“One major player down. Battle of the Stars really is cursed.”

In the civil service prep chat, the livestream-loyal crowd barely had time to scold the traitors when several normally silent lurkers suddenly popped up—

【“Post more clips, I love watching this.”】

…?

【“The close-ups are ridiculously hot.”】

【“Such a different vibe from when he’s teaching.”】

【“Ugh, I’m so jealous. I wanna buy tickets to see it live too.”】

…?

One after another, the defectors revealed themselves. And sure enough—watching Teacher Gu live was not a decision to be taken lightly.

———

Over on Weibo, the blogger Broken Strings was also quick to post their take on the latest Battle of the Stars episode.

【“The fusion of music and stage I always dreamed of came to life in ‘Northern Bagpipes.’

The contestants didn’t rely on fancy techniques—just the rawest, truest sound. Their brilliance lay in how the arrangement brought out each singer’s unique vocal colour. Like the keys of a piano—some high, some low—but all precisely where they needed to be.

Of all the contestants, Gu Yi gave me the biggest surprise.

From ‘Endless City’ onward, he’s used his voice to express who he is. And with ‘Northern Bagpipes,’ he reached his peak…”】

It became Broken Strings’ most-viewed post to date. The performance of “Northern Bagpipes” dominated replays and practically took over the trending page.

“Honestly, just the vocals had me hooked. But then I saw his face—and boom, totally worth investing in this stock!”

This episode of Battle of the Stars reached the highest popularity peak since the show’s debut. Most of the top contestants were trending—some positively, others for less flattering reasons.

—Feng Yanbin’s new group performance was, once again, underwhelming. In the practice footage, he still wore that same pitiful expression—but by now, audiences were done sympathizing.

Ironically, the mocking didn’t come from Gu Yi’s fans. They were too busy hyping up “Northern Bagpipes” to waste energy on him.

Everyone knew Feng Yanbin hadn’t made it into the top 30 by merit. Stronger, more popular contestants had been eliminated in his place—naturally, those fans were bitter.

Still, in the 30-to-20 cut, Feng Yanbin was the first to go. This time, the production team didn’t meddle; the results were purely based on popularity.

And predictably, Gu Yi’s fans were treated to a new round of promotional banners from the Hecheng Community.

Same old black background with bright red text. But now—taking public feedback into account—they’d swapped out the surrounding flowers… for a massive red thumbs-up.

The visual noise was off the charts.

As if that wasn’t enough, a brand-new banner was strung beneath the display. Five full exclamation marks conveyed the community’s pride and joy.

The fans: “……”

Okay, okay—we get it. Gu Yi is your cultural ambassador.

If only the banner hadn’t been hung right next to the garbage sorting chart. You couldn’t even crop it out in screenshots!

In any case, Gu Yi once again failed to return to his civil service lecturer roots this week. The price of “Gu Yi’s Practice Exams” had quietly climbed from 45 to 50 yuan.

———

Gu Yi, meanwhile, was deep in thought, considering his next stage.

Only 20 contestants remained on Battle of the Stars. The upcoming theme was collaboration stages—and this time, contestants could choose their partners freely. They could team up with eliminated participants or even outsiders.

Most of Gu Yi’s close acquaintances were still in the competition, making his decision trickier than expected.

“Gu Yi, there’s a call for you—your agent,” someone said.

On the way to the lounge, Gu Yi had already guessed why Shao Jing was calling.

From a contestant’s perspective, it made the most sense to partner with people they’d already performed with on the show. But entertainment agencies had their own agendas—most were eager to push their own rookies into the spotlight. So nearly every contestant had received at least one phone call that day.

Since Battle of the Stars aired, Shao Jing hadn’t contacted Gu Yi once. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how popular Gu Yi had become—it was just that he’d always looked down on him. Swallowing his pride now? That wasn’t easy.

But for Zhu Yu? That was different.

“Why let the benefits go to someone else? Zhu Yu is one of the strongest in our company. Teaming up with him guarantees your spot in the next round.”

Gu Yi smiled faintly. “I don’t need his help to make it through.”

“Don’t get cocky just because you’ve got some buzz from this show. Once it ends, your future still depends on the company. Remember Chen Zhongyao? He used to be even more popular than you. Now look at him—scratching his butt at home.”

Chen Zhongyao had once been one of Vic’s top names. At the height of his fame, he tried to terminate his contract—but failed. The company retaliated by shelving him completely. He hadn’t seen the light of day since.

Xingyao Entertainment’s contract breach fee hovered around 2 million yuan. For an A-list celebrity, that was just a single endorsement deal. But for most Vic members, making that kind of money was a fantasy.

The company deliberately capped their resources just under that 2 million threshold. So far, no Vic member had broken through to become a mega-star. Even the more popular ones still relied on company handouts.

Gu Yi said nothing. Shao Jing assumed he was getting through, and his tone softened.

“This show’s promotion is a rare chance. You want the best outcome, don’t you—?”

“I’m not doing it.”

Shao Jing thought he misheard.

Then came a second, clearer: “I’m not doing it.”

“Think carefully!”

Shao Jing had to secure this for Zhu Yu. Greenlime TV had already made it clear—after this season, Take It Slow, Life would be shelved. There were no plans for a reboot.

It had taken all of Shao Jing’s power to get Zhu Yu that variety gig. He couldn’t pull that off again. So this time, Zhu Yu had to make it onto Battle of the Stars.

“Then you better pray you stay popular. Because as of now, I’m no longer your agent.”

It was rare for his artists to gain heat. Shao Jing had figured—even if Gu Yi wasn’t as good at schmoozing as Zhu Yu, if the two of them worked together, he wouldn’t mind giving Gu Yi second priority for resources.

But Gu Yi refused to cooperate. So, there was no reason to waste the company’s investment on him.

In Shao Jing’s eyes, Gu Yi wasn’t going to stay hot for long anyway. Even if he managed to debut from this show, how many debut-line idols actually stayed relevant?

Xingyao Entertainment’s contract couldn’t be called friendly by any stretch.

But Gu Yi wasn’t remotely bothered by Shao Jing’s threats.

It was true that Vic members depended on the company for resources—but in the entirety of his idol career, Xingyao had never given him a single crumb.

Worst-case scenario? He’d live off minimum wage, maybe throw in a couple of livestreams if he had the time.

And judging from his past experiences, even if Xingyao wanted to give him resources, they probably couldn’t cough up anything of real value.

After ending the call, Gu Yi returned to scribbling on paper. He’d already made up his mind about the song—what remained now was simple:

He just needed to find the performer who best fit the song.

Gu Yi stared intently at his tablet.

He rewatched all the previous Battle of the Stars performances, made a shortlist of potential partners, and was just about to narrow it down when—

“Gu Yi, another call for you.”

He assumed it was Shao Jing again. “Tell him to wait.”

———

On the other end of a different line, an impatient voice snapped, “Still no one answering?”

“What is wrong with the people at Xingyao Entertainment today?”

“Something’s off.”

It all started when Broken Strings posted the Northern Bagpipes video on Weibo.

As a long-time insider in the music world turned influential blogger, Broken Strings still had many friends in entertainment. That day, a junior director happened to come across the video and thought of a friend who was struggling with casting—so he forwarded the clip.

Three minutes later, the friend replied:
“Who is this?”
“Which agency?”

The junior director didn’t know Gu Yi either. He messaged Broken Strings, who immediately sent over Gu Yi’s info.

“Xingyao Entertainment?”

Sun Youming tried to recall—had he ever heard of such a company?

He pulled up Xingyao’s official site. The homepage was plastered with signed artists. Sun blinked.

Ten across. Ten down. Two full pages. That had to be, what, 200 people?

So… Xingyao had money, apparently.

He searched Gu Yi’s name and finally found his profile photo at the bottom of the second page. He stared at the generic ID-style picture, screenshotted it, and sent it back to the junior director:
“Is this even the same person you sent me?”

Both of them stared blankly at the photo.
“Did he go to Egypt or something??”

Fortunately, the junior director moved fast—he pulled behind-the-scenes clips from Jiangshi TV, showing Gu Yi on stage and off.

After watching the footage, Sun finally relaxed a bit.

He’d been holding onto the script for A Letter on My Desk for a long time. If he didn’t shoot it soon, it would haunt him forever.

But they hadn’t locked down the role of Shen Yao.

He needed a face with freshness, scholarly grace, and striking good looks. He’d combed through practically every male celebrity in the business.

And still, almost none were suitable.

Shen Yao was the pinnacle of all male novel leads. Sun Youming was deeply fond of the script. He’d debated whether to cast a rookie or a known actor, but after much thought, he decided the top priority was finding someone who looked and felt right.

From just that single video clip his friend had sent, Sun had a feeling Gu Yi might be it.

He first tried calling Xingyao Entertainment directly using the number on their website. No one answered.

He sent an email—also no reply.

Out of options, he reached out to the Battle of the Stars production team, and even they told him to wait.

Sun Youming had some clout in the industry—he wasn’t used to this kind of brush-off.

Still, the call eventually went through.

Sun stated his purpose. On the other end, the first thing Gu Yi said was:
“I’ve never acted before. I probably can’t do it.”

Sun had just been thinking that Gu Yi’s voice sounded great—perfect for Shen Yao without needing dubbing—and hadn’t even processed what he’d said before responding instinctively:
“You probably don’t know who I am. I’m Sun Youming.”

“Famous? That’s great. Everyone likes being famous.”

Sun: “……”

Well. His name was just average. His brother’s name meant “talented,” and his younger brother’s name meant “wealthy.” So much for family naming conventions.

Realizing the phone call wasn’t going to cut it, Sun got the address of the Battle of the Stars filming location and drove there himself.

That’s how he finally met Gu Yi in person.

With introductions from the show’s director and senior staff at Jiangshi TV, Gu Yi finally understood who Sun Youming was.

“I hope you’ll consider it,” Sun said.

The moment Sun saw Gu Yi in person, he was convinced—no one fit Shen Yao’s look better.

In fact, the heavy stage makeup had dulled his impact. But when Sun handed him a copy of the script, and Gu Yi lowered his head to read it—

—it was like Shen Yao had stepped out of the novel and come to life.

Sun had only brought an outline and the first half of the script. Watching Gu Yi’s brow suddenly furrow mid-read, he asked,

“Something wrong?”

“The main character’s a chemistry expert?” Gu Yi asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we have a problem.”

Gu Yi picked up a pen and started scribbling rapidly on the paper.

“Your chemical equations are all wrong. For this reaction, the formula should be…”

Sun stared at the page—full of scrawled equations that looked like arcane symbols.
“……”

Fine. Thank you. And you?