Decision Made

In the end, Shao Jing did manage to meet with Gu Yi.

Under the hawk-like stares of neighbourhood aunties and security guards, he had no choice but to keep it short and explain the company’s latest decision.

“Wasn’t the slot already given to Jin Yang?” Gu Yi asked calmly. “I think Jin Yang is better suited than me.”

In the past, Gu Yi wouldn’t have hesitated—whether it was prepping a full livestream or taking on a formal variety show like Battle of the Stars, he’d always given it his all.

He’d never once refused a request from Shao Jing.

So, Shao Jing couldn’t help but look at him.

But Gu Yi didn’t avoid his gaze. His dark eyes held no fear, no nervousness—just a calm that Shao Jing couldn’t quite place.

It was too calm, to the point that it felt like he was staring at a stranger.

It had been a while since they’d spoken in person. Shao Jing had seen the square dance video, of course—but now that he was face-to-face with Gu Yi, he couldn’t help but feel thrown off.

If it weren’t for that face, he would’ve never fought with other agents to sign him.

Visually speaking, Gu Yi was made to be a star.

But good looks weren’t enough—you needed smarts too. And that, Shao Jing had always believed, Gu Yi sorely lacked.

“The company has officially designated you,” he said, already losing patience. “This is a rare opportunity. The boss said if you accept, you’ll get 80% of the payout. No one else is getting that kind of deal.”

His tone wasn’t warm, but by Shao Jing standards, it was practically polite.

Xingyao Entertainment was notorious for its exploitative revenue splits. A-Team members got 60/40, B-Team 70/30, but from C-Team down it was all 80/20—with the company taking the lion’s share.

So to offer Gu Yi 80% was shockingly generous.

Battle of the Stars was an idol competition show—not particularly high-paying, maybe just tens of thousands of yuan. Gu Yi turning it down wouldn’t be a huge loss… but when he thought of the original Gu Yi’s notebook, full of neatly written career goals, he felt a twinge of guilt.

“You can say no,” Shao Jing added. “But don’t blame me if the boss decides to cut your base salary.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Xingyao had pulled something like that.

“Fine,” Gu Yi replied. “When does it start?”

“Early July.”

By then, the provincial exam in C Province would be over. Even if he participated in Battle of the Stars, it wouldn’t interfere with his livestreaming.

---

Barely out of the complex, Shao Jing got a call from Zhu Yu.

“Did they really give the spot to Gu Yi?”

“Yeah.” Shao Jing replied. “Don’t worry, Battle of the Stars isn’t some golden ticket. It’s not that easy to get famous.”

If the show had real value, Xingyao’s agents would’ve fought tooth and nail to get their top talent on it. When it came to raw numbers, no one in the industry had more idol-age trainees than Xingyao Entertainment.

But the company had never been lucky with profit-making. When idol survival shows were just taking off, they were the first agency the producers approached. But Xingyao’s execs turned their noses up—said the show was too unknown, too underfunded.

Of course, that show went on to explode in popularity. It launched a whole wave of once-unknown trainees into stardom and sparked a frenzy in the idol industry.

By the second season, the tables had turned. It wasn’t Xingyao picking shows anymore—it was shows picking them.

Battle of the Stars was another survival program, sure—but the best trainees had already been snapped up by bigger productions. The audience had seen enough of the same formulas and was getting burned out.

After confirming the slot had to go to Gu Yi, Shao Jing had looked into it. The show’s chief director was a nobody in the Jiangshi TV ecosystem, the crew was mostly new, and they had little actual production experience.

Zhu Yu was still Shao Jing’s cash cow, and he needed to keep him calm.

In Shao Jing’s eyes, Gu Yi was never going to be a star. If he had what it took, he would’ve already risen through Vic. Why wait until now?

Zhu Yu, on the other hand, was taking things too seriously. Gu Yi hadn’t even responded to his Weibo tag, and Zhu Yu’s fans had stormed Gu Yi’s comments so hard that he hadn’t dared post for days.

“The company’s spoiling Gu Yi,” Zhu Yu complained. “Just handing him a top-tier opportunity like it’s nothing.”

Shao Jing sighed and launched into another round of reassurances.

---

Back home, Gu Yi added the Battle of the Stars producer on WeChat. The show hadn’t launched yet, but Jiangshi TV was already in pre-promo mode.

The producer sent him the show outline and a list of confirmed contestants.

Gu Yi would be the only Vic member participating. The full cast wasn’t locked in yet, but the format was set: 99 contestants competing for just six debut spots.

“If you’ve got questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” the producer said.

Gu Yi didn’t hold back. “The first round of the show clashes with the finals of another competition I’m in. Would I be allowed a short leave?”

“Another show?” the producer blinked. He hadn’t heard anything about that. If there was a scheduling issue, Xingyao should’ve disclosed it.

“No, it’s the Chaoyang Cup square dance finals. I’m in charge of choreography and the cheer squad—I can’t miss it.”

The producer: “……”

“…Square dance finals?”

“Yes. I committed to them first. Battle of the Stars came after.”

Skeptical, the producer searched up the Chaoyang Cup Square Dance Competition—

And holy hell.

As tacky as the name sounded, the event was actually sponsored by the S City Municipal Publicity Department and the Office of Spiritual Civilization. Technically, it outranked Battle of the Stars. Jiangshi TV had tried to book the city’s grand theatre for their finale and got denied. The Chaoyang Cup? Had locked it down from the prelims onward.

Some people just lived a charmed life.

The producer had a sudden idea—Gu Yi had gained his initial buzz from a square dance video. Once Battle of the Stars aired, the show could absolutely capitalize on that narrative.

What the program needed most right now was heat.

So, the producer readily agreed to Gu Yi’s request.

Originally, Gu Yi hadn’t even remembered the Chaoyang Cup. But his conversation about joining Battle of the Stars was overheard by the neighbourhood security guard. While the uncle had no idea what that show was, he certainly remembered the finals of the Chaoyang Cup.

Winning the Chaoyang Cup wasn’t just about local bragging rights. It affected the neighbourhood’s standing across the district and even played a role in the community’s year-end evaluations. The aunties and uncles took it very seriously.

How could Gu Yi possibly miss the finals at such a critical time?

“Little Gu works so hard, and now he even has to ask for time off from that program just to make the finals. We can’t let all his effort go to waste.”

After some discussion, the core members of the dance team pooled part of their performance budget and got a bit more from the community office. One evening, when Gu Yi showed up at the square as usual, a group of aunties pulled him aside—then, without warning, stuffed… a wad of cash into his arms.

Gu Yi: “…”

Once they explained, Gu Yi quickly waved his hands. “No, no, you don’t have to! Auntie, I’m only dancing for exercise.”

“We’re not saying you can’t exercise,” Auntie Wang replied seriously. “Budget is budget—completely separate thing. We’ve got costume requirements, we’re hiring a choreographer, and the community’s funding part of it. This is just your share.”

“But this is way too much…”

“We’ve hired instructors before,” Auntie Wang said, holding his hand firmly. “None of them ever led us to a ranking this good. And they weren’t cheap. You’re the best we’ve ever had. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the office to sign for your part of the funds.”

After Shao Jing’s dramatic visit, the aunties viewed Gu Yi even more fondly. His image, in their eyes, had transformed into that of a sweet, mistreated child.

If he really had someone looking after him, would his manager have let him get that thin?

And now that he was back in good shape and his video had gone viral, only then did his manager show up? That was enough to enrage everyone.

Auntie Wang had even considered getting him a job through her own contacts, but her daughter convinced her otherwise. “He probably has a dream of becoming a star. You can’t stand in his way.”

Auntie Wang found that reasonable—so instead of a job, she made sure he got his share of the budget.

Chasing dreams was fine, but you couldn’t chase them on an empty stomach.

Gu Yi, standing there with a bundle of cash in his arms, didn’t know what to say. So, instead, he threw himself even more seriously into dance practice—making sure every move looked as sharp and beautiful as it could be.

---

In short, when Gu Yi first transmigrated, he was pitifully waiting for the company’s meager base salary to drop. But now, between livestream donations and the unexpected “community budget,” his savings had climbed into five digits.

Once he signed the contract for Battle of the Stars, his show appearance fee would be paid out as well. If he managed his spending carefully, Gu Yi wouldn’t need to worry about living expenses for the next six months.

He still found it all a bit surreal—whether teaching civil service prep online or stepping into the idol world, none of it had anything to do with the academic path of his past life.

Battle of the Stars made his schedule busier. In addition to livestreaming and leading the square dance team, Gu Yi now had to carve out two to three days a week for dance class.

He didn’t have high hopes for Battle of the Stars, but since he was participating, he wasn’t going to slack off either. After all, this was the kind of opportunity the original Gu Yi had longed for.

With his current skills, square dance was manageable. But the faster-paced idol choreography was another story—even with the muscle memory left behind by the body’s original owner, every session left Gu Yi completely drained.

And when he got home, he still made himself train for another hour or two.

He chugged water constantly—summer heat, sweat pouring nonstop. His stamina had always been poor, so every practice session took double the effort.

Back when he was still in Vic, members rarely got proper dance training. The company’s boss wanted to save money, so they only hired instructors maybe two or three times a month. And those teachers weren’t even that qualified. Once you split them between dozens of members, each person barely got any hands-on time.

And it wasn’t just low-tier guys like Gu Yi—even the top members of A-Team didn’t succeed on skill alone.

Take Zhu Yu, for example. In Gu Yi’s memory, he was one half of Vic’s top “ship,” the wildly popular Yushu CP. His partner Tong Shu was actually the more famous one.