Fan Extra
My whole world collapsed on an ordinary afternoon.
On the screen, the entry with the word "explosion" written on it pierced my heart like a bullet. [Ling Yao's illegitimate child]. Following it were more unsightly entries and the statement of his so-called "brother."
I froze, my fingers stiff, unable to breathe. My head was buzzing, and my first thought was: This is fake! Someone must be smearing him! The rivals must have bought this smear campaign! My brother works so hard, so perfect, and they just can't stand him doing well!
With trembling hands, I clicked on the topic, wanting to find loopholes quickly like I did countless times before in the fight against black fans, and call on sisters to clean up the square, control comments, and report!
But... there are no loopholes.
The photo was blurry, but the timeline was eerily clear. That statement came from an identity that couldn't be faked. "Confirmed." Those two words, like ice water, extinguished all my hopes.
Illegitimate child... the mistress's son...
These words danced before my eyes like the most vicious curse. They tarnished the flawless idol in my heart. I recalled his occasional avoidance of family topics and a subtle hint of melancholy in interviews. It turned out that this wasn't sensitivity or understatement, but... unbearable.
The fan group was in an uproar. Some broke down in tears, unable to accept it; some angrily quit following, lashing out and cursing, feeling like their years of sincerity had gone to waste; and some, like me, sank into a deathly silence and bewilderment.
I opened my phone's photo album, and it was filled with his photos: him radiant on stage, his gentle smile to fans at the airport, his occasional adorable performance on variety shows... Each one was my spiritual nourishment, sustaining me through countless tedious days. I voted for him, crunched statistics, saved money to buy albums and endorsements, and argued with haters until the early hours... I thought I understood him, supported him, and was his strongest support.
But now, it all became a joke.
It turns out that behind his glamorous appearance lies such a shabby background. It turns out that his words of encouragement to "strive for progress" might just be a cover-up for his own inner inferiority. It turns out that the person I admired with all my passion and love was, at its core,... dishonorable.
This is what it feels like to have your faith shattered. It's not anger, it's not sadness, it's a sense of utter emptiness and absurdity. I can't even cry, I just feel like there's a huge hole in my heart, a cold wind blowing through it.
Then, came the news of his death.
It was like another, heavier boulder crashing down, shattering the last bit of numbness in me. This time, there was no room for even anger or disappointment. Only a cold, overwhelming shock and... a trace of pathetic pity remained.
In the end, he was completely crushed by his inescapable background and the cruelty of that circle.
I quietly quit all my fan groups, unfollowed all his accounts, packed up my treasured merch and albums, and stuffed them deep under my bed. I didn't curse him like some people did, but I also lost the energy to defend him.
My career as a star chaser is like a grand but illusory dream. When I suddenly wake up, all that is left is a mess and unspeakable fatigue.
Occasionally, I would subconsciously search for his name, seeing fragments of his past, seeing someone's occasional nostalgia, or seeing new gossip covering up old traces.
My emotions are mixed. Sometimes I think back to the joy and motivation I once felt because of him, and sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the overwhelming sense of deception.
Perhaps he himself is also a tragedy. He was kidnapped by his birth, exploited by his mother, and coerced by capital, and ultimately lost himself.
But no matter what, my one-way effort, in which I put all my effort, was ultimately in vain.
I lost my idol, and it was as if I had lost a part of my blind yet passionate youth.
I probably won't be a fan of this again. It hurts too much.
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