Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Zhao Pengfei was frozen in place by Shen Yiheng's words, as if all his strength had been drained away. His lips trembled, and after a long while, he managed to squeeze out, "I...I didn't mean to..."

"I'm asking you, did you push them?"

Shen Yiheng's voice was even lower than before.

Zhao Pengfei's body trembled.

"...Yes." His voice was barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz. "But he grabbed me first—he was the one who pulled me first—I, I was—"

"What is it?"

Zhao Pengfei couldn't continue speaking.

Shen Yiheng took a step forward and stood in front of him, the distance between them less than a meter.

Those eyes, which were always full of smiles on stage, were now as cold as ice on a lake in winter.

"You pushed him." Shen Yiheng's voice was slow, each word as if he had chewed it in his mouth before spitting it out. "He bumped into someone, and that person smashed a mirror. One person needed six stitches in the back of their head, and another person needed four stitches in the back of their hand."

He paused.

"You're telling me you didn't do it on purpose?"

Zhao Pengfei's eyes reddened, his lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

"Do you know what the consequences are when a mirror breaks? What if shards of glass get into your eyes? What if they get into an artery? Can you take that responsibility?!"

Shen Yiheng's voice finally rose a little.

"Are you here to participate in a talent show or to fight?! Where do you think you are?! Who do you think you are?!"

Zhao Pengfei's tears finally fell, one by one landing on the white sheets of the hospital bed, leaving a small dark stain.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a muffled sound came out of his throat.

"I...I really didn't mean to..."

"You didn't think about it," Shen Yiheng repeated, a smirk playing on his lips. "You acted without thinking. If you had thought about it, would you have grabbed a knife?!"

"PD".

A voice came from the side.

There was almost only a breathy sound.

Shen Yiheng ignored him.

"How old are you? How many years have you been a trainee?! Don't you understand the most basic rules?! Hitting people and damaging public property—do you know the production team can disqualify you on the spot?!"

"PD Shen".

He Xu called again, this time with a louder voice.

But Shen Yiheng still ignored him.

"What are you glaring at me for? Do you think I'm wrong?!" His gaze was fixed on Zhao Pengfei.

The blond boy who had been full of hostility just moments before was now huddled in the corner of the bed, his face streaked with tears, and his whole body trembling slightly.

"Weren't you pretty tough when you were pushing people? Now you're scared?!"

"That's enough," He Xu said.

He got up from the bed, the gauze on his arm glaringly white under the light.

He walked up to Shen Yiheng, blocking his view of Zhao Pengfei.

"Get out of the way." Shen Yiheng's voice was low, his eyes still filled with anger.

He Xu did not allow it.

"One constant," he said. "That's enough."

Before Shen Yiheng could say anything more, He Xu grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the door.

The movement wasn't forceful, but Shen Yiheng stumbled as he was pulled.

"you--"

"come out."

He Xu's voice was so low it was almost a whisper, but the unquestionable tone made Shen Yiheng instinctively shut up.

-

The lights in the corridor were blindingly white.

He Xu pulled Shen Yiheng to the corner before letting go, and leaned against the wall, the gauze on his hand dazzlingly white under the light.

A familiar burning sensation surged in my throat.

Shen Yiheng leaned against the wall, his chest still heaving violently.

"Why did you drag me out here?" His voice was still a little harsh. "I haven't finished speaking—"

"You're done talking," He Xu interrupted him.

"I wasn't finished!"

"You've finished speaking," He Xu said again.

Shen Yiheng opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but when he met He Xu's eyes, he swallowed his words.

"Do you know what you're doing?" He Xu asked, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

"I'm dealing with the problem," he said in a low voice. "He hit you and hurt you—"

"Solving problems?" He Xu interrupted him. "You call that solving problems? You're just swearing."

"You're getting angry," He Xu said. "You're yelling at a contestant as a producer."

"You're questioning him, yelling at him, threatening to disqualify him!"

Shen Yiheng's body stiffened for a moment.

"I wasn't angry," he said, his voice lower than before, with a hint of denial. "I just—"

"You were just swearing," He Xu finished for him. "As the producer, you stormed into the medical room during filming and started swearing at the contestants in front of them. You think that's okay?"

"He's a contestant from Class F, and I'm from Class B," He Xu continued, speaking slowly. "You're the producer. If you insult him, he'll just think, 'The producer is targeting me.'"

"When did I target him? He hurt you—"

"He hurt me, so you can stop acting like a PD?" He Xu's voice finally rose a little, but was interrupted by a cough.

He turned his head away, covered his mouth with the back of his hand, and coughed a few times.

The sound wasn't loud, but each note seemed to be muffled in the chest, as if squeezed out from a very deep place.

Shen Yiheng's anger was instantly extinguished by the cough.

He reached out to help He Xu on the shoulder, but He Xu slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me." He Xu's voice was even hoarseer, almost inhuman. "I'm talking to you about something important."

"Just say it, don't yell." Shen Yiheng's voice finally softened. "Your voice isn't good to begin with—"

"Did I yell?" He Xu looked up at him. "You yelled first."

Shen Yiheng was momentarily speechless; his lips moved, but he didn't reply.

He Xu leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

The burning sensation in my chest hadn't subsided, and it felt like there was a ball of fire stuck in my throat; every word I uttered was like adding fuel to the fire.

But he still had to say it.

This person won't listen unless you explain things clearly.

"Yiheng." He Xu opened his eyes, his voice even softer than before, "Listen to me."

Shen Yiheng's fingers clenched tightly around his trouser leg, his knuckles turning white.

"Do you know how many cameras this program has?" He Xu's voice was neither loud nor soft. "There aren't any in the infirmary, but there are in the corridor."

"Nobody knows what the security cameras in the hallway captured when you rushed in."

"Your expression, your tone, your attitude—if that were captured and posted online, do you know what the consequences would be?"

Shen Yiheng didn't say anything.

"PD loses his temper and berates player"—this kind of headline trended on social media. Clicking in, regardless of the cause and effect, the style of the comments section was all too familiar to him.

"The PD is so fierce." "Is the PD targeting someone?" "Is the production team up to cause trouble?"

and then?

Then comes the endless clarification, explanation, and public relations, turning what should have been a simple matter into a complete mess.

"I don't care," Shen Yiheng said, his voice muffled.

Looking at his stubborn face, He Xu suddenly felt like laughing.

not give a damn about.

The boy who was scolded to tears in the practice room back then, now standing at the top, still carries the spirit of youth when he says "I don't care".

"Whether you care or not is your business," He Xu said, "but I do care."

Shen Yiheng raised his head and glanced at him.

"I'm the one who brought you into the industry."

He Xu said, emphasizing each word.

"You are a student I trained. If you are criticized for something like this, I will lose face."