Chapter 43

When word got out that Zhao Yu would be joining her first production set tomorrow, the group members with extensive acting experience all privately messaged her to share tips for newcomers.

Zhao Yu was replying to them one by one when her WeChat buzzed again—a message from Shen Junyi popped up.

They hadn’t seen each other since their last gathering. Shen Junyi had been even busier than her after six months of seclusion, flying all over the country and abroad, barely staying in one place.

She opened it to find a大头dog meme with the caption “I’m watching you.”

She replied with a cat meme giving a disdainful look that said “What do you want?”

– Shen Junyi: Starting the shoot tomorrow?
– Zhao Yu: Yeah. What, you’ve got acting tips for me too?
– Shen Junyi: How about tips for kissing scenes?

Zhao Yu’s ears flushed bright red. She made a spitting sound at his profile picture before gritting her teeth and replying.

– Zhao Yu: Sounds like you’ve got a lot of experience?
– Shen Junyi: Not bad. The audience does call me the man who kisses best.
– Zhao Yu: [Wow you’re so amazing let me clap for you · jpg]
– Shen Junyi: My advice is—get into the right headspace before the shoot, and nail it in one take! The more you kiss, the less it feels real. Whatever you do, don’t let it NG!

Zhao Yu was half-convinced, half-doubtful, when Wei Chi sent her a screenshot of his recent chat with Shen Junyi.

– Shen Junyi: I heard there are a lot of kissing scenes in the new drama? Don’t you dare take advantage of Zhao Yu and NG multiple times!
– Wei Chi: ??? Do I look like that kind of person? Multiple times? No way. At least a dozen times.
– Shen Junyi: [One slash from me and you’re dead · jpg]
– Wei Chi: You and Xia Yuan are both crazy. You’re just jealous of me.
– Shen Junyi: Ha. Why would I be jealous of you? I’m just pained to see the girl I watched grow up about to be defiled by a pig. Must warn the pig.
– Wei Chi: Fuck you!

Zhao Yu nearly died laughing and replied: Ignore him.

Wei Chi said: He’s already in my blacklist.

While they were chatting, Shen Junyi waited for a reply that never came and sent several angry, grinning emojis in a row:

– Shen Junyi: [pic][pic][pic][pic] Did you hear what your big brother said?!
– Zhao Yu: [What is this annoying thing · jpg]
– Zhao Yu: Fine, I got it, okay?!
– Shen Junyi: [I’m watching you · jpg]
……

Early the next morning, Zhao Yu and Wei Chi joined the production set, and the highly anticipated esports romance drama Love Neighboring the Throne officially announced its lead actors on Weibo.

The official account released styling photos that perfectly captured the hardcore promo aesthetic of esports players.

Zhao Yu wore a simple, crisp ponytail and the dark red team jersey of her character Su Ta’s squad. Standing among four other teammates, arms crossed, she stared coldly at the camera.

The ethereal fairy wielded her beauty like a weapon, striking netizens straight in the heart.

There had been too many unsubstantiated rumors from gossip accounts before. Zhao Yu’s fans had always taken the stance of “if it’s not official, don’t believe it.” And since Zhao Yu had never acted before, the Yu Mei Ren hadn’t taken the earlier buzz seriously at all.

But now with the official announcement, the entire internet erupted.

First, Zhao Yu was hugely popular, and this was her first acting project. Second, the original novel was also very popular. After the announcement, the author even posted a gleeful Weibo, saying Zhao Yu perfectly matched her vision of Su Ta.

The male lead, Zhou Wang, was played by Wei Chi—a stunning combination of handsome and beautiful. Netizens commented: With this casting, I could watch thirty episodes of them just wearing headphones and playing games!

The show hadn’t even started filming, but viewers were already clamoring to watch it.

After the opening ceremony and styling photos, filming officially began that afternoon.

Although it was Zhao Yu’s first time on a production set, her top-idol status, along with tips from her industry friends and Wei Chi’s guidance, helped her adjust quickly to the new environment.

The acting training from the past few months had paid off. Zhao Yu was a bit rusty for the first two days but quickly found her rhythm and improved.

Her character wasn’t particularly challenging—an ice-cold beauty, aloof and fierce, wearing a perpetually expressionless face. When the director explained the role, Zhao Yu thought to herself: I know this routine.

All she had to do was channel the same attitude she used with Shen Junyi.

She picked it up in no time, and even the director praised her natural talent.

Life on set was colorful and far more interesting than rehearsing for stages. The stage was her solo act—every drop of sweat and every ounce of effort in the practice room was hers alone, and when she finally stepped on stage, all the cameras and attention were fixed solely on her.

But on set, everyone progressed and grew together. If one person didn’t nail their role, the whole scene had to be reshot. Everyone’s effort came together to create the final perfection.

The official account occasionally released behind-the-scenes clips to give fans a preview. Netizens often saw Wei Chi explaining scenes to Zhao Yu.

Some fan editors combined footage from their Path of Thorns days—when Zhao Yu taught Wei Chi stage choreography—with these BTS clips, set to sweet, bubbly background music. The CP-shippers were instantly hooked.

– This is what love looks like! You teach me to dance, I teach you to act—each a king in their own domain!
– “Wang Ta recalls past lives; pond fish remember old depths”!!! On-screen and off-screen, they’re both insanely sweet!!!
– Chi-Yu is such a great ship! Handsome guy, beautiful girl—perfect match made in heaven!
……

Creating buzz through lead actor CP rumors was a standard promotional tactic for productions. The production team hadn’t planned to start stirring things up this early, but since netizens were already shipping on their own, they were happy to go along with it and give it a gentle push.

The CP chatter spread like wildfire. Even Xia Yuan came to ask sourly: “Sis, you’re not actually falling for him for real, are you?”

Zhao Yu: “Little bro, have you never acted before?”

After repeated confirmation that it was indeed just promotional hype, Xia Yuan finally felt relieved and happily screenshotted the conversation to send to Shen Junyi: “I told you it was impossible!”

Shen Junyi: “Noted. You may leave now.”

Xia Yuan: “…… Talk about using someone and throwing them away!”

With the drama generating so much buzz, viewers who hadn’t read the original novel rushed to catch up. After finishing it, they all came back saying Zhao Yu was Su Ta incarnate—just take one-third of her stage swagger and put it into the game, and that was more than enough!

Everyone happily shipped the CP while waiting for the drama to air. The only lingering concern was Zhao Yu’s acting. After all, she hadn’t been formally trained and this was her first time—no one knew if she had the talent.

But since the show hadn’t aired yet, worrying about acting was premature. The Yu Mei Ren trusted their idol’s choices and didn’t dwell on it. What concerned them more was the upcoming concert ticket rush.

Their sister’s first solo concert!!!

Sure, some fans had gone to Korea to see her concerts before, but that was a minority—and back then it was a group performance. Most domestic fans had never been to Zhao Yu’s concert, let alone the new fans who’d joined in the past year.

After witnessing Zhao Yu’s stage magnetism, who wouldn’t want to experience a full two hours of her exclusive show?!

At the last music festival of the previous year, the fans had chanted for a concert in unison—it was their wish and Zhao Yu’s dream. After promising them, Zhao Yu had started preparing for this year’s concert.

Choosing cities, securing approvals, assembling teams—she personally participated in every step. For her first solo concert, she wanted to give her fans a flawless stage, allowing no room for error.

By the time Zhao Yu joined the production set, the venue and dates were already set: a stadium in Beijing with 50,000 seats. After she wrapped filming, she’d enter the final rehearsal phase.

Acting didn’t require an agent’s constant presence, so Zhao Yu kept only two assistants with her. Lin Zhinan and Han Shuang focused their energy on the concert, ensuring every detail was optimized.

Time passed quickly amid the filming.

In the height of summer, Zhao Yu’s first solo concert went on sale through Damai, setting a record by selling out in 37 seconds. Her second personal album was also completed and set for a September release, so by the time the concert came around, she’d be debuting new songs live for the first time.

At the end of the month, Love Neighboring the Throne finally wrapped.

The production had aimed for broadcast on satellite TV from the start. The director had been in touch with TV stations early on, and they, valuing the popularity of Zhao Yu and Wei Chi, were willing to give them the prime time slot during the Chinese New Year.

The producer shared the news in the group chat, and everyone was thrilled, believing the show could easily break a 2% viewership rating.

Next came post-production and promotion.

Promotion wouldn’t start until year-end. After the wrap party, Zhao Yu said her goodbyes and returned to Beijing to fully immerse herself in concert preparations.

She didn’t plan to invite guest performers for her first solo concert. She knew the fans were there for her—more than any special guest, they’d want to see as much of her on stage as possible.

Two hours of singing and dancing was physically demanding. Fortunately, even during filming, Zhao Yu had kept up with her fitness training. Recently, she’d increased the intensity in rehearsals, often leaving the backup dancers sprawled exhausted across the room while she kept practicing alone.

As long as she thought of the stage, she seemed to have boundless passion and energy.

By October, Beijing had entered autumn.

When tickets went on sale, Xia Yuan had tried to grab some, but the page wouldn’t even load before they sold out. He ended up dragging Zheng Wanyi along to ask Zhao Yu for VIP seats.

Once he received the tickets, he immediately snapped a photo and posted it in their eight-person group chat to show off.

Of course, the others wouldn’t stand for that—they all came asking Zhao Yu for tickets too. Chu Erping even said he’d bring his daughter along, since she’d been learning to dance lately and wouldn’t stop talking about “Sister Xiao Yu.”

Watching the lively group chat, Zhao Yu thought for a moment and tagged everyone:

– Zhao Yu: @everyone, you’re all coming? I’ll have my assistant mail the tickets over.
– Sun Yan: We want to sit together!
– Ruan Fengdi: Do we need to bring light-up signs? I see fans holding them at concerts these days.
– Xia Yuan: Hahaha no need—the venue provides synchronized glow sticks!
– Shen Junyi: Wow, all of you are going to the show?

Zhao Yu stared at that WeChat avatar—the one that hadn’t popped up in a while—and pursed her lips into a smile.

She’d once gone to his first solo concert. Now that it was her turn, deep down, she wanted him to see it too.

To see her shining on that stage.

But then he followed up with another message:

– Shen Junyi: Too bad I can’t make it. I have work abroad in early October.

Zhao Yu pouted and jabbed at his profile picture in frustration.

He was ridiculously self-absorbed—his avatar was a stage photo his fans used for promotional purposes, with the words “World’s Most Handsome Guy” boldly plastered across it.

He added:

– Shen Junyi: @Zhao Yu, I’ll cheer for you remotely. You’re the brightest star on that stage!

Zhao Yu: …………

She ignored him, privately messaged the others for their addresses, and forwarded them to her assistant to send the tickets.

Muyi Entertainment placed tremendous importance on their only rising star’s first solo concert. From stage design, dancers, and live band to costumes and styling, they’d hired the best domestic teams.

Zhao Yu’s second personal album had been released nationwide in September, and fans knew she’d be performing songs from it at the concert. The team took the new songs’ live debuts very seriously, with stage design, lighting, and styling all tailored to the new album’s vibe.

While Zhao Yu was busy consulting with the various teams, Han Shuang suddenly came to her with excitement. “Eve reached out to us—he wants to collaborate with you!”

Zhao Yu thought she was dreaming.

Eve was an internationally renowned stage costume and styling designer, usually working with global music stars. A Chinese-French hybrid raised in France, he rarely visited China. The only domestic celebrity he’d ever worked with was Shen Junyi.

The looks that made Shen Junyi’s fans scream every year were all Eve’s creations.

A figure like that—impossible to hire even with money, and notoriously proud—had actually reached out to them?

Han Shuang wasn’t dreaming. Not only did Zhao Yu receive a contract from him, but also a WeChat friend request. As soon as she accepted, he got straight to the point:

– Eve: Have your team send me the stage design and lighting renderings. I’m flying to Beijing the day after tomorrow to discuss things in person.
– Zhao Yu: OK. Thank you for your hard work, teacher.
– Eve: Our Junjun personally came to visit. It wasn’t a bother. Alright, see you the day after.

Zhao Yu remembered that Shen Junyi had been in Paris recently. Her emotions swirled for a moment. After a daze, she opened his WeChat.

– Zhao Yu: Eve contacted me. Thank you.
– Shen Junyi: /grin. Not mad anymore?
– Zhao Yu: ? Mad about what?
– Shen Junyi: That I can’t make it to your first solo concert. You were mad, weren’t you?
– Zhao Yu: [I’m not I didn’t you’re imagining things! · jpg]
– Zhao Yu: Who said I was mad?!
– Shen Junyi: Then why didn’t you reply to my messages after that day?
– Zhao Yu: …… Busy with work.
– Shen Junyi: Fine, fine. Good that you’re not mad. And if you were, it doesn’t matter—I’ve already fixed it.
– Zhao Yu: Who asked you to fix anything!
– Shen Junyi: Nyah nyah… Anyway, feel free to ask Eve for anything. I’ve already talked it over with him. Good luck with the concert! I’m off to work.
– Zhao Yu: [Cat disdain · jpg] You too.
……

October arrived as scheduled.

One of the three top idols’ first solo concert drew attention not only from fans, but also from casual netizens and even rival fandoms.

The 37-second sellout record had riled up quite a few people, and everyone wanted to see whether the concert that had sparked a ticket rush of over a million people would actually have real attendance.

Selling out tickets didn’t guarantee that 50,000 people would actually show up. Scalper tickets, media tickets, guaranteed seats, giveaway tickets—all could be used to fabricate an illusion of popularity.

Actual attendance was the only true measure of an artist’s drawing power.

But Zhao Yu didn’t seem the least bit afraid of being put to the test. Her concert had already secured a partnership with Kiwi, and it would be livestreamed on Kiwi TV that night.

It was a consolation for fans who hadn’t managed to get tickets.

The concert was scheduled for 7:30 PM. By 7 PM, the livestream already had over 10 million viewers. When the cameras panned to the audience, the venue was packed—fans streamed in from every entrance, gradually filling every seat.

A vast sea of pink, not a single empty seat in sight. The bullet comments nearly covered the entire screen:

– AHHHHHHHHH it’s about to start! Left-behind kids are shedding tears of excitement!
– So jealous of the Yu Mei Ren at the venue TVT—definitely grabbing tickets next year!
– Zhao Yu’s attendance is insane. Even the last row at the top is full.
– The haters who wanted to call out low attendance have probably slunk away from the stream by now.
– Nope, you’re underestimating their patience. They’re definitely still here, waiting to trash Zhao Yu’s live abilities.
– And then accidentally get converted by her live performance?
– Hahahaha, is anyone still delusional enough to hate on Zhao Yu’s live? Haven’t the past two years of music festivals proven her stage power?!
……

The bullet comments were buzzing with energy. Backstage, Zhao Yu could already hear the synchronized cheers from the crowd. Their voices sent a current of warmth surging through her entire body.

At 7:30, the concert officially began.

A concert entirely, purely hers. A pink sea without a single impurity. She stood at the center of the stage, looking out in all directions, and for one fleeting moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat.

Zhao Yu suddenly remembered many years ago, when she’d sat in a sea of lights just like this, screaming for the person she adored.

Back then, young and clueless, she’d dreamed of standing at the peak alongside him.

Only now did she truly understand what that peak meant.

Wherever the pink sea shone—that was her summit.

She no longer needed to chase anyone. But she would forever be grateful to the boy who had first lit her dream.