Being a gigolo was too much for him, so he had to become a music superstar.

A young man from Northeast China queued for six hours in sub-zero temperatures just to sing a song he wrote himself. After he finished singing, the judges said, "Not quite right." The young man bowed deeply at a 90-degree angle, said, "Thank you, teacher," and then went offstage, sitting on the steps outside and crying for fifteen minutes.

Zhao Leiming was a stage manager at the time. Standing beside the scene, watching the crying figure, he thought to himself, "Why are all musicians so serious?"

Later, he was recruited by Tianjin Tianhai to be their future star. With more money and a bigger platform, things became increasingly formulaic. The contestants were packaged by capital, the champion was predetermined, and he was merely an executor.

He didn't bet on the score today.

This was the first time he had disobeyed Wang Shaohui's orders.

Before the recording, he secretly instructed the atmosphere team—those people who were arranged in the audience and could vote remotely. He told them, "Vote normally, don't cheat."

Zhao Leiming shut down his computer and picked up his phone.

He sent Wang Shaohui a message: "Mr. Wang, the recording of the first round of the national competition, Group A, has been completed and everything is normal."

He typed and deleted the four words "everything is normal" three times before sending it out.

Wang Shaohui replied with two words: "I know."

Zhao Leiming stared at those two words for a long time.

He could sense the meaning behind those two words—I know what you did. I'm watching you.

Zhao Leiming put his phone on the table and leaned back in his chair.

The study was quiet, with only the hum of the computer cooling fan.

Zhao Leiming picked up his phone and sent a WeChat message to Liu Lei.

"Come see me as soon as you get to the office tomorrow."

Liu Lei replied instantly: "Director Zhao, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing serious. I just want to go over some work arrangements with you."

"OK."

Zhao Leiming put down his phone.

He had already decided what to say.

The next morning at nine o'clock, Liu Lei arrived at Zhao Leiming's office.

Liu Lei was his assistant director of five years. In his early thirties, he was efficient and quick-witted. More importantly, he was tight-lipped. During Zhao Leiming's years at Tianhai, many things he couldn't do himself were handled by Liu Lei.

"close the door."

Liu Lei closed the door and sat down opposite him.

Zhao Leiming didn't beat around the bush.

"For the editing later on, I'll tell you one principle, and you should remember it."

"Please speak."

"Focus on the quality of the program. Don't try anything fancy."

Liu Lei paused for a moment.

He could tell.

"Director Zhao, you mean...?"

"My meaning is very simple." Zhao Leiming looked at him, "Give more screen time to whoever sings well. Show the best parts of whoever has a great performance. Don't artificially suppress or push anyone. Let the screen time be as long as it should be, or as short as it should be."

Liu Lei did not respond immediately.

He knew all too well the weight of those words.

The editing instructions from the previous round were passed down by Wang Shaohui through Zhao Leiming—Chen Jiahao's 15-minute video clip would only have 15 seconds of close-up shots of Lin Buyi, and statements made for money would be taken out of context. He personally carried out all of these instructions.

Zhao Leiming's statement that the program's quality will be the deciding factor is tantamount to overturning all previous unspoken rules.

"Director Zhao, I'll listen to you. But..." Liu Lei lowered his voice, "What if President Wang asks about it?"

Zhao Leiming leaned back in his chair and thought for two seconds.

"If he asks, just say it was my idea. He won't contact you directly about editing matters."

Liu Lei nodded.

His shoulders relaxed. After the previous editing plan was implemented, the comment section was flooded with criticism from viewers. Some members of the editing team also had objections, but they dared not speak out.

"There's one more thing." Zhao Leiming opened the folder on the table. "The sample footage from Group A of the national competition has arrived. Go and gather the editing team, and finalize the rough cut plan today. Lin Buyi's stage performance should be preserved in its entirety."

"Quanliu?"

"Keep it all."

Liu Lei opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't ask any more questions.

"Understood, Director Zhao."

"Go."

Liu Lei stood up, walked to the door, put his hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at Zhao Lei-ming.

Zhao Leiming kept his head down, flipping through the documents, without looking up.

Liu Lei went out the door.

As he walked down the corridor, Zhao Leiming's words kept replaying in his mind: "Focus on the quality of the program. Don't try anything fancy."

This means—I'm not doing dirty work for Wang Shaohui anymore.

Liu Lei felt a tightness in his chest, but his steps were a little lighter than usual.

He arrived at the editing room and pushed open the door.

Three editors were sitting at their workstations, looking at footage on three screens. The one furthest in was Xiao Yang, the fastest editor in the group.

"Xiao Yang."

"Brother Lei, what's up?"

Have you seen the sample footage from Group A?

"I've watched it three times already." Xiao Yang took off his headphones and hung them around his neck, then turned his chair around. "Brother Lei, Lin Buyi's part was really intense. I told Lao Zhou that I don't dare cut that part. Cutting out even a single second would be such a waste."

Old Zhou, standing next to him, pushed up his glasses: "That's what I meant too. That song with one meat dish and one vegetable dish, no matter which angle you cut it from, it will ruin its integrity. If you cut out the pause in the middle, the rhythm of the whole song collapses."

Liu Lei nodded.

"Director Zhao's meaning is—to preserve it completely."

All three people looked up at him at the same time.

Xiao Yang was the first to react: "Really? No need to press?"

"No need to suppress it. It's based on the quality of the program; whoever does it well gets more."

Xiao Yang and Lao Zhou exchanged a glance.

Old Zhou pushed his glasses up and said, "It should have been done a long time ago."

Liu Lei didn't respond to that.

"The rough cut plan will be released today. Lin Buyi's performance, from his entrance to his exit, will be recorded in its entirety, and not a single word of the mentors' comments will be cut. Chen Jiahao's performance will be handled normally, giving him the screen time he deserves, without deliberately stretching it out. Other contestants will be given screen time based on their performance."

The three of them nodded in unison.

Xiao Yang put his headphones back on, tapped a couple of times on the keyboard, and pulled up Lin Buyi's stage timeline.

On the progress bar, the waveform of that performance showed a gentle upward arc in the chorus section—without explosive peaks, but full overall, without any breaks from beginning to end.

Xiao Yang stared at the waveform for a few seconds and muttered to himself, "Singers like this might only appear once every ten years."

Liu Lei stood behind him for a while, then turned and left the editing room.

As he reached the corner of the corridor, he took out his phone and glanced at it—someone had already posted footage of the incident on social media.

He clicked on it and read one of them.

The screen was vertical, shaky, and the sound was static. But when Lin Buyi's voice came through the phone's speaker, Liu Lei paused for a moment.

I forgot to look back and see if she was crying.

Just this one sentence. A short video of a dozen seconds or so, and there are already over two thousand comments.

Liu Lei put his phone back in his pocket and continued walking towards the office.

He knew this video couldn't be suppressed. Nor did it need to be.

He returned to his workstation, sat down, and turned on his computer to handle other tasks. But Zhao Leiming's expression from that morning kept replaying in his mind.