From the moment he walked out of the building and got into the car, Sun Youming remained in a daze.

He hadn’t understood a single word of the chemistry theories Gu Yi had rattled off. All he could do was scratch his head and nod along. But the more complex Gu Yi’s explanation became, the more convinced Sun was: this guy is Shen Yao—there’s no one better.

And yet, after dumping all that science on him, Gu Yi still told him, “I don’t act.”

The kicker? Gu Yi then asked if he could read the second half of the script—just so he could spot more scientific inaccuracies.

Sun refused to hand it over, and Gu Yi replied, “It’s fine. I don’t charge.”

Sun: “……”

As a reasonably respected director, Sun had never once had someone question his financial status.

It was clear now—Gu Yi didn’t know who he was, and he certainly didn’t grasp the weight of the A Letter on My Desk IP.

And honestly, that wasn’t even surprising. Ever since he’d secured the rights to the script, Sun’s inbox had been flooded daily with self-recommendations from male stars all over the industry.

But Sun was old-school. When casting, he didn’t care about fame. What mattered most was whether the actor fit the role.

If someone didn’t feel like the character, that was a serious problem—no amount of acting could fully bridge the gap.

And the more he looked, the more convinced Sun became: Gu Yi was perfect.

Even if Gu Yi declined now, he wasn’t in a rush. Films weren’t made overnight. Sun had once begged people for funding—if Gu Yi was willing, Sun was more than happy to negotiate.

He asked his assistant to get a full report on Xingyao Entertainment.

The more he read, the deeper his frown became.

Sure, Xingyao’s financials looked impressive. But they had signed so many artists in one go that “nurturing talent” wasn’t even part of their vocabulary.

From Sun’s perspective, there were definitely promising seeds at Xingyao—but under this business model, no seed could ever sprout.

———

After Sun left, the Battle of the Stars director pulled Gu Yi aside to clue him in.

He explained just how big a deal Sun Youming was, and how valuable the A Letter on My Desk project really was.

Forget their show—even Chu Chi, who skyrocketed to fame after Idol X, would have a hard time landing a role in one of Sun’s films.

Sun Youming had an infamous eye for talent. In the acting world, many award-winning actors and actresses had quietly worked on his sets, honing their craft.

Gu Yi sighed. “Director, I really don’t know how to act.”

The director patted his shoulder. “Who’s born knowing how to act? Weren’t you the same when you first joined this show? You didn’t even know how to dance.”

Truth be told, the director wasn’t entirely selfless. The show only had two more episodes left, and Jiangshi TV was already holding internal meetings to decide whether to greenlight a second season.

The budget had already been recouped. If there was a second season, attracting sponsors would be far easier than the first.

But the platform had its doubts—and what happened next with the current contestants would make or break those discussions.

If Gu Yi could land a role in Sun Youming’s film—even a named supporting role—it would instantly raise the prestige of Battle of the Stars.

For the director, who had always been on the margins at Jiangshi TV, turning this show into a full series might be his only shot at real influence.

———

The next day, Sun Youming returned, and Gu Yi was bewildered.

Sun was a well-known director. Usually, with that kind of clout, they didn’t need to chase anyone.

But here he was—handing Gu Yi the full script. “Gu Yi, would you mind taking another look?”

That was when Gu Yi finally understood the full story behind A Letter on My Desk:

The male lead, Shen Yao, came from privilege. A top graduate in chemistry from an elite university overseas, he studied under a renowned scientist. He met and fell in love with Yu Ying, and just before graduation, he received a call from his homeland.

In an era drenched in blood and war, he had no choice but to leave his lover behind. Their affection survived only through letters.

Returning to his country, Shen Yao faced endless obstacles. But he devoted himself to pharmaceutical research, saving countless lives. Yu Ying eventually returned as well. Amid the gunfire and smoke, they were both lovers and comrades—each understanding the other better than anyone else.

Gu Yi’s fingers paused on the final page.

Shen Yao ultimately chose to sacrifice himself—buying time for Yu Ying and the other scientists to escape.

He stared at that last page for a long time.

Sun sighed. “There are many readers who love Shen Yao.”

“With his talent, he could’ve lived a comfortable life abroad. But he chose to come back.”

“Faith is terrifying. And pure. I want someone with that same light in their eyes to play him.”

He clapped Gu Yi on the shoulder. “Gu Yi, you’re the best fit I’ve seen.”

Sun had considered pulling from agency recommendations if he couldn’t find the right person. But Gu Yi was already standing right in front of him.

Whether it was his focused intellect or his youthful sincerity—no one fit better.

Ten minutes passed.

Only after Sun’s silhouette disappeared down the corridor did Gu Yi realize…

Had he just… agreed?

Brainwashing really was a terrifying thing.

“Could you bear seeing such a role ruined by the wrong actor?”

“Marie Curie died from radiation. Scheele and Moissan died from fluorine. Chemists often die for chemistry. It’s a spirit ordinary people can’t understand.”

And that’s when Gu Yi realized how sincere Sun was.

He’d clearly done a ton of research before approaching him.

Gu Yi hated dragging others down—whether it was as an idol or an actor. If Sun wasn’t worried about being held back, maybe he didn’t need to be either.

The only real issue was…

He was now: an idol / a community culture ambassador / a civil service exam lecturer / an actor.

If he ever went on a trip, he wasn’t sure a single hotel room would be big enough to fit all his job titles.

———

“Jiang Yue, did you hear? Wang Cheng just got invited by Wei Kaiming.”

“You’re way more talented than Wang Cheng—I’m sure you’ll get invited too.”

Jiang Yue closed WeChat.

Since being eliminated in the very first round of Battle of the Stars, this was already the second message like that he’d received today.

No one had expected the show to blow up. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until episode two—by then, Jiang Yue was long gone, and he’d missed every bit of the spotlight.

When Battle of the Stars first began scouting contestants, the more favored idols at his agency scoffed at Jiangshi TV—said the platform was low-tier and the production budget was trash. So they sent Jiang Yue and Wang Cheng instead.

Then Battle of the Stars exploded in popularity. Even though Jiang Yue hadn’t benefited from it, the other idols at his company still spoke about it with thinly veiled jealousy.

He was undeniably the most skilled idol in their agency—but he wasn’t conventionally good-looking, and his introverted personality made him hard to market. After the show, he barely gained any fans.

Now, as the top 20 contestants searched for collaborators, most turned to idols from their own companies. Some, like Wei Kaiming, were lone wolves—or simply didn’t have any fitting teammates.

But Jiang Yue knew this kind of opportunity never landed on people like him.

He had zero interaction with any of the remaining top 20 contestants. Just that morning, he’d seen that Ji Chi, ranked first, already had over 4 million Weibo followers. Gu Yi, whose popularity had skyrocketed on the show, had doubled his fan count.

Back when he first joined the company, Jiang Yue would’ve been bitter about this. Now, he’d made peace with it.

“Why’d you miss the livestream two nights ago? You a big star now or just too good for us?”

He didn’t have the energy to argue with his manager. He had told him he was sick, running a fever, and not feeling well.

Switching his phone to silent, Jiang Yue headed to the practice room to dance.

Over the years, dancing had become his way of coping. Thirty minutes on the floor, and everything else just faded away.

He remembered seeing a clip recently—some former idol was now selling grilled skewers. Jiang Yue was already 26. If the idol road didn’t work out, he’d go back home, start a barbecue stand, and once he saved up enough, open a dance studio.

After showering, he checked his phone again—and noticed dozens of unread messages and several missed calls. Just as he was about to call back, the practice room door burst open.

His manager stood there, breathless:
“Why weren’t you answering? The Battle of the Stars team called—Gu Yi wants you as his partner!”

Jiang Yue froze.

He’d just accepted the offer that morning. By afternoon, the show had officially released the list of guest collaborators for the top 20 contestants.

Jiang Yue watched as his Weibo follower count began to climb.

Fans were commenting under the official announcement, asking who he was.

And then he saw someone reply—someone who remembered his past performance, even recommended him to others.

When the production team contacted him, Jiang Yue couldn’t help asking:

“Why did Gu Yi choose me?”

“He rewatched every single stage from episode one onward. He said you were the most skilled.”

In that moment, something inside Jiang Yue loosened.

What his company thought, what his manager said—none of it mattered anymore.

Someone had seen his effort. That was enough.

———

“Gu Yi and Jiang Yue are partnering? I heard Jiang Yue’s pretty skilled.”

“No way. I don’t remember them even interacting on the show?”

“Actually… if you think about it, they kind of have similar personalities.”

Gu Yi chose Jiang Yue for his all-around strength. The song he picked—Explosion—was fast-paced, intense, high-energy.

But beyond that, he hadn’t given it much thought.

It wasn’t until they actually began rehearsing that Gu Yi realized—he’d made the perfect choice.

Jiang Yue didn’t talk much. He wasn’t the type to perform for the camera. But after hearing what Gu Yi envisioned for the performance, he simply nodded—and got to work.

His movements were fluid and precise. His arms extended naturally, and his timing was perfect. Internally, Gu Yi gave him 180 thumbs up.

And a few to himself too—clearly, he had excellent taste.

The only time Jiang Yue ever spoke up was when they disagreed on choreography. Then they’d go back and forth for half an hour—just to nail one tiny move.

After barely a day and a half together, they already moved in sync. First thing in the practice room: full-throttle training. Like they held a grudge against the floor, determined to stomp a hole into it.

Ji Chi, Yue Miao, and others occasionally peeked into their room—only to quietly back out. If they got caught by these two, they knew they’d be roped into the grind session too.

By now, Battle of the Stars had reached episode five. Except for episode two’s Devil’s Heart, Gu Yi had mostly performed sentimental ballads. Fans were starting to experience a bit of genre fatigue.

But this time—with Explosion, and Jiang Yue—Gu Yi found himself practicing until he physically couldn’t anymore. His legs throbbed and ached, and by the day before the live show, his body automatically responded the second he heard the music.

“I can finally rest,” Gu Yi muttered, collapsing to the floor.

He didn’t want to move a muscle.

He truly admired Jiang Yue—for still having the energy to keep going.

———

The night before the broadcast, the production team was working overtime to prepare the next day’s content, organizing everything by performance order.

Gu Yi and Jiang Yue’s Explosion was fifth from the end. Just as the editor began arranging their segment, a notification popped up—“Zhu Yu Explosion…” had hit Weibo’s trending topics.

Zhu Yu had done a dance cover of Explosion.

Apparently, to thank fans as his variety show Take It Slow, Life came to an end, Zhu Yu had chosen to perform this routine.

Under the trending tag, fans spammed:

“So fiery!!”
“Explosive!!”
“Top-tier dance cover!!”

Back at Battle of the Stars, the staff felt an inexplicable sense of… unease.

What a coincidence.