Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Then came Yan Chen's voice, filled with pain and anger: "Zhao Pengfei, you motherfucker—"

There was another tugging sound, mixed with the voices of several people trying to stop them and exclaiming in surprise.

Get started.

He Xu closed his eyes.

He didn't want to get involved in it.

What is his relationship with the people in Class F?

If you want to fight, then fight. If the production team finds out, then withdraw from the competition. If your future is ruined, then so be it.

It's not about his future.

He applied pressure, and the doorknob made a slight clicking sound.

The door opened a crack.

A cool breeze blew in from the corridor, blowing on his burning nape, and the coolness brought him back to his senses for a moment.

Then he heard Yan Chen's voice again, this time with a sob in it: "Do you think I'm shameless? Am I doing this for myself? If I were only thinking of myself, I would have left long ago!"

The voice cracked towards the end, as if something was blocking its throat and it was being forced out.

He Xu's hand paused on the doorknob for two seconds.

Then he closed the door.

Turn around.

The practice room was in complete chaos.

Zhao Pengfei and Yan Chen were locked in a struggle, and three or four boys from Class F were trying to break them up, but they couldn't separate them at all.

Zhao Pengfei was half a head taller than Yan Chen and was also stronger. He grabbed Yan Chen's collar with one hand and was still waving his other hand.

Yan Chen stumbled as he was pulled, but refused to let go. The two wrestled all the way from the mirror to the corner of the wall.

"Let go! Both of you, let go!" someone shouted.

"Stop hitting it! The production crew will come if you keep hitting it!"

"Zhao Pengfei, let go! Yan Chen, you too—"

Nobody listened.

No one noticed He Xu as he walked past.

His footsteps were very light; his sneakers made almost no sound on the floor.

He walked up to the two men, reached out, and precisely grabbed Zhao Pengfei's wrist and Yan Chen's shoulder, one in each hand.

"Relax," he said.

The moment Zhao Pengfei's wrist was grabbed, it was as if his lifeline had been seized, and his brute force instantly dissipated.

He turned his head and met He Xu's emotionless eyes. His lips moved, but the words of curse stuck in his throat and he didn't dare to come out.

Yan Chen wanted to loosen his grip, but his fingers were so tightly clenched that they were frozen in place, and he couldn't let go for a moment.

"I said, loosen your grip."

He Xu repeated himself, increasing the pressure on his hands.

Zhao Pengfei chickened out first. He twisted his wrist and broke free from He Xu's grip, taking two steps back. His chest heaved violently, and his face still showed lingering anger and resentment.

Yan Chen's fingers finally loosened, but because of the sudden loss of strength, he lost his balance and staggered to the side.

He Xu released his shoulder and was about to step back—

Zhao Pengfei, whether out of his mind or because he felt embarrassed by being pinned down by He Xu in front of everyone, suddenly lunged forward and shoved He Xu.

"Who the hell do you think you are!"

He Xu was caught off guard.

No, to be precise, he didn't expect Zhao Pengfei to dare to make a move.

His body was pushed back two steps by the force, and his back collided with Yan Chen.

Yan Chen was already unsteady on his feet, and this bump sent him tumbling to the side.

On the side, there's a full-length mirror that takes up the entire wall.

"Bang--!!!"

A loud bang.

The mirror is broken.

After the loud bang, there was a long silence of a few seconds.

The glass shattered from the mirror, like a giant spider web exploding in an instant, with countless fragments falling and crashing to the floor.

Yan Chen was the first to fall—his back hit the mirror, then the back of his head, and he was thrown forward as if he had been knocked back.

He lay on the ground, tried to brace himself with his hands but couldn't, and lay back down.

Zhao Pengfei stood two steps away, completely frozen in place.

The hand that had pushed He Xu was still hanging in mid-air, his fingers trembling slightly. The anger on his face hadn't even had time to subside before it was completely overwhelmed by fear.

His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was agape, but he couldn't utter a single word.

"Yan Chen!!!"

Several students from Class F rushed over, squatted down to help him up, but dared not move—the sound of his head hitting the mirror was too loud, and no one knew where he was injured.

Yan Chen lay on the ground, his hand covering the back of his head, a little blood seeping through his fingers.

Not many, but shocking enough.

He Xu was knocked so hard that he staggered two steps to the side before managing to regain his footing.

When he looked down, he saw a thin line of blood flowing down the back of his right hand.

When the shards of glass flew up, he instinctively reached out to shield his face, and that's probably when he got cut.

It wasn't deep, but the cut was long, extending from the base of the thumb to the forearm.

Blood beads rolled down the curve of the back of his hand, dripping onto the floor, one drop, then two.

"Brother He Xu, you're bleeding!"

He Xu looked up at the trainee and said in a steady voice, "Go call the selection manager."

He paused for a second, then turned and ran, his shoes screeching on the floor.

He Xu stopped looking at his hands and walked over to squat down next to Yan Chen.

"Yan Chen," his voice was so hoarse it was almost a whisper, "look at me."

Yan Chen lay on the ground, struggling to turn his head to the side.

There was blood on his forehead—it was unclear whether it was from the back of his head or from a splatter, but it covered half of his face.

"Are you dizzy?" He Xu asked.

Yan Chen blinked, as if trying to focus: "Yes, a little..."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"No……"

"Can you sit up?"

Yan Chen tried it, bracing himself on his arms for two seconds before collapsing back down.

He Xu reached out and supported his shoulder, helping him sit up.

Yan Chen leaned against him, panting heavily. Blood was still seeping from the wound on the back of his head, dripping down his hair.

Zhao Pengfei finally came to his senses, and stammered, "I...I didn't mean to...I didn't mean to..."

No one cares about him.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

When the election official rushed in and saw the scene before him, his face turned pale.

"What happened?! Who did this?!"

Several contestants from Class F started talking all at once—

"Zhao Pengfei pushed He Xu, He Xu bumped into Yan Chen, and Yan Chen smashed the mirror—"

"It wasn't intentional, I just gave it a little push—"

"Yan Chen hit the back of his head and bled a lot—"

The selection officer didn't even have time to listen to the whole thing; he picked up the walkie-talkie and started shouting, "Practice room B, third floor of the practice building! Someone's injured and needs medical personnel! Quickly!"

A response came from the walkie-talkie, and the selection officer turned to look at He Xu again: "You're injured too? Your hand—"

"It's just a superficial injury." He Xu put his hands behind his back. "Let's check on him first."

The election official opened his mouth as if to say something, but looking at He Xu's expressionless face, he swallowed his words.

But she didn't really ignore it; instead, she took out a tissue from her pocket and handed it to him, at least pressing on the wound.

He Xu took it, casually pressed it against the back of his hand, and the blood quickly soaked through the tissue.

-

The medical staff arrived quickly.

The three people were taken to the infirmary.

Yan Chen was the most seriously injured—the back of his head hit the glass and shattered. Although the wound wasn't deep, some glass shards were embedded in it and needed to be cleaned.

He Xu's arm wound was disinfected, stitched with four stitches, and wrapped with gauze.

Zhao Pengfei didn't have any external injuries, but his right elbow and knee hit the ground, scraping off a large patch of skin.

He grimaced in pain when the nurse applied iodine, but he didn't utter a sound.

The three people sat side by side on the hospital bed in the infirmary, in silence.

He Xu leaned against the innermost side, his hand wrapped in gauze, his eyes closed.

Yan Chen sat in the middle, with a thick gauze pad on the back of his head, his face pale.

Zhao Pengfei sat on the outermost edge, head down, his fingers unconsciously picking at the edge of the bedsheet.

The door was suddenly pushed open.

Shen Yiheng stood at the door.

He seemed to have come from nowhere, his chest heaving violently.

His gaze first swept across the entire infirmary, lingered on He Xu for a moment, and then landed on Zhao Pengfei.

He Xu had never seen that look in his eyes before.

Shen Yiheng was always gentle and good-tempered in front of him, and would only respond with a smile even when scolded.

Zhao Pengfei had never met him either.

On screen, Shen Yiheng is always smiling—smiling at fans, smiling at the camera, smiling at younger colleagues, smiling at everyone.

They had never seen Shen Yiheng without smiling.

I've never seen him like this before.

It was a kind of anger that had been suppressed to the extreme.

"PD..." the selection manager following behind cautiously began, "That contestant's name is Zhao Pengfei, he's from Class F, and the incident is still under investigation—"

Shen Yiheng ignored him.

He walked up to Zhao Pengfei and looked down at him.

Zhao Pengfei looked up and met Shen Yiheng's eyes, and he felt as if he had been nailed to the spot.

"Did you push it?"