"Xiao Yao, Xiao Yao, did you unfollow Orange yet?"
"Huh?"
"I'm asking if you unfollowed Chu Zhi. Wasn't he your idol before? I remember you followed him pretty early on, right?"
This conversation took place in an employee dorm—not a school dorm, but a shared apartment for workers at a mid-sized Chinese restaurant. Though called a "dorm," it was actually a three-bedroom unit in an old residential complex, with three bunk beds crammed into each room.
"Qin-jie, I stopped being a fan ages ago. Right now, I just want to make money. Men and idols don't matter anymore."
The speakers were Qin-jie and Xiao Yao. The former, in her mid-twenties, had worked at the restaurant for three years. Hardworking and efficient, she was the team leader despite not being the oldest among the staff.
In small to mid-sized restaurants, being a team leader didn't mean less work—sometimes, it even meant more. The only perk was an extra two or three hundred yuan a month compared to regular employees.
Xiao Yao had just turned twenty and had only been working at the restaurant for half a year. The two had bonded because they were from the same hometown.
"You stopped being a fan? Didn't you just buy Li Xingwei's limited-edition album? That thing cost two or three hundred yuan," Qin-jie retorted.
"Weiwei's music is actually good. He's really talented, unlike Chu Zhi, who only has his looks," Xiao Yao shot back.
Qin-jie smirked. "You changed your tune fast. I remember you used to say you loved Orange the most, and that your favorite fruit was oranges too."
"People grow up. I've moved past the phase where I only care about looks," Xiao Yao declared firmly.
"I don't know much about Li Xingwei, but I think Chu Zhi seems pretty decent," Qin-jie remarked.
"Huh? Had she taken the wrong medicine?" Xiao Yao found this strange. In the past, Qin-jie's exact words about Chu Zhi had been: "A man who's only famous for his looks is no different from a prostitute."
"I just want to make money" was Qin-jie's usual mantra.
"Qin-jie, are you getting into fandom culture now?" Xiao Yao asked.
"Not interested," Qin-jie said. "But I just saw a video on Douyin where Chu Zhi thanked his fans. I remember you followed him pretty early, so even if you've moved on, you're still part of the 'Vine Pattern.'"
Xiao Yao was lost. She hadn't been online earlier, too busy grinding ranks in a game.
"Chu Zhi thanked all his past supporters by printing the names of his 20 million Weibo followers on the walls of his practice room. Since you use Weibo, your name's probably there if you haven't changed it," Qin-jie explained. "I just think—even if his singing isn't great, he seems like a good guy. Grateful, you know? I don't even follow celebrities, but I kinda like him now."
"Twenty million fan names printed in his practice room?"
"Let me check," Xiao Yao said, pulling out her phone and opening Weibo. Among the top five trending topics, three were related:
#ClaimYourNickname
#NinthBroImBack
#UltimateFanLove
Clicking on reposted clips from the livestream, Xiao Yao finally understood what the "Vine Pattern" was.
The livestream snippets were frustratingly fragmented, so she switched to the Mango TV app—which she still had, even though she rarely used it now. Though the main broadcast had ended, there were highlight replays available (for paying members, which Xiao Yao was).
The sight of over 20 million IDs woven into vine-like patterns across the walls, with the ceiling adorned in a dazzling galaxy of stars, left her stunned.
"Life is like a train heading toward the grave, with many stops along the way. Few can accompany you from beginning to end. When someone who once walked with you has to disembark, even if it's hard to let go, you should still be grateful and wave goodbye."
"I'll never forget the 8 million fans on Weibo who stood by me when things were at their worst. Their trust was the night sky that guided me through my darkest path."
...
Xiao Yao switched back to her Weibo profile. Among the 70+ accounts she followed, one stood out: @EatABigOrange.
She hadn't unfollowed out of some noble "loyalty" or "trust"—she'd just forgotten. In reality, she'd jumped ship the moment the scandals broke.
Even past 1 AM, the livestream's comment section was buzzing. "Little Fruits" (Chu Zhi's fandom name) were scouring the photos and clips for their own IDs. Mango TV had thoughtfully provided high-resolution images of all four walls and the ceiling—five photos in total, shot with medium-format cameras and 180mm macro lenses.
Each photo could be zoomed in until every name was legible. Many fans downloaded them, cropping out sections with their nicknames to set as phone wallpapers.
Those who found their names celebrated in the comments, and their social media feeds were undoubtedly flooded with posts like:
"Found my Vine ID! Loving Ninth Bro is worth it!"
"If you want to hurt Orange, you'll have to get through this little sapling first!"
"I'm an orange tree!"
"I'll be the morning star lighting Ninth Bro's path forward!"
After about fifteen minutes, Xiao Yao spotted her own nickname—"YaoYao in the Sky"—among the stars on the ceiling photo.
The "Star Pattern" on the ceiling was even more precious than the vines. Watching the replay, especially the moment the lights dimmed and the 8 million names lit up like a galaxy, Xiao Yao felt a surge of emotion.
"That little star up there… is me."
"Orange is my favorite. My one true idol was always Orange!"
She wasn't alone. Among the 8 million followers (discounting users with multiple accounts), many had stuck around out of silent support—but there were also those like Xiao Yao, who'd simply forgotten to unfollow or didn't care enough to curate their follows.
Finding their names in the "Star Pattern" brought them back, reigniting their love stronger than before. It felt like the right thing to do, seeing their own ID immortalized on that ceiling.
Alongside the long-time silent supporters, they became fiercely devoted, driven by a sense of responsibility: "If I don't support him, he might not make it."
And once someone feels responsible for another, that's a terrifyingly powerful motivator.
Even though Chu Zhi hadn't reopened his Weibo comments, his fans managed to push two of his related super-topics into the top five in popularity—an unprecedented feat.
The former undisputed king of Weibo metrics, Wu Tang, was dethroned overnight.
Wu Tang's management team ran his Weibo fandom with military precision, yet even their professionalism couldn't compete against the organic, chaotic growth of the Little Fruits.
How infuriating.
Meanwhile…
The production crew only returned to their hotel around 1:20 AM.
[Ugh, guys, you won't believe this.]
Pang Pu noticed Xiao Gu's message in the work group chat. Since it was past 1 AM, no one responded, so he privately messaged:
[What happened?]
It wasn't that Pang Pu cared deeply—it was just that Xiao Gu was with Team B in Seoul, the shoot location he had wanted to go to. So he was extra curious.
Xiao Gu: [The staff around Korean celebrities are brain-dead, I swear. Zheng Min'an's schedule changed, so he's not even returning to Seoul, but they made us wait for hours. And then they had the nerve to blame us for 'miscommunication.' I'm so done.]
Xiao Gu: [Korean celebs are 'so busy'—maybe in Thailand, maybe in Vietnam, maybe in the Philippines. But definitely NOT in Seoul. We waited two whole days and didn't even see Zheng Min'an.]
Xiao Gu: [YG Entertainment is a nightmare. They want Chinese money but don't give a damn about the market. Today, I only ate one bread roll, but by the time we got back to the hotel, I was too exhausted to even feel hungry.]
Three rants in a row. Pang Pu could feel the frustration radiating through the screen.
Seoul was only an hour ahead, so 1 AM here meant 2 AM there. To not have eaten properly by then? Brutal.
"Pfft—" For some reason, Pang Pu felt a wave of schadenfreude. "Thank god I didn't get sent there."
Xiao Gu: [How's your side, Old Pang? The little fresh meat treating you okay?]
Suppressing his amusement (because it wouldn't be nice to laugh at a suffering friend), Pang Pu replied:
[Chu Zhi's actually really good. Like, surprisingly easy to work with. Smart, tactful. When he saw we were pulling all-nighters, he sent us chrysanthemum and goji tea. He even tried to order takeout for us twice, though the director turned him down both times.]
Xiao Gu: [!!!!!!!! I'm so jealous. I haven't even seen Zheng Min'an.]
[Hang in there. Korean stars pull high ratings—bigger bonuses later.]
Pang Pu typed this consolation, though in reality, after today's practice room reveal, Chu Zhi's segment had already surpassed the Korean star's in hype.
Xiao Gu: [Now I really envy you. Why did I volunteer for this Seoul torture?]
Reading this, Pang Pu's opinion of Chu Zhi rose another notch—from "pretty good" to "great guy."