Chapter 25

Zhao Yu paused on the stairs for only two seconds, then continued walking up without looking back, as if she hadn’t heard a word. When she reached the turn on the second floor, she spotted Lin Zhinan crouched there, pressed against the wall, eavesdropping.

When Lin Zhinan saw her coming, she quickly stood up and followed.

Zhao Yu asked, “What were you doing down there earlier?”

Lin Zhinan: “You two were too intense. I didn’t dare come down.”

Zhao Yu: “…………”

She walked over to Kristen’s door and listened for a moment—the shower was still running—then turned back to her own room. Lin Zhinan followed her in, shut the door, and asked, “What did she mean by ‘sanatorium’?”

“You want to know?” Zhao Yu glanced at her. “Then go downstairs and ask her.”

Lin Zhinan chickened out. “Never mind. I don’t dare.”

Zhao Yu had just returned from the US today, hadn’t even unpacked, and now this ordeal had left her completely drained. After her shower, she hesitated for a while, then went to knock on Kristen’s door.

“Tingting, are you asleep?”

After a long moment, the door opened. Kristen’s eyes were red—she’d clearly been crying.

Only a small desk lamp was on, casting a dim glow. Kristen opened the door and went back to sit on the bed. Zhao Yu poured a glass of warm water and handed it to her. “Does your stomach still feel bad?”

Kristen shook her head.

A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Zhao Yu heard her say, “Thank you for tonight.”

Zhao Yu shook her head.

Kristen looked up at her with a bitter smile. “Yu Yu, do you believe me?” Zhao Yu blinked. Kristen lowered her gaze. “You think I went willingly too, don’t you?”

Zhao Yu reached out and held her pale, cold fingers. “I believe you.”

Kristen’s fingers trembled slightly. Her voice was pained. “You could reject An Zewen. But I can’t. They’re all conglomerates—I can’t afford to offend any of them. Lin Xiuxi said I agreed to give him my contact information, that I agreed to go out to dinner with her.”

She looked up abruptly, eyes bloodshot, her voice turning fierce. “But how could I dare to say no?! People like them!” Her voice faltered, growing small and helpless. “People like them…”

Zhao Yu didn’t know how to comfort her.

She wasn’t from here. She understood the culture of conglomerate dominance, but she’d never been afraid of them. Kristen was different. She’d grown up in this environment, steeped in these social norms. The class divide was so deeply ingrained that she didn’t even dare to resist.

Telling her to fight back would be absurd.

In the end, Zhao Yu just patted her head and said softly, “What Lin Xiuxi and An Zewen did was disgraceful. You’re not some pushover they can just walk all over. They won’t make a fuss about it—don’t worry.”

Kristen nodded silently. Zhao Yu handed her the water and she took a few sips. Then Zhao Yu turned off the lamp. “Get some sleep. Everything will feel better in the morning.”

In the end, she didn’t ask about the sanatorium.

Some pasts weren’t meant to be unearthed.

The next morning, Heya returned to the dorm too. No one mentioned what had happened the night before. Lin Zhinan was a little on edge, worried that An Zewen wouldn’t let go of being kicked by Zhao Yu—but the next few days passed without incident.

Everyone’s individual schedules were done, and they began preparing for the concert with the music team.

This was Shining Five’s biggest concert since debut, held at a stadium with thirty thousand seats. Tickets sold out in thirty seconds—breaking the record for girl groups in previous years.

Concerts usually required at least twenty songs, and Shining Five’s tracks were almost all dance-heavy—two hours of nonstop singing and dancing was a serious test of stamina.

Over the past few months, besides Zhao Yu who’d been frequently attending solo performances, the other four had been busy filming, attending shows, and doing variety—their fitness levels had dropped, so they needed to step up their training.

Especially Lin Xiuxi. Ever since Zhao Yu had physically overpowered her that night, she’d been pushing herself to catch up. But after a period of training, Zhao Yu was always the one who had it easiest—it was almost despairing.

You didn’t become the main dancer without some serious skill.

And so, amid the grueling training, summer arrived. In July, under a sky full of stars, the concert officially began.

Zhao Yu loved the atmosphere of concerts.

The heat, the energy soaring to the heavens—holding nothing back. She gave them everything she had for a perfect show, and they gave her everything they had in return.

One concert, six fan colors. Solo stans of each member and Shining Five’s group fans all vied to be heard.

Zhao Yu would never forget the spectacular, unbroken sea of red at her first Shen Junyi concert. She still didn’t have a purely pink sea of her own—but she thought this rainbow of colors was beautiful too.

This was her stage. Her battlefield.

If she could, she wanted to keep dancing until she couldn’t anymore.

As the concert ended, Zhao Yu did what she always did, holding the microphone: “No crying, okay? Get home safe. See you next time.”

As the Yu Meiren fans filed out, they muttered among themselves, “What does our daughter think we are? Why does she always tell us not to cry after every performance? Who’s crying anyway!”

The little girl who’d once sobbed uncontrollably at a concert had grown up, thinking everyone would be just like her.

Months of preparation had finally paid off with a flawless performance. They’d barely rested during rehearsals, and everyone was beyond exhausted. A few days off were well deserved.

The three Korean members went home, leaving only Zhao Yu and Lin Zhinan in the dorm. They spent their days playing games, binge-watching shows, and bickering like usual.

Lately, Zhao Yu had suddenly developed an interest in cooking—probably her father’s genes finally awakening. She devoted herself to inventing Chinese-Korean fusion dishes in the kitchen, much to Lin Zhinan’s suffering.

One day, as she was experimenting with twice-cooked pork stir-fried rice cakes, Lin Zhinan came rushing in from the living room, phone in hand, panicking.

“Sanatorium! Sanatorium!”

Zhao Yu, still holding a spatula, didn’t process it at first. “What sanatorium? Hey, stand back—oil’s gonna splatter.”

Lin Zhinan finally got her words together. “Tingting was photographed at a sanatorium! It’s trending! The exposé dragged up a trainee suicide attempt from years ago—and it’s linked to Tingting!”

Zhao Yu dropped the spatula and grabbed the phone.

The photo was indeed of Kristen. Though she wore a mask, she was still easily recognizable.

She’d used her break to visit a psychiatric sanatorium—apparently to see someone—and had been followed by paparazzi. Shining Five was so hot right now that everything they did drew attention. The media dug deeper and discovered that the person Kristen was visiting had once been a fellow trainee at her agency. She’d attempted suicide years ago, was sent to the sanatorium, and still hadn’t recovered.

From there, the media unearthed an old, obscure news story.

A trainee from an entertainment agency had claimed to have been assaulted by a senior executive. She reported it to the police but had no evidence, so she attempted suicide to expose the wrongdoer. In the end, the executive was only fired from the company, while the trainee, shattered and traumatized, was admitted to a sanatorium.

The two exchanged a look. Lin Zhinan clutched her chest. “Is this what Lin Xiuxi was talking about? What does that person’s suicide attempt have to do with Tingting?”

Zhao Yu said, “You’re asking me? I’m asking you. Let’s wait and see how the company handles the PR.”

They were both worried. They abandoned their cooking and wanted to call Kristen, but it didn’t feel right to pry at a time like this.

Fortunately, the company acted fast. They first took down the trending posts, then issued a statement clarifying that Kristen had only gone to visit a friend. All online rumors were false, and they urged netizens not to spread misinformation and to respect the artist’s privacy.

Though Kristen had debuted third, her innocent, princess-like image was immensely popular with the public—hence the nickname “Princess.” Her popularity was now on par with Lin Xiuxi’s, even trending toward surpassing her. She had strong public appeal and goodwill. The moment the company released its statement, the controversy began to cool down.

Lin Zhinan was naturally gossipy, but since it involved a close friend, she suppressed her curiosity and promised Zhao Yu she wouldn’t ask Kristen anything when she got back.

They hadn’t made lunch and ordered takeout instead. They were eating in the living room when the door suddenly opened and Kristen walked in, dragging her suitcase behind her.

Seeing them eating, she smiled and asked, “Got any for me? I haven’t eaten either.”

Lin Zhinan ran over with a spoon in her mouth to help with the suitcase. “Tingting, why are you back so early? Don’t you have two more days off?”

Kristen didn’t seem affected by the morning’s exposé. She smiled. “Nothing much to do at home, so I came back. I heard Yu Yu’s been experimenting with food—I wanted to try some.”

Lin Zhinan made a face. “You call that food? Well, you can be her taste-tester from now on. I’m finally free.”

They laughed and chatted. Since they’d ordered extra, Zhao Yu got another set of bowls and chopsticks. The three of them sat around the coffee table, eating and watching variety shows.

After a while, Kristen suddenly said, “You both saw the news this morning, didn’t you?”

Zhao Yu and Lin Zhinan froze, looking up at her.

She was still smiling, stirring her soup with a spoon. In a soft voice, she said, “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”

Lin Zhinan’s gossip-loving fists tightened.

Zhao Yu slowly set down her chopsticks. After a moment, she said, “If you want to talk, we’re willing to listen. If you don’t, that’s okay too. Tingting, we’re friends.”

Kristen let out a faint smile. “Lin Xiuxi told you, didn’t she?” She lowered her gaze. “Don’t be friends with me.”

Lin Zhinan immediately retorted, “Who we’re friends with has nothing to do with her!”

Kristen fell silent. The only sound in the living room was the noise from the variety show.

After a long pause, they heard her say, “The girl in the sanatorium was also my friend. Back when I was a trainee, we were very close. We did everything together, told each other everything. Lin Xiuxi and the others already disliked me back then—she was the only one who genuinely treated me well.”

Just like Zhao Yu and Lin Zhinan back in the day—training together, working hard together, sharing a bed and whispering secrets.

So Kristen had always known about the executive’s harassment.

But neither of them had any background. They were both from poor families. Debuting was their only way out. Besides enduring, there was nothing else they could do.

Until that day, when the girl was assaulted.

She didn’t know what to do. Disgusted, she showered frantically, locking herself in the bathroom for a full day and night. It wasn’t until Kristen grew worried and broke down the door that she learned what had happened.

Kristen told her to call the police. But by the time the officers arrived, there was no evidence left. No surveillance footage, no witnesses—and even the physical evidence inside her had been washed away in her panic.

The scandal blew up. The entire company knew. The girl had no proof, and the executive had money and connections. His lawyers pressed hard, accusing her of false allegations.

Desperate, the girl claimed she had a witness. She said her best friend, Kristen, had seen the executive drag her into the room. She said her best friend could testify for her.

She thought Kristen would testify for her—after all, they were the closest of friends.

But Kristen hadn’t seen anything. To help, she’d have to commit perjury. So when the police questioned her, Kristen denied it.

Because of that testimony, the girl was conclusively deemed a liar. The case fizzled out. The executive walked away scot-free. The girl, however, suffered a mental breakdown and even climbed to the company rooftop, attempting suicide to prove her innocence.

She was saved in the end, but she never recovered. She’d been in the sanatorium for years.

During that time, Kristen could feel the piercing stares everywhere she went—at the company, at the dorm. They condemned her, despised her, accused her of betraying their friendship.

In the end, it was Lin Xiuxi who used her family’s influence to pressure the company into firing the executive.

Kristen looked up, eyes red, but with a strange smile on her face.

“And so she became the hero. And I was cast as the villain.”