Idol Chapter 165

Jiang Jue, though a professional acting major, made his debut with “Star Path” and won the Best Newcomer Award that year.

The amnesiac idol he played, Yue Yu, almost perfectly matched all fans’ fantasies, with his singing and dancing in the movie being nothing short of professional.

—Qi Lin even took him to SPF for an internship to learn a lot of profession-related content.

Now, as Emperor Jiang comes over to teach, he remains approachable in front of the trainees.

“Besides dance movements and singing pronunciation that need practice, a sense of drama is also necessary when performing.”

Jiang Jue turned to look at the lyrics of “Night Fire” projected on the screen and asked, “Which student would like to come out and feel it?”

In the midst of silence and unease, Gu Shaochu took a step forward.

“Good,” Jiang Jue looked at his badge and said warmly, “Gu student, how is your empathetic state while performing this song?”

Gu Shaochu shook his head slightly.

He didn’t feel much; his emotions weren’t full while singing.

“So, what we need to do is use your own personal experiences to find the emotional memory in these lyrics,” Jiang Jue pointed at the screen with a rolled-up newspaper, speaking deeply like a hypnotist, “This song is about the fire of ambition burning in the darkness before dawn.”

“Gu Shaochu, when was the most failing and repressive moment for you?”

Gu Shaochu’s gaze steadied, and he instinctively looked at all the classmates behind him but still spoke the truth.

“The last competition three years ago.”

“Good, what was the outcome of that competition?”

“Decided by the seventh game, and then I lost.”

Gu Shaochu had been relatively reserved and calm during this rehearsal.

But when mentioning past regrets, his eyes began to unconsciously change.

He won many times later.

Bigger competitions, stronger opponents, and higher honors.

But thinking back to that defeat, the resentment and anger would still cling like thorny vines in the depths of his mind.

If the strategy had changed just a bit—

If he hadn’t made that mistake at the end—

“Remember your current emotions,” Jiang Jue looked into his eyes, “You actually remember very clearly.”

“The repressed state, the unwillingness of being denied, and all the complex and subtle inner emotions.”

“Let’s dance it again.”

“Before the chorus, Gu Shaochu, maintain this state.”

Zhu Xizhi stood in the second row, feeling confused and curious throughout, even wanting to raise his hand and chat with Teacher Jiang.

They were probably five or six years younger than Jiang Jue, but in terms of temperament and experience, it felt worlds apart.

He blinked, confirming his feeling again.

Teacher Pei, Teacher Huo, Teacher Mei, Teacher Feng.

It seems every legendary figure adorned with praise has a special aura of being reborn from the ashes.

As the music played again, the youths began to spin, gather, disperse, and come together.

Zhu Xizhi looked around at everyone present and then at Jiang Jue, who was patiently guiding.

Would they also soon embark on a journey, experiencing something together as teammates?

Fu Mingnian closely observed Gu Shaochu’s sudden improvement and only then turned back to look at Zhu Xizhi nearby.

The little snow leopard was daydreaming, swaying its tail.

Jiang Jue temporarily went out to take a call, giving the trainees a few minutes of rest.

“What are you thinking about?”

Zhu Xizhi shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Fu Mingnian was still observing Gu Shaochu’s expression and after a while said, “Teacher Jiang is amazing.”

He didn’t understand what acting sense was, but after watching Gu Shaochu’s solo dance in the half-court mirror just now, he felt enlightened.

Zhu Xizhi responded softly.

“Right,” Fu Mingnian suddenly snapped back to reality, looking at him, “Did Teacher Pei teach you anything?”

“Teacher Pei?”

“Yes,” Fu Mingnian tried to learn more techniques, “Last time you learned to dance from Teacher Pei, and then on stage, your state was completely different.”

“Oh, that.” Zhu Xizhi nodded in understanding, stepped back three steps, and turned to the assistant, “Please play the music again.”

The rhythm came roaring back the next second, he blinked and smiled, dancing with bright and fluid movements, and that indescribable enticing quality.

Like a dandy passing through a place of wind and moon, like a dangerous and elusive mysterious person, every lift of the hand and tilt of the gaze was full of allure.

Fu Mingnian frowned, “That’s it, how did you do it?”

Just as Jiang Jue pushed the door open, he caught the latter half of Zhu Xizhi’s dance.

“It’s just… Teacher Pei said during class,” Zhu Xizhi adjusted his black and white spotted jacket, scratching his head, “When beginners want to be captivating in dance, they need to position themselves as a character with distinct traits.”

Jiang Jue gave a scrutinizing look.

“Is it that simple?” Fu Mingnian asked in surprise.

“It’s that simple.” Zhu Xizhi slipped back to his spot, nonchalantly saying, “When I dance, I position myself as a charming villain.”

Jiang Jue suddenly spoke up.

“Not a specific person?”

“No.”

“Didn’t consider other details?”

“No,” Zhu Xizhi laughed, “I just thought about it a bit, and then went with the feeling.”

Jiang Jue paused for a long time, signaling the assistant to leave this trainee’s contact information for him later.

“You might have the potential to become a very good actor,” he smiled, “It’s rare to find someone who can get into character in a second like that.”

Meanwhile, Huo Ren was arranging the music and operations for an album at SPF’s headquarters.

He hadn’t returned to this park in a long time, and his heart skipped a beat upon seeing the twin towers.

They used to live in the building next door.

The seventeenth floor, six people, carefree, living in peace and happiness.

The atmosphere in the meeting was somewhat oppressive.

People revered the present Huo Ren, and even though they knew he was a once-famous artist, they didn’t dare to be too forward or ask too many questions.

After the subordinates hurriedly left with their documents, Pei Ruye closed the conference room door and sat across from him.

“We need to talk.”

Huo Ren came back to his senses, his mood softening a lot when he looked at his fiancé.

“No need to be so formal,” he said with a smile, “How about we go back and have dinner together later?”

“Now is the time for business discussion,” the man symbolically adjusted his collar, “Your album is originally planned to have twelve songs, nine of which are already in production, scheduled to be released on July 28, in twenty days.”

“Right, no problem.”

“As your manager—although I’ve been communicating with the Long family about other matters these days,” Pei Ruye looked at him, his tone even, “My suggestion is that we sell three to six of these songs in advance.”

Huo Ren paused for a few seconds.

“…Sell them?”

He and Pei Ruye had known each other too long, aware that the other didn’t lack money nor had any greed for it.

And each song in this album was the result of Huo Ren’s day and night efforts.

Pei Ruye, observing his emotional reaction, slowly continued.

“Sell them to movies, TV dramas, even variety shows, as theme songs to be released in advance.”

Huo Ren didn’t immediately grasp what he was intending.

In the old mindset, at least before Corona disbanded, this was seen as a devaluing act.

There’s always been a hierarchy in the music industry, with different expressions in various circles.

The lowest-level singers linger in bars, earning hard money by singing popular songs.

Having a management company and releasing one’s own solo album has always been a matter of pride and difficulty.

The production and distribution costs are high, but it also has milestone significance.

Third and fourth-tier singers, professional academy students, would lend their voices to OSTs of film and television works of all sizes.

Only projects with enough luxurious investment were worth the ‘degradation’ of top-tier singers actively participating in promotion.

“Actually,” Pei Ruye carefully chose his words, succinctly stating, “Times have changed.”

“Now, whether a song becomes popular is entirely a matter of luck.”

Huo Ren instinctively asked, “So talent doesn’t matter anymore?”

“No, it’s that the audience has too many choices,” Pei Ruye spoke softly, “We need to let them hear your work repeatedly before they make their choice.”

Huo Ren, due to psychological trauma, had been cautious about his internet usage in the past two years, not lingering too much on forums or social media.

But from 2010 to 2018, the entertainment industry nearly underwent a revolutionary change.

Corona was among the last lucky ones at the cusp of an era.

Many complained about not hearing good songs anymore, but in reality, intelligent algorithms were invisibly catering to their comfort zones, reinforcing fixed tastes.

Young people who liked ancient-style songs could follow a multitude of online singers, and those into rock or hip-hop could scour endless underground works.

They neither needed nor were likely to listen to new albums outside their interest range.

In the old days, singers of different genres mixed together, using the same promotion platforms and distribution channels.

Nowadays, as different subcultures have become more entrenched, the only universally breakout hits are brainless, rustic party songs like “Oh My Heart,”

–simple enough to understand, addictively catchy, and suitable for any occasion.

Huo Ren swallowed, feeling as if he was abruptly awoken from a dream.

“Do you remember Corona’s last album?” Pei Ruye asked softly.

“Role Play.” The young man murmured, “It was very successful… really broke out.”

That album ultimately won the crown, rightfully so from any perspective.

Pei Ruye nodded slightly, locking eyes with him, “The OSC Crown Award looks at three aspects.”

“The originality of the lyrics and composition, live concert performance, and overall impact.”

This “overall” includes the work’s influence on trends and creativity, as well as its social recognition, popularity, general public rating, and more.

“I’ve picked out a few great scripts these past days, mostly already in production, set to be released in the coming months—just in time for a full-scale promotional period.”

A win-win collaboration could be beneficial for both parties.

“Some may not be famous, but in my judgment, they are very good choices.”

Pei Ruye slowly explained his suggestions, pausing after every few sentences.

“…Ren, are you zoning out?”

Huo Ren was quiet for a long while.

“You only sleep four and a half hours a day.”

Pei Ruye immediately looked up, his expression changing slightly.

“Eight hours a day are spent managing Night Fire live broadcasts and Moment videos.”

“Six hours dealing with all matters related to me.”

“You also go to teach the trainees and socialize with different executives.”

He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with emotion as he continued.

“Even to this extent, Ruye, you are still helping me review scripts.”

Looking for the best options, the most efficient directions.

Now, picking three to six projects to collaborate on meant Pei Ruye had gone through dozens, even hundreds of scripts and proposals.

Huo Ren couldn’t even begin to think where he found the time, how many cups of coffee and strong tea he silently drank.

Hands-on, disregarding personal gains or losses.

And he never planned to tell, how much he had given for these matters, what sacrifices he had made.

If Huo Ren didn’t ask now, all these efforts would be silently placed behind the scenes, as if they were as trivial as plucking a leaf.

Huo Ren could be harsh on himself without hesitation, but seeing someone fight so selflessly for him to this extent left him feeling vulnerable, almost to tears.

Is this real?

Do I deserve to be cared for and loved like this by you?

At that moment, Pei Ruye didn’t know how to respond.

He was rarely seen through like this.

At this moment, he could have expressed many pent-up declarations of love, but seeing Huo Ren’s reddened eyes, he just wanted to hold him, stroke his head, and give him a warm kiss.

He looked at him steadily for a long while.

Huo Ren, with his eyes reddened, stood up and hugged him, holding his breath as he embraced his neck tightly, almost wanting to convey all his feelings through this gesture.

“Teacher…” His voice was hoarse, trembling with a panicked tone, “Can you sleep a bit more each day, please?”

“I can handle these matters. I can do a lot more, no need to share everything.”

“What you said, I’ll listen to all of it. I just hope you can get a few more hours of sleep, have a good rest for a month, even if it’s just one day off.”

Pei Ruye let him hug tightly, laughing softly, “It’s not that serious, why are you so afraid?”

Huo Ren took a hurried breath, mournfully saying, “I’m afraid of losing you.”

The man leaned in to kiss the corner of his eye, their cheeks brushing against each other.

“It’s because I love you.”

Loved to the extreme.

From the beginning, it was worth it.

Huo Ren awkwardly responded.

When he let go of the man, he wanted to say ‘I love you too,’ but choked up and felt the moment wasn’t formal enough. Instead, he silently dragged his chair from across the table to Pei Ruye’s side and leaned his head down.

“Actually, you could’ve told me earlier. I could go and tailor a few songs for them, no problem.”

“There’s no need,” the man said with a smile, looking at him, “I can’t bear to.”

Huo Ren’s face heated up, feeling a kind of tender shyness like he was seventeen or eighteen again, turning his head away to avoid looking at him.

“You continue.”

Pei Ruye also reached out to rub the little white wolf’s head, speaking warmly about the projects he was interested in.

A reality show with amateurs about to be launched by the collaborating company, a fantasy TV drama with a luxurious cast, a love idol drama starring popular artists… among others, and a movie not well-received by the industry.

The last one, “The Listener at Dusk,” is a mystery film with an investment of only tens of millions and very simple filming locations.

The director is Jiang Lu, and the lead actor is Su Chen, who are four years apart in age and had previously collaborated on a famous TV series for many years.

However, after the TV series ended its nine seasons, their career transitions took completely opposite directions.

One made a splendid turnaround, winning several major awards in succession.

The other deeply disappointed everyone and is now jokingly referred to as the king of bad films.

“This actor, Su Chen, had… a very brilliant past,” Pei Ruye nodded. “He won the Best Actor award at the age of fifteen and was well-respected by veteran actors and directors. It’s just that he hasn’t found good works in the past two years.”

Then, Jiang Lu retired at the height of his career and officially switched to directing this year, directing this film with an unbelievably low budget.

The industry was skeptical about this movie from the beginning.

Mystery films are hard to make and even harder to sell. Su Chen’s recent films have all flopped, with the lowest box office earnings not even reaching four million—his fans simply didn’t buy it.

Moreover, Jiang Lu is not a professional director—this was completely reckless.

After a moment of thought, Huo Ren asked, “What’s your reason for taking this gamble?”

“The script.”

“That script is the only work I’ve read in its entirety,” Pei Ruye said intently. “If the plot is stunning, and the characters and actors are highly integrated, the audience’s affinity won’t be too low.”

He valued Huo Ren’s work and wouldn’t take risks rashly.

If this gamble pays off at high odds, the higher the box office, the more widespread the theme song’s popularity and recognition will be, offering a rare extensive publicity opportunity.

Huo Ren thought for a while.

“Let’s split it into four songs. You arrange them as you see fit.”

Pei Ruye then leaned down and kissed his soft hair again.

“I’ll take you to sign the contract tomorrow.”

When they returned to the recording building of “Chosen by the Gods,” Jiang Jue and Xie Lianyun had just left.

They were all busy with their schedules, sending messages to meet up for a meal when they were free.

After half a day, the trainees were as if injected with adrenaline, and even at ten o’clock at night, few wanted to leave.

Getting into character is so cool!!

Changing from A to O and back to A is so cool!!!

Let me dance, and I can be even more flamboyant!!!

Huo Ren routinely made a round and found that several trainees had changed a lot, their training clothes soaked with sweat yet still smiling.

“Not bad,” he smiled. “Looking forward to your performance the day after tomorrow.”

“These few days, we’ll decide on new stage makeup. Remember to communicate fully with the makeup artist, and speak up if you have any ideas.”

Now with fewer people, the costumes and makeup can be a lot more exquisite.

Huo Ren cherished his past works and specifically asked a familiar team to help.

When choosing clothes and makeup, the trainees were somewhat excited, feeling as if they were about to debut.

“Does this look good on me, or that one?”

“That brooch is so cool! Sister, can you put that on me—”

Huo Ren stayed at the scene, writing scores while keeping an eye on the progress. After a while, he stretched lazily, stood up, and checked each student’s stylistic positioning.

The stylist had good taste, accurately capturing each kid’s characteristics.

When they reached Fu Mingnian’s place, Huo Ren paused and looked at him for a few more seconds.

Too restrained, such a demeanor won’t secure the first place.

Fu Mingnian belonged to the type that grows on you, with gentle and clear facial features, but his temperament overshadowed a part of it, not standing out much.

The stylist, observing the boss’s expression through the mirror, cautiously said, “This kid is more composed, so we went for a relatively refined deep blue.”

Fu Mingnian’s sitting posture was somewhat stiff, and when he looked at Huo Ren, he didn’t seem very confident, “This should be okay, right?”

“Give him silver hair, want a silver-blue mix,” Huo Ren turned to say, “Then change to a pair of golden contacts, see the effect.”

The youth stayed put, “Wouldn’t that be too flashy?”

Huo Ren looked at him and smiled.

“Warm and cold complement each other, I think it might be quite surprising.”

Out of caution, the stylist went to find a silver wig and then found fire-gold colored contacts.

With a few strokes, the eyebrows were reshaped, and looking in the mirror again, the youth seemed like a completely different person.

He was indeed naturally suited for bold and conspicuous colors.

Silver hair and golden eyes, long eyes, and a straight nose, a blend of restraint, gentleness, and boldness existed harmoniously, even more so than others.

Fu Mingnian’s naturally slightly upturned eyes and lips harbored a peach color, not needing much embellishment.

But the serious and earnest temperament was complemented by the golden eyes, turning it into an intangible sense of abstinence.

He was calm, gentle, like the most upright student council president.

Fairy-like silver hair flowed beside his forehead and ears, translucent golden eyes blinked lightly, blending with this impression, it was overly enticing.

“Handsome,” Huo Ren smiled and beckoned, “Is there any classmate who is not sure? Let me help you see the effect—”

“Teacher, look at me!!”

“Teacher Huo, Fu is too cool!!! I want it too!!!”

“I was here first, you guys line up—”

A group of students raised their hands and rushed over, some even trying to sneak a hug in the chaos.

Fu Mingnian was taken back to the hair dyeing machine by the stylist, staring at himself for several seconds.

Suddenly pulled out from the dull colors, he wasn’t quite used to his reflection in the mirror at the moment.

“Light gold suits you.” Someone laughed next to him, “You look super handsome like this, don’t worry.”

The hair stylist was mixing plant dye on his hair, smelling like stewed to spoil bitter Chinese medicine.

Fu Mingnian turned his head and saw Bo Huan sitting next to him, spreading his fingers applying nail polish.

He wore a wide, medieval wizard-like robe, as if he was about to deliver a poisoned apple to a pitiful princess.

The soft brush dipped in cherry red landed on slender nails, highlighted by the pale white knuckles.

“…Let me help you.” Fu Mingnian reached for the small bottle.

Bo Huan cooperatively spread his ten fingers, silky long hair meandering down one shoulder.

Cherry red suited him.

Bright and cute, the audience would notice at first glance.

Then it would be imprinted in their minds, hard to forget.

“It’s rare for guys to paint their nails.” Fu Mingnian lowered his head to help him apply it stroke by stroke, blowing gently after each, the motion very light.

“Aren’t you afraid of being attacked after the show airs?”

Bo Huan raised his chin, his eyes bright and sparkling, as if filled with many stars.

“They can’t hurt me.”