That night, those four lines of lyrics kept circling in his mind,
only when he embraced Fang Juexia did he drift into dreams.
He dreamed he was a tree squeezed into existence between rocks on a cliff.
The process of growing was painful—
pain from the stones grinding against him,
pain from being squeezed in the crevices. Yet he had soaked in mist and clouds for half his life, soaked until his body went numb, devoid of feeling.
In a daze, a blinding flash of lightning struck his branches, sending him teetering on the edge, longing only to fall.
But what lay below? An abyss of endless depth. How could the lightning that fled so swiftly linger with broken branches and withered leaves, trapped at the valley’s bottom? Perhaps he could cling to the silver phantom it left behind, continuing his mist-shrouded dreams in the muddy swamp. Consumed by a moment’s blazing fire, he’d burn himself to ashes, spending his remaining days in dust.
Somehow, Fang Juexia suddenly opened his eyes. He stared into the boundless darkness, gasping for breath. After waking, he sat on the bed in a daze for another half hour. His mind began to clear, each detail of the dream replaying vividly. That overwhelming, consuming burning sensation still refused to fully fade.
Fang Juexia knew this dream was a metaphor for his inner turmoil. He feared this lightning bolt was merely playing games with the world, casually creating a catastrophe. Trees on cliffs have no legs; there’s nowhere to hide.
At dawn, Kaleido went to record shows as usual. Besides Yunshi’s MLH, they also had two other music variety shows for different platforms.
It was quite realistic, really. Ever since they gained mainstream attention through their live streams, they received preferential treatment during recordings. Another platform even upgraded Kaleido to a larger green room and specially compiled their performance highlights into a compilation video for streaming sites to attract fans.
The six members of Kaleido remained as humble as ever, bowing respectfully to every staff member.
Following the viral success of their straight-cam footage, a prominent content creator on a major video platform dedicated an entire reaction video to their debut stage of “Break the Array.” The title read: [Leak the Song, Discard the Song? Idols Lack Talent? Watch This Divine Live Performance Shut Down the Entire Internet!]
The video quickly surged to the platform’s homepage with skyrocketing views and saves. Kaleido’s electrifying performance and the creator’s hilariously over-the-top reactions proved irresistible, propelling it to the top of its category. The video’s viral success sparked a wave of reactions to Kaleido’s live stages across the platform. Numerous creators followed suit, covering not only this comeback stage but also previously overlooked gems, revealing the boy group’s true talent to a wider audience.
Moreover, “Break the Array” quietly gained traction in the music section, becoming a popular cover song among vocalists. Amidst this wave of derivative content achieving dual popularity, “Break the Array”—which nearly died from an early leak—gained widespread affection. It dominated trending searches across major music platforms, its streaming numbers skyrocketing to overtake Seven Stars’ new release and claim the top spot.
Online controversies may rise and fall, but Fang Juexia remains the same—steady and quiet. Only when he steps onto the stage does he emerge from his hard shell, unleashing immense energy.
It was already 10 a.m. after wrapping up the music show. The fan meeting was scheduled for 2 p.m. at a small venue that could hold a thousand people. Kaledo hurriedly changed outfits, rushing from the recording studio to the new album meet-and-greet venue.
Ling Yi and Lu Yuan chatted in the car. Fang Juexia watched Lu Yuan—usually the joker—staring at the countless fans below the recording building and uttered these words.
“So this is what fame feels like.”
Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Not for himself, but for this team. None of them fit the mold of a conventional idol. There was the one who lost the championship in a talent show due to rigging, promising talents who should have debuted as singers; dancers who lost everything after winning titles; a classical musician forced to choose another path to support his sister; creators who roamed street bars and nightclubs yet still loved music; and a rebellious thornbird who escaped one cage only to be thrown into another.
Fate brought them together, granting this man—born branded with failure—a band of companions to prop each other up and grow.
Ling Yi leaned his head against the window. “I feel a bit detached too, kinda dazed. Maybe I’m just used to how things were before. Going from invisible to suddenly having so many supporters feels awkward.”
Fang Juexia, rarely speaking, smiled at them. “Popularity follows a parabolic curve—rise, then fall. Fame is always just a phase. But the work and the stage are eternal, right?”
Ling Yi nodded emphatically, his eyes reddening slightly. He wiped his eyes and pouted, “Juexia, you sound like an adult.”
“Hahahaha, he always has been, okay?”
“Only Xiao Pei isn’t an adult.”
“Hey, why always pick on me? I’m twenty!”
To reward fans both in the audience and watching the livestream, the opening performance featured the entire group in ancient-style costumes, all in a unified red color scheme. Before the official performance of “Breaking the Array,” there was a minute-and-a-half-long dance intro. Each member wore a long strip of red gauze, two fingers wide, draped over their eyes and tied at the back of their head, fluttering with their movements. This intro was set to a piece of music produced by He Ziyan—electronic music with a Chinese classical style. The choreography, by Lu Yuan, blended Chinese dance with street dance elements, creating a sharp and edgy vibe.
After the opening, the members exited to change costumes. Their new album’s non-promotional tracks played during the changeover. When they returned, everyone sported outfits in the group’s Klein blue support color. Pei Tingsong sported white hair with a blue athletic headband, dressed in a blue hoodie and white shorts for a crisp athletic look. Fang Juexia wore his hair in a low ponytail with a strand of fringe falling to his jawline, pairing a blue knit sweater with white trousers and silver-rimmed glasses.
The fans’ enthusiasm was even more intense than before. They had been chanting “Kaleido!” in unison even before the members returned to the stage, and the cheers only grew louder once they appeared. The host couldn’t even get a word in.
It was Jiang Miao who finally spoke up, “How about letting us say a few words too?”
The fans below the stage burst into laughter at once, the atmosphere shifting from fervent cheering to lightheartedness.
The host seized the moment to get to the point, “First, congratulations to Kaleido on your official comeback with the new album Breaking the Array. After a year since your last release, how do you all feel?”
Official spokesperson Jiang Miao took the question, “Of course, we’re incredibly excited. The planning process was actually quite challenging. This time, every member participated in the album’s production, especially the lead track. It was a risky endeavor—shifting from performers interpreting a song to creators expressing one. This transition brought immense pressure to us and our supporting company.”
Fang Juexia listened intently to the captain’s words, suddenly recalling the first meeting after the airport video went viral. It was then that he and Pei Tingsong independently proposed the idea of participating in the creative process themselves. Looking back now, it felt like the recklessness of a newborn calf fearing no tigers. He couldn’t pinpoint where that confidence and determination came from, nor did they consider the consequences of failure—they just wanted to try, to do it themselves.
“Very few idol groups actually create their own music these days. Perhaps that’s precisely why ‘Break the Array’ resonated so deeply.” The host posed the second question, “Did anything particularly interesting happen during the creative process that you could share with your fans?”
“Interesting things…” Jiang Miao glanced at Ling Yi, and with unspoken understanding, Ling Yi quickly picked up the mic. “Ah, I remember one! For the opening of ‘Break the Formation,’ I sang a line from the Peking Opera ‘Mu Guiying Takes Command.’ Actually, this idea came from our leader during a meeting before the New Year, but I’d never sung opera before.”
The fans below burst into laughter. Ling Yi continued, “What’s so funny? Do you think I’m particularly suited for opera?” After joking around, he added, “I found a famous Peking Opera teacher and studied for a while—the company covered the expenses, of course. To master opera, you have to sing every day, so I practiced daily in the dorm.”
His teammate Fang Juexia then grabbed the mic: “Let me fill in for him. That day, Ling Yi was warming up his voice. After singing just a couple lines, we heard an old man singing Peking Opera from the other end of the balcony—quite a distance away. We were stunned. Later, we looked up the lyrics he was singing and found out it was from ‘The Yang Family Generals’.”
The host chuckled, “So you two were singing across the void, huh?”
Lu Yuan quipped, “Mu Guiying battles the Yang Family Generals.”
Ling Yi added, “But please don’t mention me under the works of real Peking Opera artists. This is just showmanship—hardly real singing. Mentioning my name would only expose my inadequacy. Spare me the embarrassment.”
Jiang Miao nodded. “Exactly. We must respect others’ work to earn respect ourselves.”
He Ziyan continued, “Speaking of creation, we actually got stuck on the main song’s arrangement for ages. We went through three or four versions—both me and the arranger were numb from listening. Then Jue Xia rewrote the arrangement and composed the melody for the opening and closing verses.” He addressed the fans below the stage, “The kicker is, none of us knew Jue Xia could write songs before this.”
“Wow!”
“Bro Juexia is awesome!”
Fang Juexia, who was already uncomfortable with praise, felt even more embarrassed. To make matters worse, Lu Yuan added, “It was actually Xiao Pei who mentioned Juexia’s talent for melody writing—that’s how we found out.”
The crowd erupted again. Pei Tingsong had to explain, “I discovered it by accident. ”
“By chance?” Fang Juexia shot him a look. He’d known Juexia had written songs even before opening the USB drive—how could he claim it was accidental?
“But Brother Juexia is truly amazing,” Pei Tingsong said, glancing at him. “He’s shattered my previous notions about talented people.”
The praise was so high it made Fang Juexia’s cheeks flush. He forgot to raise the microphone, just turning his head to say, “You’re more talented.”
Ling Yi chimed in jokingly, “Here we go—the mutual praise segment.”
Everyone laughed again. After the host asked a few questions, they announced the sales figures for their new album so far. In just two and a half days, digital album sales had already surpassed 400,000 copies. Compared to their debut album’s total sales of 60,000 and their mini-album’s 100,000, this represented a steep upward trajectory.
“What’s truly remarkable is the trend in streaming and sales,” the host said, guiding fans’ attention to the line graph on the big screen. “It started fairly flat, then surged dramatically at this point—a staggering increase that’s still continuing. The turning point coincided with our group’s first live music show broadcast.”
The host inquired, “Your live performances drew huge crowds of passersby. ‘Breakthrough’ has become a viral BGM on short-video platforms and received widespread acclaim. Many feel you’ve surpassed idol standards—calling you idol singers feels like an understatement. How do you respond to such feedback?”
Several members responded, mostly expressing gratitude for the praise and promising to show their best sides. They didn’t delve deeply into the topic.
Fang Juexia, usually the quietest member who rarely speaks unless prompted, couldn’t help but answer this time.
“Of course, this is encouraging for us. But I want to say this: the term ‘idol’ originally had very positive connotations. Due to certain realities, it’s acquired a lot of negative baggage. Being recognized is certainly great, but we truly are idols. Describing us this way is accurate in terms of our performance format. When I see people saying they don’t want to use words like ‘idol’ or ‘idol group’ to describe us, my personal response is: please acknowledge Kaleido’s identity as idols.”
His gaze was sincere. “Truthfully, being an idol isn’t something shameful. Its existence inherently holds value. I deeply cherish those moments on stage expressing myself as an idol. Rather than being excluded, we dream of a day when people think of us when they hear the word ‘idol.’”
The applause below grew increasingly fervent, not solely out of affection for Juexia. These girls too faced prejudice—simply because their idol was an idol, they were relegated to the lowest rung of the online hierarchy. Even though their group included exceptionally talented individuals, it mattered little; prejudice endured.
Hearing Fang Juexia’s words, Pei Tingsong felt ashamed. He was proud, but not arrogant, and brave enough to openly admit his initial mistake.
When he first joined the company, he approached the job with passive resistance, just like many others who viewed idols through tinted glasses—believing they were inferior to singers, inferior to hip-hop artists.
He thought these people merely sang meaningless songs written by others, dancing like pretty puppets on strings. He disdained placing his dreams within such hollow, superficial forms.
But reality proved him wrong. Fang Juexia standing before him was the most vivid rebuttal to his prejudice.
Through him, Pei Tingsong gradually discovered the true essence of idols—a near-perfect exterior enveloping a resilient, tenacious core.
He wasn’t chasing a dream. There was no smooth path, no bright horizon. All he ever possessed was the label of “wrong,” the blows and slander, the darkness and solitude. Yet even so, he kept moving toward that stage—feeling his way, crawling, running.
Everyone explores various spirits—hip-hop spirit, rock spirit… yet no one considers that perhaps idols possess a spirit too.
Fang Juexia is the embodiment of the idol spirit.
Author’s Note:
Fang Juexia is my idealized vision of an idol. He speaks with the confidence born of his own talent and circumstances. Any discrepancies with reality are intentional—please refrain from mentioning the real world or speculating beyond the book’s entertainment industry and the band Kaleido.
