As one of the mentors on Battle of the Stars, Han Xiao’s duties extended beyond critiquing performances—he also had to provide hands-on guidance during training.

That day, he and the other mentors had already reviewed the practice sessions of Team Soul and Team Paranoia. Each group had its strengths in vocals or dance, and the mentors had their personal favourites.

“I’m really optimistic about Soul Group A. Li Mu completely ignited the stage.”

Han Xiao nodded slightly. “Of the ones we’ve seen so far, Li Mu’s group definitely stands out. How many teams do we have left to check?”

“Just Devil’s Heart, Group A.”

At the mention of Devil’s Heart, a few of the mentors couldn’t help but grimace.

Out of the nine songs, split into eighteen groups, Devil’s Heart’s Group B had left the worst impression—their dancing was chaotic, sloppy, and completely out of sync with the rhythm. The whole stage had been a mess.

“It’s a tough track, no question.”

The song had been chosen by audience vote. If it had been up to the mentors, Devil’s Heart wouldn’t have made the list at all.

“Group A has Ji Chi, right?”

“Ji Chi’s solid. Yao Junyan and the others have foundations too. It’s just…”

Han Xiao thought of Gu Yi.

His personal showpiece, Endless City, had been surprisingly good, but as a trainee from Xingyao Entertainment, the odds weren’t in his favour. Han Xiao had seen clips of Gu Yi’s past performances online—and to put it mildly, they were rough.

This track? It was probably out of Gu Yi’s league.

“Let’s go take a look.”

They cracked the door just a sliver—and instantly fell silent at the sight inside.

The group had just begun a run-through. The backing track played softly, opening with:

“Night bares its fangs—strikes.”

“This street… hearts… up for sale.”

Devil’s Heart was a dark, aggressive song. The vibe was meant to be dangerous, feral. The performers needed to radiate a kind of controlled violence. Each movement had to be razor-sharp.

And this group—

Their synchronization was uncanny, as if carved from the same mold. But even in their unity, each performer stood out with their own aura:

Ji Chi exuded domination from on high.
Yi Shuo played the seductive demon in a dark deal.
Yue Miao was cold-blooded, lethal.
Yao Junyan, pure cruelty and gore.

And then—

Gu Yi.

Han Xiao’s eyes lit up.

He’d assumed Gu Yi would be the weak link. But at that moment, Gu Yi had completely merged with the song’s atmosphere.

His movements sliced through the air, clean and brutal. His limbs struck with power, landing perfectly on beat. His nose glistened with sweat under the heat, and each intense movement of his training shirt revealed flashes of his toned waistline…

It was the same sensation Han Xiao had felt watching Endless City.

Gu Yi might not have been the best dancer technically. But the moment he stepped on stage, your eyes just couldn’t look away.

Han Xiao remembered clearly: just days ago, Gu Yi had struggled to keep up. Yet now, here he was, holding his own—possibly even standing out—among the strongest.

The fire in his gaze, the unrelenting presence…

He was the demon from Devil’s Heart—the kind for whom humans would willingly tear out their own hearts and offer them up.

“Is Gu Yi… really this good?”

The mentors were visibly surprised.

Han Xiao lifted his phone and pulled up the practice-time data compiled by the production team.

Out of all 99 contestants on Battle of the Stars, Gu Yi had logged the most hours.

“That explains it.”

In that moment, Han Xiao felt something close to certainty.

Gu Yi was like a raw gem. His debut in the first episode had just revealed a glimmer of light—but one day, Han Xiao believed, this guy would stun the world.

—

Gu Yi had just endured some of the most exhausting days of his life.

He’d watched Devil’s Heart’s demo over a hundred times, stopping and rewinding, drilling steps, burning the choreography into his muscles. At some point, his legs no longer obeyed him—but the moment the backing track played, his body moved on reflex.

His training gear rarely had a chance to dry. His world shrunk to nothing but sweat and repetition. By the time he could run through the full choreography smoothly, he could barely remember how he’d even gotten there.

At first, Gu Yi wasn’t sure he could survive it.

“Nice work.”

Ji Chi clapped his hand lightly against Gu Yi’s.

Their group had been focused from day one—no bickering, no wasted breath. Every conversation was aimed at perfecting their coordination.

They weren’t just teammates. They were a unit.

When something didn’t click—they tried again. And again. Until it did. With every run-through, their positions, transitions, even their eye contact grew sharper.

“One more time?”

“Let’s go.”

Even when they were dead tired, they still gave 100% the moment the music started.

“Gu Yi, water.”

“Thanks.”

Gu Yi guzzled the bottle and, this time, let himself collapse onto the floor.

“That last one was our best yet,” Yi Shuo said with a grin.

“Agreed,” Yue Miao panted. “I just wanted to coast a little—but I ended up in a group of try-hards.”

“Well,” Yao Junyan said, almost wistfully, “opportunities like this don’t come often. I’ve been a trainee for six years. This is my first time on stage.”

Among the members of Gu Yi’s group, only Ji Chi came from a major agency. The rest, like him, were from small, often-overlooked companies. When idol survival shows were all the rage, they never even got a chance on stage. It had taken years just to finally arrive at Battle of the Stars.

“Gu Yi, are you heading out tomorrow?”

Gu Yi nodded.

Tomorrow was the finals of the Chaoyang Cup, and he had promised Auntie Wang and the others he’d be there.

“Then let’s do another few run-throughs the day after. Dress rehearsal’s in the afternoon.”

“Got it.”

Since his time off wouldn’t delay their progress, no one had a problem with it.

—

The Chaoyang Cup finals took place the next morning. As soon as Gu Yi arrived, the aunties swarmed him, scrutinizing him up and down.

“Xiao Gu! Come take a picture with us first.”

“I want one too,” Uncle Zhang chimed in. “I told my granddaughter I knew you, and she didn’t believe me. I need to send her proof.”

“She’s gonna crop you out anyway.”

“Then we’ll link arms and stand close—she won’t dare,” Uncle Zhang grinned.

Despite being the finals, the whole team remained in high spirits. They were the first dance squad from Hecheng Community to ever make it this far—and the only one left representing their entire district.

“It’s all about the experience,” Auntie Wang murmured. “And look at Fuli Community—hiring outside dancers like that? That backup boy is nowhere near as good-looking as our Xiao Gu.”

“Fuli’s lost their shine. They don’t deserve to be our rivals anymore.”

Gu Yi: “…”

Why did every casual conversation from the aunties and uncles carry this overwhelming shonen anime energy?

Anyway, Hecheng Community ended up taking third place citywide—a historic finish. Gu Yi had been cheering his heart out from the audience when, unexpectedly, Wang Aunty dragged him onstage for the award ceremony.

“We came in third, but we had the highest popularity—that’s all thanks to you, Xiao Gu.”

Auntie Wang was a certified extrovert among extroverts. Gu Yi wasn’t even supposed to get a certificate or trophy, but she somehow convinced the organizers to give him one too.

After the ceremony, the team invited him out for a celebratory dinner, but Gu Yi had to return to Battle of the Stars, so he politely declined.

—

“Some of the contestants on Battle of the Stars are really unbelievable. It’s their first team battle—and he just bailed.”

“Aren’t these idol shows supposed to be fully closed off? How’d someone even sneak out?”

“The show finally gets a little attention and they have this kind of contestant?”

“Who is it? Spill already.”

“GY. The guy everyone’s hyping up for his looks.”

“I’ve been meaning to say—Endless City was just a mid-tier song. Can’t believe people act like it’s the second coming.”

On an entertainment forum, a discussion thread about Battle of the Stars slowly started to gain traction.

Ever since the music critic “Broken String” publicly endorsed the show, it had been drawing more attention—especially on forums crawling with industry fans, casuals, haters, and PR accounts alike. Anything posted there could go viral in a heartbeat.

And this thread was no exception.

“It’s Gu Yi, right? Someone snapped pics of him outside.”

“King Gu really stays regal no matter where he goes.”

“Poor Ji Chi—stuck with such an unreliable teammate.”

“The live performance is tomorrow! Gu Yi’s guts, man. If A Group loses because of him, I swear I’ll resent it forever!”

“I hate when one guy drags down an entire team. There are better ways to flex than screwing over your group.”

“Devil’s  Heart A Group looks doomed. Full-on crisis mode.”

“I hate this. I really do.”

Gu Yi had barely regained a sliver of reputation after his performance of Endless City, and now his request for time off was sparking new backlash. Not just from Zhu Yu’s fans, but even those who supported Ji Chi and the rest of A Group.

After all, Devil’s Heart had been the hardest track in the draw. From behind-the-scenes teasers, Group B’s performance had reportedly disappointed the judges. And Group A? Even with stronger members and more popularity, it was still hard to say how things would shake out—especially with Gu Yi as the wildcard.

“He drew the song. He asked for the leave. Hit the brakes—run him over!”

“Get outta here!!!”

When the second episode aired, the fans of Devil’s Heart A Group were both furious and anxious. The moment the stream opened on Jiangshi TV, they unleashed a wave of fury in the live comments. The production team, perhaps sensing the tension, saved Devil’s Heart for the final performance slot, hoping to cool the outrage.

But what they didn’t understand was this:

The longer you suppress anger, the stronger it burns.