APCF – Chapter 84 The Moon

The original performance is the most challenging aspect for trainees, testing their comprehensive abilities. It requires proficiency in music theory, dance, and a certain level of musical insight and appreciation.

This is the most difficult hurdle for trainees to overcome, but once they do, it becomes an excellent opportunity for growth and refinement.

Collaborative success is also one of the main themes designed by the production team for this round. The days of persuading and accommodating each other, endlessly discussing and arguing over a single note, passed quickly. With everyone working day and night, the day of the performance arrived, and the trainees presented a visual and auditory feast for the audience.

Of course, behind the stage was the reality of elimination. This round saw nineteen trainees eliminated, leaving only twenty-five. These twenty-five will be divided into five groups of five, each led by a mentor, moving into the next round: the mentor-assisted performance.

The mentor-assisted performance round will eliminate five more trainees, leaving the final twenty as potential debut candidates. They will prepare for the debut celebration night and compete for six debut spots.

Since the mentor-assisted performance is primarily led by the mentors, this round is more about entertainment and spectacle, with little impact on the overall outcome. The fate of the five trainees—whether they stay or leave—will largely depend on the popularity they’ve accumulated through online votes.

However, when it came to group assignments, the trainees didn’t seem to share this perspective.

The production team’s grouping plan was to release five songs, with trainees selecting blindly based on their performance rankings from highest to lowest. To avoid the influence of the mentors’ individual traits—such as Zheng Yuyang’s strength in slow songs or Chen Jiayi’s inability to sing and dance, limiting her to performance—the five songs were made relatively homogeneous. After selection, they could be adapted as needed.

The trainees chose carefully, and when the mentors for each song were revealed, it was clear that those who got Qi Xingchen were somewhat disappointed.

Those who got Bo Ye, on the other hand, were thrilled.

Given Bo Ye’s popularity, being in his team meant his fans could help with votes for a couple of days, almost guaranteeing advancement to the next round.

Other mentors like Wei Qin had strong overall abilities; Zheng Yuyang was captivating in live performances; and Chen Jiayi’s group relied more on the trainees’ performances, offering more screen time without being overshadowed by the mentor.

Qi Xingchen, however, was different. Although he had demonstrated basic skills in both singing and dancing, combining the two was another matter. No one had seen him on stage before, and no one knew if he could handle a full performance.

The trainees followed their mentors nervously to the practice rooms labeled with their names. Qi Xingchen led his team to their room, glancing at Bo Ye as he did so.

He was on the far left, and Bo Ye was on the far right.

Not happy.

Once everyone was inside the practice room, Qi Xingchen commanded, “Xie Yuan, close the door.”

The trainee named Xie Yuan shut the door.

Qi Xingchen set aside his usual gentle demeanor, and the five trainees knew he was about to speak, so they lined up.

“I know that getting me as your mentor is the last thing you wanted,” Qi Xingchen paused, “and you’re probably feeling disappointed right now.”

The five exchanged glances, surprised that he would address the issue so directly.

“But you need to remember, this is your competition, not mine. No matter how I perform or whether I have stage experience, you must stand on your own. I’m just the icing on the cake; you are the cake itself.”

The trainees exchanged looks, each thinking the same thing: Mentor Qi is setting us up to take the blame.

If their group performed poorly, he could say it was due to the trainees’ lack of ability, not his own.

“Of course,” Qi Xingchen paused again, “you might think I’m just shifting responsibility.”

The trainees: “…”

Was Mentor Qi a mind reader? How did he know exactly what they were thinking?!

He continued, “Don’t jump to conclusions about whether I’m shifting responsibility. We’ll see what happens when we perform. But you, with all your stage experience, better not let a rookie like me outshine you. Can you do better than me?”

No one dared to answer.

But in their hearts, they all replied: Yes.

Singing without dancing or dancing without singing is just playing around. Never having been on stage is just theoretical. Who knows if they’ll forget all their moves once the lights hit them?

Qi Xingchen knew they were too shy to answer, so he didn’t press further. He called out to Xie Yuan, “Play the video for ‘Somebody,’ let’s watch it together.”

Their group had chosen the song “Somebody,” a high-energy dance track. Xie Yuan opened the tablet, and the trainees, being around the same age as Qi Xingchen, sat casually on the floor with him to watch.

Three minutes and forty seconds later, the song ended. Qi Xingchen pulled out the notebook he had been using since the start of the competition, which recorded each trainee’s performance.

After so many episodes, Qi Xingchen had a good grasp of each trainee’s strengths and weaknesses, but he checked his notes to avoid any memory lapses.

The cameraman had always been curious about his notebook and focused on the pages.

They were filled with dense notes, almost every page covered.

After about five minutes of thought, Qi Xingchen said, “First, let’s discuss how to adapt ‘Somebody.’ Time is tight, so I’ll share my thoughts first, and you can add yours afterward.”

The five trainees were stunned.

They had always thought of Mentor Qi as easygoing, never refusing to play games or hang out, but when it came to work, he was so decisive and commanding.

“Among the five of you, Lu Zenan and Xie Yuan are strong in dance; Yang Leyin has a powerful low range; Meng Meng is all-around, mainly dance; Jiang Yan’s deep rap is top-notch… Based on this analysis, our group is missing a high-energy vocalist. Do you agree?”

Wow, Mentor Qi had analyzed them so thoroughly! The five nodded in surprise.

“So speeding up and intensifying the rhythm, turning it into a more powerful dance track, and avoiding long vocal sections would suit our group best. Do you agree?”

After hearing Qi Xingchen’s analysis of their strengths, they had already thought the same thing and nodded like bobbleheads.

“Then I’ll go find the music arranger. Yang Leyin and Jiang Yan, you two learn the song and master the score. The other three, divide the dance sections among yourselves. I should be back in two or three hours, and I hope to see your progress by then.”

“…Okay.”

“Oh,” Qi Xingchen seemed to remember something, “there’s no fixed center for this performance. Each of you will take a part of the main verse based on suitability, and for the chorus, you’ll take turns leading the dance. During your break, think about which part you want, and we’ll discuss it when I get back.”

With that, Qi Xingchen didn’t wait for their response and hurried off to the production room.

The sooner he got the arrangement done, the sooner they could practice with the music. If he was late and the arranger was busy with other groups, it would waste a lot of time.

As it turned out, he had the foresight. The production room was empty except for him, with no other mentors in sight. He made his requests to the arranger, who said it was no problem and asked him to wait a moment.

Qi Xingchen sat quietly, watching dance videos while he waited. The mentors had received the songs two days earlier than the trainees, so he had already practiced the dance and was mostly familiar with it, though his singing still needed work.

Rearranging the song wasn’t difficult, but the process of communication was time-consuming. The arranger would make a change, play it for Qi Xingchen, and adjust until he was satisfied before moving on to the next section. This back-and-forth took about two hours.

During this time, even though he was bored and missed Bo Ye, Qi Xingchen resisted the urge to text him.

Work was work, and love was love. Bo Ye was extremely serious about his work, and Qi Xingchen wouldn’t let his personal feelings interfere.

But perhaps the heavens heard his thoughts, because not long after, the person he missed appeared in the practice room.

Seeing Qi Xingchen, Bo Ye was surprised. “You’re earlier than me.”

“Seizing the initiative,” Qi Xingchen teased, “you didn’t beat me to it.”

“No, I didn’t. You’re the most foresighted.” Bo Ye responded while looking at the arranger’s screen.

The arranger, hearing their conversation, was puzzled.

Having worked with Bo Ye for a while, he had noticed that Bo Ye was cautious and maintained a certain distance from everyone.

Even with Zheng Yuyang and Wei Qin, they had discussed songs together, and while they seemed harmonious on the surface, there was always a sense of formality in their interactions.

This was the first time he had heard Bo Ye speak to someone in such a resigned, indulgent tone.

The internet rumors about Bo Ye and Qi Xingchen being close didn’t seem to be just Qi Xingchen trying to ride on Bo Ye’s popularity.

They were genuinely close.

The arranger said, “Xingchen’s almost done, then I’ll work on yours.”

“Okay,” Bo Ye pulled over a chair and sat to Qi Xingchen’s right, “I’m in no rush.”

Surrounded by Bo Ye’s familiar presence, Qi Xingchen couldn’t help but sniff. Then he noticed that Bo Ye was sitting a bit far from him, about half an arm’s length away.

He discreetly observed the arranger, assistant, and others, and seeing that they were all focused on the music, he grabbed the sides of his chair and inched closer, step by step.

Finally, he reduced the distance to less than a fist’s width.

Bo Ye glanced at his movements and raised an eyebrow.

Even with the reduced distance, Qi Xingchen didn’t dare to speak, so he took out his phone: [How late are you planning to practice?]

Bo: [Not sure, depends on progress. If things go well, maybe around 10.]

Xingxing: [Cat scratching floor.jpg]

Bo: [What’s wrong?]

Xingxing: [Nothing]

Xingxing: [I want to practice longer with them, probably until late. You go back to the hotel and rest, no need to wait for me]

Recently, after Qi Xingchen suggested… practicing kissing, the two had been finding time to kiss once a day.

Now that their schedules didn’t align, health was more important than kissing. Qi Xingchen wouldn’t let Bo Ye lose sleep just to wait for him to return for a kiss.

Bo Ye didn’t argue, simply saying: [Okay, I’ll see how it goes.]

Sitting so close, it was hard not to see each other’s phones while typing. Just then, someone messaged Bo Ye, and he switched to reply. Qi Xingchen noticed that Bo Ye had set a pinned contact.

The pinned contact’s name was a pale yellow star emoji.

Qi Xingchen thought for a moment, then realized it was him.

“…” When had Bo Ye pinned him?

He had no idea when that happened?!

An indescribable sense of joy and happiness surged through Qi Xingchen’s heart. He was so elated that he felt like he might explode, wishing he could rush outside and run twenty laps while shouting, “I’m Bo Ye’s only pinned contact! I’m Bo Ye’s only pinned contact!”

As he thought this, his hands uncontrollably rubbed against his legs. Then he realized something else.

Bo Ye had pinned him a long time ago, but he had never changed Bo Ye’s contact name. First, because Bo Ye’s profile picture was so recognizable that even if he changed the name, he would still remember it. Second, in his heart, his feelings of admiration for Bo Ye were just as strong as his affection.

He respected everything about Bo Ye and had never changed the contact name. But now that Bo Ye had changed his, he also wanted… to have a matching couple’s contact name with Bo Ye.

People who had just fallen in love were like this—always wanting to create little rituals to show that they were special to each other.

After some thought, he moved his fingers and changed Bo Ye’s contact name to a matching moon emoji.

Coincidentally, Bo Ye had just finished replying to a message and noticed his action. He asked in a low voice, “Why did you change me to a moon?”

Was it because the moon represented the “night” in his name?

Qi Xingchen: “…” How did he get caught?!

He played coy: “I’m not telling you.”

Bo Ye wasn’t a particularly curious person, but strangely, everything his little fan did piqued his interest. He asked again.

Qi Xingchen continued to be evasive: “Not telling, not telling.”

Seeing that his little fan wasn’t willing to share, Bo Ye had no choice but to suppress his curiosity. Five minutes later, the arranger called Qi Xingchen over to listen to the final version of the song. Qi Xingchen listened and was very satisfied. He bid Bo Ye farewell and left.

Bo Ye was slightly annoyed.

Unaware that his boyfriend was already irritated by the emoji, Qi Xingchen skipped back to the practice room. The trainees, who had finally completed the tasks assigned by Mentor Qi, were leaning against the wall, resting and chatting.

Yang Leyin asked, “Do you understand what Mentor Qi meant when he said, ‘There’s no fixed center for this performance’?”

“Center” referred to the person standing in the middle during a performance. Meng Meng guessed, “Maybe he wants everyone to have a chance to be in the spotlight.”

Xie Yuan said, “Logically, in the mentor-assisted performance round, the mentor should be the center. The trainees’ job is to highlight the mentor. That’s how it was last season.”

Lu Zenan added, “I just asked the other groups, and they all assumed the mentor would be the center. They’re dividing parts based on strengths.”

Xie Yuan asked, “How many groups did you ask?”

Lu Zenan replied, “All except Mentor Chen’s group.”

Chen Jiayi came from a theatrical background, so she couldn’t be the center.

Hearing this, the others fell silent, unsure of what to say.

Thirty seconds later, Meng Meng broke the silence: “Well… I think Mentor Qi is really great.”

“I like his way of doing things,” Jiang Yan agreed.

“And from the previous episodes, he has a foundation in both singing and dancing. He just needs to combine the two. We can actually help him with that.”

“Right. As for stage experience, he definitely won’t be nervous. He just needs to remember the choreography and avoid mistakes.”

Xie Yuan concluded, “So, Mentor Qi isn’t any worse than the other mentors. Let’s… learn from him properly?”

“Yes!” the others nodded. “Mentor Qi is very smart. If we guide him well, he’ll probably master it in no time!”

Suddenly, the five trainees felt a strange confidence in their team and got up to continue practicing.

Qi Xingchen pushed the door open and saw the trainees working hard. He praised them, “Good job. How far along are you?”

“We’ve basically finished what you assigned. We’re just getting familiar with it now.”

And thinking about how to teach you.

“Alright, let’s listen to the rearranged music first. Then we’ll learn the first four eight-counts of the dance.”

The five trainees listened attentively and were full of praise: “Wow, this is exactly the accompaniment I imagined in my head!”

Qi Xingchen: “Are our brainwaves synced or something?”

“Hahaha, I’m serious! This version is the most suitable for our group! Ask them if you don’t believe me!”

“We think so too!” Everyone chimed in, laughing.

Seeing that everyone was satisfied, Qi Xingchen felt that the three hours he spent weren’t wasted. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his slender, pale arms, and got to work.

Then the trainees discovered something very unfortunate.

The Mentor Qi they thought needed “guidance” didn’t need their help at all.

In fact, without a word, he ended up guiding them instead.

Specifically, after the five trainees had a basic understanding of “Somebody,” Qi Xingchen would teach them four eight-counts at a time, then sing along with the music to help them follow.

This sped up their progress.

The five trainees were genuinely puzzled: With your skills, why the hell are you just a Star Observer?

Wouldn’t it be better to be a mentor directly?!

As he expected, they practiced until almost midnight.

This was only because it was their first day learning “Somebody,” and there was a lot to digest. Qi Xingchen wanted the trainees to process everything mentally first before diving into intense training, so he let them leave early.

The trainees left, both confused and satisfied. Qi Xingchen also woke up Old Qin, who had been snoring in his sleep, and they returned to the hotel.

However, the moment he closed the door to his room, someone suddenly hugged him from behind!

Qi Xingchen was so startled that his soul almost left his body. After calming down, he remembered that he had given Bo Ye a spare keycard to make it easier for them to meet without disturbing others by knocking.

Bo Ye had only used it a few times, and who knew he would use it tonight to scare him.

“Why… why didn’t you say anything?” Qi Xingchen whispered. “I thought there was a thief.”

Bo Ye: “Scared?”

“…Yeah.”

“Good,” Bo Ye said, rubbing his chin against the top of Qi Xingchen’s head. “That’s what you get for not telling me what the moon means.”

Qi Xingchen had almost forgotten about that. Hearing this, he was both amused and exasperated. Bo Ye had hidden in his room to scare him just to get back at him for keeping the meaning of the moon a secret.

How childish.

Qi Xingchen decided to play along, lowering his intelligence to match Bo Ye’s level of childishness: “You dare to retaliate against me? Then I’m definitely not telling you!”

Bo Ye: “…Are you serious?”

“Yes, really.”

“Then I’ll have to switch to another form of punishment.”

“What—”

Before he could finish, Bo Ye pinched his chin and forcefully turned his face to the side.

The next moment, Bo Ye leaned in and kissed him.

Through their “practice,” Qi Xingchen had learned to respond, though he still wasn’t great at breathing. He tentatively touched Bo Ye’s tongue with his own.

Bo Ye tightened his arm around Qi Xingchen’s waist and, at his invitation, deepened the kiss.

In the quiet of the night, apart from the ticking of the clock, only the soft sound of their kiss could be heard. By the end, Bo Ye’s breathing was uneven, and he pulled away a few inches, ending the kiss prematurely.

Feeling the sudden emptiness on his lips, Qi Xingchen was unsatisfied. His eyes half-closed, he wanted to continue kissing Bo Ye.

But then Bo Ye said, “Wait, don’t provoke me.”

Qi Xingchen didn’t understand why, but he always listened to Bo Ye. He stood there obediently.

After a moment of silence, Bo Ye’s eyes cleared, and he pinched Qi Xingchen’s cheek as if venting: “Tell me now.”

Qi Xingchen sighed helplessly: “Are you really that curious?”

“Yes.”

“…Fine,” Qi Xingchen said, a little embarrassed, his voice softening. “I once read a poem. I don’t know if you’ve heard it.”

A poem?

Bo Ye was even more curious: “Recite it for me.”

“It’s by Fan Chengda,” Qi Xingchen said, lowering his head and revealing a slender, pale neck.

“May I be the star, and you the moon, shining brightly together every night.”

May I be the star, and you the moon, shining brightly together every night…

Almost instantly, Bo Ye understood the sentiment behind the poem. His chest tightened, and he bent down slightly.

On the back of Qi Xingchen’s neck, he planted a tender, cherished kiss.