Chapter 52
Hope, like a spring vine, had grown wildly over the past few months, practically enveloping Ling Yao. The pre-debut preparations were incredibly fast-paced, each day akin to clockwork. Meeting after meeting, they repeatedly refined the group's concept and positioning, discussing each individual's image. Professional stylists and beauticians frequently streamed in and out of the office, custom-designing his hair, testing makeup, and even meticulously shaping his nails. He gazed in the mirror, his self meticulously sculpted, ever closer to idol standards, a surge of excitement and anticipation burning within him day and night.
He could hardly wait to share it all with Su Rui. He'd secretly call her late at night, his hushed voice brimming with excitement: "The final debut look was decided today! You'll never guess what color my hair is!" "The lyrics have been assigned, I have quite a few parts..." "The recording studio time is set. We'll be in the studio next week after next!" He'd even secretly use his phone to take a photo of a corner of the dyeing cloth or the blurred cover of his lyric book, and carefully send it to Su Rui. Sharing these fragments became his greatest sweet outlet under the pressure, as if, in this way, Su Rui had participated in every step of his dream coming true.
Su Rui was listening on the other end of the phone, happy for him, but also feeling a tinge of unease. The more excited Ling Yao sounded, the more he worried the string would snap. He could only repeat, "Keep going," "Take care of yourself," and "Don't get too tired."
Just when everyone thought everything was ready except for the east wind, a cold wave hit without warning.
At a meeting of all the preparatory members, the agent Sister Yang announced expressionlessly that due to the company's strategic adjustments and changes in market assessment, the debut plan of the new boy group... has been suspended indefinitely.
Suspended indefinitely.
Those four words, like an ice pick, instantly pierced through all the enthusiasm and expectations.
The conference room was deathly silent. Some looked up in disbelief, some with tears welling up in their eyes, and some lowered their heads, their shoulders trembling slightly. Ling Yao sat there, his face expressionless, as if he hadn't grasped the meaning of the words. He simply stared at Sister Yang's opening and closing mouth, his ears buzzing, the sounds of the world becoming distant and indistinct.
There was no explanation, no comfort, only the cold "strategic adjustment" and an empty promise of "keep practicing and wait for the next opportunity."
Ling Yao had no idea how the meeting ended. He also had no idea how he walked back to the practice room. He was like a puppet with its soul drained out, moving only on instinct.
Then, the huge disappointment and emptiness that was enough to crush a person quickly transformed into a terrible, almost self-destructive energy.
The next day, he became the first person to arrive and the last to leave the practice room.
He no longer talked about his dreams, no longer shared his joy, and even rarely contacted Su Rui. Occasionally, when Su Rui called, he would try to summon his best energy to answer the call, but his voice was dead and numb. "Yeah." "Not bad." "Practicing." "If there's nothing else, I'll hang up first." He was afraid that if he hung up too late, he would burst into tears, and he didn't want Su Rui to see him so weak.
He was almost cruel to himself. He reduced his diet to the point where he could barely maintain his basal metabolic rate. He was starving, his stomach aching and his vision blacking out. He endured it with copious amounts of black coffee and sheer willpower. The number on the scale dropped alarmingly, his cheeks rapidly sunken, and his jawline was so sharp it could cut your hand.
His practice was even more frantic. He would practice the same dance moves fifty, a hundred times while others practiced them ten times, until his muscles ached and he couldn't lift them, until his old injuries protested with pain. He seemed insensitive to fatigue and pain, mechanically repeating the movements over and over again, as if only this extreme physical exhaustion and pain could suppress the vast, cold desolation within him.
He stared in the mirror at himself, thin and pale, his eyes hollow, yet his movements terrifyingly precise, and felt a strange numbness. His dream of debuting was shattered, but the strict rules and standards had been etched into his bones like a brand. Besides practicing and losing weight, he didn't know what else to do, what else to live for.
He became a gear that was spinning at high speed but had lost its direction. In the cold machine, he was spinning madly by inertia, wearing himself out, waiting for a start that might never come.
Su Rui was on the other end, listening to his increasingly brief and perfunctory responses, feeling the dead silence on the other end. He was burning with anxiety, yet powerless to penetrate the thick, icy wall of numbness. He could only send messages over and over, even if there was no response: [Remember to eat.] [Take a break if you're tired.] [Ling Yao, I'm here.]
However, these warm words are like a stone sinking into the sea, unable to reach the boy in the practice room of Country J, who is fighting against the collapse of the whole world by destroying himself.
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