The final note lingered in the air long after the music stopped.
For a moment, the enormous hall remained wrapped in the soft echo of strings and traditional instruments. Then the audience erupted.
The artist at the centre of the stage bowed deeply, embroidered sleeves spilling around her wrists as gold light washed over her. She lifted one hand towards the crowd, smiling as cheers followed her towards the wings. "Thank you!"
"WE LOVE YOU!"
"ONE MORE SONG!"
She laughed, bowed once more and disappeared backstage. Almost immediately, the host strode out.
"Well, Beijing!"
The response shook the hall.
"ARE WE HAVING FUN TONIGHT?"
"YESSSSSSS!"
"That didn't sound convincing!"
The crowd screamed louder.
Thousands of light sticks rose above heads. Phones were already trained on the stage. The giant screens on either side swept across the audience—people shouting, waving banners and jumping whenever they spotted themselves.
The host laughed. "All right, all right! I hear you!" He glanced at the card in his hand. "Now, our next artist—"
The stage went black, and the host stopped.
A murmur rippled through the audience as he touched his earpiece. Whatever came through made his brows rise.
"Oh?" He looked towards the wings. Someone gestured frantically.
"All right." His grin widened. "Apparently, I've been told to get off the stage." Laughter rolled through the hall.
"BYE!"
"GET OUT!"
The host clutched his chest. "You people are heartless." More laughter. "I'm going! I'm going!" He backed towards the wings and disappeared.
Darkness swallowed the stage.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then— Movement. Backstage descended into controlled warfare.
"Move!"
"Platform coming through!"
"Thirty seconds!"
"Check the lift!"
"Runway lights ready?"
"READY!"
Stagehands rushed through the darkness. Sections of the previous set disappeared almost as quickly as they had been built. Panels rolled away. Platforms locked into place. A long runway extended from the main stage into the audience, its glossy black surface almost invisible without the lights.
The crowd could hear pieces of it. Metal shifting. Footsteps. Muffled instructions. Excitement climbed with every second.
"What are they doing?"
"WHO'S NEXT?"
"I hope it's someone good. The last artist nearly made me deaf with those high notes."
The livestream comments were moving too quickly to follow.
WHAT IS HAPPENING
WhY DID THEY KICK THE HOST OUT
TURN THE LIGHTS ON
I CAN HEAR THEM MOVING THINGS
IS THIS PART OF THE SHOW???
WHO IS PERFORMING???
Then everything went silent.
One second, two, three... a single spotlight snapped on.
High above the stage, someone was crouched on an elevated platform. Green hair. Black boots.
Loose trousers threaded with silver chains that glinted beneath the light. A fitted jacket sat sharp across broad shoulders, jewellery flashing at his throat. A headset microphone curved along his cheek. He lifted his face and the hall detonated.
"SIMA LIIIIIIIIIIII!"
"WHAT?!"
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
"SIMA-GEGE!"
"HE'S HERE!"
People shot to their feet as Sima Li slowly straightened, one hand gripping the railing. His mouth curved. The scream that followed was deafening.
Everyone knew the schedule. Sima Li was supposed to perform later. He was one of the artists meant to pull another surge of viewers and visitors towards the festival during the evening peak.
So what the hell was he doing here?
The livestream lost its mind.
SIMA LI???????
HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON YET
THE SCHEDULE SAID LATER
DID THEY CHANGE IT???
LOOK AT HIS HAIR
GREEN??????
OH HE LOOKS INSANE
Then—
BOOM. The first bass note hit making the floor vibrated.
Sima brought the microphone to his mouth.
"Ayy
I'm tryna put you in the worst mood, ah
P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah
Milli point two just to hurt you, ah—"
Recognition was instantaneous.
Thousands screamed the opening words back at him. Lights burst alive beneath the elevated platform, racing across the stage in sharp lines of white and electric blue. Smoke rolled across the floor. The bass pounded through the hall hard enough to settle inside the ribs.
Sima moved like the stage belonged to him.
"All red Lamb' just to tease you, ah
None of these toys on lease too, ah
Made your whole year in a week too, yeah—"
His voice remained steady over the pounding instrumental as the platform began its descent. The audience had barely recovered when—Another spotlight ignited.
At the beginning of the runway stood a silhouette. Tall. Slim. One hand tucked casually into his trouser pocket, then the light strengthened.
Violet hair caught beneath the spotlight and the screaming changed.
"MO FEI!"
"FEIFEIIIIIIII!"
"OH MY GOD!"
Mo Fei stood perfectly still. His outfit was devastating.
Tailored trousers fell cleanly over heeled boots, sharpening every line of his legs. A fitted top disappeared beneath a structured jacket that caught the stage lights whenever he moved.
Silver details flashed at his wrists and throat. His violet hair had been styled away from his face, with a few soft strands deliberately left loose around his temples.
He looked nothing like the man who had fainted in a living room because his manager threatened to behead him.
Mo Fei slipped his free hand into his jacket pocket. The audience screamed in anticipation without even knowing why. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, lifted his chin and smiled.
Hell broke loose.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
"MO FEI!"
"FEIFEI!"
"HE KNOWS HE'S HOT!"
"TAKE THEM OFF!"
"NO, KEEP THEM ON!"
"STEP ON ME!"
Sima Li nearly laughed into his next line. Mo Fei heard them, and his smile sharpened, then he walked. One foot in front of the other. Slow, smooth and utterly unbothered. Every step landed with the beat.
The runway lights ignited beneath him one section at a time, following his path towards the centre. Camera shutters became a continuous roar.
Then the giant screens switched to a close-up of his face. That was a mistake. The audience screamed even louder.
Online, the livestream comments became unreadable.
WHO GAVE HIM SUNGLASSES
HE'S WALKING LIKE HE OWNS BEIJING
THAT SMILE??????
MO FEI PLEASE MY FAMILY NEEDS ME
SIMA LI IS STILL SINGING HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PROCESS BOTH
THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE OPENING STAGE
Another spotlight ignited. At the opposite end of the stage making the crowd turned.
A man stood beneath it.
Black. Head to toe. Perfectly tailored.
Broad shoulders beneath a structured jacket. Dark hair swept neatly away from his forehead. One hand rested inside his pocket as he stared ahead with that familiar cool expression recognised by millions.
For once, the audience didn't scream. Not immediately. There was one full second of collective disbelief. Then—
"ZHANG YICHEN?!"
The roof nearly came off.
"NO—!"
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
"YICHEN!"
"ZHANG YICHEN!"
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"
Even those still sitting shot to their feet.
Zhang Yichen. Who wasn't scheduled to appear until later.
Zhang Yichen, whose mere presence had been advertised as one of the festival's major evening attractions.
Zhang Yichen was walking onto the opening stage. His gaze shifted across the enormous runway. Mo Fei was already approaching from the opposite side. Their eyes met and Mo Fei's mouth twitched.
Yichen started walking.
Whatever sanity remained in the audience promptly died.
Sima Li's platform reached the main stage through a burst of smoke.
"Look what you've done—" His boots hit the floor. "I'm a motherfuckin' starboy—" He moved forward without missing a line, as the two runways converged.
Mo Fei reached the centre first and stopped. One hand still in his pocket. Zhang Yichen reached his mark seconds later. Both faced the audience.
Sima Li stood behind them, the image filled every giant screen in the venue.
Sima Li.
Mo Fei.
Zhang Yichen.
Together. The crowd had no chance, then another voice joined Sima's. Clear, familiar and powerful.
"Every day, a nigga try to test me, ah
Every day, a nigga try to end me, ah—"
"NO!" Someone screamed before the spotlight even found him.
A figure emerged from behind the stage.
Xu Qi'an.
The sound that came from the Ignite section of the audience could only loosely be described as human.
"XU QI'AAAAAAAAAN!"
Xu Qi'an strode forward with a handheld microphone, taking over his verse as though he had been part of the performance from the beginning.
Sima Li turned towards him and Xu Qi'an grinned. They hit the next section together, the bass dropped harder. Fire burst from the edges of the stage.
"BEIJING!" Yang Ling walked out. The hall erupted all over again. He strode into the lights, microphone raised, and picked up the next line without hesitation.
Xu Qi'an moved left. Yang Ling took the right. Sima Li held centre. Three voices layered over the instrumental as the runway lights shifted again.
"Look what you've done—"
Behind Mo Fei and Zhang Yichen, silhouettes appeared. One, two, five, ten. Models. The first pair stepped into the light. Xiao Mei and Aria Lin.
The audience broke all over again.
Xiao Mei emerged with the expression of a woman who had every intention of taking the runway seriously. She lasted approximately six seconds and she hit the beat, twirled, threw one arm above her head— and danced straight through her next few steps.
"XIAO MEIIII!"
Beside her, Aria moved with cool, effortless grace. The silver tiara was gone. Tragic news for the fans who had already declared her queen.
Aria turned her head towards Xiao Mei.
Xiao Mei caught the look and immediately danced harder.
Aria's mouth twitched.
More models emerged behind them.
Some kept the traditional walk—sharp turns, controlled expressions, clean poses. Others took one look at what was happening and apparently decided dignity was optional.
The runway loosened. Someone spun another model pointed towards a screaming section of fans.
One blew a kiss and the crowd sent it straight back and at the front of everything—
Mo Fei was thriving.
He strutted down the runway with one hand tucked into his pocket, sunglasses sitting low on his nose.
"FEIFEIIII!"
He turned towards the scream.
Blew a kiss. The girl responsible folded. Her friend caught her by both shoulders.
Mo Fei laughed and blew another towards a different section, bad decision.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"MO FEI!"
"OVER HERE!"
"FEIFEI, ME NEXT!"
"BLOW ONE HERE!"
Suddenly, thousands of people were demanding kisses.
Mo Fei, naturally, considered this an excellent development. One to the left. One to the right, another straight towards the main camera. The livestream collapsed.
HE JUST KISSED THE CAMERA
THAT ONE WAS FOR ME
NO IT FUCKING WASN'T
YES IT WAS
MY HUSBAND PLEASE
HE'S BECOME TOO POWERFUL
Several metres away, Zhang Yichen continued walking. Straight-backed, composed and professional.
He had apparently decided somebody on this stage needed to retain their dignity.
Unfortunately, he had chosen the wrong friends.
Behind him, Xiao Mei had abandoned the traditional model walk almost entirely. She danced through another turn, hips moving easily with the beat.
Sima Li spotted her. Still singing, he moved closer.
Xiao Mei turned towards him and Sima Li delivered the next line directly beside her.
Her eyes lit up. She immediately matched his rhythm, for several steps, they moved together—Sima singing, Xiao Mei dancing beside him, both grinning as the crowd cheered them on.
She spun. Sima Li followed the movement without missing a lyric.
Across the runway, Mo Fei spotted Aria approaching from the opposite side. Without breaking stride, he extended one hand towards her. Palm up, wrist slightly bent. An unnecessary amount of sass in one simple gesture.
He raised a brow above his sunglasses. Aria placed her hand in his and Mo Fei immediately lifted their joined hands between them and they walked.
Side by side. Hands raised.
Mo Fei strutted like he had personally inherited the entire festival while Aria matched him with effortless elegance, completely unbothered by the ridiculousness beside her.
"ARIA!"
"MO FEI!"
"LOOK AT THEM!"
Aria's composure finally cracked into a small laugh. Mo Fei looked delighted with himself, then they saw Yichen. Still walking properly. Still composed.
Still apparently determined to salvage some dignity from this performance.
Mo Fei and Aria exchanged a look and he held out his free hand. The crowd noticed immediately.
"YICHEN!"
"GO!"
"TAKE HIS HAND!"
Mo Fei continued walking backwards, hand extended, grin widening. Zhang Yichen gave him a warning look and Mo Fei merely curled his fingers.
Come on.
The screaming intensified.
Even Aria was laughing now. Zhang Yichen held out for another two seconds, then surrendered.
The moment he came within reach, Mo Fei caught his hand and pulled him forward.
The audience exploded.
Whatever remained of Zhang Yichen's dignified runway appearance died on impact. Mo Fei laughed beside him. Aria still held his other hand.
Xiao Mei danced past them. Sima Li followed close behind her, still singing.
Xu Qi'an and Yang Ling moved towards the centre as the song climbed into another chorus.
And suddenly, the runway didn't feel like a runway anymore. It felt like a celebration.
The models were still walking. Still posing. Still hitting their turns beneath the lights. But now they were enjoying it.
One waved at the crowd. Another blew a kiss. Some danced as they walked.
Xiao Mei danced through her turn before slipping seamlessly back into her stride. Mo Fei pointed towards another screaming section and sent them a kiss.
Aria laughed when he tried to drag her into another exaggerated strut. Zhang Yichen attempted to remain composed between them.
Mo Fei required no encouragement whatsoever.
He caught Yichen by the arm and dragged him towards the edge of the runway with the others. Yichen let himself be pulled into the madness. That was enough for the audience.
Sima Li's voice rose into the chorus. Xu Qi'an joined him and Yang Ling took the harmony. Thousands of voices answered them.
Mo Fei strutted past, sunglasses low on his nose. Aria danced by, waving towards the stands. Zhang Yichen followed beside them, his carefully maintained composure finally betraying him— the faintest curve appeared at the corner of his mouth which the giant screens caught it.
The fans screamed harder. Lights swept across the stage. Music thundered through the hall. Three singers commanded the centre while models crossed around them, posing, dancing, laughing and playing shamelessly to the audience.
It was polished without feeling stiff. Grand without feeling rehearsed to death. For once, nobody seemed particularly concerned with looking untouchable.
They were having fun and that energy went straight into the audience.
Every kiss Mo Fei blew came back with another scream. Every time Xiao Mei danced, the crowd moved with her. Every time Sima Li, Xu Qi'an and Yang Ling came together, thousands of voices joined them.
Even Zhang Yichen— who had clearly arrived intending to walk, pose and leave with his dignity intact— had been swallowed by everyone else's excitement. By the final chorus, the entire hall was on its feet.
The models took the runway together. Mo Fei and Zhang Yichen at the front. Aria and Xiao Mei leading the others behind them.
At centre stage, Sima Li, Xu Qi'an and Yang Ling owned the final chorus.
"Look what you've done—"
Fire erupted along the edges of the stage. The runway blazed white beneath their feet.
Sima threw one arm towards the crowd. Xu Qi'an lifted his microphone.
Yang Ling shouted the final words with him—
"I'm a motherfuckin starboy!"
💜~~~~~~~
Somewhere backstage, Louis stood watching the performance on one of the monitors.
On-screen, Mo Fei strutted down the runway beneath the lights, sunglasses low on his nose, while the crowd screamed his name.
Louis stared for a moment. "The idiot actually had an idea."
Beside him, Chen Yu and Nil immediately high-fived, then Mo Fei turned towards the main camera, blew it a kiss, winked and strutted past. The audience went feral.
Louis, "…"
His brief flicker of pride died quietly. "Never mind. I'll kill him."