Han Yang returned to his biological father’s home for his routine weekend visit.
For twenty years, he had lived without the concept of a ‘dad,’ and now suddenly, a complex array of new relatives had been thrust into his life, leaving him feeling lost and uncomfortable.
Ever since the last time he was slapped, Han Qu would scowl at him like the bottom of a pot whenever they met, visibly half-hearted even during meals together.
The older generation was eager to compensate and treat this grandson, who seemed to be malnourished, with extra care, constantly checking in on him.
At this point, if Han Qu dared to lay a hand on Han Yang, he would really be in trouble.
Even if he was living through it, this melodramatic prime-time soap opera scenario still felt absurd and unrealistic.
Han Yang had several phone calls with his biological mother, ultimately deciding to let things be and not to forcibly cultivate relationships with anyone.
He knew that Han Gaozhi always watched him silently, trying to find more connections between father and son.
But the twenty-year gap was always there, and now, there were not many reasons for him to actively get close to the Han family.
Han Yang always disliked being restricted and interfered with.
This time, the family dinner was held at a high-end restaurant near Han Qu’s company, and after the meal, everyone said their goodbyes.
The grandparents were off to a hot spring resort for recuperation, Han Qu had left for the airport half an hour earlier, and the others were leaving one after another.
Before leaving, Han Gaozhi wanted to pat his son on the shoulder but hesitated and eventually did not extend his hand.
“I heard you’re doing well on the show,” he awkwardly expressed his approval, “I listened to your song, it’s very professional.”
Han Yang waved his hand, smiling politely, “You should go.”
“Alright, I’ll have the driver take you home.”
“No need, I’ll walk around here for a bit.”
“…Okay.”
Cai Bi Media was located in Central, surrounded by a bustling commercial district.
Han Yang ordered a coffee at Starbucks, planning to head back for dance practice after finishing it.
While playing with his phone, he inadvertently noticed a man with glasses standing outside the Cai Bi company building, looking around.
After finishing his coffee, Han Yang hadn’t yet completed watching Qi Lin’s latest VLOG.
Reluctantly watching the last few minutes, he wished to find more updates from other sources.
Going back to the dorm meant no internet, a tough situation to endure.
After watching three or four short videos, the man with glasses was still there.
Curiosity and goodwill prompted Han Qu to approach the man.
The man exuded an academic aura, seeming like someone knowledgeable who might need help.
“Hello? Are you lost?”
“Oh no,” Xu Le hastily glanced at the office building, “I was just, uh, never mind.”
He was adept at treating patients but somewhat awkward in social interactions.
“Do you want to go in?” Han Yang looked up at the tall building with him, “Looking for someone inside?”
“You probably can’t help me.” Xu Le hastily replied, “Thank you, though.”
“Um, I just had lunch with Han Qu.” Han Yang, gauging the situation, let slip a bit of information.
He felt that this glasses-wearing man wasn’t here for business or social obligations but seemed anxiously looking for something.
“Do you know him?” Xu Le, who disliked dealing with businessmen, was now troubled, wanting to clear up the mess, “I’ve called him several times, but his secretary always blocks the calls.”
“I’m a psychologist at Shi Da Affiliated Hospital, here’s my card.”
“If it’s not too much trouble… could you pass my card to him and ask him to call me back?”
“A psychologist?” Han Yang blinked, “Is he sick?”
This step-brother, if he was a serious patient, then perhaps he should be more restrained…
But that didn’t make sense; wealthy families had access to all kinds of doctors. What was his relationship with this Doctor Xu?
After pondering for a while, Xu Le decided to briefly share his situation.
He felt like an outsider accidentally caught in an event.
Whether it was his stubborn personality or his respect for his profession, he couldn’t easily ignore certain clues.
Regular follow-ups were necessary even for charitable assistance; this situation demanded clarity.
“…Suicide?”
Han Yang’s first thought was of Chi Ji.
Depression, suicide – the most sensational event in the past two years was Chi Ji’s sudden fall.
As a homebody, he followed celebrities and worked on drawings throughout his four years of university, listening to Corona’s entire discography countless times while working on drafts, familiar with popular variety show celebrities.
Chi Ji’s public perception had plummeted after a controversial bathtub dance for being ‘too sexy and revealing’ and ‘androgynous, like a transvestite’ among other attacks from 2015 to 2017.
Strangely, by the end of 2016, due to his shocking performance in “The Crown’s Wanted,” public sentiment and evaluations of him had been improving, and his negative image was almost entirely reversed.
Just when he was on the verge of a full comeback, he ended up jumping off a building.
The logic simply didn’t add up.
Seeing Han Yang lost in thought, Xu Le expressed concern, “Do you also know his friend with depression?”
“Uh, no, I just got a bit distracted. What you mentioned probably has nothing to do with it,” Han Yang rubbed his forehead, took the business card, and also gave his number to Xu Le, “You don’t seem like a bad person, but honestly, my relationship with Han Qu is just so-so. I’ll ask about this for you next week, but I can’t guarantee any results.”
“Okay, okay—thank you so much.” Xu Le finally breathed a sigh of relief, “We’ll be in touch.”
Returning to the program recording building, nearly all the dance studios were occupied.
Photographers were shooting with their equipment on dollies, the assistants and youths inside the studios were sweating profusely, and the sound system vibrated the floor.
The company’s executives were back-to-back in meetings, finally feeling the pressure of dealing with dozens of talent agencies.
One of the reasons SPF had many enemies in the past was because it dominated the market, eating alone on its capabilities still attracted resentment.
This time, with the launch of “The Chosen by the Gods,” led by Huo Ren bringing together a group of difficult brothers to push new talents and earn traffic, the show actually became an instant hit—
Not only were young girls grouping together to brush data and vote in a military-like fashion, but many office workers and elderly ladies also watched with great enthusiasm. The show enjoyed a considerable degree of popularity.
Even if only six people debuted in the end, the lower-ranked talents also gained significant visibility, potentially becoming more famous than those six in the future.
Huo Ren’s planning six months ago was quietly being realized by capital.
Almost every talent agency wanted to please SPF, with many attempting bribes in recent days, all vying for screen time and parts for their trainees.
In the entertainment industry of earlier years, these entertainment companies did their own business, and not overtly snatching resources was already considered decent.
The new variety show, however, forced them all to interface with SPF and Hong Lu Channel, drastically changing the way they communicated.
Unseen, the power of discourse was being reclaimed, and thousands of pieces of fragmented information were also invisibly flowing back.
“The Chosen by the Gods” skyrocketed in viewership, practically bearing the slogan “Whoever We Support Becomes Famous.” Not being greedy would be foolish.
Chairman Pei and Chairman Huo were mainly strategists behind the scenes, with most of the socializing and maneuvering done by SPF’s executives.
They needed more information and more evidence from dozens of peers.
“The Chosen by the Gods” was aimed at making SPF rise again from the beginning.
First, to support new talents; second, to clear out the traitors.
Third, to take advantage of the east wind to reclaim everything from the past.
For those unaware of the insider details, the show was entertaining enough just for its liveliness.
The first round of popularity rankings was released, and to everyone’s surprise, Shi Jianian was voted number one in popularity.
But it was understandable, given the boy’s distinct recognition advantage.
He was a modern dance major with a tall and slender figure, a low magnetic voice, and naturally mixed-race facial features, with grey-blue eyes more beautiful than any cosmetic lenses.
When the list for “The Chosen by the Gods” was announced, new fans discovered covers and advertisements Shi Jianian had modeled for in the past.
—Every single one was breathtakingly beautiful.
He had a great camera presence, strong control, appearing gentle and docile like a Persian cat, but with fangs and fighting spirit hidden beneath his grey eyes.
This boy was truly amazing.
Shi Jianian stood out from the first round, continuously excelling in the second and third rounds, clearly not the center position of “Like the Morning Wind” but somehow stealing everyone’s attention during his singing performances.
As the show aired, his votes surged, barely overtaking Zhu Xizhi by a slim margin.
The gap between the top three votes was very small, and with the new competition format introducing mentor assessments and boy group simulations, no one dared to take it lightly.
Having made it to the top fifty, why not stay till the end?
In the second mentor grouping, the single “Night Fire” had twelve slots available.
Huo Ren was particularly impressed with a few individuals.
Fu Mingnian, the trainee he had saved by chance, had outstanding composing and lyric-writing skills, and led the group well, though his advantages were not yet obvious.
Zhu Xizhi, an extroverted and lively young man with a professional street dance background, seemed to have been taught some strange techniques by Pei Ruye recently.
Han Yang, a Vocalist with a high degree of spirit, had a distinctive voice but slightly weaker dance skills.
And…
He slightly raised his eyes, meeting the scrutinizing gaze of the young man.
Gu Shaochu. A retired athlete with remarkable comprehension and progress speed.
“This time it’s still a semi-live performance, with limited rehearsal time,” Huo Ren withdrew his gaze, moving through the ranks of students, observing flaws in each one’s dance steps with a sidelong glance.
“Get familiar with the process in the first five days; in the last two days, a visiting mentor will drop in to further refine your performance.”
His voice was not loud, but no student dared to ignore a word.
Zhu Xizhi had danced this routine several times before, easily keeping up with the rhythm.
Humming a tune, the little snow leopard bounced around, only to find that Fu Mingnian could also blend perfectly into the beat.
The sense of crisis surged instantly.
No! His dancing isn’t as cool as mine! He’s too reserved, not expressing enough emotion!
“Don’t stare at your classmates.” Huo Ren gently reminded, “Look at the screen and the mirror.”
Zhu Xizhi glanced at someone nearby again, then reluctantly turned his head back to continue twisting in front of the mirror.
Fu Mingnian chuckled.
Huo Ren could suddenly understand why Jiang Shu used to have daily headaches.
In his own words, ‘A bunch of kids show everything on their faces, yet they’re full of sneaky thoughts.’
“…What are you laughing at?”
Fu Mingnian redirected his gaze, continuing to sway his hips and raise his hands in rhythm.
Only when they turned around in the next beat did he speak softly, his voice audible only to the two of them.
“Childish Zhu, pay attention to the class.”
Zhu Xizhi turned his head to glare at him again.
You dare to nickname me, Fu Number Two!
“This student,” Huo Ren said expressionlessly, “Is Fu Mingnian that good-looking?”
Childish Zhu Ba Sui snorted: “Not as handsome as me, just so-so.”
Huo Ren tapped his head with a rolled-up newspaper: “Raise your elbow joint! Keep your legs straight!”
The author has a message:
Zhu Xizhi, feeling wronged, covers his head: Teacher Huo, you’re biased!!