What was the happiest moment for a fan?

Perhaps it’s seeing their idol’s name appear in every corner of the world, as if everyone could call out to them, as if every voice was willing to cheer for them with all their heart.

Someone once asked on Zhihu, what exactly goes through the mind of a fan? Why would someone willingly spend so much time and money on a person who, despite being real, will always remain out of reach?

One of the answers went like this: Maybe it’s because we want to chase after someone who shines so brightly—so that one day, we can become just as brilliant ourselves.

In psychology, there’s a rather peculiar explanation for this phenomenon. It’s called blind self-admiration and self-indulgence.

Why?

Because idolizing someone brings a rush of euphoria, a sense of blind joy fueled by the excellence of the person they admire. At the same time, that admiration inspires them to improve themselves, igniting a longing to stand beside their idol one day.

And that self-indulgence? It’s what makes them willing to spend their money on things that truly bring them happiness.

Some people call such devoted fans irrational.

But in this life, at least once, everyone will forget themselves for someone.

Maybe for love.

Or maybe… for a star.

Because on the path of chasing someone who shines so brilliantly, it feels as if you, too, begin to glow, as if you are becoming better, stronger—because deep down, you know that if you are not exceptional enough, you will never be able to catch up.

The highest skyscraper in Shangjing City’s central district lit up on all sides, displaying an image of Ji Ran in all his dazzling glory. It was him on stage—his electric blue hair vivid under the lights, his expression wild and untamed, a pair of striking, slightly upturned blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. Perhaps because of his mixed heritage, his skin was unusually fair, almost translucent like crystal, while his soft lips carried a delicate pink hue, reminiscent of Xiao Yinghua’s.

In his hand, he held a custom-made diamond microphone, his entire presence radiating an effortless dominance, as if the whole stage existed solely for him. The sheer magnetism of it all left the crowd below frozen in place, heads tilted upward, eyes locked onto his image, their minds momentarily wiped blank.

There were some people who seem born for the stage, destined to stand beneath the spotlight and shine. And without a doubt—Ji Ran was one of them.

The crowd gathered in Shangjing City’s central district was massive, mostly made up of Ji Ran’s fans. Yet, despite their numbers, they stood in an orderly manner, united in their devotion. And when his image appeared, an instinctive, synchronized wave of screams erupted into the night. The city had seen countless dazzling moments, but few as electrifying as this.

Some held up their phones, quietly capturing the scene, their eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Others could no longer hold back, letting their emotions spill over. They wanted the world to see, to know—to understand just how extraordinary he was. He was so brilliant, so breathtakingly perfect, that it made their hearts ache.

How long was a hundred seconds?

For the fans, it was both fleeting and eternal—a brief yet breathtaking moment where their idol shone so brilliantly it felt impossible to breathe. Hands trembling slightly, they held up their phones, trying to capture every second, unwilling to let it slip away.

One LED ad played, then faded out, but no one moved. They stayed, waiting—waiting for the next one.

A silent understanding passed through the crowd. Heads lowered, fingers busy—some replayed the videos they had just recorded, reliving the magic, while others typed furiously, flooding social media with updates.

Half an hour later, #JiRanShangjingCityLEDSupport was already trending. Another tag, #JiRanRichFan, had also shot up the ranks. After all, securing ad space on the tallest skyscraper in the heart of Shangjing City wasn’t just an act of devotion—it was a statement of sheer wealth. The cost alone was enough to leave people speechless.

This was a night of frenzy for Ji Ran’s fans, a celebration that no one wanted to end. Some refused to sleep, while others, who had only heard about it late, jumped out of bed and rushed downtown in the middle of the night—just to witness the LED display in person.

There was no denying it—LED support was the pinnacle of all fan tributes. The sheer scale, the impact, the sheer grandeur of it guaranteed one thing: trending status. And trend it did.

Curious onlookers clicked the hashtag, drawn in by the buzz. And there, they saw him—the boy who burned like a star. The boy with those striking blue eyes, his gaze proud and untamed. The boy who commanded the stage as if it belonged to him and him alone.

And in that moment, for even those who had never heard his name before—he became unforgettable.

The advertisement, of course, ended with a promotion for Ji Ran’s upcoming concert. Once again, he completely overshadowed the other two members of Solar Flare, proving to everyone just how uniquely captivating he was.

Chasing idols was perhaps a long, drawn-out form of self-inflicted sentimentality—never about the future, just about pouring all one’s love and joy into a fleeting moment.

Even at two or three in the morning, the crowds in Shangjing City showed no signs of thinning. Fans kept arriving, taking photos, recording videos, and basking in the afterglow of the LED display, unaware that when morning came, an even bigger surprise awaited them.

For those devoted to the fandom, sleepless nights were nothing new.

By six in the morning, as buses across Shangjing began their daily routes, early commuters noticed something different. The usual advertisements had been replaced—plastered across the sides of the buses was a striking image of a young man with an effortlessly radiant smile. His beauty was undeniable, the kind that made passersby pause for a second glance, involuntarily smiling back.

Many had no idea who he was, but the moment they stepped inside and saw the same face covering the interiors of the bus—his image on every handrail, his eyes following them from the posters above—it was impossible not to feel a strange sense of comfort.

Some of Ji Ran’s fans, the ones who had woken up early for work or school, nearly lost their minds at the sight. They wanted to scream, to jump with excitement, but they held it in, maintaining their composure for the sake of their idol’s dignity. Instead, they could only take secret photos while their hearts exploded like fireworks.

Gu Yingying, an early riser herself, casually opened Weibo while getting ready, only to find that the LED display had already gone viral. Scrolling through the high-definition pictures flooding the trending page, she made a snap decision—she was going to Shangjing’s center street that night.

No matter how breathtaking the pictures were, nothing could compare to seeing it in person.

Because Ji Ran’s fan support event had gone so well, Gu Yingying was in an excellent mood during breakfast—even Qin Yusen could tell.

“Is chasing idols really that exciting?”

Qin Yusen had never been into idol culture, so he couldn’t begin to understand the mindset of die-hard fans.

“Of course! It’s super exciting! Look, my LED display made it to the trending list!” Gu Yingying eagerly handed her phone to Qin Yusen, practically glowing with pride. Two of the top trending hashtags were about Ji Ran, both still surging in popularity. The sheer heat of the discussion was proof enough of how big this was.

Qin Yusen glanced at the screen, then looked away without commenting. He had no intention of stopping his sister from enjoying her interests. But then he remembered something and brought it up.

“Your teacher called me—said the exam results come out today. Nervous?”

Gu Yingying, who had just been basking in her happiness, instantly froze. Her entire face scrunched up, and she deflated like a wilted eggplant.

“I don’t think I did very well…”

Ever since returning from Anlan Continent, Gu Yingying had been working hard to catch up on her studies, but high school exams were just ridiculously difficult. No matter how much effort she put in, she always found herself staring at the test papers, realizing there were so many questions she still didn’t know how to answer.

“It’s fine. If you want tutoring, I’ll hire a private teacher for you.” In truth, Qin Yusen didn’t really care about her grades—he just wanted his sister to be happy and do whatever she liked. But seeing how much she seemed to care about the results, he adjusted his words.

“Mm-hmm, if my scores turn out bad this time, I’ll get a tutor over the holidays.”

With only a little over two weeks until finals—and with Ji Ran’s concert coming up—Gu Yingying couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

After breakfast, Gu Yingying was dropped off at school by Qin Yusen. On the way, she caught sight of the buses going back and forth, and when she saw the support ads plastered on them, she couldn’t contain her excitement—this was her first time organizing a fan project for her beloved Ji Ran!

The result of blindly idolizing someone? Gu Yingying spent the entire school day in an almost hyperactive state, overflowing with energy she had nowhere to release.

Meanwhile, over at Xingtai Media Entertainment, Ji Ran had just rushed back after pulling back-to-back night shoots on set. With only nine days left before his concert, he had returned to focus solely on rehearsals. Fortunately, he had been practicing diligently all along, even squeezing in dance rehearsals during filming, so he felt no pressure about the upcoming performance.

Wang Jie, who hadn’t seen Ji Ran in nearly a month, immediately greeted him with a smile. “Ji Ran, you’re finally back! How was filming? Getting along well with everyone on set?”

When she had first dropped Ji Ran off at the set, she had returned right away to handle matters concerning An Mingquan and Cheng Muyang. Ji Ran had been left under the care of Chen Shen ever since.

“Everything went well. Sister An took great care of me on set.” Ji Ran, for once, allowed a rare smile to surface. Thanks to the beauty pill, An Yuruo had been exceptionally kind to him, even taking the time to mentor him in acting whenever they weren’t filming. As a result, his performance had improved significantly, to the point where it was actually starting to look decent.

“That’s good to hear. I’ve heard An Yuruo is easy to get along with. Oh, by the way—did you know? You’re trending.” Wang Jie’s excitement was evident. Managing this group was something that made many envious; whether in terms of popularity or commercial value, this trio ranked among the top.

Among the three, Ji Ran’s fans were the most intense. Though he had his fair share of haters, they were nothing compared to his fiercely loyal supporters.

“What kind of trending topic?” Ji Ran asked, while the two people seated nearby—who hadn’t even bothered to stand when he entered—subtly perked up their ears. They had already seen the trending topic on their phones.

“A wealthy fan booked an LED ad campaign for you in the heart of Shangjing City, promoting your concert. On top of that, every bus in Shangjing now features your image. The total cost is estimated to be in the millions.” Wang Jie pulled out her phone and opened the fan’s Weibo page. “This little ‘Xiao Yinghua’ account is the one behind it. According to the fan club, she originally offered to invest 500,000 yuan for official concert support but was rejected, so she went ahead and did it herself. Chen Shen, reach out to this fan and express Ji Ran’s gratitude. Send her all of Ji Ran’s seasonal posters, photobooks, and albums as a thank-you.”

Traffic idols thrive on fan-driven economics. Many may deny it, but the reality was undeniable. Wang Jie hoped Ji Ran could retain these wealthy fans—after all, their continued support would ensure his commercial value kept rising, making him a prime candidate for endorsements from profit-hungry corporations.

“Got it, Sister Wang.” Chen Shen immediately pulled out his phone and followed the “Little Xiao Yinghua” account—naturally, using a burner account.

Ji Ran stared at the username, and a particular memory surfaced—the adorable girl from WeChat excitedly saying she wanted to support him. A headache started creeping in. If this massive LED campaign was her doing, he wasn’t sure whether to feel touched or exasperated. She really shouldn’t be spending money like this. If she had extra cash, wouldn’t it be better to treat herself—buy some nice clothes, eat something delicious? It wasn’t like he was short on money…

His brows furrowed as he pondered how to lecture this girl about not wasting her money. He didn’t even realize how much his mindset had shifted. If it had been any other fan, he would’ve been over the moon. But now, all he could think about was how to stop this girl from spending so recklessly. He had already suspected she came from a wealthy family when they met at the pet store, but still… What if her family got upset about her extravagant spending?

Minors dropping this kind of money—how could anyone not worry?

“Alright, I know you all have rehearsals coming up, but I just secured a new endorsement deal for you. You’ll need to shoot the cover, and everything’s already scheduled. I’ll bring the contract over later for you to sign. Ji Ran, get some rest. Chen Shen, come with me.”

Wang Jie planned to ask Chen Shen about Ji Ran’s time on set, so the two of them left together.

The moment Wang Jie stepped out, the atmosphere in the lounge grew stifling. Ji Ran sat on the sofa, his expression unreadable, while the other two members turned their gazes toward him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our 80-million-yuan leading man,” one of them sneered. “Always preaching about how much you love singing, how much you love the stage—but in the end, you still took the money and went off to act, didn’t you? Hypocritical much?”

His tone dripped with mockery. If fans were here, they’d be shocked—because An Mingquan, true to his name, always projected an innocent, harmless image in public. Even in his twenties, his smile remained as pure as ever, and he would sweetly call Ji Ran “brother” like they were the closest of brothers.

No one would have guessed that behind closed doors, this was how An Mingquan really spoke to Ji Ran.

Ji Ran sat there, his icy blue eyes sharp as a freshly unsheathed blade, locking onto An Mingquan before a slow, mocking smile curved his lips.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “If someone’s willing to pay 80 million for me to star in their film, why would I refuse? Unlike certain people, who can’t land a role even after slashing their asking price.”

When I Shall Seal the Heavens first brought its script to Xingtai Media, they had one request: Ji Ran as the male lead but the company had initially tried pushing An Mingquan and Cheng Muyang instead. Sure, Ji Ran was the bigger moneymaker, but An Mingquan and Cheng Muyang were the ones the company truly wanted to promote.

But the production team didn’t budge. They made it clear—if it wasn’t Ji Ran, they weren’t interested.

It wasn’t hard to see why. The protagonist of I Shall Seal the Heavens was an outsider, a foreigner with striking blue eyes. If Ji Ran had been famous seven years ago, people might have suspected the author was one of his fans. The casting decision wasn’t just the production team’s call—it had been the author and investors who had insisted on Ji Ran playing the lead.

Ji Ran had the looks, the star power, and the hype of his first-ever TV drama—his fans were already in a frenzy. With him in the cast, ratings weren’t even a concern.

Sure enough, the moment those words left Ji Ran’s mouth, An Mingquan’s face turned an angry shade of red. He was the type to lose his temper easily, and just a couple of well-placed remarks were enough to set him off.

Meanwhile, Cheng Muyang, who had been sitting calmly to the side, remained composed. His father was a senior executive at Xingtai Media. Back when Ji Ran had the chance to debut as a solo artist, Cheng Muyang insisted on debuting as well. To boost Cheng Muyang’s popularity, the company had no choice but to bring in An Mingquan, who was at least somewhat promising, and the three of them debuted as Solar Flare. And so, Ji Ran—the golden goose—was stuck carrying the other two.

“Ji Ran, this is the company,” Cheng Muyang said in a low, velvety voice, the kind that made him popular with female fans. “I suggest you rein in that arrogance and remember your place.”

He had the voice of a heartthrob and the looks to match—boyfriend material, as they called it. But compared to Ji Ran’s strikingly refined, mixed-race features? Not even close.

In this industry, being beautiful was a weapon.

Why did fans love the tragic, powerful heartthrobs in dramas? Was it because they were strong? Because they suffered? No. It was because they were beautiful.

And that was exactly why Ji Ran had landed the role in I Shall Seal the Heavens. The protagonist was the definition of powerful, beautiful, and utterly tragic. A past soaked in vengeance, parents murdered, a lover lost—his entire life was one cruel twist after another. When the novel first came out, it had wrecked readers emotionally. And now, it was the perfect role for Ji Ran.

Ji Ran glanced at Cheng Muyang, the corners of his lips curling up. He didn’t bother replying. He just smiled, easy and unreadable, watching him in silence.

He knew that the angriest person in this situation wasn’t An Mingquan—he was just a lackey. The real one fuming inside was Cheng Muyang. He was the one who had his eyes on I Shall Seal the Heavens, the one who was even willing to slash his own asking price just to land a role. But the investors and production team had outright rejected him, stomping his pride into the ground. Hardly anyone knew about this—Wang Jie had secretly let Ji Ran in on it.

Even though Cheng Muyang was the son of a company executive, Wang Jie had always favored Ji Ran. His future was simply bigger.

That half-smile lingering on Ji Ran’s lips made Cheng Muyang’s blood boil. It felt like mockery, like Ji Ran was rubbing it in his face. I Shall Seal the Heavens was a guaranteed hit, an IP destined to explode in popularity—and yet, it had landed in Ji Ran’s hands. Meanwhile, all Cheng Muyang had managed to secure was a minor background role in a big-budget movie. The contrast was unbearable.

And it was because of I Shall Seal the Heavens that the whole #JiRanIsAnOrphan controversy had started trending. Cheng Muyang had hoped that by smearing Ji Ran’s reputation, the production team would drop him. But to his frustration, they had stood by their decision. Worse, his father had even warned him to back off. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

One day. One day, Ji Ran would pay for this.

After getting an update on Ji Ran’s time on set, Wang Jie took the three of them to check out the stage that had been booked in advance. On the way, they passed bus after bus plastered with Ji Ran’s face. Seeing the trending topic online was one thing, but witnessing the sheer scale of the real-life fan support was something else entirely. Ji Ran could feel his heart pounding and when he thought about the possibility that this “Xiao Yinghua” who had funded it all might just be his Xiao Yinghua… the feeling was even more surreal.

For Ji Ran, today was a celebration—a day of fan-fueled euphoria. But for the nurses at the hospital, it was just another ordinary day.

The Jia’an Group’s charitable foundation had agreed to provide financial assistance for the aftermath of the recent chain collision. After reviewing Zhao Zehan’s case, they approved aid for him as well.

Now, though Zhao Zehan lay in a hospital bed with a leg beyond saving and a face likely permanently scarred, he was at least alive. The foundation had already transferred funds to the hospital, and nurses were assigned to care for him. He had no parents, but all things considered, life in the hospital wasn’t unbearable.

Except for the relentless pain at night.

Today, sunlight streamed brightly through the window. Nurse Liu entered the room and saw Zhao Zehan propped up in bed, reading one of the medical books she had brought him. She smiled.

“Still so studious? The weather’s great today. Let me take you outside to get some sun. It’s been too long—you need fresh air.”

She had learned that Zhao Zehan was also studying medicine and couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. She took extra care in looking after him, even lending him her own medical textbooks.

“Thank you, Sister Liu.” Zhao Zehan set the book down. His face, still wrapped in bandages, remained obscured—only his eyes were visible. His expression was calm, as if he truly didn’t care about his disfigured appearance.

Nurse Liu left to find someone to help, while Zhao Zehan lay there, lost in thought. His mind drifted back to that voice he had heard so clearly beside his ear that night. He had expected to hear it again, night after night, but it never returned—vanishing as if it had been nothing more than an illusion.

Ever since returning to this world from the Supreme God’s space, Zhao Zehan had found that, aside from still being in his original body, his mind had undergone an evolution. Anything he glanced at just once became etched into his memory. It was an ability that made him feel at ease, adding an unexpected advantage to his plans.

The Supreme God was still out there, watching him from some unseen corner of this world. If he allowed himself to sink into complacency, destruction would be inevitable. But before that could happen, he had his own task to accomplish—bringing this world to ruin before it could ruin him.

And then there was that girl, Gu Yingying… She was interesting.

Before long, Nurse Liu returned with another nurse, and together they carefully transferred Zhao Zehan into a wheelchair. Sister Liu took charge of pushing him outside.

Ren’ai Hospital had a large lawn where patients could sit and rest. Sister Liu positioned Zhao Zehan beside a bench, locked his wheelchair in place, and then sat nearby, chatting with other patients.

Zhao Zehan sat there, tilting his head to gaze at the warm sun in the sky. To him, the sunlight felt overly artificial, unreal even, compared to the darkness he was so accustomed to. And then there was… that person named Gu Yingying. Just who was she?

=^_^=

18 points