Chapter 12

Zhao Yu’s trainee contract with Muyi Entertainment expired in August.

That year had passed faster than she’d expected. By the time it ended, Jiang Yu and Jiang Lei still hadn’t witnessed their child’s usual tendency to give up halfway. They didn’t know whether to be happy or worried.

Had their child suddenly become so outstanding—could she have been swapped out?!

Before the contract officially ended, Yang Jie called Jiang Yu.

Zhao Yu’s abilities and potential had been clear to everyone over the past year. Now that the nominal contract was ending, Muyi naturally wanted to sign her properly.

But Jiang Yu only smiled and declined. “I’m not her agent. What path she wants to take next is up to her. We parents can only offer advice.”

Muyi Entertainment wasn’t exactly a big company, nor was it tiny. If Zhao Yu was serious about this path, Jiang Yu privately hoped she could sign with one of the major agencies like Zhongxia, Huachang, or Xingyao.

Zhao Yu had been throwing herself into training, coming and going at odd hours. It wasn’t until Han Shuang called her in at the end of the month that she remembered her contract was almost up.

Han Shuang’s impression of her had long since changed from their first meeting. With Yang Jie’s connection, she’d looked after her well throughout the year. Zhao Yu’s rapid progress was due to her own hard work, but also owed much to Muyi’s comprehensive training system.

So when Han Shuang brought up contract renewal, Zhao Yu wasn’t opposed.

But she also knew this wasn’t a decision to make lightly. After Han Shuang finished speaking, she thought for a moment and replied, “I need to discuss it with my family first.”

Han Shuang didn’t seem surprised by this answer. She smiled at Zhao Yu and pulled a document from her drawer, sliding it across the desk.

Zhao Yu glanced at it curiously and heard her say, “You know we’ve always had a partnership with the Korean entertainment industry, right?”

Muyi’s trainee system was so well-developed precisely because of their collaboration with Korean agencies, having fully adopted their model. The girl group Muyi had launched earlier had involved Korean production teams, which was why they’d gained a solid foothold so quickly in the domestic market.

During their classes, Korean instructors had even come over to teach. Lin Zhinan and the others joked that they had “foreign teachers.”

Zhao Yu didn’t know why she was bringing this up, but she nodded.

Han Shuang smiled and pointed at the document. “Open it.”

Zhao Yu did as she was told. On the cover page was written: Shining Stars Live Variety Show Proposal.

It was a live-streamed survival show co-produced by Muyi and their Korean partners. The theme was trainee competition, with the goal of forming a Sino-Korean girl group targeting the Korean market.

Survival shows were nothing new—they were one of the hottest ways for idols to debut right now.

But what made this one novel was that the entire competition would be broadcast live from start to finish, over a period of six months.

From the moment selected trainees entered the training camp, their practice sessions and daily lives would be captured on camera and streamed to viewers.

Everyone would witness your efforts and progress, your joys and sorrows. Voting would happen in real time, rankings would refresh daily, and in the end, a nationwide vote would determine the top five who would debut as a group.

A bold, unprecedented competition—the first of its kind to attempt a six-month live broadcast. It was full of unknowns and challenges.

After flipping through the document, Zhao Yu guessed Han Shuang’s intent and looked up. “Sister Han, are you hoping I’ll join this show?”

Han Shuang shook her head with a smile. “It’s not whether I hope you’ll go—it’s whether you want to.”

Zhao Yu fell silent.

Han Shuang didn’t rush her. After giving her time to think, she continued, “I’ve discussed this with the instructors. They all agree you have the ability to debut now. But having ability doesn’t guarantee success after debut—it comes down to opportunity. The domestic traffic market is only so big, and it’s a mixed bag. Every company keeps pushing out new faces every year. How many shine for a moment, and how many endure? And frankly, female idols have a harder road than male idols in this industry. Even if you debut domestically, can you guarantee how long you’ll stay popular, or to what degree?”

She was right. Currently, the top five spots on domestic data charts were all occupied by male celebrities.

Shen Junyi had burst onto the scene, Huo Xi had risen as a rising star, and newcomers Li Yao and Xia Yuan had also become active in the public eye. The “popular female idol” slot remained empty.

With her current skills and qualities, she could debut.

But she wanted more than just debut.

If she couldn’t meet him at the peak, she’d always be looking up.

What she wanted was to stand shoulder to shoulder with him on equal ground.

Han Shuang looked at the silent girl like a gentle elder—neither rushing nor pushing, just laying out the pros and cons clearly.

“You’re probably aware that Korea’s entertainment industry is more developed than China’s, with a larger market and more mature production systems. During the six months of this show, you’ll receive more professional training and build a fanbase through the livestream. Even if you don’t make the final group, that popularity will become capital when you return. But we can’t deny that participating will be exhausting. Once you enter the camp, you’ll have no privacy for half a year—everything will be exposed to viewers’ eyes. The training will be tougher, and you can’t afford a single mistake. Any behavior could be magnified into a flaw.”

Han Shuang smiled and concluded, “Opportunity and risk go hand in hand. It’s up to you to decide.”

Zhao Yu held the document, staring at the title Shining Stars on the cover. After a long pause, she looked up and asked, “Sister Han, what did you do before this?”

Han Shuang blinked. “Me? I used to work in marketing.”

Zhao Yu: “No wonder—you’re quite the saleswoman…”

Han Shuang laughed.

She genuinely liked Zhao Yu and hoped to keep her with the company. To participate in this live competition, she’d have to sign with Muyi. The pros and cons were all laid out—it was up to her.

But looking at the spark kindling in the girl’s eyes, Han Shuang felt she’d succeeded.

Zhao Yu didn’t agree right away. Holding the contract, she said, “Sister Han, I still want to discuss it with my parents first. Can I give you an answer tomorrow?”

Han Shuang smiled. “Of course. No rush—don’t put pressure on yourself. Life is full of choices. As long as each choice stays true to your original heart, that’s what matters.”

Zhao Yu smiled and nodded.

Jiang Yu had been resting at home recently, and since it was Saturday with no classes, Zhao Yu headed over after training.

Jiang Yu had been working on a food variety show and had picked up some cooking skills along the way. When he heard his niece was coming over, he got excited and decided to cook.

So Zhao Yu got to taste the first meal her uncle ever made.

Five minutes later, they exchanged a look, and Jiang Yu opened the food delivery app.

While waiting for the takeout, Jiang Yu asked, “Lao Yang called me about your contract renewal. What are you thinking?”

Zhao Yu had planned to bring it up after dinner anyway. Now that Jiang Yu had raised it, she went ahead and recounted her conversation with Han Shuang.

With years of variety show experience, Jiang Yu immediately caught the potential buzz factor of Shining Stars when she described it.

After Zhao Yu finished excitedly, her eyes shining, she asked, “Uncle, what do you think? Can I go?”

Jiang Yu looked at his niece’s sparkling eyes and shook his head with a laugh. “Haven’t you already made up your mind?”

Zhao Yu paused. “…Is it that obvious?”

Jiang Yu smiled and ruffled her hair. “It’s been a long time since our Yu Yu was this passionate about something.”

He thought for a moment, then spoke seriously, “What your supervisor said is valid. Compared to the current domestic traffic market, going the singer-dancer route in Korea is indeed a better choice. But the drawbacks she mentioned only apply to the six months during the show.”

He looked at her. “After the show ends, if you don’t make it, that’s one thing—but if you do, your main market will be Korea. Most of your schedules and activities will be abroad. A foreign country, unfamiliar surroundings, language barriers, different customs. And while the Korean market is larger, the competition is even fiercer. Have you considered all that?”

Zhao Yu was silent for a moment, then shook her head.

“I haven’t thought about that,” she said. “I just want to try.”

Every path to the summit, she wanted to walk.

She might take detours, but that was better than standing still.

Last time she’d said she wanted to be a trainee, her gaze was just as determined and serious.

Even though Jiang Yu had paved the way back then, he never imagined she’d stick with it this long.

Jiang Yu looked away, poked at the burnt fried egg on his plate with his chopsticks, and finally sighed, “It’ll be tough.”

Zhao Yu broke into a grin. “I’m not afraid of hard work!” She scooted over and shook his arm. “So… will you help convince Mom and Dad?”

Jiang Yu laughed. “Your parents need me to convince them? When have they ever said no to something you wanted?”

Jiang Lei and Zhao Kangning had always given her whatever she wanted within reason. Jiang Lei always said trying different things was good for kids—more choices and experiences would help her figure out what suited her best.

But this time, it involved going abroad. That evening, Zhao Yu video-called her parents and told them. Before Jiang Lei could speak, Zhao Kangning immediately objected.

“No way! Foreign countries are too dangerous. I saw on the news yesterday—a student got robbed and killed! No, no. You can be a celebrity in China just fine. Jiang Yu, talk some sense into her—get her on one of your shows to show her face, that works too!”

Zhao Yu said, “I’m not taking the back door! I want to debut on my own merit!”

Zhao Kangning clutched his chest in exasperation.

Jiang Lei took the phone and asked gently, “Jiang Yu, have you seen the contract?”

Jiang Yu nodded. “I have. It looks fine. The CEO of Muyi is a friend of mine—his character is reliable. Their company has always had ties with the Korean side, and I’m optimistic about this show too.”

He glanced at Zhao Yu, who was pouting nearby, and smiled. “Mostly though, Yu Yu wants to go. She’s rarely this persistent about anything. I think it’s worth letting her try.”

With Jiang Yu’s endorsement, Jiang Lei felt somewhat reassured. They talked a while longer, hashing out the pros and cons.

Zhao Yu was determined, and given her unexpected dedication over the past year, Jiang Lei pushed her grumbling husband aside and said warmly to the screen, “Mom supports you chasing your dreams. If you want to go, then go.”

Zhao Yu planted a big kiss on the camera.

So the next day, she went back to the company and signed the contract with Han Shuang.

Shining Stars had not yet been announced—it was still a secret project. Promotion would begin the following month, with each company submitting their trainee selections, and filming wouldn’t officially start until the new year.

The company had only told Zhao Yu in advance to secure her signature. As one of the partners, Muyi had six slots. Zhao Yu was already locked in, and the remaining five would be selected from the Advanced class.

As Han Shuang said, it was both opportunity and challenge. No one could guarantee this show would be a hit. If it ended up with mediocre ratings, the resulting group wouldn’t have much popularity either.

Some trainees, preferring stability, were reluctant to gamble on a Korean variety show in an unfamiliar place and chose to wait for domestic debut opportunities instead.

Still, most were eager to try. Once the selection process started, many trainees actively applied.

Lin Zhinan submitted her application too, but Advanced class competition was fierce, and she wasn’t confident.

Zhao Yu cheered her on: “It’s not just about skill on stage—audience appeal matters too! Our Nan Nan’s beauty is so distinctive, with that Hong Kong retro vibe—who wouldn’t call you a vintage beauty traveling through time?!”

Lin Zhinan: “…Yesterday you said my wavy hair looked rustic.”

By mid-September, the final list was confirmed. Lin Zhinan made it in and hugged Zhao Yu, nearly crying. “Ever since I met you, my luck seems to have turned around. Yu Yu must be my little lucky star!”

Zhao Yu laughed and ruffled her hair. “That’s all because of your own hard work!”

With the list finalized, the next steps were visas and paperwork. Zhao Yu also had to apply for a leave of absence from school. It wasn’t uncommon for folk dance students to debut midway, so the administration was relatively accommodating.

Amid the hustle and nonstop training, time flew by, and winter arrived.

Shining Stars had begun its promotional campaign, but since the show would air in Korea targeting a Korean audience, there was relatively little discussion about it in China.

Six months, 24/7 livestreaming except for sleep. The company conducted specialized training for these first-time participants—covering conversational skills, camera presence, cultural etiquette, and even hiring language teachers to teach them Korean.

Zhao Yu’s language aptitude was frankly terrible, as evidenced by her English.

She struggled through Korean lessons every day, until Lin Zhinan finally took pity on her and repeated that day’s lessons during practice sessions.

Zhao Yu was amazed: “How are you picking this up so fast?!”

Lin Zhinan glanced at her notes. “Isn’t it just reading it twice?”

Zhao Yu: “???”

What kind of hidden genius was this?

The departure date for Korea was set for Christmas Day.

Zhao Yu bought Christmas presents for her friends ahead of time and had farewell dinners. They were all young, so there wasn’t much sentimental sadness—everyone was excited and promised to rally everyone they knew to vote for Yu Yu and send her to debut!

A week before Christmas, Beijing was hit by heavy snow.

After Zhao Yu had given out all her Christmas presents, one last gift remained in her bag.

It was a snow globe—inside, snowflakes swirled around a ballerina balanced on one foot atop a piano, spinning to the music.

Simple and a little tacky, but she’d loved it the moment she saw it.

It was the gift she wanted to give Shen Junyi.

She knew his Beijing address—Granny Shen had told her last New Year’s. But sending it anonymously might startle him.

She’d heard that sasaeng fans were always disturbing him.

Zhao Yu thought for a moment and put the snow globe away.

That’s okay—someday, she’d find a chance to give it to him!