Xiao Pei cursed a string of “fuck”s under his breath, slamming his shin into the table in his agitation. The pain shot through him like a jolt, and he immediately doubled over, clutching his leg in silence.
Right then, the door to the small practice room swung open. Ling Yi walked in holding a giant bag of taro chips, a cameraman trailing behind him. Without even glancing at Pei Tingsong, he called out, “Xiao Pei, Huohuo wants to know if you’ve got any finished lyrics we can go over…”
He finally looked up and froze. “What are you doing? Practicing yoga on the chair?” He walked over, still grinning. “Want some taro chips?”
But the second he saw Pei Tingsong’s face, he flinched. “Whoa, are you crying? Come on, it’s fine if you haven’t written anything yet, no need for tears.”
Pei Tingsong clenched his teeth. “I hit my leg.”
“Ah, I see. Dumbass,” Ling Yi chuckled, patting his back. “At least it’s not broken, or it’d mess with our comeback~”
“Heartless bastard.”
Ling Yi beamed. “Yup! You’re the big bad Siberian wolf, and I’m the sweet lil Chihuahua.”
“You win,” Pei Tingsong grumbled. After massaging his leg a few more times, he finally eased it down. Ling Yi pulled him along to He Ziyan’s studio—they heard the composer was already there.
But the moment Pei Tingsong stepped inside, his eyes locked on Fang Juexia, who he hadn’t seen since their awkward falling-out. Fang was seated next to He Ziyan, clearly discussing something. When the door opened, both of them naturally looked up—but the second Fang Juexia saw Pei Tingsong, he dropped his gaze.
That awkward reaction was all the reminder Pei Tingsong needed: he still hadn’t cleared up the misunderstanding between them.
He coughed and walked forward. “Uh, Juexia-ge…”
“Huh?” Ling Yi, always sharp-eared and shameless, immediately latched on. “What’s this? Calling him ‘ge’ all sweet today?”
He Ziyan joined in. “Did Xiao Pei get caught doing something and now Juexia has leverage?”
Fang Juexia figured Pei Tingsong must want him to keep quiet about the coming-out thing from earlier. It seemed like no one else knew. Though he didn’t really get why Pei had suddenly shared something so personal, it made sense when he thought about it—Pei had grown up overseas, probably way more open-minded, probably just came to terms with it early on.
Once the logic lined up, Fang Juexia convinced himself to roll with it.
Since Pei didn’t tell anyone, maybe he should help him out and steer the conversation away. With that in mind, he started, “Actually, he’s—”
He only got four words out before a hand suddenly clamped over his mouth—from none other than Pei Tingsong, who had snuck up behind him.
“What is he?” Pei grinned through gritted teeth. “I’m just a little brother. And little brothers should call their elders ‘ge,’ right?”
He Ziyan burst out laughing. “Hard to argue with that logic.”
Ling Yi wasn’t so convinced. He reached out, trying to pry Pei’s hands off. “You guys are hiding something from us, huh? I swear, post-production sis, make sure to edit me into full-on Detective Conan mode—‘There’s only one truth!’”
“There is only one truth,” Pei interrupted, smirking. “And it’s that we do have a little secret. But we’re not telling you. You’re no longer my favorite, Ling Xiao Yi.”
He Ziyan clapped. “Ooh, a rhyme. Bars!”
Pei finally let go and pulled up a chair, sitting right across from Fang Juexia. He shot him a quick raised eyebrow—a clear warning.
Wasn’t gonna say anything anyway, Fang thought, annoyed at himself for butting in earlier. His skin was fair and delicate; after Pei’s grip, ten distinct red marks were left behind on his cheeks.
“Tsk tsk tsk…” Ling Yi walked up to the camera looking utterly heartbroken, fake-crying with dramatic sniffles and tears. “This part absolutely can’t be cut! Ling Yi is now officially a jilted woman! Chat, spam the screen with: Pei Tingsong, you heartless bastard—give this poor woman the spotlight she deserves!”
Even the composer who’d been quietly watching burst out laughing. “Yi, you’re wasted as a lead singer. You belong in the drama department.”
Fang Juexia couldn’t help but chuckle at Ling Yi’s antics, the corners of his lips twitching up before he could stop them. His usually cold, stoic face suddenly cracked open like ice breaking, sending a ripple across calm waters—and Pei Tingsong found the sight fascinating. Under the table, he stretched out his foot and lightly tapped Fang Juexia’s, as if to pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered. Juexia turned slightly, expression blank again, but his eyes drifted toward Pei Tingsong.
“Was that funny?” Pei Tingsong asked softly, while the others around them chatted boisterously.
His voice was low and rich, oddly deep for someone with such a youthful face. Maybe it was from growing up speaking English—his chest voice was more developed. Normally, a voice like his would get lost in all the background noise, but somehow those three words hit Fang Juexia’s ear like an arrow. He wasn’t sure if it was the voice that reached him first, or the way Pei Tingsong’s lips curved with a teasing smirk.
Fang Juexia pressed his lips together and turned away with practiced cold indifference. He was used to staying calm—had trained himself to remain composed—but Pei Tingsong always managed to rattle him.
No one had ever taught him how to deal with someone like Pei Tingsong.
Jiang Miao and Lu Yuan eventually returned, and the group began their first round of demo selections with the staff. While everyone was focused on music, Fang Juexia’s phone buzzed. He looked down—it was a message from Pei Tingsong.
[kaleido·Pei Tingsong: I typed that last message wrong. I meant to say “notice,” not “gay.” Guess sexual orientation is the one biological rule I have to conform to for the sake of society.]
The moment he hit send, Pei Tingsong was suddenly hit by a random thought—What if Fang Juexia really is gay? That would explain those rumors. Even if they weren’t true…
Fang Juexia stared at the screen, then scrolled up to reread the earlier message. Thinking about it, the logic here actually made more sense than Pei Tingsong randomly coming out. So, he accepted it without much fuss. Just as he was about to reply, another message popped up.
[kaleido·Pei Tingsong: Of course, I have zero problem with LGBTQ folks. Love is love. Just clarifying.]
Fang Juexia wasn’t as emotionally nuanced as Pei Tingsong. His thinking was more straightforward, less sensitive to subtext. He didn’t read too much into the message. And just as he was typing, He Ziyan came over to talk to him, so he gave a short reply.
[All I’ve got is my looks: Got it.]
Got it?
Got it???
Pei Tingsong felt his frustration bubbling over. People always joked about “straight guys being dense,” but this guy—he was the definition of it. Couldn’t he tell how much thought went into crafting that message?
Annoyed, Pei Tingsong shoved his phone into his pocket and gave up.
The discussion about the new album continued all afternoon. Originally, they were supposed to head back to the dorms for rest, but a last-minute change threw a wrench in things—a live-streamed performance was added to the schedule. The venue was rare, and no one wanted to waste the opportunity, so they trained relentlessly until 3 a.m.
Ever since Pei Tingsong and Fang Juexia had trended online, public opinion about Kaleido had been sharply divided. Outside of new fans and indifferent bystanders, most people still looked down on them. They were called “idol fluff,” accused of having no real talent and relying on hype. Haters wanted nothing more than to stomp out their rise before it truly began.
Fang Juexia wasn’t surprised. He was painfully aware of the reality.
They were a boy group. The only thing that could secure their place was talent—real talent on stage.
For two days straight, they trained without rest. Aside from their debut year-end awards, this was their second major appearance since debut. Yunshi Network was the country’s biggest streaming platform, and even though they were only alternates for the lineup, everyone took it seriously.
On the twenty-ninth of the lunar month—the day of the performance—they finally found out that the much-criticized stylist was gone. The company had hired an entirely new styling team just for them.
Fang Juexia’s stage makeup had changed. In the past, his birthmark was usually covered with concealer, but this time, the new makeup artist had outlined it instead, using a shade of red eyeshadow that blended into the outer corner of his eye. The overall eye makeup was kept light, with emphasis only on his left eye. His brown hair had been styled into soft curls, and wispy bangs framed his face. Paired with a gray satin shirt, he exuded a kind of decadent beauty.
Fang Juexia had never cared much about styling, but even he thought this look felt unique. He glanced around the dressing room through the mirror. The team leader’s temporary blue hair was eye-catching, and He Ziyan’s red hair looked seriously cool. His gaze finally landed on Pei Tingsong’s new look—normally, Pei Tingsong leaned more youthful with his offstage outfits, but today, his hair was cleanly styled with a sleek, comma-shaped fringe swept to one side, topped off with narrow gold-rimmed glasses. The look gave off major “young professional” vibes, which paired perfectly with his dark gray suit coat.
“You guys are trending right now. Sure, you’ll attract new fans, but there’ll also be plenty of skeptics. That’s completely normal.” Cheng Qiang was doing his usual round of pre-show pep talks in the dressing room. “This is a big opportunity, and I have full faith in your abilities. Just perform the way you normally do, and you’ll crush it.”
Ling Yi, for once, had his hair styled into trendy wolf-cut layers. He was absolutely thrilled and barely registered anything Cheng Qiang had said.
“Ahhh, I love this hairstyle! I feel five centimeters taller!”
“Five centimeters still won’t help you,” Pei Tingsong said, chewing bubblegum as he blew a bubble.
“Shut up!”
“Qiang-ge, once we’re done here, can we get skewers?” Lu Yuan tilted his head up to Cheng Qiang, his freshly styled hair giving him an unusually obedient look.
“Sure, no problem. Do well on stage, and Qiang-ge’s buying tonight!”
Because of a last-minute schedule change—and since Kaleido wasn’t one of the headlining acts—the number of fan seats they could secure was limited. Even so, the Dominos who did show up brought their A-game. Each girl carried heavy Kaleidoscope lightsticks and Klein blue signs, waiting patiently through act after act for their six boys to appear.
The event didn’t have strict live singing requirements, so many groups opted for lip-syncing or semi-live vocals. But Kaleido’s team insisted on full live mics. Even the backing track they provided was stripped down, with barely any layering.
During rehearsal, Fang Juexia had felt something was off. The host-provided earpieces had poor audio quality and pickup. Cheng Qiang didn’t hesitate—he brought out six high-end handheld mics that their company had paid a fortune for.
They knew exactly where their strengths lay.
This was an era where your strengths determined your success.
“I’m so nervous. So, so nervous.” There were only two acts left before their turn, and Ling Yi was muttering nonstop into the behind-the-scenes cam they had brought for their group reality show. “I haven’t sung live in forever. What if I crack on a high note?”
Lu Yuan massaged his shoulders. “If you crack, I’ll cover for you. Shui Shui and I will take turns patching it up.”
“You’re not patching up his triple high notes,” Jiang Miao laughed.
He Ziyan added, “You could try triple low notes.”
“Let Juexia handle it,” Lu Yuan said, winking at Fang Juexia. “He could breeze through triple high notes like it’s nothing.”
Everyone was chatting and playing games backstage when their in-ears buzzed with the cue to go on. After exchanging a few words of encouragement, they headed up to the stage.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to the rising idol group—Kaleido!” The two hosts ushered them to center stage. “Welcome, welcome! This is your first time at YunVision’s New Year Gala, right? Say hi to our live audience!”
The team leader glanced left and right at the others. “One, two, three—hello, everyone!”
“We are Kaleido!” all six of them chimed in unison, forming a “K” gesture with their hands before bowing deeply to the crowd.
“Wow, that hand sign is seriously cool,” the female host said as she tried mimicking it. “Since it’s the New Year, how about taking this chance to send some well wishes to our audience here and everyone watching the livestream?”
“Let’s go one by one,” Jiang Miao said, turning toward He Ziyan, who was farthest on the left.
He picked up the mic and started them off: “Happy New Year! Wishing everyone a year of getting rich!”
The crowd burst into laughter—no one expected them to come out swinging with such blunt honesty.
Next up was Lu Yuan: “May your days be filled with joy and laughter.”
Jiang Miao smiled warmly. “I hope you and your families can stay as close and happy in the new year as you are right now.”
Ling Yi followed: “To those looking for love—may you find it! To those not looking—hope you make bank!”
Then it was Fang Juexia’s turn. He took a moment to think, and his wish was plain but sincere: “Wishing everyone smooth work and great grades.”
He couldn’t help being curious about what Pei Tingzong would say. With his personality, he hardly seemed like the kind of kid who obediently recited New Year’s blessings to adults when he was little. Fang even tried to picture it for a second.
Peeking sideways at the boy next to him, he saw Pei Tingzong raise the mic with a calm smile.
“I hope everyone can achieve their dreams.”
It wasn’t what Fang had expected—but at the same time, it made perfect sense.
Very Pei Tingzong, indeed.
After that short round of greetings, the real performance began. The stage lights shifted rapidly as the six of them snapped into formation. Their medley had been trimmed for time during rehearsals, so they were now opening with their debut track—“Kaleido.”
They were backstage, chatting and playing games, when their earpieces buzzed to life with a call. After exchanging a round of fist bumps and quick pep talks, the group headed toward the stage.
“Let’s give a warm welcome to the rising stars—Kaleido!” the two hosts greeted them as they stepped into the spotlight. “Welcome, welcome! This is Kaleido’s first time on YunVision’s New Year Gala, right? Why don’t you say hello to the audience?”
The team leader glanced at his members and gave the cue. “One, two, three—hello everyone!”
“We’re Kaleido!” The six members raised their hands and flashed a K-sign before bowing to the crowd.
“Wow, that hand sign is really cool!” the female host mimicked the gesture before continuing, “Now that you’re here, why don’t you take this chance to wish our audience—both here and watching the livestream—a Happy New Year? Everyone’s really looking forward to it!”
“Let’s each say something,” Jiang Miao turned his head to look at He Ziyan, who stood furthest left. He caught on immediately and raised his mic. “Happy New Year—hope you all strike it rich this year!”
The audience burst into laughter. No one expected their very first greeting to be so blunt and real.
Next was Lu Yuan: “May you stay cheerful and always smiling.”
Jiang Miao smiled and said, “I hope everyone can be surrounded by family this year, just like tonight—happy and together.”
Ling Yi followed: “May those who want to find love find it, and those who don’t—get rich!”
Then it was Fang Juexia’s turn. He thought for a moment before offering a simple, earnest wish: “I hope everyone has a smooth year at work and in school.”
Truthfully, he was a little curious what Pei Tingsong would say. With a personality like his, he just didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would’ve obediently recited auspicious phrases to adults during New Year visits as a child.
He seriously tried to picture it for a moment.
Glancing at the boy beside him, he saw Pei Tingsong smiling as he raised his mic.
“I hope everyone can achieve their dreams.”
That wasn’t what Fang Juexia had expected, but it fit.
It was, in a word—very Pei Tingsong.
After that short segment, the performance officially began. During the lighting transition, the six quickly got into formation. Their medley had been trimmed for time, so during rehearsals they had switched to performing their debut single: 《Kaleido》.
The return to the stage:
It had been too long since he’d stepped onto a real stage.
Fang Juexia gripped the microphone tightly and took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. All the intense practice they’d pushed through lately—every hour of it—was for this moment. This live show was crucial.
This was their shot.
There could only be success. Failure wasn’t an option.
The lights came back up. The familiar intro began to play on stage.
Something wasn’t right.
No. Something’s wrong.
Fang Juexia squinted, alert. Standing in formation for the dual lead dancers’ opening, he quickly exchanged a glance with Lu Yuan beside him. Fang lifted a hand and pointed to his earpiece. Lu Yuan gave a quick nod in return.
The in-ears were malfunctioning.
All he could hear was the chaotic chatter of backstage crew—no backing track, no cues. The earpiece was basically useless.
The fans were close to the stage. There weren’t too many of them, but their screams were intense.
From where they stood, they could barely hear the speakers at all.
A massive outdoor venue.
A sea of people.
And no in-ear monitors.
Fang Juexia’s heart sank like a stone.
