Chapter 15

After the final group’s performance ended, the voting for this round closed.

Zhao Yu had jumped from seventeenth place all the way to seventh, breaking into the top ten.

When the ranking was announced, the girl on screen seemed almost surprised herself. She stared blankly at the camera for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled, and said in her still-awkward Korean: “Thank you, everyone. I’ll keep working hard!”

On stage, she was a seductive enchantress; off stage, she was that earnest, slightly goofy, lovable girl.

If viewers had only been casually watching and tossing a few votes her way before, this performance truly won them over with her stage prowess.

From the moment Zhao Yu stepped on stage to the end of the final performance—just half an hour—her votes skyrocketed to seventh place. If voting hadn’t closed so soon, breaking into the top five wouldn’t have been impossible.

In an era overflowing with survival shows, Shining Stars wasn’t particularly high-profile. Its viewership had been middling since launch.

Because of its unique format, there were no stage performances until the end of each month. At first, watching the trainees’ daily training routines was novel, but after a while, it became just more of the same. Students and working people were busy—who had time to watch a 24-hour livestream?

It wasn’t until the first stage performance that the show truly blew up online.

The production team had clearly been saving their big push for this moment. They branded it as a “nationwide talent search” and posted the most stunning clips from the performances across the internet.

Zhao Yu’s “plum blossom on a slender waist” stood out like a masterpiece, sparking widespread discussion.

A perfect blend of talent and beauty—an otherworldly enchantress. Who could deny her?

Fans cut together a personal highlight reel of her first month in the camp. Viewers who’d discovered Zhao Yu through the “plum blossom waist” and wanted to learn more found that this girl wasn’t just beautiful and talented—she was also hilarious and adorable in private!

In particular, the sight of her crouched in a corner, hugging a vocabulary book and tearfully struggling through Korean, made everyone laugh every time. They wanted to jump through the screen and correct her bizarre pronunciation themselves.

One clip showed her and Kristen resting on the floor after training, with Kristen teaching her the correct pronunciation of “I love you.”

After several attempts, Kristen encouraged her: “Say it once to the camera—to all your friends watching the livestream.”

Zhao Yu looked at the automatic camera on the wall, looking conflicted. Finally, she mumbled a quiet “sa lang hae.”

Kristen said, “Not quite—louder.”

As if summoning her courage, the girl suddenly looked up at the camera, flashed a bright smile, raised her hands above her head to form a heart, and shouted with sparkling eyes: “Sa lang hae!”

Netizens were almost knocked out by that sweet smile:

— Aaaaah, hearing that again makes my heart skip!

— Baby, I love you too!!! I LOVE YOU!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME???

— Ah, she’s so sweet—equal parts enchantress and cutie!

She trained hard and treated everyone warmly. Now, with her stage performance revealing a different, sexier side, she gained even more fans. After the performance, the scattered supporters quickly organized, official fan groups formed one after another, and the real voting campaign began.

But the trainees inside the camp knew nothing of what was happening online.

After the stage performances, the ten trainees at the bottom of the rankings were eliminated and left the camp. The remaining sixty finally got their first break since entering the camp.

It was only one day, but after a month of nonstop training, they were thrilled.

They could do anything except leave the camp.

The production team even returned their phones, allowing them one call to their families.

Zhao Yu video-called Jiang Lei first. It rang for a while before someone answered—there was background noise, and the camera shook before Jiang Lei appeared on screen, smiling happily. “Baby.”

Zhao Yu beamed too. “Mom, what are you doing?”

Jiang Lei said, “Your aunt and them came over—we’re having a gathering at home.” She turned and called, “Lao Zhao, the baby’s on video! Come quick! Stop playing—let your brother take over for you!”

Zhao Kangning soon squeezed into the frame. “Baby! Baby! Let me see—oh, you’ve gotten thinner!”

The three chatted happily, while fans who’d waited forever to see Zhao Yu on screen were baffled.

— I’ve studied Chinese for three years—why can’t I understand what my daughter is saying?!

— Sounds like a dialect?

— Replying to above: The girl is from Sichuan, China—she’s speaking Sichuan dialect. Not just you guys—I didn’t fully catch it either QAQ

…

After a while, the conversation turned to camp life. Jiang Lei was heartbroken. “It sounds so hard! Baby, eat more—you can’t get any thinner.”

Zhao Yu had just nodded when she heard her aunt’s voice from off-screen: “Oh, that sounds terrible. If it’s that hard, why not just drop out? What kind of competition is this anyway? We can’t even watch it—so unprofessional.”

Zhao Yu: “…”

She said nothing, but made a fierce face at the phone camera.

Jiang Lei shook her head with a smile.

Comments:

— Ah, got scared by the fierce daughter!

— Even her fake anger is adorable!

— I heard someone telling her to drop out! Damn! Baby, don’t listen! Baby must debut!

The call was limited to ten minutes. Zhao Yu wanted to chat with her friends too, so she said goodbye to her parents and hung up. When she logged into WeChat, her messages were already overflowing.

She replied one by one. When she opened Lin Yi’s chat, the latest message was from half an hour ago:

— Yi Yi: I’ve rallied all my friends to vote for you! Yu Yu, you MUST debut as center!

Zhao Yu replied with a scared emoji: None of those friends are Yiren, right??? I don’t want to expose my fandom!

— Yi Yi: Aaaaaah you’re alive!!!

— Yi Yi: I didn’t tell them! I get it, sis—you don’t want to ride gege’s coattails. I UNDERSTAND!!!

— Zhao Yu: Sis! /fist bump!

— Yi Yi: Yu Yu, you’re so amazing aaaaah—I’m sorry, I used to think you were just joking, but I never imagined your skills were this strong. You’re so amazing aaaaah!

— Yi Yi: Don’t worry about the domestic market! The Yu Meiren have assembled—super-topic, Baidu Bar, voting groups all set up! We’re working hard to use VPNs to vote and promote you! The fanbase is still small for now, but I believe you’ll take over China someday!

— Zhao Yu: ? Yu Meiren?

— Yi Yi: Your fan name! We voted on it—isn’t it beautiful?

— Zhao Yu: ………… Yi Yi, are you climbing over my wall?

— Yi Yi: Oh no, not really—gege is still my number one. But yeah, I am the junior moderator of your super-topic.

— Zhao Yu: ?

— Yi Yi: I’m watching the stream—are you texting me right now? Look up and wave?

Zhao Yu looked up at the camera and waved.

She got a flood of “aaaaaah” from Lin Yi.

The production team signaled that time was up. Zhao Yu replied “talk later” and returned her phone. On the way back to the dorm, she was still dazed, replaying her conversation with Lin Yi.

She had a super-topic and Baidu Bar now?

Yu Meiren…

It actually sounded pretty nice.

It was early February, still chilly, but a sliver of sunlight had already broken through the clouds. She looked up slightly, squinting as she reached toward the light.

She felt like she could almost touch that elusive dream.

The break ended, and the trainees moved on to the next phase of training as voting reopened.

After the last ranking announcement, everyone had a general sense of where they stood. There were only five debut spots, and the top ranks were pretty much locked in—it wouldn’t be easy to topple them. Competition in the top ten was fierce, and those in the back could only hope for a late-game surge.

Zhao Yu noticed that more people were approaching her to chat than before.

Lin Zhinan said they were all trying to ride her coattails for more screen time.

Zhao Yu didn’t like this kind of transactional approach. Making friends naturally was one thing; people approaching her with ulterior motives was another.

She’d always seemed casual and laid-back, but beneath that, she had a stubborn streak.

As a result, all the trainees who tried to befriend her for strategic reasons failed. Everyone saw how close she was with Kristen and couldn’t help feeling envious.

But Kristen was also popular—audiences loved the delicate princess type. In the last ranking, she’d placed ninth, just a hair behind eighth.

The rankings had been completely reshuffled after the first performances. Personal stage presence was now the foundation of popularity, and in this show, talent was the one thing that couldn’t be faked.

Lin Zhinan, who’d broken out with her Hong Kong-style tango in the first performance, chose a pure vocal stage for the second.

She had a very clear plan for herself.

First, leave a memorable impression with her unique looks. Second, win over the audience with real skill. She was a vocalist through and through, with formidable singing ability—her high note in the second performance electrified the crowd and wowed everyone once again.

She was the kind of vintage beauty whose appeal deepened the more you looked. Though she’d ranked thirtieth after the first performance, her votes climbed steadily over the next month. Her closeness with Zhao Yu also gave her more screen time.

Before the second performance, she was at eighteenth. Afterward, her votes surged again, landing her at ninth place in the top ten.

Zhao Yu, meanwhile, chose the most technically demanding group dance of all the options—the one with the greatest stage presence.

This time, she’d dyed her hair pink. She wore fringed denim shorts and a jacket that left her famous waist partly hidden—but netizens quickly discovered that her legs were incredibly long.

Straight, long, and pale—every bit as stunning as that slim, delicate waist.

So after “waist demon,” they affectionately dubbed her “leg demon.”

No matter what, there was always something about her that captivated.

After the second performance, Zhao Yu’s ranking shot straight to third.

When the results were announced, everyone in the room shared the same thought: she could still go higher.

No one had expected the biggest dark horse of the competition to be this trainee from China. But with her looks and abilities, she clearly deserved her place—others could only accept it.

Zhao Yu had no idea how much her popularity and fanbase were exploding. The persona her company had assigned her before she came had long since been forgotten.

Jiang Yu, being in the variety show business himself, had told her before she left: this competition was essentially a reality show. Over six months of all-encompassing livestreaming, any manufactured persona would crack eventually. It was better to just be herself from the start.

It seemed to prove his point—as the livestream stretched on, day after day of grueling, monotonous training, many trainees with carefully crafted personas started to slip.

The camp’s militaristic discipline brought not just physical exhaustion.

One by one, trainees began dropping out.

Lin Zhinan stood at the window, watching them drag their suitcases out of the camp, and said wistfully to Zhao Yu, “They’re giving up on their dreams.”

Zhao Yu, stretching her legs, wiggled her fingers and delivered an impromptu rap: “If you can’t catch that dream, just dream a different one~” (Note 1)

Lin Zhinan: “…………” She turned away and stretched alongside her. “You won’t give up, will you?”

Zhao Yu looked back at her. “Never.” She stretched and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting toward the cherry blossoms outside the window: “My journey is the stars and the sea!” (Note 2)

Lin Zhinan smiled too.

Fans outside the screen were frantic:

— Daughter, don’t speak Chinese, we can’t understand aaaah!!!

— Aah, the look in her eyes just now was brilliant—what did she yell? I have to know—I’m crying!

— Sorry everyone, I’m going to learn Chinese for my daughter…

…

From winter to summer, the trainees spent half a year in the closed camp. In early June, Shining Stars held its debut stage.

This was the camp’s first and last open event—two thousand fans were allowed in to witness the finale.

By now, only ten trainees remained.

Zhao Yu had reached first place after the fifth performance and had held the lead since. She was virtually guaranteed to be the center—a near-impossible feat in any typical survival show.

But she’d done it.

That day she’d shouted out the window at the cherry blossoms—her words had been translated by Chinese fans for the international audience.

Your journey is the stars and the sea.

We’ll carve out a sky-blue ocean for you.

After the ten individual stage performances, the nationwide voting closed. The audience seemed even more nervous than the ten girls on stage.

The production team began announcing the rankings from fourth place down.

Fourth place went to a trainee named Heya, who’d already had a decent fanbase before joining the show—a solid all-around rapper.

Little princess Kristen debuted at third place.

Lin Zhinan squeezed into fifth, beating the sixth-place trainee by just over a hundred votes. Such a razor-thin margin—she’d nearly missed her chance. When the votes were announced, Lin Zhinan burst into tears and hugged Zhao Yu, whether from fright or joy, no one could tell.

The top two were no surprise.

Second place went to a trainee named Lim Soo-hee, from the same agency as Kristen. She was outgoing and fun-loving, with an unnie vibe.

At the very top sat a pink crown, waiting for its owner.

Zhao Yu had mentioned on the show that she liked pink, and so pink became her fan color.

Now, the venue was dotted with sparkling specks of pink light—not many, with her fans making up less than a third of the two thousand attendees.

But each one seemed to shine right into her heart.

Zhao Yu suddenly remembered that magnificent sea of red.

She didn’t have a pink sea yet.

But someday, she would.

Step by step, the girl climbed the platform and placed the crown on her head.

Author’s Note:
Congratulations to Yu Yu for debuting as center! Now let’s charge toward the top!

—

Note 1: From Jay Chou’s “Fragrance of the Rice Fields”
Note 2: From Yoshiki Tanaka’s “Legend of the Galactic Heroes”