Chapter 6: Initial Evaluation (6)
Led by Jiang Yangfan, the trio—often teased as the “web drama group” due to their long-time experience grinding in various drama sets—were all solid in their professional skills, polished and cohesive like a team that had been honed for years.
With strength like that, debuting on the spot wouldn’t be too much.
Their song choice leaned towards Hip-Hop, with a wide dance structure, uniform choreography, and movements so precise they looked like they were measured with a ruler. Among them, Jiang Yangfan’s superior dance skills were clearly noticeable.
Vocally, the three had comparable singing abilities. There weren’t any standout highlights, but no glaring weaknesses either—they aimed for consistency. Their live performance with open mics was steady and smooth, without any audible heavy breathing.
Don’t be fooled by how short a song is—singing and dancing is way more exhausting than most people imagine.
As a form of aerobic exercise, singing while dancing is like singing while riding a bike or shouting commands during military drills while running. It requires stamina, lung capacity, and breath control—all at once. And Hip-Hop, by nature, is intense. Large, dynamic movements easily throw off vocal stability.
The only solution is professional training.
Balancing rigorous training on top of acting jobs is exhausting. To perform at this level, they must’ve put in a huge amount of effort—otherwise, they’d end up pleasing neither side.
Lai Yudong grew increasingly anxious.
Resting his chin in his hand, he watched Jiang Yangfan cleanly land a backflip on stage and thought—‘Am I seriously going to have to compete against someone at this level for a spot in the final group…’
“WAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”
…?
Lai Yudong glanced helplessly at Liu Qichu, who had suddenly leapt up and screamed. Even though many people were already cheering for Jiang Yangfan, he was by far the loudest.
“That was amazing!” Liu Qichu gushed excitedly, complimenting him several times in a row. “That backflip landed right on the beat—so satisfying! I didn’t expect Jiang Yangfan to not only be good at acting but also such a strong dancer!”
“……” Lai Yudong smiled and clapped politely.
Come on, don’t expect any meaningful feedback from an overseas contestant, alright?
[Yuki: I’m just silently watching you lose your mind.jpg]
[My volume buttons have fought for Liu Qichu’s life]
With no equally enthusiastic response from those around him, Liu Qichu glanced at Lai Yudong beside him, who was quietly and obediently clapping, then looked at the back of Liang Zhisheng’s head in front of him. A realization hit him—belatedly—and he quickly sat back down in a more composed manner.
He awkwardly covered his mouth with a fist, pretending to cough. “Ahem, what I meant was… that backflip was really cool… Did I get too excited again?”
Lai Yudong: “It’s fine.”
At least he was getting used to it and wasn’t startled anymore.
He gets it—every group needs someone to hype the crowd.
As expected, the three trainees from the web drama group were asked by the mentors to do individual evaluations.
Standing at center position, Jiang Yangfan volunteered to go first. His dance solo was incredibly impressive. Even though he didn’t rely on flashy, high-difficulty moves like backflips to wow the audience, even someone like Lai Yudong, who wasn’t trained in dance, could tell he was exceptionally skilled.
In comparison, Zhang Mingche’s dance evaluation fell short. He missed several beats, couldn’t gradually find his rhythm like Xu An had, and the slip-ups only made him more flustered. The latter half of his performance grew increasingly chaotic, and he didn’t even get a second chance to retry.
Only one person on stage had yet to do their evaluation.
“Is Yu Yizhen doing a dance solo too?” Liu Qichu craned his neck curiously, almost lifting off his seat.
“I doubt it. Probably vocals,” Liang Zhisheng said, tilting his head slightly, clearly uncomfortable with someone talking so close to his ear. “If this whole group were dance-focused, the choreography difficulty would be even higher.”
“Even higher!?” Liu Qichu echoed Lai Yudong’s inner thought with genuine surprise.
“Jiang Yangfan’s solo was technically difficult; the others were just dancing in sync,” Liang Zhisheng said with a smile. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, you can achieve the same result.”
Liu Qichu mumbled, “It’s not like I haven’t practiced before…”
“I’m not lying.”
“I know, I know, of course dancing takes practice, but it’s not as easy as you make it sound,” Liu Qichu said, his face scrunched up. “I’m just not cut out for dancing. People with talent can get twice the result with half the effort, but no matter how hard I work, it’s the opposite for me—half the result with twice the effort. Otherwise, why would I be in Class F?”
Lai Yudong glanced at him, a bit surprised. He’d thought Liu Qichu genuinely didn’t care about the class rankings, given how carefree he acted.
“But Class F isn’t so bad!” Liu Qichu suddenly brightened, flashing a wide grin. “Starting from the bottom makes it easier to show improvement—and easier for people to notice that improvement! At my level, even a bit of progress will get praised like crazy!”
Liang Zhisheng: “…You’re really optimistic.”
Lai Yudong silently nodded in agreement.
Just as Liang Zhisheng had guessed, Yu Yizhen’s individual evaluation wasn’t a dance performance—but it also wasn’t vocals, as they’d expected.
“I’ll be performing an original rap, a piece I wrote specifically for this competition. It’s called ‘Dream’,” Yu Yizhen said calmly into the microphone, showing no trace of nervousness in his dark eyes.
[Whoa! Finally, another rap!]
[Not a second more do I want to hear idols rapping. The gap between them and real rappers is massive.]
[Chu Tianyi’s not bad though.]
[Chu Tianyi? Are you serious? He’s just coasting on melodic rap—pure shortcut.]
[Yu Yizhen’s dancing is amazing, so his rap should be decent too, right? Any smart person would play to their strengths.]
[Li Ke: Whatever. I’ll strike when the time comes.]
Few could compose, even fewer could rap, and original rap works were rarer still—but that didn’t mean this was an easy shortcut to success.
As a music style that has only gained popularity domestically in recent years, rap still faces low acceptance among the general public. Even highly skilled professional rappers often get mocked as just “shouting into a mic,” “chanting scriptures,” or doing “dramatic poetry readings”—let alone idol-level rap.
And beyond audience perception, there was also a hell-mode difficulty boss sitting right there among the mentors: rising-generation rapper Li Ke.
Despite his young age—he was even younger than some of the contestants—Li Ke had already made a name for himself in the rap scene by the time he was sixteen. His level of professionalism was beyond question.
He didn’t just have high standards for the contestants’ rap performances; he also upheld the rap world’s “keep it real” philosophy, and his critique style was brutally honest, with no regard for tact or softening his words.
Put simply: he had a sharp tongue.
“Terrible texture in your voice, enunciation unclear—sounds like you’re chanting scriptures.”
“Did you write your lyrics using a rhyming generator? No logic at all, just rhyming for rhyming’s sake.”
“Your rhythm is completely off. Your rap and the beat are like a mismatched couple pretending to get along.”
“Melodic rap—clever move, but this one’s too by-the-book. Borderline passing.”
“You need more work on your tone and flow. Don’t be so stiff. Even a news broadcast at 4x speed sounds more like rap than what you just did.”
…
These are just a few excerpts from Li Ke’s feedback. Very few contestants ever managed to get a positive review from him.
Even Lai Yudong—who didn’t understand a single rap-related technical term and lived in a metaphorical desert of hip-hop knowledge—could feel the destructive power behind every sentence. The trainees who received such critiques looked utterly defeated, their faces drained of all will to live.
He couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved—thank goodness the system didn’t assign him a rap evaluation.
But he vaguely remembered that Li Ke’s comments about him weren’t exactly kind either…
Well, whatever. Not important.
He probably deserved it.
Lai Yudong watched Yu Yizhen on stage with full concentration, his heartbeat unconsciously quickening. He had always been someone who easily empathized with others—as if it were he himself standing there under the pressure and scrutiny.
The moment Fu Hanyu gave the signal to begin, the entire studio fell into sudden silence. In that pin-drop quiet, a hypnotic and eerie beat rang out. It was classic trap style—instantly recognizable, with a heavy and powerful 808 bass that almost synced with the rhythm of one’s heartbeat.
As soon as the vocals kicked in, Li Ke’s eyes lit up. His body leaned slightly forward, completely abandoning his previously slouched, indifferent posture.
Yu Yizhen’s voice was not only striking but also uniquely his own. The moment he opened his mouth, it left a strong and lasting impression on the listeners. That kind of naturally gifted voice—something so many rappers could only dream of, even after working twice as hard—was simply a blessing from the heavens.
Beyond just talent, his tone was spot on. One could tell just by listening—this was the real deal, not some half-hearted “campus rap” performance meant just for fun.
His flow was smooth, like a fish gliding effortlessly through water. It perfectly complemented the fluid, intoxicated quality of the track. The hi-hats, snares, and 808 bass combined to create dynamic rhythmic shifts that built the energy layer by layer—until it all burst at the climax like a firework exploding into full brilliance.
And his stage presence? Absolutely the cherry on top. That confident, commanding aura caught and amplified the power of his music, lighting the stage on fire.
[Insane insane insane!]
[Rap really is the best plastic surgery for men / lights cigarette]
[I don’t get it, but judging by Li Ke’s face, this must be amazing]
[I don’t even listen to rap and I was totally hyped]
When the song ended, the studio erupted into thunderous applause. Every contestant stood up to give Yu Yizhen a standing ovation for his phenomenal performance.
Absolutely exhilarating!
The web drama group’s performance completely shattered Lai Yudong’s previous ideas of what an idol boy group could be—especially Yu Yizhen. Among the three, he had seemed like just an average-looking guy who danced well. But the moment the beat dropped, he transformed. All the spotlight converged on him, and he shone like the brightest star in the night sky.
In that moment, Lai Yudong could faintly understand the burning desire to debut as part of a group. Surrounded by wave after wave of cheers, the atmosphere wrapped around him, and he couldn’t help but feel fired up—no longer content with being just another audience member shouting encouragement from the sidelines.
But he wasn’t that easily swept away. He’d already tried performing earlier, and compared to what he’d just seen, the difference was like night and day.
“That was amazing!!” Naturally, the loudest reaction came from Liu Qichu. The kid looked like someone who’d never seen the world before, bouncing around in pure excitement. “Yu Yizhen has to be in the final group!”
Lai Yudong winced from the piercing tenor practically splitting his eardrum and muttered, “You really need to buy yourself an audience ticket…”
[Agreed HAHAHAHA]
[Yuzu, my voice on the internet!]
Lai Yudong: …
Great. Did the camera just cut to him again?
Sure enough—it was better to be careful with what he said.
“That was pretty good,” Li Ke said with a rare satisfied smile. For once, he didn’t say anything outrageous. “Your tone was clean, your enunciation really stood out. That fast-paced section in the middle—every word was crystal clear. I didn’t even need the lyrics to know what you were saying. The writing was a bit weak, but not a big deal—trap is all about sound. One sentence: I really enjoyed listening to it.”
Yu Yizhen bowed. “Thank you, Teacher Li Ke.”
Li Ke flipped through his contestant profile. “Did you produce the beat yourself too?”
“Yes,” Yu Yizhen replied.
“That’s impressive,” Li Ke teased. “Honestly, I’m starting to think you’re on the wrong show. Ever considered joining a rap competition instead?”
Yu Yizhen scratched his cheek, a little embarrassed. “I was filming on set and missed the registration window.”
Li Ke: “…You’re surprisingly honest.”
After a brief discussion, Fu Hanyu announced the final evaluations:
“Jiang Yangfan, Class B. Zhang Mingche, Class B. Yu Yizhen, Class A. Congratulations. Please proceed to your designated class areas.”
[Jiang Yangfan only made it to Class B?]
[His vocals aren’t as good as Zhao Yifeng’s, his dancing isn’t as sharp as Jin Xiheng’s, and he’s not as visually striking as Qu Xincheng. Overall, he just doesn’t stand out.]
[Is it really fair to compare him to those three? He’s a working actor, not a full-time trainee.]
[Be glad they didn’t compare him to Xu An.]
The three of them walked up the steps toward the top rows. As they passed the Class B area, Yu Yizhen had to part ways with the other two. Being the only one in their team to make it into Class A, his expression looked more like he was the only one who didn’t make it.
Jiang Yangfan joked, “Hold your ground. Don’t let me climb up there only to find you’re no longer in Class A.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Zhang Mingche said as he opened his arms and pulled Yu Yizhen into a solid, supportive hug. “You did great.”
Yu Yizhen took a deep breath, and with a solemn tone said, “I’ll be waiting for you both in Class A.”
Jiang Yangfan smiled. “Alright.”
Zhang Mingche didn’t give a straight answer, but with a soft push on Yu Yizhen’s back, he said, “Go on. Head to Class A.”