[“Summer Bloom is SOOOOO good!!”]
[“Recommending Summer Bloom to the whole world—the studio version is fire, and the live performance by CROWN? Mind-blowing! I’m so glad I stan them!!”]

At the Golden String Awards, CROWN won “Most Anticipated Group of the Year”, and the attention from the award was immediate—Summer Bloom‘s sales surged again, leaving Julia even further in the dust.

But more important than awards or sales was this: after delivering two stunning live stages—first at the Greenlime Music Festival and now the Golden String Awards—CROWN was starting to be recognized as a group with real talent.

SEM’s underwhelming performance also went semi-viral—though not for the reasons they’d hoped. They weren’t the first K-pop group to underperform at a Chinese awards show, and they wouldn’t be the last.

But for SEM fans, the worst part was now CROWN existed—a group that disproved the narrative they’d long pushed about SEM’s visual and talent superiority.

[“That was… a total wipeout.”]
[“I don’t care about SEM, but Gu Yi and the others are insanely good-looking!!”]
[“I already thought their debut with Crown was god-tier… but Summer Bloom and Reckless were even better!”]

Overnight, even the music playing in little corner shops across town was pulled from CROWN’s EP.

…

The upper management at Jiangshi TV had assumed CROWN would earn far less than other limited groups like TIMEE and TIX, especially given their low exposure and lack of sponsorships. After all, the brand partnerships for Idol X and Hot Blood Rebirth were enough to make any platform green with envy.

Yet with just one EP, CROWN shattered multiple sales records, disproving the old belief that limited groups could only rely on fan purchases.

Public recognition mattered more than being trapped in fan silos—and once the songs on Summer Bloom started charting as seasonal hits, the team received a flood of new brand invitations, far more than at debut. The offers now went beyond youth brands—two car companies even expressed interest in collaborations.

Jiangshi TV was thrilled. The members’ individual agencies were thrilled.

The only one not thrilled? Xingyao Entertainment.

Although Gu Yi’s personal value had already surpassed his days in VIC, Xingyao Entertainment was now forced to split revenue down the middle—then split it again. They had to watch profits slip through their fingers.

Every time the topic came up, senior management practically bled from the heart.

Even so, in just a few months, Gu Yi had earned more than any popular member in the VIC group.

He had long cut ties with VIC. But ever since his debut with CROWN, several VIC members had been messaging him on WeChat.

One discreetly told him that Shao Jing wasn’t doing well at the company, and Zhu Yu’s original endorsements had been slashed in half.

Others were more direct—asking if Gu Yi could “maybe speak to the Battle of the Stars director” and get them a slot in the next season’s audition.

“There’s going to be a second season?” Gu Yi asked.

“The companies are already picking candidates,” said He Zhao. “It’s super competitive now.”

Battle of the Stars had exceeded industry expectations. Even contestants who didn’t debut were seeing major gains. Now, as season two’s casting began, every agency was rushing to submit their picks.

Just like how Idol X paved the way for TIMEE and launched a wave of successful survival shows, CROWN’s breakthrough made it clear: Battle of the Stars was not just another show.

Especially now, after Summer Bloom, it was obvious—the producers had big ambitions.

Gu Yi and his team were headed down a completely different path than TIMEE’s Chu Chi.

…

Truthfully, the massive success of Summer Bloom had shocked not only Jiangshi TV, but the members themselves.

After the Golden String Awards, CROWN was flooded with invites to galas, events, and variety shows. Lately, the group’s favorite hobby had become refreshing Weibo…

Because what’s it like to wake up and gain a million followers overnight?

Before Battle of the Stars, the most popular members were Ji Chi and Xie Xingjia, both trainees under Baiqian Entertainment. Compared to them, Gu Yi had far less visibility.

But now—every single member of CROWN had over a million followers.

“Holy crap!”

The others glanced silently at Yang Ting, who had been in a state of shock ever since the Golden String Awards.

Blinking, he said:

“Our company’s official website put me first. I’m the No. 1 guy now. The pressure is insane.”

The others scrambled to check their agencies’ websites.

Liu Junyuan and He Zhao were from mid-sized entertainment companies with some industry clout. Despite joining CROWN, their rankings on the company websites hadn’t changed.

But at Xingyao Entertainment…

Gu Yi stared blankly at his photo on the homepage.

VIC’s new popularity rankings hadn’t launched yet, so technically, Gu Yi was still in Team J. Usually, his placement would be on the second page, last row.

Now?

He was ranked ahead of the A-Team members.

Which was… insane.

Xingyao’s website arranged artist profiles in a 10×10 grid. Gu Yi had the first square. Every other A-, B-, and C-Team member had been pushed back a space.

This alone was enough to spark chaos in the VIC fan forums.

Thankfully, the flames hadn’t reached Gu Yi personally. Most group fans and popularity-focused fans knew he hadn’t risen through VIC. In fact, he had one of the worst records for being overlooked in the entire team.

[“Xingyao is acting shameless now. Suddenly using Gu Yi for clout? As if no one remembers he doesn’t belong to them anymore.”]
[“It’s laughable. I bet Gu Yi himself has no idea they did this.”]
[“Back then you didn’t care. Now you’re not worthy.”]

Gu Yi scrolled through the VIC group’s supertopic. Fans were arguing fiercely, but he stared at the screen in a daze. He hadn’t known many people in VIC to begin with, and even if he remembered the names, he couldn’t match them to faces. Fans also loved using nicknames—he assumed Zhu Yu’s alias would be “ZY,” but later found out it was “Fish.” So logically, Tong Shu should be “Tree,” right? But no—they used “TS,” which Gu Yi associated more with thymidylate synthase than with a person.

The complexity of it all was… beyond his intellectual tolerance.

Silently, Gu Yi switched tabs to the civil service exam forum. At least there, he was on familiar ground—and that helped his confidence.

…

With Summer Bloom now released, CROWN’s next step was their first full album. The EP had included creative input from the members, but this time, Jiangshi TV planned to give them even more creative control.

Gu Yi was now listening to music every single day.

Classic albums, musicals, classical compositions… he studied every genre and every facet of songwriting.

How a song is built from scratch, what a composer thinks during creation—listening used to be purely enjoyment, but now that it was his job, Gu Yi realized it drained him more than singing or dancing.

Still, he was no longer clueless. Music was becoming… familiar.

“Teacher Gu, have you heard Shame? I’m sending it to you—it’s amazing.”
“Here’s my playlist too!”

Their group chat buzzed daily with song recs. Gu Yi’s playlist was growing by the hour.

As he settled into a seat, someone gave his shoulder a light nudge. He shifted slightly to make space.

“Listening to music?” Gu Yi asked.

Xie Xingjia nodded and passed him a stick of gum.

They leaned against the window, chewing in sync.

In CROWN, Xie Xingjia didn’t talk much off-stage, a complete contrast to his fiery stage persona. Gu Yi wasn’t especially chatty either, but he could joke with teammates. Xie Xingjia, however, was nearly invisible off-stage—the ultimate introvert.

But once he hit the stage—if you weren’t paying attention, he’d steal the entire spotlight.

Even though fellow trainee Liang Mu had a viral performance on Battle of the Stars, Xie Xingjia still ranked higher in popularity.

They didn’t speak while the music played. Xie silently handed Gu Yi chips… then an apple… then more snacks.

“Are you Dora-Xie?” Yang Ting complained.
“I hereby declare war on every snack-eater while I’m dieting!”
“Wanna hear my playlist?” Xie Xingjia offered.
“Sure.”

^[1]T/N: “Dora-Xie” is a playful combination of Doraemon and Xie’s name. It’s an affectionate or humorous way of saying he’s like Doraemon—magically pulling snacks from his pocket, just like … Continue reading.

He passed Gu Yi an earbud. Unlike Gu Yi’s list, Xie’s was wall-to-wall heavy metal—like being run over by a tank.

“You notice it too?” Yang Ting whispered to Liu Junyuan. “Everyone loves sticking to Teacher Gu.”

Back when Gu Yi’s popularity overtook Ji Chi’s in the final round, Ji Chi’s fans were salty. But the man himself? Zero bitterness. Since debuting, the two had visibly gotten close.

During Crown and Reckless, there were brief moments where Ji Chi would challenge Gu Yi on stage—and fans screamed so hard the venue’s ceiling nearly caved in.

Liu Junyuan gave him a look but didn’t mention the obvious: Yang Ting himself was glued to Gu Yi most of the time. Whether Gu Yi was writing papers or solving logic puzzles, Yang Ting would still hover nearby, dramatically declaring “My eyes! I can’t understand this!”—but still reading over his shoulder anyway.

“So how do we write the new song? Anyone got inspiration yet?”

Summer Bloom had four tracks, all written by professionals. But the upcoming album would have 10–12 songs, and two of those would be member-composed.

“Nothing yet.”
“We should probably pick a theme first?”

After some discussion, they decided: each member would propose one theme. If the rest agreed, it would go into the album.

“Teacher Gu, you up for it? Want help?”

He Zhao looked like he was going to call out the hypocrisy—Yang Ting and Liu Junyuan had just been gossiping about how everyone clung to Gu Yi, and now they were the first to offer help.

Oh, men.

“Who loves clinging to Teacher Gu, again?”
“Who, indeed?”

Gu Yi thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“I want to try it on my own.”

“If you change your mind, let us know,” Yang Ting said, thumping his chest. “I’m a trained performer, bachelor’s in music.”

From across the room, Xie Xingjia raised his hand too.

Gu Yi gave a thumbs up.

“Thanks, guys!”

But still—he wanted to do this himself.

Joining CROWN had set him on a path he never expected.

And maybe… just maybe, he could write something of his own now.