Huo Ren quickly made his way to the seventh floor.
Given his current status, Director Huo could have any meeting arranged by his assistant for a private audience, but it had been a long time since he had visited that place.
Trainees were only allowed to move between the fourth and eighth floors: the fourth and fifth floors were classrooms, the sixth floor was a conference hall, the seventh floor was for functional training, and the eighth floor housed the dance studios.
The elevators had long been upgraded to fingerprint locks, with VIPs and high-level residents having their own passages and dedicated elevators, basically preventing encounters with unrelated individuals.
Even the group’s lakeside garden, though just a small area for them to walk their dogs, was off-limits to those below a certain level.
As the elevator doors slowly opened, Huo Ren’s gaze swept through the corridor, and several youths in the glass-enclosed rooms recognized him, their expressions of surprise almost comically exaggerated.
It was Huo Ren—the godlike team leader of OSC with four awards in a year, the top scorer in college entrance exams, and the strongest main force of Corona!!
“Is that really him?? Why would he come here??”
“Damn… he’s so handsome in person. How long does it take to get that body proportion…”
“Can I take a photo? Can I?? I really want to take one for my bedside!!”
Two assistants closely followed by his side, signaling with their eyes for the unrelated personnel to continue their practice and not to approach for a chat.
“Fu Mingnian is in room E2,” Xiao Liang quickly said, “This way, please.”
Huo Ren nodded slightly, navigating through the familiar yet many times rearranged environment.
He still remembered the year before his debut, hiding in a corner, secretly listening to Chi Ji sing, who was already treated as an honored guest.
He was too shy to ask which song was being sung.
Times have changed, and the light he never dared to hope for in the past now followed him like his own shadow.
Fu Mingnian, with a towel draped over one shoulder, was organizing barbells of different sizes on a rack.
The assistant quickly coughed.
Fu Mingnian turned his head and paused for a few seconds, “…You know?”
Neither of them liked to beat around the bush.
Huo Ren nodded slightly, signaling for the others to leave.
The assistant prepared tea and adjusted the room’s temperature to the 27.5 degrees Celsius Huo Ren preferred before leaving.
“Mr. Huo, please have a seat.”
Fu Mingnian maintained his dignified composure, even in the presence of the currently most popular band leader, his breathing steady, his demeanor unchanged.
“I didn’t expect you to still keep an eye on me.”
Huo Ren sipped his tea, shaking his head slightly, but didn’t offer further explanation.
Out of caution, he had long ceased to get close to anyone outside of his circle.
Fu Mingnian could sense this distance and calmly asked, “Do you intend to intervene?”
Huo Ren gave no direct answer.
“What’s your reason?”
Fu Mingnian smiled.
“I want to be famous.”
He leaned forward slightly, his honesty unshielded.
“There’s only one chance to debut. If it goes unnoticed, it tends to spiral negatively, doesn’t it?”
The idol industry is booming, with dozens to hundreds of new faces debuting each year, but only two or three manage to be widely accepted by the public.
The surface elimination rate is one percent, but the rigorous selection hidden behind it is more like one in ten thousand.
If the resource conversion rate at debut is not high enough, resulting in mediocre responses to TV appearances, recording programs, and album releases, the company will gradually reduce resource investment, controlling the life of numerous artists for ten years with exorbitant contracts and low salaries, like nurturing stocks.
This is hardly news in the industry.
When Huo Ren heard the words “want to be famous,” he didn’t immediately ponder upon them but instead looked into the eyes of the youth.
Seventeen years old, clear and steady, unwavering.
“…Want to be famous.” Huo Ren slowly said, “And what can being famous get you?”
“This would be a good time to insert a tragic backstory,” Fu Mingnian joked. “But what if I say, I just want to rise above others?”
If one is to compete and vie for a higher position, then it’s only right to invest all time, effort, and resources to the fullest extent.
Every year, thousands aspire to take this path, hoping it will catapult them beyond their struggles and through the dragon’s gate.
—Why can’t I be the one who stands at the pinnacle in the end?
“It’s not shameful,” Huo Ren slowly said. “Is this why you voluntarily signed up for SPF?”
Fu Mingnian shook his head, suddenly acting his age as he ruffled his hair.
He paused for several seconds, hesitating to continue.
“A bit naive,” the youth mumbled.
Huo Ren, rubbing the rim of his cup, suddenly felt as though he was unconsciously mimicking Pei Ruye.
“My time is not plentiful.”
“Indeed, very naive,” Fu Mingnian sighed, then honestly admitted, “Because I’m not satisfied.”
“Not satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not naturally good at performing in front of the public, I’m introverted, and I have few friends.”
He brought over his backpack, taking out a thick folder from it.
“But I love writing songs and lyrics, right from the start.”
Huo Ren took the folder, briefly flipping through a few pages.
“Do you carry this bag every day?”
“Yes, if I meet any teacher who could give guidance, I always ask if they could help me review it.”
For a child from an ordinary family, not focusing solely on academics to pursue such passions often leads to ridicule, both in and outside of school, rarely leading to a positive outcome.
Since trying to learn piano at the age of twelve or thirteen, Fu Mingnian had been scolded by his mother.
His family was average, able to afford education but not extra for a piano or lessons, let alone a teacher to guide him in singing and songwriting.
But this was his only passion.
His homeroom teacher accused him of escaping reality, his parents often tore up his sheet music, and due to his introversion and silence, he was frequently isolated and ridiculed in middle school.
“Yo yo yo, Mr. Big Star, remember to sign an autograph for me when you’re famous.”
“Look at you, thinking you can go out there to sing? What’s with that pretentious stuff you write, only good for Chinese class, right??”
“Fu Mingnian, you got thirty-seven in math, thirty-seven!! You dog-brained idiot!!”
Huo Ren looked through the basic and simple lyrics, then took his backpack, picking out a “Music Theory Basics” book to flip through.
The textbook was well-worn.
Old book covers carefully protected the cover and spine, with edges of illustrations marked with detailed notes. He had completed all the exercises at the end of each chapter that others disdained.
There was no need to ask further.
Fu Mingnian described his reason as “naive” because he had already spent a year and a half at SPF.
Any beautiful illusions he might have had were long shattered, revealing the harsh and bare reality.
Without connections or a background, relying purely on songwriting and composing to spread one’s work is even harder than becoming famous.
The company wouldn’t rashly use a trainee’s lyrics and compositions, no matter how good they sound, because they carry little weight, are hard to sell, and difficult to promote someone with.
The only way to get one’s work known and remembered by countless people is to become famous.
Fame means access to more channels, fighting for more resources, and climbing up step by step with all one’s strength.
And then, to be seen by the world.
Huo Ren returned the few old items to him, without commenting on whether those pieces of work were good or bad.
Fu Mingnian looked at him with cautious eyes only when holding his music scores.
“The bullying parts, have all your fantasies shattered?”
The youth quietly put away his textbooks and books, muttering softly, “This world is too cruel.”
Huo Ren couldn’t help but laugh.
“The quotas for plastic surgery are limited, after all, we’re hiring top doctors.”
He leaned forward, looking into Fu Mingnian’s eyes.
“That really is a good opportunity.”
“Having a more distinctive and refined appearance, even a brief captured moment can make someone famous across the internet because of their looks.”
“This gamble, you’re willing to risk your skin and bones, it shows you’re ruthless enough towards yourself.”
Fu Mingnian maintained eye contact, fully aware of the other’s status and significance.
He took a breath for a few seconds, honestly saying, “Because I don’t have many choices.”
He wasn’t the protagonist, not like those born into wealth, whose childhood piano lessons were taught by the top three masters of the music academy when they were just bored.
He couldn’t hope for a chance like Huo Ren’s, to be fortunate enough to join a decade-long super group project and then become famous across Asia.
He was just an ordinary person who signed with the company for ten years, unwilling to accept his fate.
“My advice is, don’t go.”
Huo Ren slowly stood up, still contemplating another matter, but didn’t share more with him.
“Fu Mingnian.”
The youth jolted, standing up quickly to respond.
“Practice for two more years.” Huo Ren put on his jacket, glancing at him, “Your classical music foundation is too weak, and your volume of work is nowhere near enough.”
Fu Mingnian caught the implicit message, asking subconsciously, “And after two years?”
“There might be an opportunity.”
“Or there might not.”
Huo Ren indifferently said, “The choice is yours, but it’s just another gamble.”
Fu Mingnian didn’t follow to see him off but watched him for a long time.
“Mr. Huo.”
Huo Ren stopped, turning back to look at him.
“Do ordinary people—deserve that kind of opportunity?”
Huo Ren glanced at him.
“Do you wish to be an ordinary person?”
Fu Mingnian’s eyes suddenly lit up.
As if he was recognized and his long-suppressed ambition was reignited.
Huo Ren, accompanied by his assistant, walked forward again, leaving behind the youth’s clear voice.
“I can wait—”
“However long it takes,”
“As long as it exists!”
Huo Ren didn’t turn back, only waving his hand towards him without looking.
Back in the elevator, the doors opened to reveal Pei Ruye.
Huo Ren, lost in thought and seeing him, smiled.
“Teacher.”
“Just on the way.” Pei Ruye, with one hand in his pocket, pressed the button for the sixteenth floor.
“I’m thinking about a new plan,” Huo Ren spoke in a lowered voice. “It could potentially bring the same benefits as the super group project but with much lower investment and operational costs.”
“Corona’s schedule is too packed right now, they might not have time for this, but if…”
Pei Ruye glanced at the camera.
“There’s good tea in the office.”
Huo Ren wasn’t interested: “I want grilled pine cakes.”
The man glanced at him: “Your appetite has increased lately?”
“And with blueberries,” Huo Ren leisurely added his conditions. “No cinnamon powder, one and a half spoonfuls of maple syrup.”
Pei Ruye squinted at him for a few seconds.
“You’ve gone wild.”