“Orange Peel” beamed as she opened Weibo, liking every comment praising Gu Yi on her homepage.

As a long-time fan of Gu Yi, she felt it in her bones—spring had finally arrived!

She had practically worn out the Blueberry Mobile commercial from replaying it so often. Who could understand her joy? Every new episode of Battle of the Stars felt like a rave just for her.

Saturdays brought stages. Weekdays, behind-the-scenes clips. As the show’s popularity soared, her Weibo feed was flooded with fan edits and recommendation videos about Gu Yi.

The internet was truly her voice.

【Blueberry Mobile really knows how to shoot, oh my god!】
【These two have insane chemistry, I’m dying here!】
【From the behind-the-scenes, Ji Chi and Gu Yi are total naturals. Off-camera they’re so different—Ji Chi is gentle, and Gu Yi… he’s a bit slow on the uptake, which is such a cute contrast to his face!】

Orange Peel smashed the like button.

She felt the same.

Whether it was the intense “Endless City” or the wicked charm of “Devil’s Heart,” Gu Yi might not have had the strongest presence on stage—but no one could look away from him.

Even as someone who had watched him from the start, Orange Peel felt he had suddenly grown up.

She silently saved new paparazzi shots of the contestants out and about—now that Battle of the Stars was trending, more fans were following them off-set. Her homepage was filled with casual training-day outfits.

Gu Yi often hung out with teammates from “Devil’s Heart,” or with his roommate, Wu Jie.

Orange Peel couldn’t help but sigh—when it came to looks, Gu Yi never lost.

【New ad dropped! Today!】
【It’s Gu Yi’s solo commercial!】

The moment she refreshed her homepage, the news popped up. She clicked into Jiangshi TV’s site—sure enough, a new episode of Battle of the Stars: Daily was up. Today’s focus was another team, but Orange Peel still caught a glimpse of Gu Yi in the background.

After the behind-the-scenes came the ad segment.

Orange Peel felt a small jolt of excitement.

According to the bullet comments, this was every contestant’s first individual TV commercial. She wasn’t asking for something as flawless as the Blueberry Mobile ad—just something that properly showcased Gu Yi’s handsomeness.

Three minutes later, Orange Peel was speechless: “…”

Yes, he looked good.

But… why was it a cat-themed quiz app?

“Your friendly quiz partner”—what kind of cringe slogan was that? Did it even match Gu Yi’s face?

She wanted to ask Kitty Quiz if they had a conscience.

And to make things worse, as a hardcore fan, she had believed that after Gu Yi joined Battle of the Stars, she’d finally beaten those civil-service exam junkies.

But no—she lost here.

Kitty Quiz had actually aired footage of Gu Yi intensely answering quiz questions, completely disregarding her dignity!

She wanted to post a long rant on her feed about how ridiculous this ad was—but to avoid crushing Gu Yi’s confidence, she could only type two feeble “yings.”

Just film something better next time.

Actually—no. Don’t film at all next time.

…

While filming the TVC, Gu Yi was also preparing for his next performance.

Jiangshi TV hadn’t expected Battle of the Stars to become a breakout hit. The show was initially planned for only four to five episodes, and the elimination rounds moved fast. But once it gained traction, the network extended the season and revised the contestants’ contracts.

Gu Yi had thought he’d be home early—but after the last round’s results, he realized that wasn’t happening.

After collaborating once with Ji Chi and Yi Shuo, he’d become more familiar with them. Even though they weren’t grouped together this time, he still asked them for tips during free time.

“You got ‘Tears of Farewell’ this round?” Yi Shuo asked.

Gu Yi nodded.

“Ah, I got ‘Light Blue,’” Yao Junyan groaned. “Feels like a dream—except not in a good way.”

“Yeah, time to wake up.”

Yao Junyan had top-tier dance skills, ranking in the top six among contestants.

But this round’s grouping was brutally random. Popularity, skills—none of it mattered. Everyone drew lots, and whatever song you got was what you had to perform. It was branded as a way to showcase all-round ability.

“Tears of Farewell” and “Light Blue” were two of the only pure vocal songs out of nine. That meant little to no room for dancing.

Yao Junyan’s singing, by his own account… was basically nonexistent.

Ji Chi, Yi Shuo, and Yue Miao seemed happy with their draws. Gu Yi was fine too. “Tears of Farewell” was easier than “Devil’s Heart,” and he didn’t have many lines either—less room to shine, but also less pressure.

“Gu Yi’s in ‘Tears of Farewell’?” Yue Miao suddenly asked.

Yao Junyan glanced over and caught the subtle shift in his expression. Yue Miao gave a small nod.

Once Gu Yi had walked away, Yao Junyan nudged Yue Miao: “Why didn’t you tell him?”

They wouldn’t have remembered if Gu Yi hadn’t brought it up.

After the last round, 54 contestants remained. Aside from Gu Yi, everyone in the “Tears of Farewell” group ranked below 40.

“Feng Yanbin and Yan Qin are from the same company, right? And Qi Ji’s been close to Yan Qin even before they signed—back when they were just trainees.”

In that group, Gu Yi had the highest popularity. And with his A-grade performance in “Endless City,” he had solid vocal cred too. By all logic, he should’ve easily been voted center.

But according to Gu Yi, he was neither center nor team leader.

“That’s some blatant exclusion.”

“And knowing Gu Yi, he wouldn’t call them out even if he noticed.”

“Why add to his stress?” Yue Miao said. “He doesn’t even care that much about agency politics or being the center.”

They knew him well after working together on “Devil’s Heart.”

“Still, we should let him know,” Yi Shuo said. “No point keeping him in the dark.”

Yi Shuo genuinely liked Gu Yi.

During “Devil’s Heart,” he never tried to steal the spotlight. Even as center, he never cut others’ lines.

Gu Yi’s generosity didn’t mean others could take advantage.

Later, Yi Shuo returned, looking helpless.

“What did he say?”

“He said—” Yi Shuo sighed, “‘It’s nice having fewer lines to sing.’”

Everyone: “…”

…That really was Gu Yi’s honest reaction.

Yi Shuo hadn’t outright said it, only hinted at the team connections. Gu Yi immediately understood.

He had already noticed something during line distribution.

Even though they acted casual, their eyes would always drift toward him—unnaturally.

And even if he confronted them, what proof did he have? They’d done it out in the open.

All he could do was rehearse his parts seriously.

“Tears of Farewell” was a ballad by legendary singer Yu Pei. Songs by female vocalists were harder for male singers, and this one, like “Endless City,” relied heavily on emotional resonance.

Gu Yi’s lines came mostly in the second verse. He had only one line in the chorus.

He suggested making the chorus a group sing—it fit better that way. But his teammates rejected the idea.

They insisted the chorus shouldn’t be split.

Well, if they insisted, Gu Yi wouldn’t argue.

Compared to “Devil’s Heart,” “Tears of Farewell” was much easier. More time, simpler choreography. But Gu Yi was determined to give it his all.

Singing a song well wasn’t hard. What was hard was moving the audience.

He could probably sing the whole thing through in a few hours—but to achieve the emotional punch he wanted, he’d need more than repetition. He had to capture the right feeling, then let it erupt in that one moment on stage.

Group rehearsals for “Tears of Farewell” lacked the spark of “Devil’s Heart.”

“Just sing normally, Gu Yi,” said teammate Feng Yanbin. “No need to… I don’t think our voices match.”

Feng Yanbin had been voted group center.

Gu Yi raised an eyebrow slightly. “Sorry, but I disagree.”

And with that, he turned and walked away to practice on his own.

Feng Yanbin looked like he wanted to explode—but Yan Qin quickly stopped him, glancing at the camera above.

Feng Yanbin immediately changed tactics, putting on a sulky expression.

They had assumed Gu Yi was a pushover—he hadn’t even said a word when passed over for center.

They had done it deliberately, counting on him not to cause a scene on camera.

But in every break, as long as he was near the camera, Feng Yanbin would stress the “importance of teamwork.”

Gu Yi ignored it all.

“This group… something’s off,” said the producer, observing them. “Make sure to get more footage from their team during editing.”

And sure enough, when this episode aired, the preview released beforehand was mostly just footage from the “Tears of Farewell” team.

Gu Yi’s one-liner—“I don’t think so”—completely stole the spotlight.