Under Fang Juexia’s influence, Pei Tingsong truly embraced this identity and fully integrated into the kaleido team. He no longer felt the tug of identity conflict, nor did he cling solely to hip-hop as the sole outlet for his dreams as he once did.
He recalled a phrase Fang Juexia had once shared with him during their fiercely competitive days.
[Dreams hold no hierarchy of nobility or worth—only the distinction between achievable and unattainable.]
Forms may vary, but the unchanging core remains the truth.
He had to admit, expressing himself on stage felt truly wonderful, especially with such passionate teammates by his side.
“That’s right,” Pei Tingsong raised his microphone. “I can now proudly declare to myself and everyone else: I am a member of an idol group. I am an idol.”
The host gave them an approving look. He nodded and smiled, addressing the fans below the stage. “I have to share something with you all—I was actually a last-minute replacement. You know celebrities have schedules, but hosts do too. This fan meeting was originally scheduled for early April, a long time ago. One day, the staff from Star Chart called me several times asking if I could move it up. It was really difficult because I had another event tonight, but after hearing the whole story, I agreed immediately.”
“It’s hard for everyone to imagine how these boys have been living these past days. They barely had time to eat or sleep, yet they pushed themselves to deliver this album perfectly to you all,” the host said with a smile. “So let’s give Kaleido a round of applause, shall we?”
The fans below responded with overwhelming enthusiasm, many girls in tears. He Ziyan and Lu Yuan quickly lightened the mood with some playful banter. The six members then performed the album’s sub-title track—a lively dance number with an upbeat tempo.
Behind-the-scenes footage from their MV shoot played on screen. It opened with Jiang Miao playing the guzheng. When the cameraman asked if his ebony instrument was expensive, Jiang Miao looked up and smiled, replying, “It was a bit pricey.”
Sitting on stage, Jiang Miao watched the footage before picking up the mic. “This was the first instrument I saved up to buy after debuting. I saved for a long time before finally splurging on it.”
Fans below chanted his name. Lu Yuan chuckled, “Brother Miao maintains this instrument every morning. He treasures it like crazy.”
The scene shifted to the desert park. He Ziyan pointed at the large screen with a grin. “Doesn’t this look just like a desert?”
“Yes!”
“But it’s actually just a desert park,” Ling Yi feigned annoyance. “Hmph, we never even made it to Xinjiang like we planned.”
Behind-the-scenes footage showed He Ziyan and Lu Yuan sparring with fake swords in the desert. Fans screamed at their coolness, but suddenly Ling Yi’s frantic crowing echoed off-screen, making everyone burst into laughter.
“Ling Yi,” He Ziyan pressed his head down, “Chicken coop warning.”
“Hahahaha!”
Just as they were laughing, the big screen suddenly showed behind-the-scenes footage of Pei Tingsong filming a promotional video, immediately triggering a wave of screams below.
“Ah, Little Pei! Little Pei is so handsome!”
“Oh my god, Grapevine is so handsome!”
Pei Tingsong accepted the praise without a hint of modesty, turning halfway and waving his hand at the fans. “Alright, alright, I know I’m handsome.”
But then the screams grew even louder, nearly shaking the venue’s roof off. Only then did Pei Tingsong turn to look at the screen, catching sight of footage showing him half-embracing Fang Juexia while shooting arrows on horseback. Below the clip, a line of text appeared: This footage was captured on a certain member’s phone.
Fang Juexia was stunned by the screams. Seeing another angle of Pei Tingsong teaching him archery left him genuinely dazed. He nervously licked his lips, only to turn and meet Pei Tingsong’s gaze directly.
He saw the play of light and shadow on Pei Tingsong’s face, and the slight curve of his lips.
The surging tide of excitement for them knew nothing of this genuine feeling. Caught in the whirlpool of this fervor, Fang Juexia grew increasingly aware that he could only ever be a performer on stage. He wasn’t a good actor. It was clearly a performance. Both sides stood beside each other for their own or their team’s interests. Even shoulder to shoulder, their hearts remained worlds apart. So they had to pretend, to act intimately, at the very least appearing like brothers without barriers.
By the end of this performance, who had truly gotten lost in the role?
Fang Juexia couldn’t tell.
The behind-the-scenes footage ended. The host addressed the still-excited fans below the stage, “Kaleido captured so many amazing moments during their album preparation. These are just a small part. You can see the rest in our group variety show.”
Lu Yuan couldn’t help but give a thumbs-up. “The host totally gets it.”
The host smiled. “Alright, then it’s time for the performances. To celebrate this reunion concert after a year, the six members of Kaleido have each prepared a solo performance just for you. First up, our leader Jiang Miao will perform ‘Spring Dawn on the Snowy Mountain’ for us.”
Everyone exited the stage together. The closer they got to the edge, the darker it became. Pei Tingsong had been behind Fang Juexia, but he deliberately quickened his pace, stepping in front of him. He pressed his back close, clearing the way for Fang Juexia in this manner.
Only after they had completely retreated, out of sight below the stage, did Pei Tingsong grab his arm. He had changed. Before, he could freely display affection in front of these spectators without a second thought. But now that he genuinely cared for Fang Juexia, this blatant public display felt unnerving. He preferred to hide it, to be more cautious and sincere in his approach.
“I’m fine,” Fang Juexia murmured softly. “You’re being a bit obvious.”
“What’s too obvious?” Pei Tingsong leaned close to his ear. “That I’m afraid you’ll fall? Or that I like you too much?”
Fang Juexia’s heart raced, yet he stared straight at him, his expression part surprise, part anger. Pei Tingsong found it endearing but dared not press further, carefully adjusting his tone. “Just kidding.”
But Fang Juexia wasn’t angry, nor did he feel anger. Listening to the melody, he felt like some creature hibernating in the snow, its rigid scales encasing a frozen body. This was the norm, the rule. Yet now, before the snow melted, he had changed.
He couldn’t change. He had to remain that cold-blooded creature—how else could he survive?
Spring was fleeting.
He feared spring’s brevity.
The zither’s tone melted like thawing snow, its strings quivering faintly under the plucking. Pei Tingsong shifted the topic without a trace of emotion. “Are you going on stage next? I heard you changed the song.”
“Mm.” Fang Juexia lowered his eyes, watching the boundary between the stage and backstage shadows on the floor.
“What song did you change to?” Pei Tingsong asked.
Fang Juexia looked down and saw several crew members had already moved a white piano to a corner of the stage. Only then did he speak. “You’ll hear it soon enough.”
The zither strings fell silent with their final note. Amidst the cheers, the host announced Fang Juexia’s name.
“Then I’ll… take it as if you’re singing this for me.” Before he stepped onto the stage, Pei Tingsong murmured these words.
Fang Juexia took a deep breath and walked toward the stage without looking back. He sat down at the piano, adjusted the microphone, and turned his head to face the fans below. His voice was gentle. “I heard you really wanted to hear me sing a Cantonese song.”
“Aaaaaah!”
“Cantonese songs!! It really is Cantonese songs!”
Listening to the fans’ shouts, Fang Juexia smiled slightly. His slender fingers hovered over the keys as he took a deep breath.
“This song, ‘Vertigo,’ is for all of you.”
The piano melody flowed like water. Fang Juexia lowered his head slightly, leaning toward the microphone. “Don’t make me thank you too much, the medicine is too exquisite.” His voice remained uniquely distinctive, yet now tinged with deeper emotion—no longer detached as a storyteller relaying someone else’s tale. “Don’t make me savor the taste, pleasantly numb to sensation.”
Fang Juexia was widely recognized for his high vocal range, and this was the first time anyone had heard him sing in Cantonese. Yet what they didn’t know was that this song required no vocal technique, no range—it was pure inner monologue.
Last night’s coincidence had brought this song to life, each word hammering at his heart.
“Why does it move me? Wait until I can’t bear it, the deepest pain. The drawn-out notes trembled slightly, carrying a vulnerability Fang Juexia had never before displayed. Each line felt like a heartfelt self-questioning.
“What do I fear? I fear loving. Holding onto emotions, receiving gifts always makes me sensitive.”
“What do I fear? I fear getting used to throwing caution to the wind and loving someone else. Yet I don’t know how to leave, how to turn the fake into real.”
Hearing this line, Pei Tingsong, standing at the stage’s edge, froze momentarily.
The stage speakers began playing the backing track. Fang Juexia took the microphone from its stand, rose from the piano, and moved toward the center of the stage, closer to the fans. His voice trembled slightly—highly unusual for a professional idol trained for years.
Fang Juexia adjusted his breathing and began singing again, continuing the song.
Pei Tingsong knew this song. He loved dissecting lyrics and had listened to many famous Mandarin hits, including “Enchantment.” When Fang Juexia sang “Afraid of getting used to throwing caution to the wind and falling for someone else,” his first reaction was heartache.
He understood how difficult it was for Fang Juexia to accept a relationship. Fang Juexia lived by rules, and rejecting love was one he strictly adhered to.
Breaking the rules he had built for himself must have been an agonizing process.
“What is there to fear? Fear being bewitched. Holding onto affection, receiving care—only to lose one’s mind.”
Standing at the very center of the stage, Fang Juexia peeled away his shell for the first time—not the shell shielding him from the world, but the shell encasing his emotions.
“What do I love?”
He pierced himself, letting his feelings flow out. “Love makes me brave enough to repay so many people.”
“But I don’t know how to escape death.”
