It’s kind of funny, actually—Henry Foster, who doesn’t even have a Weibo alt account, has pretty much given up on social networks altogether. He keeps in touch with people only through texts and calls. Caleb Grant often teases him, saying his village doesn’t have internet and he’s always behind on information.

　　This method might be clumsy, but it did help Henry Foster recover. His way of doing things is simple: a one-way, no-cost-forward march. Like a tree, with only one goal—to grow. Even if his branches are trimmed and his forks are cut, as long as he keeps growing upward, it’s all fine.

　　But now, getting Henry Foster back onto social media really isn’t easy.

　　“Can’t I just have Little Owen handle my account for me?”

　　Little Owen is their group’s assistant, usually the one who takes care of things for them on behalf of Ethan Carter, but he’s been on vacation back home lately.

　　“Still, you can’t always have Little Owen do it for you. Here, just download Weibo again and log in. At least check out your fans’ comments.” On the other end of the call, Ethan Carter seemed to be called away by someone else. “Hey, I gotta go, talk to you later.”

　　The call ended. Henry Foster sat cross-legged in front of the practice room mirror, holding his phone and thinking for a long time before finally redownloading Weibo.

　　Just then, the practice room door burst open. Caleb Grant rushed in, waving an ice cream cone. “Juexia!” Henry Foster was naturally a bit slow to react, and before he could respond, Caleb Grant had already seen his phone screen.

　　“You’re coming back to Weibo!”

　　So, the psychological prep Henry Foster had planned to do was cut short, and he was half-forced to log back into his account, egged on by everyone.

　　Honestly, his heart was beating faster—turns out, even after all this time, he was still nervous. He could almost recall the moment he logged on and was met with a barrage of insults, those words buzzing before his eyes like a swarm of frenzied bees.

　　“Hey, it’s frozen.” Caleb Grant’s voice pulled him back to reality.

　　Samuel Reed tapped the Weibo icon again, which had logged out automatically. “Probably too much cached info?”

　　The Weibo interface opened again, just as the captain had guessed. The message tab was a sea of red—countless comments and DMs from people he didn’t even follow.

　　Brian Harris laughed, “Little Owen’s only been on vacation for three days and the messages have already exploded. Looks like Juexia-ge’s trending search is the real deal.”

　　“Check out what they wrote.” Owen Clark craned his head toward Henry Foster, crowding Caleb Grant so much he had no space. “Hey, hey, hey, dude, you’re getting your ice cream on me!”

　　Holding his little phone, Henry Foster took a deep breath and opened the comments section.

　　[Ahhhhh Juexia-ge I’m here!!! Sorry I’m late! Trending searches make me happy! I found a godly idol!]

　　[I watched your dance edits on Bilibili! So much power! Haven’t been this into an idol in ages!]

　　[Why are you so good-looking, even your birthmark is a bonus! You’re crafted by Nuwa herself and I’m just a little clay blob 55555]

　　[Want to see your latest selfies! Please, save this poor child!]

　　[Selfie plus ID number please! Feels like your Weibo is all ads and no daily life, want to see more of your everyday!]

　　[Ge, do you know how unique your voice is? I haven’t heard such a cool, unpretentious, clear boyish voice in so long, and it comes with its own reverb and ethereal vibe, it’s amazing, sob sob, your voice fans are crying!! You’re a true vocal outlaw! Can you do more singing shows in the future, or livestream singing?]

　　[jxgg I only started liking you recently, saw you trending and thought you looked great, so I searched more and got hooked. Saw your old stages and variety shows, you’re a real treasure! Feels like I came too late, sob, sorry ge!]

　　[When are you coming back? Miss you, ge! Our group has to stay strong!]

　　[It’s almost New Year. Wishing Juexia-ge peace and health this year, and a stage of your own.]

　　Reading that last one, Henry Foster’s heart couldn’t help but tremble.

　　Endless comments, countless praise and encouragement, and tons of caring DMs. These girls he’d never met seemed to appear out of nowhere like larks, chirping and adorable, flying toward him and drowning him in a soft happiness.

　　“Let’s take a photo together!” Caleb Grant suggested.

　　At that moment, Henry Foster was all for it, but quickly realized someone was missing. He instinctively looked up. Samuel Reed immediately caught the meaning in his subtle movement and smiled, “I have a group photo from backstage at the last concert we did together. Little Owen snapped it, and it turned out great. Want me to send it to you?”

　　A bit surprised by Samuel Reed’s attentiveness, Henry Foster nodded.

　　If they posted a five-person selfie now, people would start speculating, even if someone just happened to be absent.

　　“Redownload WeChat too,” Brian Harris said. “Otherwise, the captain will have to email you.”

　　“Right!”

　　So, under Caleb Grant’s direction, Henry Foster reinstalled all the social apps he’d deleted before, logged in, and saved the photo Samuel Reed sent him.