Chapter Thirty-Three: The Cold Face

In the brightly lit practice room, Li Qin was sweating profusely as she faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror, her movements crisp and sharp, each one landing precisely on the rhythm of the music. Zhao Li, exhausted from dancing, sat against the wall, sipping water in small gulps, while several female trainees nearby huddled together gossiping.

“Have you heard? The company is apparently planning to let go of a batch of trainees soon.”

“Is that for real? Don’t say such things carelessly.”

“It’s true! The boss failed to attract new investment, and the company is short on funds. They’ll definitely have to cut some people to save costs.”

“What? I hope they don’t fire me—I just got here not long ago.”

“You should be fine. I heard they’ll let go of those who’ve been here for years but still haven’t debuted.”

As the girl spoke, she sneaked a glance at Zhao Li. The other girls immediately caught on, exchanging schadenfreude smiles. When the company first planned debut projects for Li Qin and Zhao Li, jealousy had run rampant among them. Yet, after more than half a year, the project remained just a project, and they were still trainees.

Zhao Li drank her water with an expressionless face. She’d heard such rumors far too many times; at first, she’d argue with them, but eventually she came to understand: if you’re not envied, you’re mediocre. Why did they love to spread rumors about her? Simply out of envy that she was chosen for a debut plan, sour grapes, nothing more.

But the rumor about the boss’s failed investment seemed to be true. Someone passing by the boss’s office late at night had heard bottles breaking and crying inside. If it wasn’t because of failed investments, why would Zuo Qiu lose composure so badly?

Just as Zhao Li was lost in thought, her phone vibrated on the floor. She picked it up—there was a message from Ziran, the company’s producer.

“Come to the production department with Li Qin.”

Zhao Li’s eyes lit up. Could there be news about their debut song? She quickly called Li Qin to go check it out.

They entered politely, greeting the teachers in the production department, when unexpectedly they saw Zhou Miao there, making things awkward. Since the incident last time, neither of them had approached Zhou Miao again, and even if they ran into her in the cafeteria, they would lower their heads and pretend not to see.

At this moment, Zhou Miao was huddled with Ziran, exchanging ideas nonstop. Ziran’s eyes shone as he looked at the sheets of music in his hand, his fingers tapping on the desk as he hummed the melody, nodding with admiration.

Seeing them arrive, Ziran glanced at the sheet music in his hand. Such good songs—it would be a pity to let two rookies sing them. He asked Zhou Miao, somewhat torn, “Which one do you plan to give them?”

“Let’s have them audition first, see which suits their voices. If neither fits, we’ll find someone else.”

Upon hearing Ziran’s words, Zhao Li and Li Qin were overjoyed—was Zhou Miao writing songs for them? But Zhou Miao’s next words were like a cold splash of water: if not suitable, someone else would sing.

“Go into the recording studio, both of you, and sing the song you’re best at.”

Ziran thought for a moment and reminded them, “Sing with your heart, show everything you’ve got.”

He’d heard Zhou Miao say before: only those with both skill and character were worthy to sing her songs. At the time, it sounded arrogant, but after seeing her latest compositions, Ziran was thoroughly convinced, deeply impressed.

Though he didn’t know why Zhou Miao suddenly decided to write songs for Zhao Li and Li Qin, he hoped they would seize this rare opportunity.

Inside the recording studio, Zhao Li and Li Qin encouraged each other, cleared their throats, adjusted their state, then sang a song they practiced most often.

With monitoring headphones on, Zhou Miao listened to every nuance of their enunciation and breathing. Judging solely by their voices and tone, their pairing for debut made sense. Zhao Li’s voice carried a gentle, delicate femininity, tinged with a subtle, plaintive timbre; Li Qin’s was more bold and free, with a wider range and greater high-note power. The contrasting styles during their duet created a striking impact, leaving first-time listeners awestruck.

Zhou Miao felt the same, but as she listened, her brows gradually furrowed and her expression grew cold. Ziran, watching Zhou Miao’s face, immediately sensed trouble.

When the song ended, Zhao Li steadied her breath and looked up, only to meet Zhou Miao’s emotionless gaze, her heart skipping a beat. She walked out of the recording studio, scalp tingling, as Zhou Miao took off her headphones and scoffed, “Have you really practiced for two and a half years?”

For a trainee, this was a huge insult. Both girls blushed instantly, hands clenched tightly behind their backs, unable to utter a word in retort.

Zhou Miao shook her head, unwilling to waste more words. Disordered breathing, unstable high notes, off-key—frankly, it was karaoke-level.

Granted, most singers these days have poor vocal skills, but there should be at least some baseline.

Zhou Miao flipped through the sheet music. “Let someone else sing. Ziran, do you know any trainees with good vocal skills? Call them to try.”

Ziran saw the two girls on the verge of tears and softened. He negotiated with Zhou Miao: “How about letting them try your song once? I know them well—they work very hard, always dancing late into the night, though lately their singing has slackened a bit.”

Hearing Ziran speak up for them, hope flickered in their hearts.

Though Zhou Miao’s words earlier had them trembling with anger, even ready to walk away, their desire to debut made them swallow their pride.

“Please give us another chance!”

Zhou Miao hesitated, but finally pulled one sheet from the stack. “I’ll give you two hours to familiarize yourselves.”

The girls felt as if granted amnesty, grabbing the sheet and quickly trying to learn it, while Ziran helped them divide sections and pointed out things to watch for.

Meanwhile, Zhou Miao spent the two hours arranging the instrumentation for the song in MIDI.

“‘Mandarin’?” Zhao Li was stunned when she saw the sheet music. The lyrics sprawled across the page, the rhythm lightning-fast. Eyes wide, she asked, “Is this rap?”

Ziran nodded, “Yes, there’s a lot of rap. The lyrics are tricky—while you don’t need super-fast speed, it’s easy to trip over your tongue.”

Both girls could read music, and after stumbling through a couple of tries, though their singing was a mess, the more they sang, the more they liked it. The song was brilliantly written—if they could debut with it, they’d surely be a hit!

Time ticked by, and their nerves grew taut. The lyrics were like tongue-twisters; Zhao Li felt she was getting worse, almost desperate enough to cry.

Just then, Zhou Miao stepped out to use the restroom. Zhao Li pleaded, “Ziran, if we mess up, please speak up for us!”

Ziran rubbed the back of his head, troubled. “I’ll do my best, but the most important thing is for you to sing well yourselves. Zhou Miao has a psychological obsession with perfection—if you really perform badly, nothing anyone says will help.”

Soon, Zhou Miao returned, glanced at her phone. “Time’s up.”