Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

There were hardly any people left in the cafeteria.

He Xu took his tray and sat down in the corner. He had congee, steamed buns, and a plate of pickled vegetables.

Yang Sheng sat opposite him, with a bowl of porridge in front of him, but he didn't touch it.

The chopsticks rested on the rim of the bowl, and the fingers unconsciously fiddled with the ends of the chopsticks, making a soft rubbing sound.

The lights in the cafeteria were only on halfway, and the half where they were sitting was dark.

The sky outside the window was completely dark, and the blurry outlines of two people were reflected in the glass.

He Xu took a sip of porridge, then looked up at Yang Sheng.

"eat."

Yang Sheng picked up his chopsticks, stirred the porridge in the bowl a couple of times, and then put them down.

"Teacher." He began, his voice slightly hoarse.

These two words have a nasal tone, as if they were squeezed out of the throat.

He Xu did not correct his form of address.

There's no one else in the cafeteria, so you can call me whatever you want.

"Um."

"Did I... make the wrong choice?"

He Xu paused for a moment while chewing.

"What did I choose wrong?"

"Choose 'Blade'." Yang Sheng's fingers unconsciously traced circles on the table, his nails scraping against the plastic surface, making a soft rustling sound.

"I thought I could lead this team well. I thought... as long as I was strong enough, the team members would follow me."

He paused, then spoke even softer, so softly that only two people could hear him.

"But I was wrong...they didn't respect me."

He Xu swallowed the steamed bun, picked up the porridge bowl, took a sip, and then slowly spoke.

"Their dissatisfaction with you has nothing to do with what song you choose."

Yang Sheng looked up at him. His eyes were red, but no tears fell. At least, they hadn't fallen yet.

"Do you think these people will respect you if you choose a different song?" He Xu's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into the table.

No. They don't respect you because of your songs, they respect you because of who you are.

Yang Sheng pursed his lips into a thin line, until they turned white.

"Because you're seventeen, because they don't think you're qualified to be the captain."

"Because you were in Class A, because they think you got the A because of your connections with the company and Shen Yiheng."

"Because they themselves are not strong enough, they will attribute your strength to luck, connections, or behind-the-scenes manipulation—in short, not your ability."

He Xu's voice remained calm, as if he were stating a fact that he was not interested in.

"You can't change them—the only thing you can change is yourself."

Yang Sheng lowered his head, his fingers gripping the chopsticks so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

My shoulders started trembling slightly again, this time more noticeably than in the practice room.

"But I—"

His voice choked.

It felt like something was stuck in my throat, unable to go up or down.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and finally, the tears in his eyes could no longer be held back, falling drop by drop onto the table.

No sound.

The seventeen-year-old boy sat in a dimly lit corner of the cafeteria, head down, tears streaming down his face.

He didn't make a sound, but his shoulders were shaking violently, and his fingers were gripping the chopsticks so tightly that his knuckles looked like they were about to break.

He Xu did not speak.

He put down the bowl of porridge, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the child across from him who was crying silently.

He recalled the first time he met Yang Sheng three years ago.

At fourteen, he had just been admitted to Banxing from a local dance training class. He was as thin as a bamboo pole, but standing among a group of trainees who were half a head taller than him, his eyes were frighteningly bright.

During the interview, I performed a self-choreographed dance. My movements were quite clumsy, but my indomitable spirit emanated from every joint.

He Xu was sitting on the judges' panel at the time. After watching the performance, he said, "His basic skills are too poor, but he can practice."

What Yang Sheng didn't know was that on the very night he said those words, He Xu pulled his information out of the pile of discarded files and put it into a folder for "key development".

Three years.

More than a thousand days and nights.

He watched Yang Sheng grow from a skinny boy into what he is now—Class A, with his theme song direct cam views exceeding 20 million, earning him the title of "Seventeen-Year-Old Stage Monster" across the internet.

But the person sitting opposite him at this moment was not Yang Sheng, who shone brightly on the stage.

He was just a seventeen-year-old kid who was being bullied and was hiding away crying.

But this is something he will eventually have to face.

It's just a matter of whether it's before or after their debut.

He Xu didn't rush to speak.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the crown of Yang Sheng's head, waiting expressionlessly.

After everyone has finished crying.

This is a habit he has developed over the years of teaching students—if you don't shed all your tears, nothing you say will make a difference.

When emotions run high, ears are closed, and reasoning fails to penetrate.

Perhaps we should wait.

After about two or three minutes, Yang Sheng's sobs gradually subsided.

He sniffed hard, raised the back of his hand and wiped his face haphazardly. His eyes were red as if he had been punched, and the tip of his nose was an unnatural pink.

"Are you done crying?" He Xu's tone revealed neither heartache nor impatience.

Yang Sheng nodded, then shook his head, letting out a muffled "hmm".

"After you've finished crying, listen carefully." He Xu leaned forward. "Listen to every single word I'm about to say."

Yang Sheng raised his head, his swollen eyes meeting He Xu's calm gaze.

"Does it matter whether they submit to you or not?" He Xu said.

Yang Sheng opened his mouth as if to say something, but He Xu silenced him with a look.

"It's not important," He Xu answered the question himself. "Do you know what's important? The elimination rules for the first round."

Yang Sheng was taken aback.

"The production team hasn't announced it yet, but I can tell you," He Xu lowered his voice by half an octave, "For the first performance, the sixteen groups will compete in pairs. The winning group will have all its members safe, while the losing group—the last one with the fewest individual votes will be eliminated."

Yang Sheng's pupils contracted slightly.

"And he's the last in the overall vote count." He Xu tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice. "Even if someone in your group dances terribly, as long as their individual votes are high enough, they can survive."

"Even if you're the captain and you dance the best, if your group loses and you don't get enough votes—you're fired."

Yang Sheng's breathing quickened for a moment.

"However, this also means that even if your group loses, you can survive as long as you are popular enough."

"So you see," He Xu leaned back in his chair, his tone laced with a nonchalant cruelty, "what does it matter whether they submit to you or not?"

"The first public battle was just an individual battle disguised as a team battle."

"I don't need to explain what 'individual combat' means, right?"

Yang Sheng's lips moved slightly, and a trace of blood seeped from his chapped lips.

"Then... what should I do?" His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper.

He Xu looked at him, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved up.

Yang Sheng had seen that smile far too many times.

In the practice room, whenever He Xu was about to unleash a particularly malicious move, a smile would appear on his lips.

It carries a hint of malice, a touch of "I'll teach you how to be bad," and a sense of indifference that "I'm not the one who's going to suffer anyway."

"Do you know what's the most valuable thing about this show besides the stage?" He Xu asked.

Yang Sheng thought for a moment: "...Strength?"

"Bullshit." He Xu said bluntly, "It's all about the footage. Behind-the-scenes footage, pre-interview footage, rehearsal footage, backstage footage—whoever gets the most footage in the final cut will be remembered by the audience."

"Only if you're remembered will people try to salvage the vote."

"What you need to do is not to persuade those who disagree with you."

"You can't persuade them, and you don't need to change them. Just be yourself—and then let them become clowns themselves."

Yang Sheng blinked, not quite understanding.

He Xu sighed, leaned forward, and almost lay on the table.

"Think about it, you're in Class A, seventeen years old, you have a lot of screen time in the theme song MV, and you're very popular online."

"Among your group members from classes D and F, does anyone recognize them? No one. The audience doesn't even know their names."

"Who will stand on their side in a time like this?"

Yang Sheng fell silent.

"They isolated you, ostracized you, and made sarcastic remarks in the practice room—who saw it? Only you saw it." He Xu tapped his finger on the table. "But what if the cameras saw it too?"

Yang Sheng's eyes slowly widened a little.

Seeing his expression, He Xu knew he had hit the nail on the head, and the corners of his mouth curved even wider.

"The behind-the-scenes crew comes to the practice room every week to shoot footage. Do you know what they like to shoot the most? They like to shoot conflict, they like to shoot tears, they like to shoot the 'good captain who gets bullied' and the 'bad teammate who drags the team down'."

"You don't need to complain, and you don't need to argue with them." He Xu's voice carried a seductive, dangerous gentleness. "You just need to—when the camera is on you, don't pretend to be strong."

Yang Sheng's breath hitched.

"What do you mean?"

"It means you don't need to say anything, you don't need to blame anyone, you don't need to complain. You just need to—not cry in front of them."

"Wait until the camera is on before you cry."

Yang Sheng froze.

Looking at He Xu's smiling face, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

He knew He Xu was right, and he also knew that this method was insidious, malicious, and shameless.

But it's useful.

"Teacher..." Yang Sheng's voice was a little dry, "Are you teaching me how to play the victim?"

"What's wrong with playing the victim?" He Xu said confidently, not at all feeling that he was setting a bad example for the kids. "Playing the victim is a skill. Look at those talent shows, which one of the debuted artists didn't play the victim? Which one didn't survive by relying on the audience's sympathy votes?"

"But I don't want to rely on sympathy—"

"You want to rely on your skills?" He Xu interrupted him. "If you want to win by skills, then go train those D and F class students in your group to become A class. Can you do that?"

Yang Sheng shut his mouth.

"Your task is to ensure your survival in this round, not to fight for your sense of justice and responsibility."

Yang Sheng raised his head and met He Xu's eyes.

There was no sympathy, no tenderness, not even encouragement in those eyes.

There was only a calm, almost cold-blooded, calculated certainty.

He Xu was never a good person.

He knew this better than anyone else.

He's cheeky, mischievous, and ungrateful.

He never felt there was anything wrong with these methods.

That's how this industry is; you either learn to swim or you drown.

He just didn't want to watch his students drown.