Chapter Sixty-Three: The Proud and Aloof Xiaoming (Part One)

Sun Xiaoming had been feeling anxious and irritable lately. As the captain of HOPE, she led sixty-three girls along with a flock of trainees who knew nothing and refused to listen.

In her dormitory bedroom stood an old electric fan, over forty years old. It was a rare treasure left from her grandmother’s youth, a time when material goods were scarce. Her grandfather had managed to obtain a precious fan ticket through many connections, then rode his bicycle for three hours to the city’s largest department store to buy it for her grandmother.

Her grandmother told Xiaoming that she had been happy for half a year after receiving the fan. That summer was the coolest her grandmother ever experienced in her lifetime.

When she was little, whenever Xiaoming felt upset, she would hide in her grandmother’s arms. Her grandmother would coax her, give her candy, and turn on the electric fan. The fan blades would spin, stirring Xiaoming’s hair. Sitting on her grandmother’s lap, she would shout toward the fan:

“Wow~~ ah~~~~~”

The fan would transform her childish voice into a broken, undulating song. After she finished shouting, her anger would fade.

Her grandmother always said Xiaoming was a good child, and that one day her singing would be heard by the whole world.

Many years later, when her grandmother lay dying of liver cancer, Xiaoming rushed from her idol group’s dormitory to her grandmother’s bedside, gripping her hand tightly, unable to say a word, only shedding tears. In that moment, she realized it had been a very long time since she’d held those warm, now wrinkled hands.

After her grandmother’s passing, while they were sorting through her belongings, Xiaoming’s parents wanted to throw out the broken, antique fan. Xiaoming couldn’t bear it, so she lugged the heavy, battered fan into her own room in the dormitory.

Despite having central air-conditioning, whenever she felt down, Xiaoming would lock herself in her room and shout at the spinning fan blades.

“Ah~~ ah~~~~~”

Within half a minute, her mood would return to calm, just as it did when she held her grandmother’s warm hands as a child.

When Xiaoming was six, her kindergarten held a New Year’s performance that all the parents attended. She was tall and slender for her age, so she was chosen to be the lead singer in the chorus. A shy child, she rarely liked being in the spotlight, but since the teacher assigned her, she practiced at home repeatedly and took the stage.

That performance left a lasting mark on her. When the lights came on and the parents’ cameras and phones started flashing, she felt a sudden revelation.

At six, she was so excited her whole body trembled. She understood then that it wasn’t out of fear or stage fright. It was because she had found what she wanted. She, Sun Xiaoming, was born for the stage and the spotlight.

If there were goddesses in this world, then I am one! I am the goddess!

At fourteen, Xiaoming was chosen during an idol group agency audition. She loved singing and dancing, loved the spotlight and the cameras.

As long as I can be the lead on stage, I’ll give up anything! If I need to learn dance, I’ll learn; if I need to sing, I’ll learn; if I need to play piano, I’ll learn as well! Nothing can stop me from standing on stage. No, nothing can stop me from standing at the very center, in the heart of the spotlight!

To keep her figure, she would go without meals, even fruit, drinking only water. Despite inheriting her parents’ tendency toward plumpness, she ended up thinner than anyone else in the group. When the team dined together, she’d pretend to eat a bit, then sneak away to the restroom and purge before the food digested.

She told herself, this was the price of becoming a goddess!

And so, when the group was officially named HOPE and debuted, she ranked first in overall ability and became captain.

Though HOPE and their sibling group BRAVE belonged to the same agency, they were quite different. The company required HOPE to maintain an average age of seventeen, and any member older than twenty-two had to graduate and leave. This rule acted as a countdown, making every member wake each day with the reminder that she would soon face an uncertain fork in the road.

BRAVE had almost no age restrictions.

“They’re just sixty-four unruly kids!” Xiaoming thought.

To her, BRAVE was just a bunch of boys—showing off, gaming, posting shirtless photos. She couldn’t understand why they attracted so many female fans; perhaps the world was filled with more fools these days.

Yet BRAVE’s stable lineup, rarely experiencing internal conflicts or departures, was something she envied. Due to their different fan demographics, HOPE’s average age requirement led to constant turnover. Older members made early plans; those with popularity aimed for solo careers, though their prospects were uncertain. Those lacking special talents returned to school or switched careers, becoming ordinary employees.

The age restriction was brutal for the girls. It meant every year, every month, new trainees would enter the agency. No matter how hard you worked, you were destined to leave in a few years. Those trainees would replace you!

In other words, no matter who you were—even the Center—HOPE would have no place for you after a few years.

Because Xiaoming and her fellow first-generation members made HOPE famous, the twice-yearly trainee recruitment grew hotter each year. The candidates were increasingly excellent, beautiful, and slender!

Foreigners began competing for spots as well. The company, thinking of future overseas expansion, relaxed the requirements for them. Many were of Chinese descent. These days, not only are foreign priests good at reciting scriptures; foreign girls are even more likable.

These seemingly delicate trainees constantly surrounded her, calling her “big sister” or “Teacher Sun.” If the manager weren’t always present, Xiaoming would’ve loved to kick them out. She could see that beneath those cute, frail appearances and coquettish voices lurked selfish, scheming souls.

Feigning innocence—disgusting! I’m not someone to be bullied. Since I joined at fourteen and fought my way to captain, I’ll hold this throne steady until I’m twenty-two!

Now I’m seventeen. I calculate—I have five years. For five years, I’ll remain a goddess, remain a queen!

Despite her anger, Xiaoming had to admit the trainees were highly qualified. Many spoke three or four languages, played four or five instruments, easily outshining her own generation.

The pressure was so great she felt wrinkles forming.

After performances, Xiaoming often sat alone in her captain’s dressing room, staring into the mirror and seeing a hint of exhaustion.

The trainees weren’t just selected from thousands, but they worked harder than ever. Because they knew, when someone leaves, it doesn’t guarantee a spot. Natural beauty is only a foot in the door, never the deciding factor for becoming a full member. You must train diligently and learn to manage yourself. You must reject the swarming admirers, but also attract some when necessary.

Otherwise, no matter how “elegant as an orchid, talented as a fairy,” to the agency, you’re just a beautifully packaged shell with no lasting commercial value.

Xiaoming understood clearly: however dazzling it seemed, the agency’s business was always built on the allure of hormones. Whoever fails to attract, their story in HOPE ends. Here, nothing is easier than replacing a member—even the captain.

A fan who screamed for you once has surely screamed for other idols with equal fervor.

Being your fan isn’t a contract. Even marriage contracts are fragile snowflakes in this age.

Seeing those vibrant trainees, Xiaoming sometimes wanted to pinch their collagen-filled, rosy cheeks herself. How could fans resist?

After all, she was only seventeen. Facing the onslaught of trainees, her own strength alone wasn’t enough. She had to rely on the power of current members.

This was a war, understand? A war for popularity that cannot be lost!

If you lose popularity, all that’s left for you is to irritate others.

As the saying goes, many hands make light work. Yet, that led to another headache for Xiaoming.

The group was becoming harder to lead!

If the trainees needed time to threaten her position, the current members could more easily pull her from the captain’s seat.

In recent years, even foreign assassins used drones for political murders. This meant the tricks for sabotaging someone kept pace with the times. Who knew who might “stab her in the back”?

Before performances, costumes were cut up. Cups had mysterious bugs dropped in them. She’d experienced it all.

That was another source of her anxiety. If she kept her guard up all the time, she’d end up depressed and hospitalized before anyone could replace her. And if she stayed in the hospital long-term, she’d have to say goodbye to the stage—no, farewell forever.

Fortunately, one thing secured her captaincy. Perhaps the most fundamental reason.

Because the girls who wanted to overthrow her weren’t united! Everyone wanted to be captain, to be the TOP, to stand in the Center. No one accepted anyone else, and they spent their days tearing each other apart—tear, tear, tear! Sixty-odd girls, more than a hundred hearts!

It was a mass of ambition, dreams, perseverance, and talent, bound together by the stage and the spotlight—a pile of loose sand!

As long as Xiaoming helped one faction suppress another today, then switched sides tomorrow, and hugged a few hot-blooded, single-minded tomboys to use as pawns, she would always remain the leader.

Loose sand wasn’t useless. As long as there was water, it became sand art. No, sand art sounds too crude! With cement, it could become sculptures full of artistic flair. Gather the sand into a tower—though it would eventually crumble, it would once shine brilliantly!

Fragile soap bubbles possessed beauty unmatched by the resilient.

So as long as Xiaoming was here, HOPE would have to be beautiful! Just like her!

I am proud, I am jealous, I am cunning, I am scheming. But I know, I am a good girl.

No, I am a goddess!