On the evening Liang Ruo left the team, Astar’s official Weibo account posted a statement.
The lengthy message essentially covered three points: expressing a proper stance on the senior management sexual assault case and pledging cooperation with the investigation; amicably terminating Liang Ruo’s contract and extending well wishes; and rectifying the company’s culture to restore Astar’s bright future.
Despite facing criticism, the company demonstrated a commendably earnest stance and timely response. Previously, netizens had expressed concerns about Liang Ruo’s contractual situation, but seeing Astar directly terminate the agreement now, many felt it was a positive step.
Given the circumstances, skepticism and criticism were inevitable. Yet many voices emerged urging the company not to be tarnished by the actions of a single executive. Beyond its statement, Astar established a dedicated industry-wide anti-sexual assault foundation, complete with a 24-hour hotline offering financial and legal support to anyone in need. This initiative significantly improved public perception, easing much of the criticism directed at the company and its artists.
That same evening, Fang Juexia received a call from Li Luo. He hadn’t expected Li Luo to find time to reach out while Astar was managing its emergency PR crisis.
“Hello, Chairman Li.”
Fang Juexia remained the same person he had been during the trainee auditions—extremely composed, his tone utterly unruffled. While everyone else hesitated timidly, trying to showcase their talents, Fang Juexia stood there radiating brilliance.
“This call comes late,” Li Luo’s voice carried a hint of guilt from the other end. “Ultimately, it was my failure to uphold justice back then that allowed this matter to drag on for so long. The lasting damage it caused you may never be fully repaired.”
Hearing this, Fang Juexia recalled his own fervor back then, rushing to pound on Li Luo’s office door.
He had been so naive, believing that sexual assault by a high-ranking official was something everyone would condemn, that everyone surely knew right from wrong. But what good did knowing do? The perpetrator was a powerful figure who could cover everything up, meaning no one had the authority to punish him. Even Li Luo, back then, could only remain silent.
Fang Juexia studied mathematics—a haven for idealists, of which he was one. He was accustomed to the logical world constructed by mathematics: simple, direct, and clearly defined. Everything could be laid out in plain sight for reasoning and verification, yielding results that were never ambiguous. Once a theorem was proven, it could be classified as absolutely correct.
But they weren’t numbers, nor were they theorems—they were people.
In the complex human world, how many things could truly be called “absolutely correct”?
“No, Director Li,” Fang Juexia smiled frankly. “I was too idealistic. I’m deeply grateful for your promotion and support—something I’ll never forget. Astar is where I began. Though it wasn’t the right fit for me, I still hope it finds its way forward.”
Li Luo smiled too, his voice tinged with regret. “Had I held enough authority back then to protect you both, your stardom might have taken a completely different path. You’d likely be the one leading the Seven Luminaries to the pinnacle now.”
Fang Juexia was indeed a reserve member of the Seven Stars.
At every evaluation, he stood at the forefront, calmly receiving praise from every instructor. One A after another was pinned to his chest, elevating him to the company’s internal pantheon. Trainees in major entertainment companies are countless, and debuting for them is always uncertain—a mere “possibility.” But Fang Juexia was different. During his two years at Astar, everyone was certain he would debut with the new boy group.
“But now I’m part of Kaleido,” Fang Juexia stated without arrogance or humility. “And I’m not the type to lead a team to the top. Instead, I’ve learned so much from every person around me now. Every step we’ve taken, we’ve walked side by side.”
“In a way, I prefer things as they are now.”
Li Luo said no more. He knew that from the day this stubborn boy left Astar without hesitation, their paths had diverged forever. That fleeting sense of recognition from the past meant little now. Someone like Fang Juexia would shine wherever he went. Besides, those two years at Astar had only earned him prolonged slander and doubt.
Yet he still felt gratitude for everything that had happened. It wasn’t because he was particularly tolerant or magnanimous.
It was because he refused to change who he was.
Fang Juexia remained the idealist he always was, only now he’d found a paradise that suited him.
“Then… I wish you a brighter future.”
On the third day after Liang Ruo’s departure, Jin Xiangcheng was also arrested on multiple charges. Many online spectators found it deeply satisfying, but the matter didn’t end there.
Sexual assault cases in the entertainment industry weren’t isolated incidents, nor were they confined to Astar alone. The entire industry was saturated with “unwritten rules.” Rebels like Fang Juexia were rare; the overwhelming majority, chasing stardom, became victims of coercion and temptation, stripped of their freedom.
Female victims outnumbered males. Lacking a voice, without prominent status, and pressured by public opinion and corporate power, they endured in silence. After Liang Ruo stepped forward as a prominent example, more artists began speaking out—mostly lesser-known actors sharing similar yet distinct experiences.
Beyond this exposed industry, ordinary sectors also raised their voices. Gradually, #FightingIndustrySexualAbuse became a trending topic. Some still trample on victims’ hearts with callous remarks, while others follow the trend.
Yet others are thinking—and thinking is progress.
No one knows if this topic will fade as the wave of public opinion subsides, but at least for now, its existence is being seen by more and more people.
The absence of voices in the past does not legitimize such behavior. Lack of resistance does not equate to its correctness. The emergence of anti-abuse voices now serves as a wake-up call. Within this circle, there are countless Liang Ruos—countless unrescued Liang Ruos still struggling in a sea of suffering.
Those forced to lose themselves have the right to reclaim their identity.
This autumn, Fang Juexia’s life felt like a typhoon had swept through. Many things he had carefully nurtured were destroyed in an instant. Though he weathered it safely, what remained was a landscape of devastation and ruins. Fortunately, he possessed the patience to rebuild bit by bit. He also believed that everything always moves toward a better direction.
His mother stayed with him for a week and a half before returning to teach her students, unable to linger longer. On the day she left Beijing, Fang Juexia and Pei Tingsong accompanied her to the airport. Tears welled in Mrs. Fang’s eyes as she reluctantly parted from her son.
“It used to be you leaving me, going elsewhere,” she said, wiping her tears. “Now it’s me leaving, and I’m still not quite used to it.”
Fang Juexia embraced her. “I’ll come back to see you soon. Take care at home, and let me know if anything happens.”
Before leaving, Fang’s mother also hugged Pei Tingsong, expressing her gratitude. Just like the first time, she repeatedly urged Fang Juexia to look after his younger brother.
But Fang Juexia’s perspective had changed since then. When it came to taking care of someone, he was the one who needed looking after.
Watching Mrs. Fang leave, Pei Tingsong shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought Auntie might want to visit your dad while she was here. I was ready to make arrangements if she asked.”
“She wouldn’t,” Fang Juexia shook his head, gazing at the sky beyond the airport’s vast floor-to-ceiling windows. “When she handed over all the evidence to me, she had already given up hope.”
All those years of obsession had only made his mother see things more clearly.
What she loved wasn’t that man, but the most beautiful memories they shared.
Just like the Fang Juexia of the past—all his struggles and vacillations were for nothing more than the once-beautiful Fang Ping he remembered.
Time passed quickly, and the air gradually took on the scent of winter. Dry, cold—the moment it entered his nostrils, it refreshed his entire being.
Not wanting to appear opportunistic, Fang Juexia deliberately waited until the public had largely forgotten his public disclosure of his family and illness. Only then did he privately establish one or two charitable foundations: one dedicated to funding research on genetic diseases, the other to aiding blind children.
For the blind children’s fund, he entrusted a highly reputable charity organization. They proposed he serve as their spokesperson, but Fang Juexia declined. He also chose not to name the fund after himself. After much consideration, he used his grandfather’s name instead.
If blessings truly existed in this world, he wished they could all go to his grandfather.
Ling Yi achieved second place in the singing competition he participated in, showcasing the lead vocalist’s talent and shattering long-held biases. He Ziyan’s TV drama aired smoothly, scoring an impressive 8.7 on review sites after just four episodes. Though he played the second male lead, his character was nearly flawless. Combined with the public sympathy he gained after his background was revealed, his popularity skyrocketed.
Zhai Ying, who had been unable to make a comeback, was finally released from the “freezer” after a management shakeup at Astar. She released a new album with her teammates, receiving an overwhelmingly positive response. Though Escape had wrapped filming, the group spirit remained strong—everyone was actively promoting Zhai Ying during his long hiatus.
Fang Juexia was no exception. Logging in before a meeting, he reposted Zhai Ying’s Weibo post.
[@Kaleido Fang Juexia: Finally back! Congrats!]
Upon seeing this, Ling Yi teased, “Juexia, you and Xiao Ying are so close—your Weibo interactions are almost as frequent as with us. Aren’t you worried your female fans will get upset?”
“Girlfriend fans, my foot.” Lu Yuan chuckled. “Last time he was interviewed, when someone asked what kind of girl he liked, he replied dead serious, ‘You should be asking what kind of person I like.’ That’s when all his girlfriend fans bailed, right? Some even said Escape from Heaven is toxic and should be renamed Escape from Wan Chai Pier.”
“Hahahahaha!”
Fang Juexia felt a bit embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. “No way. Fans know they’re just friends.”
It was true, as he said. Fans didn’t mind their idol interacting with another girl group member, but they latched onto something else.
[@TheWorldsBestSceneryLine: True friends dance the friend dance!]
[@MyHairlineIsPrettyGood: Congrats on the comeback! The new album’s lead track is amazing! Some people shouldn’t just repost Weibo—covering dances and songs is what real brothers do!]
[@JuexiaBrother’sLittleBirthmark: Girl group dance! Girl group dance! Girl group dance!]
[@Did Fang Juexia Dance Girl Group Dances Today?: Brother, look—I even changed my ID for you.]
[@Fang Juexia’s Non-Fandom Real Sister: Holy cow, did you see how stunning this choreography is? So fierce and beautiful! Isn’t the view line making your heart race? Don’t just get excited—act on it! P.S. Can we borrow Sister Zhai’s stage outfit?]
This development…
Who would’ve guessed fans couldn’t care less? They just want to see their idol dance girl group choreography. Faced with this flood of requests, Fang Juexia could only play dead—he’d always avoided social media anyway, so he could just claim ignorance.
Pei Tingsong, however, was scrolling through his comments with gusto. Earlier, while browsing with a secondary account, he accidentally stumbled upon Fang Juexia and Zhai Ying’s CP edits and was furious. Switching to his main account, he magnanimously helped promote it. Returning to his own “little white flower” idol’s Weibo, he unexpectedly sought resonance with his wife’s female fans. only to discover they’d taken a completely different path—begging for girl group dance covers.
What a brilliant idea! A door in Pei Tingsong’s heart was kicked wide open by these fans, instantly broadening his perspective. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?
Once he embraced this concept, his mind flooded with visions of Fang Juexia performing girl group dances.
Reading comments wasn’t enough—he even searched [Fang Juexia girl group dance] on Weibo.
Same world, same wish.
Cheng Qiang’s main purpose for the meeting was finalizing year-end arrangements: “The winter album recording is mostly done. The company tentatively plans to release it around Christmas. Year-end gets hectic with four or five award shows and various platform galas. Make sure you’re in top form. While looks aren’t your main selling point, they’re still a definite plus. Oh, and next month, Miao Miao’s movie premieres at the film festival. Everyone must attend.”
“Yay! We get to see Miao Miao’s movie!”
Jiang Miao clutched her chest. “I’m so nervous.”
“Everyone’s been working hard lately. Looks like your personal schedules are pretty much cleared—competitions wrapped up, shows recorded, filming done…” Cheng Qiang checked and confirmed everything was finished, timing perfectly for a break. “Great. You can all take a few days off.”
The moment he heard “vacation,” Ling Yi immediately raised his arm. “Question!”
Lu Yuan instinctively chimed in, “Four words!”
Pei Tingsong rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. They’re going to ask about the Maldives.”
Ling Yi quickly shifted the blame, “Not me! It wasn’t me! It was Little Pei!”
Seeing him take the fall, Fang Juexia couldn’t help but laugh.
“Speaking of which,” Cheng Qiang placed the documents on the table, “Mr. Chen’s friend opened a luxury hot spring resort near Beijing. Just the other day, Mr. Chen asked me if any of you would like to go.”
“Go! Absolutely!” Ling Yi whispered, “But what about the Maldives?”
Cheng Qiang sighed. “We’re still going. I already said we’d film the group variety show there.” After settling the resort arrangements, he added, “Then we’ll head to the resort tomorrow. It’s quiet with fewer people. Take two days to rest, then come back and work hard for me.”
Jiang Miao asked, “What about you, Brother Qiang?”
“I won’t be going. Xiao Wen will accompany you. Contact me if anything comes up.”
He Ziyan, who had been silently scrolling through Weibo, suddenly blurted out, “I’ll go.” The others turned to him in unison. “What’s wrong?”
“Xiao Pei.” He Ziyan picked up his phone. “Why didn’t you switch accounts while gossiping? You accidentally liked something, didn’t you?”
“What?” Pei Tingsong was startled. Thinking about what he’d just been browsing made him feel uneasy. He immediately pulled out his phone to check his likes.
“It’s true!” Ling Yi saw his likes and immediately let out a heartless laugh. “You hypocritical bastard!!”
Jiang Miao was still puzzled. “You didn’t like posts bashing your teammates, did you?”
“No way, my little master.” Cheng Qiang nearly lost his cool. “Don’t mess with me! The word ‘PR’ makes me sick right now. Keep this up and I’m taking your account!”
“Oh no, it’s not that.” Lu Yuan, who had already checked Weibo, clicked his tongue repeatedly and turned to Fang Juexia, who was still oblivious. “Juexia, you treat him like a teammate, but he treats you…”
Pei Tingsong snapped, cursing, “What nonsense! Shut your mouth, or I’ll break your legs!”
He Ziyan, relishing the drama, teased, “Oh ho. He’s upset. Really upset. So upset he dropped two single-character puns.”
Only Fang Juexia looked utterly confused. He pulled out his phone and opened Pei Tingsong’s likes list. It turned out to be a reposted Weibo post with thousands of comments and thousands of fans.
[@PrettyBabyPitifulChuChu: Thanks to our pretty one, I got to see Sister Zhai’s new album song. Respect to the choreography. The wave and hip-shaking in the chorus are just perfect for our pretty one. Who says an icy beauty can’t be sexy? She clearly didn’t want to dance but had to. Her lips stubbornly pressed into a line, ears flushed red like they’d been bitten. Eyes lowered, avoiding the camera, but that birthmark at the corner steals your soul. The loose white shirt collar fell open, revealing a sliver of collarbone. The lights hit her waistline perfectly, and when she swayed her hips, it made your heart tremble.
If our beauty queen’s everyday charm is a ten, then when she’s coerced and coaxed into it, her beauty skyrockets tenfold. Who wouldn’t want to see a pure beauty tainted with the crimson of carnal desire? So sisters, go leave comments! If you don’t stir things up, neither will I—when will the scenery line finally dance? You push, I push—tomorrow’s scenery will be even more breathtaking than today’s!]
“Pei Tingsong…” Fang Juexia slammed his phone onto the table, making Pei Tingsong flinch.
“What the hell are you looking at on Weibo?”
