Perfect Divorce [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 49

In the past, Yuan Xingzhou would never have even entertained such a thought. He knew clearly in his heart that the level of dread Yuan Cheng inspired in him was far more severe than others realized.

To be precise, it was a psychological shadow. Back when they were in the group, that feeling of being unable to please anyone no matter what he did—of being constantly ganged up on and ostracized—was like a wound that would never heal regardless of the treatment. The ridicule and attacks from Yuan Cheng’s fans (the “Cheng-mifen”) were undoubtedly like rubbing salt into those wounds.

Perhaps those fans didn’t think much of it, and Yuan Xingzhou was well aware that within any idol group, every member’s fanbase had a segment of highly aggressive people; it was just that Yuan Cheng had more fans and they were exceptionally combative.

He couldn’t strictly blame Yuan Cheng for the fans’ behavior, yet he couldn’t help the fear that made him want to flee.

Later, when the group disbanded and the company went public with the news of his marriage to Ye Huai, the “group fans” and “solo teammate fans” engaged in a collective fit of passionate verbal abuse. They doxxed his parents, Photoshopped funeral portraits for him, and speculated about “unclean” relationships between him and high-level executives. During that time, Yuan Xingzhou’s anxiety and terror reached their peak.

When he went on the show previously, if it hadn’t been for Ye Huai’s instigation, Yuan Xingzhou wouldn’t have dared to fight back on the spot.

However, once he fought back and saw the results—realizing that the other party could also feel guilty and afraid—that nightmare of his began to crumble.

Perhaps it really is possible…

On such a grand stage, surrounded by professionals, Yuan Cheng’s true capabilities would be revealed the moment he was tested.

Over the next two days, Yuan Xingzhou agonized over the decision back and forth. It wasn’t until Friday that he finally made up his mind.

“Let’s not add it for now,” Yuan Xingzhou said to Qu Mai. “The program is so good; let’s not let this kind of ‘tearing’ (internet drama) pollute it. Besides, you are the protagonist of this performance. If you need fingerstyle guitar in that style, I can write a new segment for you to see if you can use it.”

Qu Mai gave a kind smile on the other end of the line. He didn’t press for details, only offering comfort: “That’s fine. We’ll meet up at the hotel after you arrive tomorrow.”

The program was to be recorded on Sunday, with rehearsals on Saturday. The others had already met up with their guests to begin preparations, but Yuan Xingzhou couldn’t get away and could only request two days of leave.

On Friday night, as soon as he finished work with the film crew, he rushed home without stopping to grab his guitar and headed straight for the airport to fly to the recording location.

Li Yuan had sent someone to meet him at the airport. Yuan Xingzhou was dressed inconspicuously in black sportswear, wearing a mask and carrying his guitar on his back, looking like a student attending an arts entrance exam.

The person picking him up had been waiting at the exit early on. Yuan Xingzhou followed them into the van, only to climb inside and discover that Qu Mai was actually there as well.

“I came to pick up Senior Brother,” Qu Mai said, sitting to the side with a laptop on his knees. He flashed a smile at Yuan Xingzhou. “Haven’t seen you in a few days, Senior Brother, you’ve gotten even more handsome. No wonder Sister Li said we’re the ‘Visual Duo’.”

Yuan Xingzhou didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Compared to non-celebrities, he did have an advantage in terms of looks. But in the entertainment industry, he was quite ordinary; the young men and women in the circle all had their own unique charms.

The only one in the younger generation who could truly stand head and shoulders above the rest and “slay” everyone else was Ye Huai.

“Where is my ‘so-handsome-it’s-a-tragedy’ Sister-in-Law?” As expected, Qu Mai asked with great interest. “I thought he’d be with you.”

Yuan Xingzhou froze for a moment. “Sister-in-Law?”

Qu Mai looked at him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Um, well, your Sister-in-Law…” Yuan Xingzhou suppressed a laugh. He thought to himself that Ye Huai definitely didn’t know someone would call him that. Hahaha, this title is just too satisfying.

“Your Sister-in-Law has been filming lately,” Yuan Xingzhou said solemnly. “He can’t get away, but he’ll be video-calling for a bit tonight. Do you mind?”

“I don’t mind, I don’t mind at all!” Qu Mai waved his hands hurriedly. “He can stay on the call all night for all I care.”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

The two went to the hotel. After Yuan Xingzhou dropped off his luggage, he went to Qu Mai’s room. There was equipment there, along with two famous music producers who were Qu Mai’s teachers, who had come over to help him finalize the details.

Yuan Xingzhou didn’t dare play with his phone in front of his seniors. He could only hurriedly notify Ye Huai and then put his phone away. It wasn’t until midnight, when the two teachers went back to rest, that he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

On the other end, Ye Huai had sent a long string of emojis—all of them little pouting figures. Yuan Xingzhou glanced at them; the last message was from a minute ago. Ye Huai wasn’t asleep yet.

“Our teacher seems to really like you.” Qu Mai hummed a small final melody, glancing at Yuan Xingzhou during the break. “He’s usually very strict with us, but not with you.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m a guest?” Yuan Xingzhou smiled. “Compared to you guys, I really am too much of an amateur.”

Qu Mai shook his head. “Do you have absolute pitch?”

Just moments ago, when the teacher was pondering a problem, he had tapped the table. Yuan Xingzhou, who was holding his guitar, had casually played an F note. Qu Mai had been surprised at the time, and now that he asked, it turned out to be true.

When Yuan Xingzhou first started practicing guitar, he rarely looked at sheet music. He could remember and perfectly recreate something after hearing someone play it twice. Later, when he took tutoring classes to learn music theory, the teacher would often ask him for a specific note on the fly.

To Yuan Xingzhou, this sort of thing was mundane and common; he didn’t think it was particularly special. Qu Mai, however, was exceptionally envious.

“No wonder,” Qu Mai said with a face full of regret. “With your talent, it’s such a waste not to continue developing it.”

Yuan Xingzhou looked at him, hesitated as if wanting to say something, but then smiled and shook his head.

Huayu was a talent agency that excelled at “packaging” and hype, creating “traffic” stars. They often signed groups of idol singers from survival shows to do commercial performances and “harvest” the fans’ money. Once the performers’ value had been mostly consumed, the company would toss them aside and move on to sign the next batch.

Yuan Xingzhou used to think he could develop a career in this industry as well. But later, at the company, he saw many people more talented and skilled than himself gradually fade into obscurity, forced to develop side businesses just to make a living. Thus, he had abandoned those thoughts.

Qu Mai was young and vigorous, and Bass Records was a professional music label that wouldn’t let talent go to waste. Yuan Xingzhou didn’t want to expose the kid to these unpleasant realities prematurely.

“I’m not cut out for it,” Yuan Xingzhou smiled. He then pointed to his phone. “Can I start a video call?”

“Of course you can,” Qu Mai nodded. “Go right ahead.”

Yuan Xingzhou sent a video call request to Ye Huai and tidied his bangs while looking at the screen.

Ye Huai picked up almost instantly and blew a kiss to Yuan Xingzhou as soon as he appeared.

“How is it?” Ye Huai sat cross-legged in his swivel chair, raising an eyebrow at Yuan Xingzhou. “Is everything going smoothly over there? Is anyone bullying you?”

“No. There aren’t that many people out to bully me.” Yuan Xingzhou chuckled foolishly for a moment before remembering to turn the phone around to show Ye Huai. “This is Qu Mai, our younger sect brother (Junior).”

Ye Huai didn’t say anything. He just leaned closer to the camera and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to get a good look at what the person on the other side looked like.

Qu Mai also turned around, but gave a boisterous “Hi!” and greeted him enthusiastically: “Hello, Sister-in-Law!”