Her Majesty The Empress Has Made Her Debut In The Center Position [Ancient to Modern] - Chapter 18
Late that night, a forum thread titled “Debut! Girl Initial Center” exploded into a thousand-post hot topic.
[Based on three seasons of watching this show, whether she’s the final center or not, I doubt she’ll even make it to debut…]
[No way! I actually think she’s got a shot. I’ll be voting for her the moment the polls open!]
[Does this mean I was born without the luck to ever get a top-tier idol? I fell head over heels for her in her formula photo, and now you’re telling me she’s the Initial Center…]
[Is there any chance she could rise through shipping? I heard rumors that she has a good relationship with Yu Wangmeng’s daughter. They’re such a perfect match, and they’ve been pushing it hard. If Yu Wangmeng doesn’t object, the production team might even promote it. After shipping for years, can’t I finally get a Royal pairing?]
[I was planning to vote for Ji Zhaozhao if she didn’t screw up and her skills were decent, but now I think I’ll just keep watching. Picking someone who doesn’t debut would just be throwing my vote away.]
[When is the show airing? I can’t wait!]
It blew over the low walls, carrying the damp air from the babbling brook, making the branches sway and sending cherry blossoms fluttering down and drifting across the estate.
The drone sent by the production team wobbled through the wind, capturing serene aerial shots before flying to the Practice Building. It stealthily darted between the windows, trying to catch glimpses of the trainees’ daily lives from this unusual angle.
It flew to Group A of “Moth to a Flame.” The trainees were enthusiastically… uh, playing “Eagle and Chickens”? During the confessional, the trainees explained that they were just trying to give the chickens a taste of what it feels like to be a moth to a flame (the eagle), to better understand the song.
The production team: “……”
Have you considered the chickens’ feelings?! Have you considered the original meaning of the song?!
The drone flew past another window.
This group was rehearsing a love song called “Keeping Quiet.” Instead of practicing, the members were huddled together, whispering about something. To hear better, the drone edged closer to the window.
A girl who looked like the captain murmured, “It’s been quiet for twenty minutes.”
The Center Position’s voice was equally soft: “Ten more minutes.”
The production team: “……”
It’s the love you’ve always kept so quiet! Not the silence you’ve always kept so quiet!
The drone, swaying uncertainly as if unsure of its surroundings, continued forward, bumping into walls several times—some trainees had closed the windows tight because of the wind. Just as it was about to give up and return empty-handed, it spotted a window wide open, practically screaming, “Film me! Film me!”
Reinvigorated, the drone shot up into the air!
As it flew to the window, it saw Ji Zhaozhao, the current hot favorite for the Debut! Girl Initial Center show, sitting at the piano, hesitantly playing a single note. “I don’t really remember how to play anymore,” she said.
“That’s strange,” said another girl in Class A training clothes, her hair in a bun, pointing at a white key. “I saw your résumé—it said you were proficient in piano. You don’t even remember where Middle C is?”
“Middle C?” Ji Zhaozhao pressed a key, and the piano emitted a clear “do.” Her brow furrowed slightly, as if remembering something. Her fingers settled on the keys, and a stream of notes flowed like water, playing their group’s song, “The Puppet Show.”
Silence stretched in the practice room.
Ponytail: “…Were you just being sarcastic? You call that not knowing how to play?”
The corners of Ji Zhaozhao’s lips curved into a faint smile, her dimples barely visible. “It’s been too long since I’ve played. My hands are a bit rusty.” She paused before adding, “Besides, the main instrument in our song is the guzheng. Why are we practicing on a piano?”
“To find the right pitch,” replied the girl with twin ponytails beside Ponytail, her baby-faced cheeks filled with apology. “It’s all my fault. I can’t seem to hit the notes right.”
The production team was pleased. At least someone is actually practicing seriously on this show. Looks like the Captain…
“Who’s out there?!” Before they could finish rejoicing, a sudden shout echoed. Something flew through the air and crashed into the drone’s camera lens, instantly blacking out the screen. The last thing recorded from the practice room was: “This estate really is haunted.”
Who are you calling dirty?
“Oh no!” Song Jiangjiang rushed to the window and leaned out to look down. “Is that the production team’s drone? It even has their logo on it! Yu Cheng, you’re too fast! What did you throw?”
Yu Cheng was currently standing in front of Ji Zhao, shielding her. Hearing the unfamiliar word, her brow furrowed slightly. “Drone?”
“Yeah!” Song Jiangjiang’s face was stiff from the wind as she shakily closed the window. “It’s probably what the production team uses to film wide shots. You’ll have to pay for it if you broke it.”
As long as it wasn’t a hidden weapon.
Yu Cheng relaxed and stepped aside.
As for the compensation—
She said calmly, “I have money.”
Song Jiangjiang: “……”
Already starting to resent the rich!
Shen Xin rested her chin in her hand. “I’m not worried about the compensation. I’m just worried we won’t catch up to Group B. If we lose, the point gap will be huge.”
The first public performance was a team battle. The winning team would get bonus points, which would directly affect the first ranking.
Qiao Yue’s slow nature clashed with the tight training schedule. The pressure weighed heavily on her, making it difficult for her to learn effectively. During today’s vocal lesson, Mentor Jiang Yan had even singled her out, pointing out her persistent pitch problems.
“Just practice more,” Ji Zhao consoled her. “Come to the practice room after dinner, and I’ll help you.”
The original owner, Ji Zhaozhao, had been blessed with extraordinary talent. She could master even the most difficult songs after just two listens, and her piano skills were second nature. When Ji Zhao touched the piano keys, memories flooded back like a tidal wave. She was confident she could teach Qiao Yue well.
But as soon as she spoke, her teammates echoed in unison: “You’re going to teach her?”
Song Jiangjiang spoke with indignation: “We’re a Perfect Pair! I can teach her too!”
Shen Xin sounded surprised: “You still need to practice the theme song dance and record the theme song separately. You barely have any rest time as it is. Can you handle it?”
Zheng Dongqing chimed in, eager to fit in: “…You’re so kind.”
Yu Cheng remained silent, her expression unreadable.
Your Majesty personally tutoring her? I wish Qiao Yue would kneel and thank her.
Qiao Yue avoided Song Jiangjiang’s burning gaze. “…Zhaozhao, I guess.”
Song Jiangjiang’s heart shattered. “We’re doomed to a tragic ‘parting in the vast river under the moon’ ending!”
Ji Zhao asked, “What’s that?”
Song Jiangjiang replied proudly, “Our ship name! I came up with it!”
Shen Xin couldn’t stand it anymore. “…Pairing yourself up is one thing, but couldn’t you at least use a shorter name?”
Song Jiangjiang looked like she was speaking to someone who didn’t understand. “It shows how cultured I am!”
Despite Song Jiangjiang’s heartbreak, Qiao Yue remained steadfast in her choice. After dinner, Ji Zhao didn’t even return to the dormitory, heading straight for the practice room instead.
Qiao Yue had decent musical foundation, though her slow temperament meant she needed patience to learn. Once settled, she picked up quickly.
Sitting at the piano, Ji Zhao repeatedly played the phrase Qiao Yue struggled with, helping her find the pitch. “The jingle bells ring clear… between the curtains… You need to lower your voice on ‘between the curtains.’ Try it again.”
Ji Zhao smiled. “See? You’re singing beautifully.”
Encouraged, Qiao Yue sighed in relief and was about to speak when her gaze suddenly locked onto something. “Yu Cheng?” She waved. “Yu Cheng! What brings you here?”
Ji Zhao glanced toward the door.
Yu Cheng stood there, framed by the early dusk of late spring. The dimly lit practice room held only one lamp, and a sliver of corridor light spilled in from the doorway. With her back to the light, Yu Cheng’s expression was obscured.
Unfazed, Ji Zhao absentmindedly toyed with the piano keys. Amidst the dancing notes, she asked, “Why aren’t you coming in?”
Yu Cheng remained frozen in place.
She wanted to know why she had come, and why she hadn’t stepped inside. From her vantage point, Ji Zhao and Qiao Yue—standing and sitting—exchanged occasional gentle, harmonious glances. The scene stirred inexplicable emotions within her.
These weren’t feelings a subject should have. She tried to suppress them, but they surged back, growing stronger with each attempt.
Yu Cheng seemed to snap out of a daze, abruptly stepping back. The corridor lights lit up as she muttered, “It’s nothing.”
She turned and hurried away.
Ji Zhao’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with her?”
Qiao Yue, who had been silently observing the whole scene, glanced at the doorway, then at Ji Zhao, and cautiously ventured a suggestion: “Yu Cheng… could she be jealous?”
Ji Zhao blinked.
After a long pause, she asked, “What’s jealousy?”
Ji Zhao listened, bewildered. “Can you say that again?”
Qiao Yue’s voice was soft but forceful. “Zhaozhao, trust me. If you go after her now, she’ll be overjoyed. That’s just how friends are—sometimes jealous, but quickly reconciling.”
Go after her?
An emperor chasing after a minister? What kind of protocol was this?
Despite these thoughts, Ji Zhao still stood up. In modern times, there were no emperors or ministers, but Yu Cheng’s sudden departure couldn’t possibly be due to jealousy as Qiao Yue suggested. Something must have happened that Qiao Yue couldn’t hear about, and Ji Zhao needed to get to the bottom of it.
The practice room was on the third floor. Ji Zhao assumed she could easily catch up to Yu Cheng, but she didn’t see her all the way down to the first floor. She stood at the entrance, bewildered.
Could it really be, as Qiao Yue said, that Yu Cheng was jealous and angry with her?
How dare Yu Cheng be jealous?
The unfamiliar voice was carried away by the wind and then gathered again, startling her. By the time the second call came, she understood: “Aaaaaah, Zhaozhao, over here! Look over here!”
Ji Zhao felt even more bewildered.
She spun around in place, finally pinpointing the source of the voices. Outside the estate’s fence, a group of girls in colorful jackets were waving excitedly at her.
“Zhaozhao! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! You’re even prettier in person!”
“So cute, so cute! I want to put you in my pocket and take you home!”
“I’m your fan! I support you! You have to debut!”
Fans?
According to what she and Yu Cheng had learned online, fans were the people who supported their debut. They were the ones who would cheer for them, vote for them, and love them deeply.
As idols, they had to reciprocate this love and never disappoint their fans.
A photo…?
Even after being here for so long, Ji Zhao still instinctively resisted being photographed. But her fans were asking, and as an idol, she should agree.
So she stood still, hesitating for a moment before making a peace sign and flashing her bright, even teeth for the cameras.
Click, click.
Click, click, click.
As the shutter sounds echoed, Ji Zhao thought to herself, Oh no, they’re stealing my soul.
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