When the lights dimmed and Youth Stage 101 aired its opening episode, the entire nation gasped not for us trainees, but for the program director stepping out on stage.
It wasn’t who I remembered.
Not Director Wang, the man I once admired from afar.
No this time, the one smiling in his perfectly cut suit, microphone glinting under the strobe lights, was none other than Yu Sen.
The crowd erupted at the sight of him China’s brightest idol, the king of vocals and dance, the "Heavenly Youth."
My pulse cracked. Why him? Why was Yu Sen, of all people, here?
The absurdity rattled me as I lined up with ninety-nine other glossy-haired girls in identical performance uniforms. Surely, in this sea of dreamers, he wouldn’t even notice me.
But as the music surged, as my body fell into the precise sweep of our choreography, his voice his inner voice pierced through the bass.
"She’s.... She’s breathtaking. My Xing actually dances like this? She never danced for me before."
"Thank heavens her arm is unscarred. She’s perfect. She belongs in the spotlight."
"Yan Xing….Yan Xing… Yan Xing…"
Over and over, the chant ricocheted inside my skull, threatening to throw me off rhythm. I clenched my teeth, let muscle memory anchor me, and spun into the final ending pose.
When the song ended, Yu Sen’s voice cut off abruptly.
But his face told the rest. Tears clung to his lashes, sliding down his cheekbones under the stage lights.
And for the first time, I wondered did this man truly love me? Or was he merely haunted by the echoes of our first life?
In that old life, tragedy had struck later.
I remembered vividly the year Yu Sen’s golden throat gave out. His recurrent laryngitis led to nerve damage, forcing him to abandon singing.
Desperate, he pivoted into acting. But where others transitioned gracefully, Yu Sen only exposed his flaws. His stiff delivery and shallow range became national ridicule. Overnight, he collapsed from "heaven’s darling" to "fallen star."
The same fans who once screamed his name at airports now drenched his social media in poison:
"If you can’t act, then stop humiliating yourself."
"Stop leeching off your fans. We’re sick of it."
"Other people’s idols make us proud. Mine makes me ashamed."
During that time, I had not been there. I had walked away to chase my own career opportunities, believing I needed space, freedom, ambition.
He never forgave me.
We fought bitterly years later, and finally, he cracked. His voice broke, raw with anger:
"Yan Xing... You were selfish. The year I needed you the most, you abandoned me for your so-called dream.You put me last you always put me last."
The words burned. And though I never showed it, deep down I knew they were true.
Now back in this second timeline, our days inside the Youth Stage 101 training camp were relentless. Hours of rehearsals, lack of sleep, endless evaluations.
But somehow, despite the chaos, Yu Sen kept sneaking me "special treatment."
Some nights, when the dorm silence grew heavy, my phone would ping. A delivery bag left just outside the gate hot skewers gleaming with chili oil, beef dripping with fat.
"And you say you care for me," I muttered once under my breath. "Do you know how many calories this has?"
But trainees notice everything. Before long, every girl whispered. "Why does Yu Sen baby Yan Xing so much? Did they know each other before? Is she some secret girlfriend?"
I hated the suspicion. I hated being cornered by accusatory stares in locker rooms. Still, my sworn sisters in camp became a comfort. Laughing, crying, pushing through the grind together we bonded through exhaustion.
When elimination round came, fate was unkind. My weak vocal ability dragged me down. I was cut.
The crew gave me a farewell dinner at a cozy bar outside the dorm. By midnight, we were all laughing through tears, promising eternal sisterhood.
But our group’s camerawoman, Na, burst in suddenly, panic etched on her face. "Xing... Come quick Yu Sen...he’s ...he’s drunk outside."
I groaned. "Drunk? That’s his manager’s problem, not mine. Let him sleep it off."
Na shook her head frantically. "No....it’s…you’d better see for yourself."
I stepped outside and stopped cold.
Yu Sen clung pitifully to a lamppost in front of the bar like a giant child. His suit jacket hung crooked, tie undone. The stench of baijiu wafted down the street.
And his crying filled the night:
"Yan Xing… Xing...Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare. I can’t sleep without you."
He pressed his lips against the cold steel pole, hugging it like life itself. "Wife… please… sleep next to me…just tonight. Please…"
Heads swiveled. My fellow trainees peeked out from the doorway, eyes wide.
One girl whispered, "Xing… you and… him?" Then, earnestly, "Don’t worry. We’ll never tell anyone."
The look on their faces made me want to bury my head in the ground.
At that moment, Yu Sen’s anxious manager rushed to me, eyes desperate. "Miss Yan, please… I beg you. You’re the only one he responds to. Before you came, he wrapped himself around trees sobbing your name. If this gets leaked, tomorrow he’ll hit the trending searches again for all the wrong reasons. I....I can’t handle him alone."
Yu Sen’s assistant rubbed his forehead with a helpless half-smile.
I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders, and marched straight up to that drunken idiot sprawled in the street. Then, heart cold but voice low and commanding, I delivered a single kick to his backside, leaned close, and said with all the authority of a general on campaign:
"Get up. Your game tokens are gone for tomorrow."
It was an old trick. Back in our fifties, Yu Sen had developed the most ridiculous hobby sitting in smoke-filled net cafés, playing online games until dawn. I had lived in terror he’d keel over from a stroke with no one to notice until morning, so I set up a strict allowance of digital game currency.
And when he got too drunk? Threatening his tokens always worked like magic.
Sure enough, Yu Sen snapped ramrod straight, drunken stupor evaporating like morning fog.
"Home..." he barked. "Go home now."
Eyes still squeezed shut, he stumbled toward the waiting black nanny van. Then halfway he pivoted on his heel, whirled back, and with a dopey grin plastered across his face, seized my hand.
"Can’t forget the wife. Heh."
Chapter 02
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