Chapter 36

As the filming entered its later half, the guests gradually ran into each other. During the puzzle-solving phase, everyone had picked up various item-stealing props, so chaos quickly broke out—you steal from me, I steal from you—turning the once eerie, silent escape room into a raucous mess.

This episode’s filming lasted only two days. By evening, the guests had finished their missions and moved into rehearsal.

Since this was an individual challenge, the performances were also solo. Each guest had randomly received their own performance song during the mission phase.

Learning from Shen Junyi’s stunt last episode, the production team was careful not to use his songs again. Among the eight tracks—pure vocal pieces, dance numbers, and adaptations—one was Zhao Yu’s single Just One, which had won an award at an international music festival the year before.

The single was a collaboration with internationally renowned producer Grate, a quintessential Western pop track with bold rhythms and a strong pulse. Simply put: it was cool.

The entire song and dance embodied that “cool” vibe. Over the past two years, many girl group survival shows had used this song for competitions, because it was sharp, sexy, and always got the crowd hyped.

The person who got this song was Zheng Wanyi, who’d been dying to collaborate with Zhao Yu.

With a solo stage, collaboration was impossible. But using Yu Yu’s song was close enough to a dream come true, so Zheng Wanyi was thrilled.

That thrill didn’t last long once she got to rehearsal.

Just One’s choreography was among the top three hardest in the current dance-singing market.

Contestants who used this song in survival shows usually rehearsed for one to two months in advance. How was she—a small actor living off her acting skills—supposed to learn it in this short time?

Zhao Yu encouraged her: “You can do it! I’ll teach you step by step. You’ll get it.”

She’d been assigned an adapted classic old song this episode, with a familiar melody and simple dance moves, so she wasn’t in a rush.

Two episodes in a row, Zheng Wanyi was left teary-eyed by the song list. She sat on the floor, threw a little tantrum, then got back up and kept learning from Zhao Yu.

Three hours later, she broke down again. Sitting on the ground, kicking her legs and wailing, she cried: “I can’t learn it! Even if I break my arms and legs, I still can’t learn it—I’m just a useless little waste!”

Zhao Yu crouched in front of her, one finger pressing to her forehead, looking at her helplessly.

After sobbing for a while, Zheng Wanyi grabbed her wrist and begged: “Xiao Yu, let’s switch. I really can’t do it. Your dance isn’t for humans. Let’s switch, okay? Please?”

Zhao Yu asked, “Don’t want to try again?”

Zheng Wanyi shook her head like a rattle. “No, no. Different people have different strengths. I’m just a little actor—please spare me!”

The director’s team had been watching her struggle for three hours and knew it was hopeless. After all, they had to perform for ticketed audiences tomorrow, so they allowed the swap.

Now both of them were relieved.

Zhao Yu’s own dance didn’t need much practice. She helped Zheng Wanyi with her routine for a while, then the two went back to the hotel together.

As the car pulled into the garage, they spotted a few girls with cameras lingering outside the hotel. Zheng Wanyi glanced at them. “They’re either Shen Junyi’s fans or Xia Yuan’s. They’re following way too closely.”

Zhao Yu paused, remembering how Shen Junyi had been constantly harassed by sasaeng fans. He’d spoken out multiple times about rational fandom, but it didn’t seem to stop the obsessive ones.

She was on the same floor as Shen Junyi. As she got off the elevator, she saw two suspicious-looking girls slip out from the emergency stairwell. The moment they saw her, they guiltily turned around and disappeared back into the stairwell.

Lin Zhinan frowned and whispered, “Hurry.”

Zhao Yu raised her voice, deliberately loud enough for them to hear: “Tell hotel security to sweep the floor.”

Almost instantly, hurried footsteps echoed from the stairwell—the two girls were running down.

Back in the room, Lin Zhinan said, “These sasaeng fans are getting bolder and bolder!”

They’d dealt with sasaengs in Korea too—the stalking, the intrusive photos, the late-night calls—it was terrifying, and there was nothing you could do but be angry.

Zhao Yu changed and headed to the shower. “Just to be safe, tell hotel security to do a sweep.”

Lin Zhinan nodded.

The night passed without incident. The next morning, the guests woke up early and continued their last day of rehearsals. With last episode’s experience, everyone was much calmer and went through the performances smoothly.

This time, the venue was again just over two thousand seats. News of their filming in Chongqing had leaked, and fans traveled specifically to try and snag tickets to see their idols.

So tonight’s audience had many more fans than the previous episode. During Zhao Yu’s performance, she spotted her pink light sign, boldly flashing: “Zhao Yu, give me a kiss!”

She couldn’t help but smile. At her final pose, she blew a kiss toward that sign. The Yu Meiren fans’ screams nearly blew the roof off.

With the solo stage done, the second episode officially wrapped. Zhao Yu had no schedule tomorrow, so she didn’t need to rush back to Beijing. Having been in Chongqing for two days without trying the hotpot, she invited Zheng Wanyi, Wei Chi, and the others to an authentic hotpot place.

Shen Junyi had a promotional event in Shanghai tomorrow morning and had to head to the airport immediately after changing. Xia Yuan teased him on purpose: “Junyi Ge, you should at least grab some hotpot seasoning to take home. Coming all the way to Chongqing and not having hotpot would be too sad.”

Shen Junyi said coolly, “No thanks. My eight-pack abs remind me not to eat this high-calorie junk.”

Xia Yuan touched his own modest abs and shut up in frustration.

Zhao Yu comforted him. “It’s okay—one meal won’t make you fat.”

Shen Junyi put on his cap, glanced sideways at her, and said airily, “Won’t make you fat, but can’t say the same about pimples.”

Xia Yuan: “Huh? Pimples?”

Zhao Yu: “???”

She immediately recalled the time she’d visited him in Hangzhou, face full of acne.

Back then, he’d even snuck a piece of aloe vera from the old man across the street who grew flowers, brought it back to put on her face, and earnestly told her it would cure acne!

So he’d remembered her pimples all these years???

The thought of how ugly she’d been, grinning like an idiot around him every day, made her want to bash his head in.

Shen Junyi gave her a meaningful eyebrow raise, clearly saying: Yep, I still remember. Surprised?

Zhao Yu clenched her fists.

He quickly put on his cap and bolted.

His assistant followed with the suitcase, sensing he’d be caught in the crossfire if he didn’t move faster. Once in the car, Shen Junyi pulled his cap over his face, crossed his arms, and rested. After a moment, his assistant gathered courage and said, “Shen Ge, why do you always tease Xiao Yu? Her ears were red just now.”

Shen Junyi grinned under the cap. “Were they?”

The assistant nodded emphatically. “Yeah! You’re always picking on her during filming too!”

As a Yu Meiren, he couldn’t take it anymore! If not for this job, he’d love to punch this guy for bullying his idol!

Shen Junyi settled deeper into his seat, changing to a more comfortable position, and said lazily, “She’s always so stiff. I just want to tease her.” He sighed, eyes half-closed. “She was so cute when she was little.”

The assistant’s eyes lit up. “When she was little? You two knew each other as kids? Hey, Shen Ge, tell me what Xiao Yu was like back then!”

Shen Junyi shot him a sidelong glance. “You know too much.”

Assistant: “…………”

He quietly zipped his gossipy mouth shut.

…

Back in Beijing, Zhao Yu began preparing for the Chun Su milk commercial shoot.

She had a bold, radiant beauty—her usual makeup and styling emphasized her dazzling features. But this milk ad emphasized comfort and purity. The stylist gave her a no-makeup makeup look, dressed her in light colors, and focused on a girl-next-door vibe.

Zhao Yu was used to being bold and glamorous, so suddenly having to act cute felt a bit awkward. After the shoot, she asked Lin Zhinan, a little worriedly, “Did it look natural?”

Lin Zhinan: “Super natural, super cute! So adorable I want to steal your milk carton!”

Zhao Yu: “…………”

The client was also very pleased with the ad. Both the video and print materials captured the feel they wanted. Besides online video promotion, the campaign would also appear on bus stops and subway stations across major first-tier cities.

Zhao Yu received a hundred cartons of Chun Su milk. She gave some to friends in Beijing and sent ten cases back to Jiang Lei and Zhao Kangning.

When Jiang Lei received them, she called: “With the shipping cost, we could have bought several cases ourselves. Stop sending stuff home.”

Her schedule was only going to get busier. Worried that she might be away for months and the milk would expire, Zhao Yu spent her days chugging milk at home until even her burps tasted like milk.

The Thorny Path was scheduled to air during the summer holiday. The next two episodes would be filmed back-to-back. By the time she finished the third and fourth episodes and returned, Han Shuang had finally secured the Shining Girls finale performance deal.

Qiyi had also been interested in reaching out to Zhao Yu. She was the center of a national girl group—though her domestic career had just begun, it was only a matter of time before she reached the top with her credentials.

They showed genuine enthusiasm, not only inviting her as a guest performer but also offering a cooperation contract. This season’s show was ending, and next season’s was already recruiting sponsors—they wanted Zhao Yu as a mentor for the next season.

Filming for next season wouldn’t start until next year. If she signed now, the terms would be based on her current status. No matter how much her value rose next year, the contract terms wouldn’t change. It was both their sincerity and a business move.

Though they knew they were being taken advantage of in the timing gap, Qiyi’s survival shows always had massive national attention and high exposure. After discussing it with Zhao Yu, Han Shuang signed the early contract—it was also a gesture of goodwill toward domestic capital.

After signing, Han Shuang smiled. “Now we have both endorsements and exposure. The timing works perfectly—the finale airs right around when The Thorny Path’s first episode drops.”

She paused, then added, “The first episode’s final cut should be done. I need to get the production team to send it over.”

Zhao Yu knew what she was worried about and nodded.

Han Shuang had been in the industry for years and had many genuine friends thanks to her sincere, personable nature. One of the post-production editors was a good friend of hers—when she asked for the final cut, the editor knew exactly why.

Han Shuang received the file from the production team. Barely two minutes into watching, the editor called her.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the editor chuckled. “You’re really on top of things now that you’re managing Zhao Yu—personally reviewing the final cut.”

Han Shuang laughed. “She’s our only star. I have to be careful.”

The editor said, “You don’t need to watch it. It’s absolutely fine.” She lowered her voice. “Between you and me, Shen Junyi’s agent personally supervised the editing. I’ve been in this industry for years and never seen such a serious agent. He made us cut any scenes that could be misinterpreted. The final cut is very clean. Though Zhao Yu was paired with him, she actually has more interaction with the other guests. She won’t get much buzz from him, but at least you don’t have to worry about what you were afraid of.”

Shen Junyi’s team’s involvement in post-production had been written into the contract by his agent early on. The editor vented a little, then added, “They’re probably scared after all the dating rumors and clout-chasing from female celebs in the past. Don’t worry—they’re even more cautious than you.”

Han Shuang felt both relieved and a little annoyed.

That “protecting the male star from clout-chasing female” attitude was irritating. Who wants to farm your popularity anyway? Her artist was aiming for a national goddess image—on talent alone!

Han Shuang hung up, didn’t bother continuing the video, and texted Zhao Yu about it, emphasizing: “Keep your distance in future episodes. Let them have their delusions.”

Zhao Yu replied with an OK emoji.

Whether it was because Shen Junyi’s team had communicated with the production team or not, in the following episodes, Zhao Yu was never paired with him again.

Bi Zhou occasionally came to set. During filming, he’d watch from the sidelines, and he noticed Zhao Yu keeping her distance.

Years ago, at the Korean awards ceremony backstage, when Zhao Yu had gone to see Shen Junyi, Bi Zhou had always suspected her intentions. So when she quit her group, returned to China, and was set to appear on the same show as Shen Junyi, he was immediately on high alert.

But now, watching her, she seemed quite sensible—not what he’d feared. He’d heard that her agent was also requesting to review the final cut, which meant this time, they weren’t dealing with another clout-chasing parasite team.

As the editor had said, he’d been burned too many times by female celebrities trying to leech off his artist.

If not for those baseless, parasitic scandals, his Junyi’s popularity might have surpassed Huo Xi’s by a mile by now. He wouldn’t have been overtaken and stuck in this awkward rivalry.

Just thinking about it made Bi Zhou furious.

Constantly fighting Huo Xi’s team over resources was exhausting—mentally and physically, and his hair was falling out.

He knew his artist’s personality well. During a midday break, he said quietly, “Can’t you see she’s trying to keep her distance? Just cooperate and stay away from her. Is that so hard?”

Shen Junyi glanced lazily at him over his takeout box. “You’re already having the editors cut things. Does it matter if I’m near or far?”

Bi Zhou: “…………”

He knew what Shen Junyi was thinking. He truly considered Zhao Yu a friend. She’d just returned to China and needed popularity and exposure, so he wanted to give her a boost. His earlier excuse to the director about “no one matching my stage ability” was also a way to steer the production team toward Zhao Yu.

Having managed Shen Junyi for years, he knew him well. On the surface, he was carefree and casual, but he kept a lot inside and had his own way of doing things. He just never showed anything but his sunny side.

You couldn’t force him. Bi Zhou sighed and reasoned with him: “You think interacting with her on the show is helping her? If you really care about her, you should keep your distance. You know what your fans are like, right? And you know what happened to the female artists who tried to leverage you for buzz before.”

Shen Junyi paused, his hand still holding his water cup, and stayed quiet for a moment.

Bi Zhou continued, “You’ve already helped her a lot by getting her on this show. How she performs and how much screen time she gets—that’s not your concern. Don’t you understand why she’s keeping her distance? She doesn’t want your popularity handed to her—it just makes things awkward and adds more work for the editors. I heard her company wants her to build an independent, national-goddess image. If you actually value her as a friend, don’t trip her up.”

After saying that, Bi Zhou held his breath, waiting for a reaction.

Shen Junyi poked at his rice for a moment, then pushed his cap up a little. “Got it.”