seen what people are saying online? Let me tell you—”
She paused, followed by the sound of something being tossed into a trash bin.
Fang Huai: “…”
As her voice faded into the distance, he hesitated for a moment, then turned the corner and crouched down to look inside the trash can.
A sliver of a silver album cover peeked out, the logo Abyss Moonlight clearly visible.
He froze, reaching out to retrieve the album, but after a brief hesitation, he withdrew his hand.
Instead, he gripped his chef’s hat in his hands, turned around, and walked back to the hallway. Standing against the wall like a student being punished, he simply waited for his ten-minute break to pass.
Half a minute later, his phone rang.
“…Hello? Ye Yuyuan.”
Lowering his eyes, the soft amber hue of his irises reflected the dim light. The moment he picked up the call, the corners of his lips instinctively lifted slightly—only to quickly fall again.
Through the phone, wind mixed with a faint electric static.
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a while. Instead of commenting on the situation online, he simply asked:
“Where are you?”
His voice was low and slightly hoarse. There were faint murmurs in the background, but they soon disappeared, as if he had stepped into an even quieter space.
Fang Huai didn’t answer. He shook his head slightly and said, “Are you coming to find me? There’s no need. I’ll see you tonight anyway.”
Ye Yuyuan’s footsteps halted.
His lips pressed together slightly as he asked in a low voice, “You don’t want to see me?”
“Not right now,” Fang Huai admitted honestly.
“Why?” Ye Yuyuan’s voice dropped even lower.
His fingers tightened slightly, and his heart ached with an unbearable sourness.
Humans are like this—when they are at their weakest, they instinctively seek comfort from the person they trust the most.
So… had Fang Huai fallen for someone else? Was he trying to distance himself now?
Fang Huai didn’t answer.
His breathing was restrained and shallow. After a long silence, he finally closed his eyes and murmured, “Ye Yuyuan…”
“I want to always be the best version of myself in your eyes.”
Of course, he knew this was inevitable.
But he still couldn’t stop the wave of disappointment. At the very least, until he had gathered his emotions, he didn’t want to face Ye Yuyuan.
The other end of the call was utterly silent.
Outside the hallway, near the small trash bin, a man halted his steps in silence.
His brows were faintly furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line as he stared at the corner of an album peeking out from the trash can.
His expression had been calm—until that moment. His gaze darkened.
Holding the phone, he listened quietly. After a long pause, his voice tightened as he asked, “Why?”
Fang Huai closed his eyes and tilted his head back, the chef’s hat drooping down to shadow his eyes. From the bridge of his nose to the curve of his lips, his features were sharp yet elegant. The distant lights outlined his silhouette, and there was a faint trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
He pulled the phone away from his ear, covering the microphone, and whispered, “Because…
“I like you.”
*
Outside the hallway, a muffled sound rang out.
A passing waiter, carrying a tray, was stunned. “Excuse me, sir, is there anything I can help you with?”
Ye Yuyuan’s face was blank. In a calm voice, he replied, “No, thank you.”
His expression remained eerily composed, showing no visible fluctuations in emotion. Lowering his gaze, he took the phone from the waiter’s hand—the phone that had just slipped to the floor. His thumb brushed lightly across the screen.
The call had already ended.
Yet, that one sentence seemed to still echo in his ears. Fang Huai had said—
“Mr. Ye, your heart rate has spiked, and your hormone levels are critically high,” the AI suddenly spoke. “I recommend—”
The AI paused, then changed its tone. “Apologies, are you about to cry? There are tissues two meters to your left on the table.”
“No.” Ye Yuyuan firmly denied it.
The waiter was still watching him, half-doubtful, half-curious.
Ye Yuyuan walked forward in silence, but as he passed the waiter, he briefly hesitated.
“Put tonight’s bill for all the guests on my tab,” he said, pausing before adding, “except for Table A12.”
Table A12 belonged to the girl who had thrown away the album.
Turning the corner, he gave another command to the AI.
“Is it ready? Send it.”
“Understood.”
The next second, a well-known Weibo influencer exposed every piece of dirt and concrete evidence against “Mango Uncle,” the notoriously harsh music critic—scandals that had accumulated over the years, all unveiled at once.
