Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Once downstairs, Han Yu parked the car and turned off the engine.

He didn't get out of the car; his hands were still on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

"You go up first," he said.

He Xu glanced at him, didn't ask why, and got out of the car.

Han Yu sat in the car, took his phone out of his pocket, swiped to Shen Yiheng's number, and dialed it.

I answered it after it rang once.

"The follow-up test results are in," Han Yu said in a low voice. "The doctor said the high-frequency range has started to recover, and with another month or two, it should return to normal levels—I won't need to wear a hearing aid anymore."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

Then came Shen Yiheng's voice.

It was very light, as if afraid of scaring the news away.

"...What did you say?"

"It will get better," Han Yu repeated. "The doctor said it will get better."

A very soft exhale came from the other end of the phone, like a breath that had been held in for a long time and was finally released.

Han Yu took the phone away from his ear and hung up.

He sat in the car for a while, then opened the car door, locked the car, and went upstairs.

-

Performance venue.

Shen Yiheng stood in the shadows to the side of the stage, his phone screen still lit up, the call log showing the name "Han Yu".

He stared at the line of text for a long time, as if trying to confirm that the phone call had really happened and that it wasn't just a hallucination caused by his exhaustion.

It can be fine.

These two words spun around in his mind, and around again.

Like a stone thrown into deep water, the ripples spread out in concentric circles, growing larger and larger.

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but the muscles in his face seemed to be out of his control, forcing out a strange expression that was somewhere in between.

He barely slept a full night in those five days.

From the moment He Xu first told him the word "permanent," his mind never stopped racing.

During the daytime recording of the show, she could still rely on muscle memory to keep going, smiling at the camera, reciting her lines, and commenting on the contestants, all as usual.

But as soon as he returned to his room, a huge, bottomless anxiety would surge up from all directions, engulfing him completely.

He made dozens of phone calls.

I went through all the people in my contacts who were related to "medicine," and then I searched through all the ENT specialists I could find online.

Every phone call was made very carefully, describing He Xu's condition again and again.

Electrical injury, sensorineural, high frequency, above 4000 Hz, threshold 40 dB, the course of the disease has been nearly a week and a half.

Everyone who answered the phone listened attentively and then gave essentially the same answer.

"The recovery from sensorineural damage varies from person to person—some people recover slowly, while others are left with permanent damage."

"If there is no significant improvement after two weeks, the situation is indeed not very optimistic, but it is not entirely hopeless."

"We don't see this situation often, so I can't give you a definite answer. I suggest you come for a face-to-face consultation and have a more detailed examination."

"...To be honest, I'm not sure. It might get better, or it might stay the same."

uncertain.

These three words are more agonizing than "incurable".

If it can't be cured, that's the verdict, that's the final word, that's the end of hope.

It's uncertain whether it's suspended in mid-air, when it will fall, or whether it will land on a cushion or shatter on the ground when it does.

Every night, as he lay in bed, those words kept replaying in his mind.

Recovery varies from person to person.

"Some people can recover, while others are stuck with their condition."

"uncertain."

uncertain.

uncertain.

uncertain.

He hates those three words.

He even thought that if he were told directly that "it can't be cured," he would be able to grit his teeth and accept it.

But this torment of being suspended in mid-air, not knowing which way he would fall, was driving him crazy.

He even contacted a chief physician in the Department of Otolaryngology at Peking Union Medical College Hospital and sent him all of He Xu's medical records.

During the dozen or so hours he waited for a reply, he didn't even dare to put down his phone, checking his email every few minutes to refresh it.

On the morning of the day he finally received a reply, he stared at the email and read it word by word. Director Cao's wording was more conservative than that of the other doctors—"It is currently impossible to determine whether it is reversible. We recommend continuous monitoring and regular follow-up examinations."

It was the same phrase he'd heard countless times: "Uncertain."

He thought these five days would continue indefinitely.

No one knows whether He Xu's hearing will ever recover; all they can say is "wait and see," "let's observe further."

He thought he would have to wait until the third, fourth, and fifth follow-up examinations, until everyone lost patience, until he himself became numb.

Then Han Yu called.

It can be fine.

Han Yu only said two words, but those two words were like a pair of hands that pulled him out of that bottomless pit.

"PD?" The assistant director's voice came from behind, cautiously probing, "The interview is about to begin, you..."

Shen Yiheng did not turn around.

He was still facing away from the assistant director, his back to the wall, his fingers gripping his phone, his knuckles turning white.

After several seconds, he finally spoke: "...I understand."

The voice was a little hoarse, but you couldn't tell unless you listened carefully.

He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, and turned around.

His facial expression had been composed, and a standard, polite smile was on his lips.

The assistant director glanced at him and felt that the PD seemed different today than in the past few days, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was different.

Shen Yiheng entered the interview room.

When the fill light came on, he smiled at the camera.

This time, that smile wasn't forced out of muscle memory.

it is true.

The director, sitting opposite, opened the question card and asked the first question: "PD, what can you tell the audience about the preparations for the second performance?"

Shen Yiheng leaned back in his chair, his voice a little lighter than a few days ago: "Preparations for the second public performance are nearing completion, with each group in the final sprint. I can reveal that the stage design this time will be more elaborate than the previous one, and the contestants, under the guidance of their mentors, have presented many surprising breakthroughs."

The director nodded and then asked, "Is there any new progress regarding Mr. He Xu's ear injury? Many viewers online are concerned about it."

Shen Yiheng was silent for a second, then smiled.

The smile was faint, but there was a thin layer of moisture in her eyes, which shone slightly under the fill light.

"Yes," he said. "Professor He Xu's recovery is better than expected. We'll all know the specifics when he's ready to talk about it himself."

He paused, then added, "But I can tell those who care about him—there's no need to worry."

The interviewing director was taken aback, as if he hadn't expected such a clear response. He then looked down at the question card to confirm that there were still three questions left to ask.

Shen Yiheng leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the red light on the camera, the smile on his lips unwavering.

Don't worry.

When he said those words, he felt as if the weight that had been pressing on his chest for five days had finally been lifted.