Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

In the second week after regaining his voice, He Xu readjusted his training rhythm.

The morning run continues as usual, but the duration has been extended from forty minutes to an hour.

His speed was also faster than before, and he no longer needed to consciously suppress his breathing rate.

He hadn't felt that kind of exhilaration in a long time.

The morning was still dedicated to vocal practice.

From fifteen minutes to half an hour a day, from single syllables to short sentences, and then to being able to read a complete news article.

He stood in front of the mirror, watching his Adam's apple rise and fall with the volume of his voice. There was no stinging pain, no choking, and he found it all quite novel.

In the afternoon, he resumed his normal dance training.

The range of motion gradually increased from two-thirds to almost full strength.

The amplitude of the wave, the speed of the rotation, and the landing force of the floor movements are all being gradually improved.

Muscle memory did not betray him; the reactivation of those pathways etched into his bones was smoother than he had anticipated.

He even danced a short, fast-paced routine that he had choreographed himself in front of the dance studio mirror after one practice session.

There was no pause throughout the entire process. When I landed, my breathing was slightly unsteady, but I didn't feel any discomfort in my throat.

That evening, he sent Emiko a message: "I can dance now. When is the rehearsal?"

Emiko replied almost instantly: "See you in the rehearsal room at 2 PM tomorrow."

He Xu replied with "OK", then put his phone on the bedside table, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

-

The next afternoon, he arrived at the rehearsal room fifteen minutes early.

This rehearsal room is located on the second floor of the company building—larger and taller, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing south that let in the afternoon sunlight without reservation, spreading a warm golden light on the dark wooden floor.

In the corner stood a grand piano, its lid closed, with a handwritten sheet of music on the music stand.

The speakers next to him were professional-grade, far superior to the old equipment he used in China.

He Xu went inside, took off his coat and threw it on a chair in the corner, then stood in front of the mirror to warm up.

Do shallow squats with your shoulders in circles, your spine bent to the side, and your knees slightly bent.

He did it slowly and meticulously, as if he were using his body to reconfirm the state of those joints and muscles.

When the door was pushed open, he was squatting on the ground tying his shoelaces.

Emiko walked in, wearing a loose black vest and dark gray cargo pants, her hair tied in a high ponytail, looking neat and relaxed.

"Hey. You're early." She walked to the center of the rehearsal room, placed her phone next to the speaker, and turned to look at him. "Feeling ready?"

He Xu stood up and stretched his neck: "Yeah. Let's start."

Emiko paused for a moment.

She had already squatted down to connect via Bluetooth, but the moment she heard He Xu speak, her finger stopped on the phone screen, and she froze on the spot.

She looked up and her gaze fell directly on his face.

"...Wait," she said. "Say that again."

He Xu looked at her: "...What?!"

"That. Just now. You said, 'Let's start.'"

"...Is there a problem?"

"No. It's just—" Emiko stood up, took two steps forward, and stopped in front of him, her gaze filled with undisguised inquiry. "Your voice. It's different."

He Xu's eyelashes twitched slightly: "...Recovered. The surgery worked."

"Recovered," Emiko repeated the word, gesturing with her hand in the air. "I heard you talk before—the low, raspy voice. It was interesting. But this?"

She tilted her head, as if savoring something: "It's clean. Clear. And still low. But it doesn't sound damaged anymore. It sounds like—"

She paused for a moment: "Like it was always meant to sound like this."

He Xu paused for a second, then looked away: "...Thanks."

"I'm not complimenting you. I'm stating a fact," Emiko said directly. "I produce music for a living. I hear voices every day. Yours is—rare. You could sing."

He Xu put his hands in his pockets and lowered his eyes slightly: "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Emiko looked at him, as if trying to determine whether his words were just modesty or if he was genuinely unprepared.

Then she looked away, her tone returning to its bright, rhythmic cheerfulness: "[English] Okay. Let's start with what you can do. I'll sing the middle part—the part where you enter. Get a feel for it first, and then see how you plan to enter."

He Xu nodded and walked to the center of the rehearsal room.

Emiko turned and walked to the grand piano, sitting down on the piano bench.

She didn't use sheet music; her fingers fell on the keys, and she paused for two seconds, looking down as if silently counting the rhythm.

The sound of the piano began.

Then she started singing.

The moment she opened her mouth, He Xu felt like he was at a concert.

There was no band, no accompaniment, no mixing, just a piano and a sound.

But that sound itself is a musical instrument.

Her voice isn't the kind of clear, thin female voice, but rather has a thick, husky, warm texture, making it more story-driven and warmer.

Her breath control was extremely steady; every note seemed to have been carefully weighed before being released, carrying rhythm, gravity, and an indescribable tenderness.

He Xu stood in the center of the rehearsal room, listening to the piano and singing intertwined, unfolding layer by layer in the afternoon sunlight.