Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Yang Sheng's fingers rested on his knees, his knuckles slightly white.

Li Bufan had stopped talking at some point.

Qi Xunan leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the screen, never looking away.

Song Yingwen sat by the window, holding a glass of ice-cold water, but forgot to drink it.

Then came the second part.

Emiko walked towards He Xu, her high heels clicking crisply on the stage floor.

He Xu knelt on one knee, slightly raising his head. The two looked at each other less than an arm's length apart. Then Emiko turned around, and He Xu sprang up from the ground, the hem of his white shirt fluttering in the wind.

"—Fuck." Li Bufan finally managed to utter a single word, his voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion, "My God..."

Nobody paid him any attention.

The live stream on the screen had switched to a panoramic view of the audience seats, where screams and applause mingled together, crashing against the receiver like a tide.

Wang Yijun's room remained quiet for a long time.

Jiang Yang was the first to come to his senses. He slowly bent down to pick up the bag of potato chips that had fallen to the floor, his knuckles turning white as he held it in his hand: "...That's my teacher He...right? I'm not seeing things, am I?"

"You're not mistaken." Song Yingwen finally placed the glass of water, now completely cold, on the windowsill. "But that white shirt—he looks so young. Like...like when we first met him."

Lu Yiming got up from the floor, straightened the crooked chair, and said in a slightly unsteady voice, "I've never seen him wear those kinds of clothes before... He always wears black or gray, or sportswear."

"He Xu looks so good in white..." Li Bufan's voice was tinged with a stunned silence. "And his dancing... did you guys see it? The look in his eyes when he made eye contact with Emiko—damn, I have to frame that."

"Stop being so infatuated." Qi Xunan straightened up from the wall, his tone calm but with an unusual seriousness. "Teacher He has truly been seen by the whole world this time."

Jiang Yang finally stood up from the floor, dusting off his pants: "Teacher He has always been amazing, but before, the audience was only a few tens of millions in China. Tonight... tonight, the whole world is watching. Look at the comments—it's all in English, Japanese, Korean, every language imaginable."

He held up his phone; the screen was still displaying the live stream's comment section, with comments in various languages ​​scrolling by dozens of times per second.

"...Teacher He is going to be a sensation." Yang Sheng finally spoke, his voice lower than usual, "He will definitely be a global sensation."

Li Bufan looked up: "Then what should we do?"

"What? What should we do?"

"After He Xu becomes famous, will he never come back?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Jiang Yang opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Lu Yiming lowered his head, his fingers twisting the hem of his clothes.

Song Yingwen spoke first: "He won't not come back."

How did you know?

"Because his students are still here."

-

When He Xu returned to his residence, it was already past 1 a.m.

He took a shower, changed into a clean T-shirt, and was about to collapse onto the bed to completely relax.

Then he picked up his phone and glanced at it—

The screen displays "132 unread messages".

He froze for a moment.

After clicking on it, I froze.

WeChat, SMS, email, Instagram, Twitter—all the channels through which I could receive messages were completely overwhelmed.

I received collaboration offers from complete strangers, GG collaboration quotes from brands, and messages in English from several foreign numbers saying, "We saw your performance, we'd love to collaborate."

Even a well-known domestic film director sent an inquiry through an intermediary: "Mr. He Xu, would you be interested in participating in the action design of our new film?"

He Xu sat on the edge of the bed, holding his phone, scrolling through the messages one by one.

He initially intended to close it directly, but stopped when he scrolled to the notification page of a certain social media platform.

His account has gained nearly two million followers in the past six hours.

It's still rising.

He stared at the number for a few seconds, then flipped his phone over and lay face down on the bed, falling back down and staring at the ceiling in silence for a long time.

"……Hold."

He rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and muffled his voice through the fabric: "...We'll deal with it tomorrow."

But the phone didn't give him that chance.

It started shaking again.

He Xu pulled his phone out from under his pillow and glanced at the caller ID—

Emiko.

His voice still carried the dampness of a recent shower when he answered: "[English]...Why are you calling in the middle of the night?"

"Did I disturb your rest?" Emiko's voice was filled with barely concealed excitement, and she spoke twice as fast as usual. "Have you seen the online data? Your YouTube views have surpassed five million. You're third on Twitter's global trending list. Your photo on Instagram—that backstage group photo—has over three hundred thousand likes."

"[English]...I saw it."

"[British] You saw it? You just 'saw' it?"

"[British] What else? Should I pop some champagne to celebrate?"

Emiko paused for a second on the other end of the phone, then laughed: "[English] You're the least cheerful person I've ever met. But it's okay, I've cheered you up—I'm popping champagne with my team right now, without you."

"[English] You drink yours, I'm going to sleep."

"Wait a minute—there's one more thing."

"What?"

"[UK] You might get a lot of calls tomorrow, all sorts of collaboration offers, brand invitations, media interviews—if you don't want to answer them, you can transfer them all to Jen. I've already asked her, she'll help you filter them. Answer the ones you want, and just turn down the ones you don't."

He Xu paused for a moment, then said, "[English]...Thanks."

"You're welcome. Go to bed early." (British)

The phone hangs up.

He Xu put his phone on the bedside table, pulled the blanket over his head, and closed his eyes.

But the phone didn't stay silent for long.

About twenty minutes later, it shook again. This time it was a text message—from an unknown number in China: "Mr. He Xu, I am the founder of a streetwear brand. Your performance tonight was truly amazing. We would like to invite you to be our brand ambassador for the next season. Price negotiable. Looking forward to your reply."

He Xu glanced at it but didn't reply.

Then came WeChat—Han Yu sent a message with only one line: "You little rascal, you've been hiding it well."

He Xu rolled his eyes and replied, "You have no manners."

Immediately afterward, Shen Yiheng's messages popped up, sending three messages in a row:

"You're trending on Twitter, do you even know that???"

"What's with that white shirt look of yours???"

"What's your relationship with Emiko??? How come I don't know anything about it???"

He Xu looked at the three messages and typed a few words: "You have too many questions."

Then he muted the phone, flipped it over, and finally fell asleep.