Chapter 1: Entrance

Page 1 of 3

Qiao Yiqing, seventeen years old.

A junior at Nanhu No.1 High School.

At this moment, she should have been lying in her room, seizing the last moments of summer vacation. But now, she was standing in a brightly lit recording studio, waiting to enter with a group of vibrant, beautiful girls.

“Wow, it looks exactly like it does on TV.”

“There are so many cosmetics here.”

“Look, they even have cameras over there.”

Fu Huanhuan pulled Qiao Yiqing along excitedly to look around. Qiao Yiqing gave the camera a practiced smile.

This was now a reflex, ingrained in her after days of “special training” under Fu Huanhuan’s guidance.

“Qingbao, you’re so cute~” Fu Huanhuan grinned, pinching Qiao Yiqing’s cheek, clearly satisfied with her own handiwork. Qiao Yiqing simply indulged her with a helpless smile.

“All right, you can enter now.”

As the instruction to enter came, the lively chatter instantly subsided. The entrance tunnel ahead, glowing in the lights, looked like a beast about to swallow them whole.

“Let’s go.”

Jiang Xiao, the team leader of their hastily assembled group, took a deep breath and was the first to step into the tunnel.

-

Inside the studio, more than a dozen trainees had already taken their seats.

Before each group entered, the company name of the incoming trainees would appear on the central screen. But now, instead of any company, it displayed: “Independent Trainees.”

“Independent trainees? That means they haven’t signed with any company, right?”

“Another batch of independents?”

Over 90% of the contestants were already signed to agencies; often, the first thing people asked when meeting was, “What company are you with?”

Here, a company name was worth more than a personal introduction.

Last season, there were a few independent trainees, but they were eliminated early. With the explosive popularity of the first season, applications for the second season had soared, and agencies fought fiercely for spots on the show. No one expected any independent trainees this time.

The cameras panned over the five girls entering, lingering on each face and broadcasting their images on the central stage screen.

“Wow, look at those small faces.”

“So pretty.”

When the girl with the high ponytail appeared, the other trainees felt a jolt of surprise.

With her hair pulled back, her smooth, graceful features and perfect head shape were on full display. Her features were delicate, her skin fair and flawless, her expression innocent and pure. Large, lively eyes framed by fine lashes held a slightly lighter shade in the irises, and when she looked up at the camera, there was a dreamy, entrancing allure to her gaze that made it hard to look away.

In truth, Qiao Yiqing was merely looking at the chairs arranged on the tiered steps.

The contestants’ seating area was a pyramid of steps, each holding a seat. At the very top sat the largest, most ornate chair: shining leather, a crown-shaped backrest marked with the number 1, all alone at the summit—this was the coveted “center” seat, prepared for the contestant who would be the star of the show.

The next two rows, while not as extravagant, boasted plush leather sofas—these were for the top 2–7, the debut group.

Below that, all the seats were small, transparent plastic chairs, just big enough for one person. Except for a number stuck to the back, they had no decoration, filling the lower steps in dense, orderly rows.

From the outset, the program made the hierarchy between debut and non-debut positions glaringly clear.

“Where should we sit?”

With so few trainees seated so far, plenty of spots were available—including, most notably, the center seat. The group fell into a dilemma over where to sit.

Page 2 of 3

Spotting that seat number 78 was still empty, Fu Huanhuan’s eyes lit up. She quickly tugged Qiao Yiqing’s hand. “Let’s sit at number 78.”

Qiao Yiqing nodded; she didn’t care much where she sat.

Fu Huanhuan grinned, satisfied, then turned to the other three. “We’ve picked ours—do you want to join us?”

The other two girls hesitated, but Jiang Xiao shook her head and looked at Fu Huanhuan and Qiao Yiqing. “I want to go up.”

She didn’t say which seat, but Qiao Yiqing had already guessed. From the moment they entered, Jiang Xiao’s gaze had lingered on the top seat. Her words just now made it clear she’d made up her mind.

Qiao Yiqing nodded encouragement. “Good luck.”

Receiving Qiao Yiqing’s support, Jiang Xiao smiled and turned to climb the steps.

The other trainees watched as this newly arrived independent trainee climbed higher and higher, passing the debut group’s seats and finally stopping in front of the center seat. What had been casual glances quickly turned serious.

“She’s going for the center?”

“No way, maybe she just wants to take a look.”

“Does she really have the guts?”

In most trainees’ minds, the center seat was reserved for famous or exceptionally talented contestants. Choosing it brought more camera time, but also risked inviting the audience’s dislike.

Jiang Xiao ignored all the looks and whispers, sitting firmly in the center seat.

The other two girls had considered sitting higher as well, but after seeing Jiang Xiao draw everyone’s attention, their enthusiasm died down. They settled for seats in the middle rows, choosing not to sit with Fu Huanhuan and Qiao Yiqing—after all, seat 78 was too far down.

As soon as they sat, Fu Huanhuan reached back to touch the number on the chair, muttering something under her breath. The words were too soft for Qiao Yiqing to catch.

“All right, I’ve prayed for both of us.”

Fu Huanhuan turned around, eager to claim credit.

“Prayed?”

“Yes! Last season, Senior Zong Ming sat in seat 78, and he ended up debuting as center. So this is a lucky seat!”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I hope we can debut together.”

Last year, a show called “Starlight Shines” burst onto the scene, injecting new energy into the stagnant entertainment industry.

One hundred and one contestants, seven debut spots, all rankings determined by public vote. Names like Zong Ming, Gu Heran, and Lai Ruici—once unknown—entered the public eye.

Though young, Fu Huanhuan was already a veteran of fandom, her idol-chasing days stretching back to third grade.

While other kids watched cartoons, she collected idol stickers and cards, used her parents’ phones to vote for favorites, and even after being caught and punished, refused to give up her passion.

Whether domestic, Korean, Japanese, or even American stars, Fu Huanhuan had supported countless idols—and last year, she was naturally swept up in the show’s appeal, choosing Zong Ming as her favorite, voting, promoting him, and recruiting friends and family to help. Qiao Yiqing was one of her recruits.

Fu Huanhuan had dragged Qiao Yiqing to watch the live finale of “Starlight Shines” Season One. When Zong Ming debuted as center, Fu Huanhuan was in tears, hugging Qiao Yiqing and shouting, “Ahhh, number one! Brother Zong is amazing! I’ll love you forever!”

Her “forever” had been promised to countless stars; words spoken in a rush of emotion, fading with time rather than wind. So Qiao Yiqing assumed “Starlight Shines,” like so many shows before, would be just another fleeting passion on Fu Huanhuan’s long road of fandom.

She never expected this would be the butterfly that stirred up a storm.

-

Four months ago, Nanhu High School.

The evening breeze drifted past as Qiao Yiqing and Fu Huanhuan leaned against the corridor railing, chatting idly. Between the two, Fu Huanhuan was usually the talkative one, but today she was unusually quiet. In fact, she’d been preoccupied for several days.

“Yiqing.”

Fu Huanhuan’s voice broke the silence.

“Hmm?”

Page 3 of 3

“Let’s sign up for ‘Starlight Shines.’”

Qiao Yiqing thought she had misheard.

“I’ve actually been thinking about this for a long time.” Once she started, the words came more easily; Fu Huanhuan confessed she wasn’t joking or acting on a whim.

“Season two is supposed to be a girls’ edition. It hasn’t been announced yet, but I’ve heard from insiders that auditions are starting soon. I want to give it a try.”

“I’ve never really known what I wanted to do. I love being a fan, I love singing and dancing, but I’ve always treated it as a hobby—because I knew I could never make a living from it. But after watching ‘Starlight Shines,’ for the first time I felt a burning desire—I want to stand on stage, to be seen by more people, just like them!”

Seeing Qiao Yiqing’s silence, Fu Huanhuan grew anxious: Would Yiqing scold her, or tell her to give up? Was she searching for gentle words to let her down?

In reality, Qiao Yiqing was thinking: Did this happen in my last life?

Qiao Yiqing had been reborn. At twenty-six, she’d survived a car crash, only to wake up as a twelve-year-old once more.

At first, she’d considered following in the footsteps of other reborn protagonists, setting her sights on the best universities. But she quickly realized that being reborn didn’t make her any smarter, so she abandoned that idea.

In truth, she hadn’t had many regrets in her previous life. She did well on the college entrance exams, attended a reputable local university, then passed the civil service exam and landed a stable job. Life flowed like a quiet stream—no great waves, but peaceful and steady.

Continuing along the same path wasn’t a bad thing.

But this life wasn’t identical to the last. Most things were the same, but there were small differences. For instance, her bout of flu at age twelve hadn’t been severe enough to warrant hospitalization before. Her father’s company had changed. Fu Huanhuan seemed even more outgoing and lively…and her idol-chasing was even more intense.

Maybe there were other reborn people in this world, too, causing subtle butterfly effects.

Certain now that this hadn’t happened before, Qiao Yiqing eyed Fu Huanhuan suspiciously. “You’re not just doing this to chase after Zong Ming, are you?”

Fu Huanhuan’s anxiety melted away. She denied it fervently, “No! Absolutely not! Zong Ming is history!”

“I really, truly want to do this for myself—one hundred percent, I swear!” Fu Huanhuan held up three fingers in a solemn vow, tugging Qiao Yiqing’s sleeve with her other hand, pleading, “Come with me, please?”

“But I can’t sing or dance,” Qiao Yiqing protested.

Fu Huanhuan immediately refuted her, “Who says? You sing really well! I think you’re good enough for an audition! And even though you don’t have dance experience, it’s not too late to start now!”

Then she pressed her hand to her chest and began pitching herself, “As a completely unremarkable little genius with three years of dance experience, I will train you well.”

“All right.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I’ll do it.”

Fu Huanhuan had expected to coax and persuade her for much longer, but Qiao Yiqing agreed so quickly. Overjoyed, Fu Huanhuan jumped up and gave her a bear hug. “You’re the best!”

Why did she agree? Perhaps it was the beauty of that sunset, or the light in Fu Huanhuan’s eyes as she spoke of her dreams. Perhaps it made Qiao Yiqing question her own.

There was once a resignation letter that went viral: “The world is so big, I want to see it.”

Qiao Yiqing had felt a moment of longing, too. A life that stretched out, predictable and safe, was also a little too dull.

Though she hadn’t found her own dream yet, she could at least go out and see more of the world, try a path she’d never walked before.

With Qiao Yiqing’s agreement, Fu Huanhuan felt unstoppable. “The Twin Terrors of Nanhu are going to shake up the entertainment industry—tremble, showbiz!”

Qiao Yiqing felt it necessary to temper her friend’s enthusiasm. “Calm down. There’s a good chance we won’t even make it past the first audition.”

“It’s fine! If we fail, I’ll…try again next time! ‘Starlight Shines,’ Season Four, just wait for me!”

But to their surprise, these two amateurs with no company, no experience, and no fame managed to clear the open audition, first and second rounds, and finally secured their tickets to the show.

And now, here they sat, in the recording studio at last.