Pei Tingsong shrugged. “Growing up is a process of evolving self-awareness. That’s why no one can escape the ‘it’s actually good’ phenomenon.”
Hearing this, the fans below the stage found themselves unable to argue.
Whether everyone truly experiences this “it’s actually good” moment, Fang Juexia didn’t know. But everyone was well aware of his picky eating habits.
The venue felt a bit chilly, so staff brought Pei Tingsong a hoodie to layer over his outfit. The background music for the signing event suddenly switched to his debut track “Kaleido”—the live version, no less. Just as staff prepared to change the song, fans below the stage erupted into a massive sing-along. Ling Yi grabbed the mic, shouting, “Don’t switch it! Don’t switch it!”
Lu Yuan moved his body enthusiastically to the crowd’s voices. “The original battle anthem is here.”
“You guys are singing so well!” Jiang Miao gave a thumbs-up to the audience below.
The fans even nailed He Ziyan’s rap part perfectly, surprising them all. Fang Juexia seemed genuinely amazed, clapping along to the beat. Unlike Ling Yi, who could crack jokes and sing anytime, anywhere, he rarely sang in informal settings. Yet, swept up in the moment, he too got caught up in the energy.
Ling Yi held the mic and sang the chorus with everyone: “Fight! Fight! Fight! Enjoy the fall in the gale. Fight! Fight! Fight! After the storm, you’ll remember me—”
It was time for Pei Tingsong’s legendary impromptu moment. Fang Juexia, swept up in the fervor, joined in from the chorus all the way to the rap.
Seeing him swaying his head and singing his part, Pei Tingsong found it utterly adorable. He handed the mic to Fang Juexia’s lips, and just like that, the cool lead singer’s rap debut was unveiled before everyone.
“This value auction show, haters don’t even have the right to raise their hands…”
The moment Fang Juexia’s voice hit the air, he startled himself. Frozen like a frightened little animal, he just blinked.
“Whoo!” He Ziyan was the first to cheer, “Keep going!”
Pei Tingsong raised an eyebrow at him. Fans below the stage screamed in unison, forcing lead singer Fang Juexia to keep rapping to the beat: “…all my money rising tall. I am rich, oh I am fresh. Your little…” When he reached “bitches,” Fang Juexia automatically substituted, “angels love me so.”
At the word “angels,” Pei Tingsong shook his head with a smile.
Lu Yuan burst out laughing, “Hahahaha, it even comes with purification!”
Jiang Miao remarked, “Improvisation is a family tradition of the Kaleido clan.”
Fang Juexia, however, grew more enthusiastic with each line. He snatched the mic from Pei Tingsong’s hands—who was holding it like a human mic stand—and delivered the final verses at a rare rapid-fire pace: “Kicked the fakers to the curb, no settling for second-rate opponents. Next stop: my universe. You’ve got one second left to run.”
“Wow, so awesome!”
“Juexia is amazing!”
Ling Yi maintained his dignity as lead singer, delivering his part word for word. When Fang Juexia’s verse came, he retaliated by shoving the mic in front of an unprepared Pei Tingsong. So rap-hand Pyeo Cheong-song passively began singing with an intensely complex expression: “My soul once burned, a fiery thirst, erupting into flames at this very moment.”
Fang Juexia snatched the mic back the instant he finished, taking over Pyeo Cheong-song’s part while raising an eyebrow at him. “Say hello to my ego.”
The look and the line carried a distinct hint of provocation. But Pei Tingsong loved it. He loved the vibrant Fang Juexia—the one who blushed, acted childish, and found the courage to try new things when encouraged by others.
When Ling Yi hit the final three high notes, he didn’t even stand up—he just sat there smiling as he finished the song. This unexpectedly performed debut track ended up being a messy live rendition, yet the fans were utterly satisfied.
He Ziyan joked, “Next time Juexia does a solo, he should rap. That’d be the real deal—an ace.”
Fang Juexia, ever slow to catch on, was thrilled while singing but felt a bit embarrassed afterward, waving his hands constantly. Jiang Miao teased him too, “What lead singer doesn’t dream of rapping?”
Ling Yi cupped his face with both hands, “I don’t.”
Jiang Miao instantly lost his composure, “Yiyi, are you my professional spoilsport?”
“Hahahaha!”
Pei Tingsong leaned back in his chair, quietly observing Fang Juexia. He watched as the singer’s cool exterior melted away, revealing a boy who flustered easily when teased. One who hummed along to parts not meant for him when caught in the moment. One who, too shy to curse, replaced “bitch” in lyrics with “angel.”
Fang Juexia didn’t catch Pei Tingsong’s gaze, but when he occasionally glanced sideways, he saw something. Jiang Miao gave him a subtle nudge, and he turned back to continue the conversation. But the moment he finished speaking, Fang Juexia swung around again, like a dutiful little robot. Recognizing an unprocessed task in his mental queue, he reached out and grasped the drawstrings of Pei Tingsong’s hoodie. One was long, the other short—extremely asymmetrical.
“What are you doing?” Pei Tingsong asked, watching him. But Fang Juexia, consumed by his OCD, paid him no mind. He stared intently at the two small cords, tugging and tugging, trying to make them equal in length.
Yet the more he tugged, the longer they grew. Pei Tingsong could even feel the hood behind him tightening. But there was no choice—if he didn’t indulge Fang Juexia’s OCD, the trouble would be far worse.
So he let it slide, until Fang Juexia finally pressed the two strings together, meticulously comparing them until they were nearly identical. Only then did he declare, “There.”
Seeing him satisfied, Pei Tingsong muttered a thank you and turned to look at the hat pulled tight behind him.
It didn’t seem to have done much to improve the look.
Many of Fang Juexia’s little details and mannerisms might not seem particularly noteworthy to others. At their core, they were just trivial behaviors driven by human personality and emotions. But Pei Tingsong found them endearing.
In the past, he’d habitually stood on the side of detachment, idealistically dissecting and judging others’ desires, believing any imbalance stemmed from unnecessary fuss.
Only after letting someone into his heart did Pei Tingsong finally realize how incredibly difficult true equality—the kind people idealized—actually was. Because now, he found himself favoring Fang Juexia every single moment.
During the intermission, everyone ate, drank, and played games. Kaleido’s relationship with fans had always been more like friends—joking around and teasing each other. They were both principled individuals. Even during their struggling days after debut, they rarely engaged deeply with their small fanbase. After all, they just wanted to make music.
After the break, Kaleido resumed the remaining half of the signing session. Fans came up with all sorts of creative ideas, leaving them thoroughly impressed. The atmosphere remained cheerful right up until the end, until Fang Juexia encountered a rather unique fan—the very last one in line.
She was a plainly dressed girl, around sixteen or seventeen, carrying nothing. Unlike the other fans, she wasn’t brimming with emotion or overflowing with enthusiasm. Instead, she seemed extremely reserved, even timid.
“Brother Juexia, could you please sign my name?” Her voice was low and soft, almost lost in the noisy venue. Fang Juexia apologized, then leaned closer. “What’s your name? What would you like signed?”
The girl kept her head down. “Xiaoqi—it’s the character for ‘jade’ with the radical for ‘other’.” She continued softly, “Just sign… ‘Keep going’.”
Her request was simple, but Fang Juexia sensed something off about her. He wrote “Xiaoqi” and paused. He wasn’t one to show concern often, but now that she was right in front of him, he couldn’t ignore it.
“If you’re not in a hurry, would you mind chatting with me for a bit?” Fang Juexia smiled. “You seem a little down.”
The girl suddenly began to cry, tears falling one by one onto the back of her hand resting on the table. Fang Juexia immediately pulled out a tissue and handed it to her. Hearing her say thank you, she then told him, “Brother Juexia, I’m so tired.” She sniffed. “Before coming here, I just had a fight with my parents. They said… they said I’m weird, always wearing headphones and never saying a word. They said I’m like a mute, not cheerful and likable like other people’s kids. They say that every single day.”
Fang Juexia listened silently, patting her arm gently. Pei Tingsong and Ling Yi, who had finished signing their copies, noticed too. Ling Yi handed her an unopened carton of milk, trying to comfort her. Pei Tingsong wasn’t good at offering solace, so he simply asked, “Every day?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah, because I’m introverted and don’t know how to fit in with others. Sometimes I wish I could talk more like cheerful kids, but I just can’t. Mom always looks down on me, thinks I’m embarrassing. Especially when there are lots of adults around—they scold me, saying it would’ve been better to have a mute child, someone more likable than me.”
She wiped her tears. “I know I’m unlikable and boring, but this is who I am. Aren’t they supposed to be closest to me? Why do they treat me like this…”
Pei Tingsong immediately thought of Fang Juexia. When he was in middle school, his father—disabled and an alcoholic—vented his frustrations in the same way, completely rejecting Fang Juexia as a person. What Pei Tingsong didn’t know was that such parents were actually quite common—dismissing a child came all too easily to them.
Fang Juexia remained calm. He pulled a tissue and handed it to the girl. “You know, I’m a quiet person too. So I’ve gone through much of what you’ve experienced—often labeled as aloof. Our society’s stereotype is that extroversion is superior to introversion, so every child is taught to be lively.“ His tone softened. ”But that’s not true. Often, introversion is innate—it’s part of who you are from birth. Like you—listening to music gives you more comfort and security than talking, right?”
The girl nodded. “Right.”
“Exactly. A quiet disposition is like a chip embedded in you at birth—hard to change. Since it’s difficult, don’t try to change it. Just be an introvert. Ignore others’ judgments, and never let them define you. The world holds all kinds of people. No personality deserves complete rejection. Being introverted doesn’t mean you’re boring.”
Pei Tingsong listened silently beside them, saying nothing. He couldn’t deny that he’d once held biases against Fang Juexia’s excessive quietness, labeling him wooden and unresponsive. So this was how Fang truly saw himself—not forced into silence, but simply being his authentic self.
The girl no longer kept her head down. Instead, she looked up at Fang Juexia with tears in her eyes, a hint of timidity still visible.
Fang Juexia wasn’t particularly skilled at encouraging others. He could only draw upon logical examples within his own familiar field. “Let me give you an example. Some mathematicians once tried to categorize all natural numbers into interesting and uninteresting ones. Of course, ‘interesting’ is subjective—prime numbers are interesting, repeating digits are interesting. Basically, any number with distinctive features gets classified as interesting. But later, this problem evolved into a loose paradox: every single natural number is interesting.”
The girl sank into thought, puzzled. “Why?”
Ling Yi also felt curious. “Yeah, why? Surely there must be some numbers without any special features.”
Fang Juexia smiled. “Let’s prove it by contradiction. If there truly exists a set of uninteresting natural numbers, wouldn’t it necessarily contain the smallest uninteresting number?”
Pei Tingsong immediately grasped the point and chuckled. “‘The smallest uninteresting number’—that’s already an interesting characteristic.”
Fang Juexia was slightly taken aback. “Exactly.” He turned to the girl. “This leads to a contradiction—the smallest uninteresting number is itself an interesting number. So,” he lowered his head, signing the album for her as he spoke, “don’t doubt whether you’re interesting or likable. Just be yourself.”
After signing, Fang Juexia handed her the album with both hands. “Stay confident, okay?”
The girl was deeply encouraged. She nodded vigorously and smiled. “Thank you, Brother Juexia. Thank you.”
Fang Juexia shook his head and watched her leave.
Cheng Qiang picked up the microphone. “So glad everyone could join us for Kaleido’s signing event. It’s almost over, so please hold onto your belongings and don’t lose anything.”
Everyone felt regret. The others were saying their goodbyes to fans, trying to talk and joke as much as possible. Only Fang Juexia waved silently at the fans below the stage, smiling.
Pei Tingsong realized Fang Juexia was steadily overturning his preconceptions—a fascinating process. He’d thought he understood him well enough, but clearly hadn’t. Outwardly reserved and taciturn, Fang was actually a person of immense inner strength. Having lived his whole life amid others’ disapproval, he’d never wavered in his self-belief.
Really cool.
“What did you sign for her?” Pei Tingsong finally couldn’t resist asking.
Fang Juexia’s gaze was clear as he smiled.
“The same as me—be an interesting minimal boring number.”
Author’s Note: Second update at 9:20 PM. If there’s a second update in the future, I might post the first one earlier.
Hope everyone can overcome self-doubt~
(Some friends questioned: Would anyone really confess such feelings to their idol at a signing event? Yes, and many do. Moreover, the emotional encouragement idols provide fans is incredibly powerful. It’s perfectly natural for fans to feel the urge to confide when they meet their idols and feel cared for. Look it up—you’ll find such incidents happen frequently. It’s not “unrealistic or contrived”; similar stories abound.)
Just look at the comments on this chapter—there are so many stereotypes about introverted personalities. So whether you see this as inspirational fluff or moralizing, as long as it encourages those who need it, the rest doesn’t matter. Also, please stop constantly comparing this to my other book—they have different themes and aren’t comparable.)
