Trainee Ch.8

Chapter 8: Initial Evaluation (8)

Just as Liu Qichu had said, the last group delivered an outstanding performance in all aspects.

Someone like Lai Yudong, who doesn’t pay much attention to the entertainment industry, might not recognize them, but for seasoned talent show fans or those who’ve done their homework, at least three of the five members would be familiar. At the very least, most would have heard of Mo Li.

Mo Li had participated in a talent show called “Chasing the Dream: Starlight” three years ago and made his debut in fourth place, securing a top position in the limited-time boy group Fir-Nine, which was set to promote for a year and a half. Within the group, he was positioned as both the only ace and the youngest member.

Unfortunately, despite such a dreamlike and perfect start, the “walk on flowers” that fans hoped for never came.

While the show itself had moderate popularity—not a massive hit, but far from obscure—the company was dead set on following a garbage philosophy of “carefully casting the group, then managing it with their feet.” Fir-Nine ended up being no different from being shelved. Content updates were as rare as a corpse resurrecting, and both the group’s overall popularity and the members’ individual appeal plummeted off a cliff.

Meanwhile, the next season of the talent show on the same platform was already underway, clearly aiming to quickly harvest a new batch of fans.

Fan efforts to defend their idols proved fruitless. Over the course of that year and a half, countless fans gave up and left. When Fir-Nine finally disbanded, it became a kind of cyber séance, trending on social media and stirring up memories of that moving summer—of the once-beloved boy group and its members who were now fading into obscurity.

After the group disbanded, each member pursued their own path. Some switched industries and became actors, some launched national concert tours as solo artists, some returned to complete their studies, and some pivoted to variety shows. Only Mo Li couldn’t let go of his original dream of performing on stage.

But for someone with such low name recognition, singing and dancing is one of the hardest paths—especially with a company that’s completely hands-off.

To prevent his professional skills from deteriorating, Mo Li had no choice but to pay out of pocket for vocal and dance lessons. Fans often joked, with a mix of anger and helplessness, that he had been sold to a sweatshop.

Half a year ago, Mo Li could’ve ridden the wave of nostalgia and joined a talent show on another platform. Even if people criticized him for being a “reheated leftover,” that would’ve been better than wasting a year and a half as a housebound idol with no stage to perform on.

Unfortunately, all the contestants who participated in “Chasing the Dream: Starlight” had signed non-compete agreements, barring them from joining similar talent shows for two years.

By the time the contract expired, the recording for that other show was already nearing its end.

The buzz around the group’s disbandment quickly faded. Fans who once reminisced about that summer would eventually embrace a new one, but Fir-Nine was forever frozen in that distant season.

It wasn’t until this winter that Mo Li signed with a new agency, Sijia Entertainment, and applied to join “Climbing to Stardom.”

Facing the camera, he confidently and candidly declared:

“I had a brief moment in the spotlight at an age when I wasn’t ready. It all came and went so fast, and then I plummeted. I can’t accept that kind of ending. I owe myself an explanation—and I owe the fans one too. That’s why I’m back.”

[Feels like I’m reliving the summer from two years ago… QAQ]

[Please, anything but the Fir-Nine pain knife]

[You vote, I vote, let Mo Li debut again tonight!]

Compared to Mo Li, the other four members of the group weren’t as well-known.

Qu Junwei was a contestant from “Chasing the Dream: Starlight” who narrowly missed debuting.

Yin Zizhen made it to the finals of a rap competition show last year but didn’t win.

Lin Xiao is a rookie launched by his company.

Song Yanxi is a fashion influencer with over a million followers.

Except for Lin Xiao, the rest of the group all carried some level of pre-existing popularity. Judging by the sudden spike in bullet comments when they appeared on stage, it was clear that no other trainees had a stronger initial fanbase. No wonder the production team arranged for them to be the final group to perform.

And after their group performance ended, the announcement of their evaluations instantly ignited the atmosphere:

“Mo Li, Lin Xiao, Qu Junwei — Class A. Yin Zizhen — Class B. Song Yanxi — Class C. Congratulations.”

“Three Class A’s!?”

[Holy crap! Three Class A’s!?]

At that moment, Liu Qichu was completely in sync with the live chat.

[I knew Mo Li would make it to Class A, but I still can’t help sobbing]

[Sijia’s rookie is actually pretty impressive]

[Not gonna lie, Qu Junwei’s improved a lot]

[What a shame—Xiao Yin dances like a dork. Otherwise, he could’ve made Class A too, hahaha]

[The fashion zone is that competitive now? Brother Xi’s that good?]

[Mo Li, Mama misses you so much T T…]

“Since all the Class A seats are filled,” Fu Hanyu paused, then smiled and said the words everyone was waiting for, “we’ll hold a battle to determine who truly deserves to stay in Class A. So—who would you like to challenge?”

Lin Xiao was the first to step forward. He tilted his head slightly and gave a confident smile.

“If you think you’re a top-tier vocal, raise your hand.”

The venue instantly erupted.

Some believed in the strength of familiar faces. Some just wanted to stir the pot. Others were simply there for the entertainment. One after another, people shouted out the names of their picks.

“Zhao Yifeng, come on, get up there!”

“He’s raising his hand already!”

“Raise your hand, Cheng Jinghao! What are you standing there for!?”

“Bro, they’re asking for a top vocal. What am I going up there for?”

“Jin Xiheng!”

“Don’t drag me into this! I’m the main dancer!”

Lin Xiao quickly scanned the faces of everyone who had raised their hands. His gaze finally landed on a black-haired boy who had his head lowered, pretending to be invisible.

“Senior Xu An, aren’t you going to raise your hand?”

The sharp and provocative remark made quite a few people exclaim in surprise.

“This… this is way too direct,” Liu Qichu said, stunned.

Lai Yudong looked up toward the back of the room. Knowing Xu An’s shy and introverted personality, he was worried that the boy who had proactively approached him before might not be able to handle the current tension-filled atmosphere.

And sure enough, Xu An looked down at Lin Xiao with a dazed expression, like a student suddenly called on by a teacher. Caught off guard and now the center of attention, he shifted uncomfortably under the scorching spotlight. For a moment, he didn’t know whether he should raise his hand in response.

[Poor kid, Xu An didn’t raise his hand for your sake…]

[Lin Xiao’s gunning for the strongest]

[If it were someone more easygoing it might be fine, but for someone like Xu An, this is just awkward]

[Are you talking about Liu Qichu? Lmao]

[Would it kill you to let Xu An sing one more song? This poor kid always shrinks into the background if no one calls on him. Everyone say thank you, Lin Xiao!]

[Thank you, Lin Xiao!]

The microphone was passed down the rows, eventually reaching Zhang Mingche from Class B, who turned to hand it backward.

Under everyone’s watchful eyes, the mic stalled awkwardly in mid-air.

Xu An stared hesitantly at the “hot potato” in front of him. As the winner of “Hear My Voice”, who had fought his way to the finals, he had witnessed—and endured—plenty of eliminations and close calls. But he had never enjoyed fighting for the spotlight, especially not in such a confrontational environment.

That was why he hadn’t raised his hand earlier.

And yet, Lin Xiao had called him out.

Like a duck being pushed onto a perch, Xu An was forced to face a dilemma with only two options. It was already an awkward enough situation on its own, and yet he wasn’t even given time to think. The production team’s move to have the other contestants pass the mic helped stoke the flames, cutting off his escape route—and also blocking the path for any of the other Class A trainees who had raised their hands.

It was as if he had become the only valid answer to this battle.

—So… did that mean he had no choice but to accept?

Just as Xu An was caught in this impossible situation, a black-haired boy sitting beside him, wearing small braids, leaned over. He casually lowered the hand he had raised earlier and took the microphone on Xu An’s behalf.

“How about considering me instead?”

The boy was Zhao Yifeng, one of the Class A trainees who had raised their hands—also a well-known cover singer on a short video platform.

Zhao Yifeng had covered many hit songs, with each cover garnering millions of views. Although he himself had no personal scandals, a few of his covers had gone viral—some even outshining the original versions—and ended up bringing more attention to the original songs. Despite multiple public statements where he urged his fans to stay rational and respectful, fan wars between his supporters and those of the original singers still dragged him into the fray, damaging his once-positive public image.

His “internet singer” label also burdened him with stereotypes like: bad live performance, auto-tune reliant, or only good in the recording studio.

So even though many people had been calling out Zhao Yifeng’s name earlier, it was unclear how many truly saw him as a top-tier vocal—and how many were just joking or waiting for him to embarrass himself.

“So many people want to battle you—why insist on picking someone who doesn’t want to? A melon that’s forcefully twisted off won’t taste sweet.”

Zhao Yifeng’s eyes curved into a smile, his voice lazy and relaxed, like a cat basking in the afternoon sun.

“Besides, a good battle needs to be evenly matched to be exciting. What’s the fun in going straight for the top-tier vocalist?”

His words instantly shifted the momentum, forcibly redirecting all attention onto himself.

[Zhao Yifeng is so bold]

[As long as you say Xu An is the top vocalist, we’re besties!]

[True, picking Xu An is kind of boring—there’s no suspense at all]

[Is Zhao Yifeng just trying to steal the spotlight?]

[Why’s he snatching Xu An’s mic?]

[Speechless. What does this have to do with him?]

[Ask Lin Xiao—he’s the one who called Xu An out]

[That’s how cover artists are]

[Xu An: “It was clearly a movie for three, but I never even got a name.mp3”]

“What? What’s going on?” Liu Qichu looked completely confused as the showdown evolved from a two-person standoff to a three-way clash. “So is it Zhao Yifeng vs. Lin Xiao now?”

Lai Yudong didn’t respond. He simply watched the stream of comments flash by on the screen.

Among the trainees, Zhao Yifeng was one of the few he was relatively familiar with—even more so than Jiang Yangfan. He had heard many of Zhao’s covers, but never seen any of Jiang’s web dramas.

As for public opinions about Zhao Yifeng, Lai Yudong had come across quite a few in the comment sections of short video platforms. As someone who had never even followed Zhao Yifeng’s account and just listened passively through algorithm-recommended videos, the fan fights baffled him.

He thought: If you like a version, just listen to it. Why argue over who’s better and attack each other? It felt completely unnecessary.

But what really shocked him was seeing those same kinds of arguments pop up in the live bullet comments.

Lai Yudong was stunned. Even his own first performance hadn’t gotten flamed—at worst, people just used it as meme material for a laugh.

…Well, maybe it was because the insults aimed at him were just too harsh.

After all, the system had said before: turning on “green mode” didn’t mean all negative comments would be filtered out.

“How about picking me?” Zhao Yifeng casually twirled the mic in his hand. His laid-back tone showed little real eagerness for a battle.

“I shouldn’t be that bad, right?”

Now, a Xu An-style dilemma was placed before Lin Xiao.

If Zhao Yifeng hadn’t already had the mic, the production crew probably would’ve had to pass it to him like a game of hot potato again.

At this point, Lin Xiao had no choice but to give in with clear reluctance.

“I’ll choose Zhao Yifeng.”

“Been waiting for you to say that.” Zhao Yifeng stood up cheerfully. He gave Xu An a casual pat on the shoulder, then headed down the steps toward the stage.

[Aaaaaah no way!? He actually picked Zhao Yifeng???]

[Poor Xu An didn’t even get to say a word… are they just using him like a soccer ball?]

[Be optimistic—it’s free screen time at least]

[If Lin Xiao hadn’t said that strange line, he probably would’ve picked Zhao Yifeng from the start]

[I don’t like Zhao Yifeng, but his vocals are solid. If Lin Xiao wants to stay in Class A, he should’ve picked Cheng Jinghao]

[Teacher Zhao does have skills, tbf]

“Would this count as stealing the spotlight?” Liu Qichu muttered.

Lai Yudong let out a quiet sigh and, for once, abandoned his usual cautious silence.

“He wanted to help.”

According to the rules, if Lin Xiao had insisted on choosing Xu An, Xu An wouldn’t have been allowed to refuse. If Zhao Yifeng hadn’t stepped in, it would’ve been Xu An going up to battle.

Known among his friends as the resident “emotional radio host,” Lai Yudong had a keen eye for people’s feelings. He could instantly tell what Zhao Yifeng was trying to do beneath that mask of indifference. Most likely, Zhao Yifeng had put himself in Xu An’s shoes and acted to save him from a deeply uncomfortable situation.

The only problem was…

The way he went about it was just too distinctive—and might only make his already lukewarm public image even worse.

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