Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

The spotlight only kept him.

The three-thousand-seat studio was now as quiet as a desolate wilderness.

All sounds were sucked into the darkness, leaving only the warm white light around He Xu's feet and his own breathing.

He moved.

From the very first movement, everyone held their breath.

The silver accents on the black shirt suddenly shone under the spotlight—he made an extremely slow, sweeping motion starting from his fingertips.

Like a snake slowly opening its eyes in the darkness before dawn.

Raise your right arm from your side, wrap it around your shoulder and neck, draw an arc in the air, and then slowly lower it back to your side.

The entire process lasted for four eight-beat intervals.

Then the drumbeats exploded.

He Xu felt as if something had ignited him from within.

His shoulders suddenly opened, his waist and abdomen tightened sharply, and his spine exploded one vertebra at a time with an almost dangerous arc.

He made three consecutive waves, but the transmission from head to toe was so smooth that it seemed impossible for the human body to do it.

Like liquid gushing through a pipe, like something untamed breaking free from its restraints.

The collarbone undulated noticeably during the movement, and the opening on the side of the waist opened and closed with the twisting of the spine, revealing the firm, fair muscle lines underneath, which were clearly defined by the spotlight.

The edge of his V-neckline fluttered slightly with his breathing and movements.

Light and shadow dance between the fabric and the skin, cutting each frame into captivating segments.

In the front row of the audience, a girl with a ponytail slipped her light stick from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud.

Her mouth was open, and she forgot to close it.

The people next to her weren't much better off.

A boy wearing glasses was recording with his phone. The camera was clearly pointed at the center of the stage, but the image started to distort thirty seconds ago.

Because his whole body was unconsciously leaning forward, his hand also became crooked.

The comments section went completely crazy at this moment.

In the upper right corner of the live stream screen, three layers of white text were superimposed, each refreshing at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye.

"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, what did I just see?!"

"His collarbone!!! Did you guys see his collarbone!!!!"

"His pectoral muscles!!!"

"No, how did he do that? Is this person really He Xu?!"

"I thought it was a different person dancing—why does he look like this today—"

"Makeup!!! Who did this makeup?! It's amazing?!"

"He's not just different, he's leveled up—he's gone from being human to being a god—"

"V-neck!!! Did you guys see that V-neck?! I need CPR!"

"What kind of dance is that... I don't understand it at all, but I think I'm going crazy..."

"Is this person's body made of rubber?? Was that wave he just made real?!"

During the second repetition of the chorus, He Xu's waist twisted violently around the entire circle, causing him to lean back almost parallel to the ground. He then quickly pulled back, kneeling on one knee with his back arched into a taut arc.

The black shirt was stretched taut yet relaxed by his movements, and the opening at the side of the waist revealed a small section of skin with each twist, which reflected slightly in the light.

In the waiting area, Yang Sheng stood at the very front, leaning slightly forward, his gaze fixed on the stage.

His lips parted slightly, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, but he didn't utter a single word—he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, his heart would jump out of his mouth.

Chen Yi clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white: "...He today...he today..."

His voice was stuck in his throat, as if he couldn't find any words that were worthy of this stage.

Li Bufan leaned against the wall, a strand of his dirty orange hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead.

He kept his head down, but his eyes kept following the black figure on the stage out of the corner of his eye.

He opened his mouth several times, but finally managed to squeeze out only a mumbled sentence: "...I'm finished."

Lin Siyuan, standing next to him, turned her head to look at him: "What did you do wrong?"

"I can't avoid this part when I start dancing... I'll remember it for the rest of my life, Brother He Xu dressed like that and danced this kind of dance today..." Li Bufan's voice was filled with a desperate seriousness, "How the hell am I supposed to practice dancing like this?"

Zhao Tianyu paused for a moment: "...You practice your dance, what's it to him?"

"Then why the hell aren't you looking? Why don't you look him in the eye?!"

Zhao Tianyu's gaze struggled to leave the V-neck of the black shirt in the center of the stage, his voice hoarse: "...I'll try my best."

Jiang Yang stood at the edge of the crowd, his eyes were already red, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.

He whispered, "Teacher He... if you dance like that, how can we even debut?"

Song Yingwen, who was standing next to him, finally couldn't help but turn his head to look at him, his expression indescribably complicated.

Qi Xunan stood further back, his gaze never leaving the stage.

His expression remained calm, but his fingers resting on his knees were trembling slightly.

On stage, the music has entered its final section.

The arrangement suddenly accelerated at that moment, with the drumbeats becoming as dense as a downpour hitting a tin roof.

He Xu performed three consecutive spins, each landing faster, more powerfully, and more precisely than the last.

As the final turn ended, his body suddenly stretched out, his arms spread to the sides, as if he had broken free from something, like an ouroboros finally loosening its tail.

The music stopped abruptly at that moment.

He stood in the darkness for a second.

Then the lights gradually came up from dim to bright, and warm white light poured down from above, enveloping him in a soft glow.

The black shirt was slightly soaked with sweat, the edge of the V-neck was clinging to the skin, and there was a very thin glint of water at the edge of the opening on the side of the waist.

His chest was heaving violently, and his breathing was much heavier than usual.

But his back was very straight, his chin was slightly raised, and his upturned eyes shone brightly in the spotlight.

The black eyeliner Zhuang Wenmin applied to the outer corner of her eyes drew a neat arc under the light, and sweat slid down her brow bone to her cheekbone and then dripped down her jawline.

He stood in that beam of light, as if waiting for something.

Then all three thousand people stood up at the same time.

The sound waves on the stage pressed down from the audience like a wall—screams, whistles, applause, and cries mingled together, making the dome of the studio vibrate.

The warm orange light on the signs was almost as bright as day, and the words on them blurred together as they swayed.

The live stream chat completely crashed at that moment.

The white text in the upper right corner of the screen surged out in layers, like countless people speaking at the same time, yet no one could hear anyone else—

"Holy crap, it's over?! I barely woke up and it's already over?!"

"Who can resist this ending pose?? Seriously, who can resist it???"

"He was panting on stage... his collarbone when he was panting... I can't take it anymore..."

"Makeup artist, you're a god!!! This makeup!! This look!! You deserve all the awards!!!"

"Look at his side!!!! Sweat is streaming down his waistline—I took a screenshot!!! I took a screenshot!!!!"

"I declare this to be the best performance I've seen all year, bar none."

"He's not dancing, he's killing people! I'm dead!"

"Mom, I think I'm in love... No, Mom, I think I saw a god..."

"He shouldn't be a mentor anymore, he should just debut! Even if he doesn't debut, it's okay, he can just stand there!"

"Look at PD Shen—look at PD Shen's expression—"

"Shen Yiheng, look away!! You're recording a TV show!!!"

"The PD's smile just won't go down, no matter how hard he tries, hahaha."

Shen Yiheng stood at the edge of the stage, in a small patch of shadow outside the spotlight.

The microphone in his hand hung at his side, not raised, his gaze fixed on the person in the center of the stage.

He just stared at him—at his shoulder line, his waist, the wet, silvery line down his collar.

She couldn't suppress the corners of her mouth.