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

Director Zhao has changed a lot in the past few years. When he first came to Tianjin Tianhai, Zhao Leiming was full of enthusiasm for his work. He would slam his fist on the table during meetings and say that he wanted to create a truly influential music program. Later, that enthusiasm gradually faded, and he became someone who just followed orders and did the work.

Today, when Zhao said "judging by the quality of the program," Liu Lei felt that Zhao's enthusiasm had returned a bit.

Although it's just a little.

But that's enough.

At 3 PM, Liu Lei went to the editing room to check on the progress. The rough cut was ready.

Chen Jiahao's segment consisted of a complete stage performance plus mentor comments, totaling twelve minutes. It wasn't deliberately lengthened or compressed; it matched the length of his performance.

Lin Buyi's segment, from his entrance to his complete performance and the mentors' comments, lasted a total of fourteen minutes. This was two minutes longer than Chen Jiahao's segment because the mentors' comments were longer—Fang Yizhou and Xue Xinghe both spoke at length, and not a single word was cut.

Xiao Yang showed Liu Lei the two sample videos side by side.

Liu Lei nodded after reading it.

"That's it. Send it to Director Zhao for trial."

"OK."

After submitting the rough cut plan, Zhao Leiming looked at it for twenty minutes, didn't change a single word, and signed it directly.

The show will officially air in two days.

But people online can't wait any longer.

First, a few clips, each about ten seconds long, were leaked. The camera angles were crooked and distorted, clearly recorded secretly by an audience member using a mobile phone. The video quality was very poor, and the audio included whispers from people nearby and the hum of the air conditioner.

But nobody cares about the image quality.

He forgot to look back to see if she was crying—this clip was cut into a vertical short video and uploaded to a short video platform. The poster's account has fewer than two hundred followers, and the bio reads: "Ordinary office worker, just shooting random stuff."

Within three hours, the video garnered over a million views.

The comments section exploded.

"I was listening to it with headphones on at my workstation. When I took them off afterward, I realized I was crying. My colleague next to me asked me what was wrong, and I said nothing, I just got some sand in my eye."

What's the name of this song? Who sings it? I'd like the full version!

"Lin Buyi! He's the one who got accused of plagiarism before!"

"What? That guy who said he was only participating for the money?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Go search his previous posts about 'Sorrow' and 'People Like Me,' they're all explosive."

The traffic began to spread virally.

A short clip of ten seconds or so wasn't enough, so people started searching for the full version on various platforms. If they couldn't find the official version, they searched for live audio recordings. If they couldn't find live audio recordings, they searched for videos taken by other audience members from different angles.

Then a longer video appeared.

I don't know who leaked it from inside; the video quality is poor, the audio has static, and the camera angle was probably from near the control room. But the song is basically intact from beginning to end.

The video garnered over eight million views in less than six hours after it was released.

The two topics, one meat and one vegetable, naturally trended on social media without any promotion or manipulation.

Su Nianwei stared at her phone screen in the study, scrolling through comments one by one.

The comments section was unlike any other talent show topic before, filled with a lot of genuine emotional expressions.

"This is my third year working away from home, and I didn't go back for the Chinese New Year. After watching this video, I called my mom, and she asked me what was wrong in the middle of the night. I said nothing, I just wanted to hear her voice."

"My dad has been gone for five years. When I heard the line 'I forgot to look back to see if she was crying,' I completely broke down."

"Is anyone like me? From childhood to adulthood, I've always felt that I'm not good enough. I keep running forward, only to find that I've left the most important people behind."

Someone simply typed four words: "I cried while watching this, Mom."

These four words received 30,000 likes.

Su Nianwei finally breathed a sigh of relief after reading the comments. She put down her phone and called Cheng Yi.

"Have you seen the data?"

"I saw it." Cheng Yi's voice sounded excited. "President Su, this momentum far exceeded our expectations. Our original promotion plan hadn't even been launched yet, and it's already become a hit on its own."

"Don't get too excited yet." Su Nianwei picked up her coffee and took a sip. "Organic traffic is a good thing, but we can't waste it. Have your PR team get involved now. Remember, our strategy is to guide the flow, not to force promotion."

"How do I answer?"

"Leave some guiding questions in the comment sections of several top emotional bloggers. Don't use an official tone, use the tone of an ordinary user. Here are a few directions for the questions: How many people only understood this song after leaving home? How long has it been since you went home and had a home-cooked meal? Things like that."

Cheng Yi was taking notes over there, and the sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper could be heard.

"clear."

"Also, have the team prepare a cultural commentary piece on the theme of contemporary aesthetics returning to authenticity and simplicity. Don't write it as a marketing piece; write it as a genuine cultural observation. Find a credible KOL to publish it, and release it on the day the program officially airs."

"Okay. Anything else?"

Su Nianwei thought for a moment.

"Keep a close eye on the data. Give me a report every two hours."

"receive."

After hanging up the phone, Su Nianwei leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a while.

She could sense the impact of this event spreading rapidly. Lin Buyi's songs weren't just catchy—they expressed a very common social sentiment: the hardships of working away from home, the longing for and guilt towards loved ones. These things were so universal that almost everyone could find a reflection of themselves in them.

This kind of song doesn't need promotion; it spreads on its own.

All she had to do was help clear some obstacles as it spread.

Su Nianwei turned on her computer and began organizing the next task list.

She paused halfway through the stroke.

Faint sounds came from the basement.

Lin Buyi is still practicing singing.

Su Nianwei's fingers hovered above the keyboard for two seconds before she continued typing.

Twenty-four hours later.

The topic "One Meat, One Vegetable" has garnered over 300 million views.

The questions Su Nianwei's PR team left in the comment sections of relationship bloggers far exceeded expectations. Those questions quickly sparked enthusiastic discussion among netizens, rapidly leading to a large-scale creation of derivative works and discussions.

Some people created short videos by pairing their stories with clips of meat and vegetables; some dug out old photos of their family dining tables; and some even hand-copied the lyrics and posted them online.

Multiple mainstream media accounts reposted and commented on it.

The People's Daily official Weibo account posted: Why did a talent show song remind countless people of home?

This Weibo post was forwarded 80,000 times and received 20,000 comments.

Su Nianwei looked at the data in the study, and her lips finally relaxed.

"That's right."

……

Chen Jiahao's agent is Liu Yang. He's been an agent for twelve years and has seen it all.

But this time, the data made him uneasy.

He walked into Chen Jiahao's apartment with his tablet and placed the data on the coffee table.