Her Majesty The Empress Has Made Her Debut In The Center Position [Ancient to Modern] - Chapter 33.2

The staff member pushed the door open and entered, followed by a cameraman. “The fan vote for our spin-off show, Dorm Secrets Revealed, has selected you and Yu Cheng to be the VJs.”

The letters “V” and “J” felt a little awkward to say. Ji Zhao hesitated. “V… J?”

“Right, right.” The staff member handed her the VJ name tag and hand card. “It’s not hard. You and Yu Cheng just need to walk around the dorm, interview the trainees, film the surroundings, and find some interesting stories.”

She glanced toward the bathroom. “Is Yu Cheng taking a shower?”

Ji Zhao nodded.

She looked down at the hand card. It was just a formality, with a cute font that read, “Good luck, VJs!” After staring at it for a moment, she said, “I understand.”

The microphone had a long handle. Ji Zhao had seen reporters use them on the news and found it novel. She turned it on. “Yu Cheng?”

The sound was loud but not harsh.

After Yu Cheng finished showering and they both changed into comfortable clothes, they officially began filming Dorm Secrets Revealed. Still a bit dazed, Yu Cheng held the long microphone as Your Majesty stood beside her, speaking animatedly: “… And now, please follow me and Yu Cheng as we delve into the private lives of the trainees. Follow me.”

Yu Cheng thought the voice sounded familiar. It wasn’t until she saw Your Majesty knock on the door of neighboring Dorm 311 that she realized it was the reporter’s voice she and Your Majesty had heard during the news broadcast.

She chuckled. Your Majesty’s memory is truly impressive.

“What’s so funny?” Song Jiangjiang’s voice came from the upper bunk. “Hey, VJ on duty, can you focus? Look at the camera or the person you’re interviewing instead of grinning at another VJ?”

Yu Cheng: “……”

She shot Song Jiangjiang a frosty glare.

Song Jiangjiang immediately flopped back onto her bed, mid-reach for the microphone. “Since you’re stuck in the upper bunk, I can’t even see your face. How am I supposed to interview you?”

Song Jiangjiang refused to budge. “Don’t you VJs have contingency plans?”

“I do,” Ji Zhao replied, turning to Song Jiangjiang’s roommate. “What are you doing?”

Song Jiangjiang’s roommate, Ying Tian, had been demoted to Class B during the reevaluation. According to production team rules, she was supposed to move out of the Class A dormitory. However, since few new students had been promoted to Class A, there was an empty dorm available. Like Chen Xingzi, Ying Tian had been too lazy to move and was still living here.

Ying Tian was struggling with her math homework. “There’s still so much left! It’s really, really hard!”

Her unspoken message was clear: I’d love to be interviewed, but I’m just too busy. Please find someone else!

Ji Zhao sighed regretfully. “Well, we won’t disturb Ying Tian’s studies then.”

She turned to Zhou Yuting, who had just finished showering. “Yuting, what are you doing?”

Zhou Yuting gazed out the window. “Waiting for the rain to stop.”

She chuckled. “Just kidding.”

Standing up, she said, “Let me show you our dorm!”

Though they’d only moved in a little over half a month ago, Dorm 311 was already cozy and tidy. A thin, hemp rope hung by the window, adorned with colorful clips holding Polaroid photos.

Ji Zhao gestured for the camera to capture the scene. As she passed Song Jiangjiang, she tiptoed and patted her bed. “See you later.”

Yu Cheng tapped the bed frame. “Don’t forget your clothes.”

Song Jiangjiang: “……”

Just lying around.

It was now the trainees’ designated rest time. Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng continued their interviews, moving from dorm to dorm.

Some were gathered around a table playing cards, their faces covered in paper strips. When they turned to face the camera, they startled the cameraman. They enthusiastically invited Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng to join, and even after being politely declined, they lingered, saying, “I can teach you if you don’t know how! I love beginners, hehe!”

Others had borrowed a computer from the Staff Manager to watch horror movies in their dorm room, which was completely dark. Eerie music echoed from all directions. When Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng entered, it was deathly quiet. During the scariest moment, Ji Zhao whispered, “What are you doing?”

Screams pierced the dorm ceiling, and chaos erupted. The cameraman risked everything to protect the camera from the startled trainees.

Ji Zhao steadied the camera. “That was unexpected! Next dorm!”

The scene shifted.

In the next dorm, the atmosphere was peaceful. With one roommate having been eliminated, only two trainees remained. They had more space and were meditating on yoga mats, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood. “Want to join us?” they asked.

Half an hour later, Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng sat cross-legged on the mats, purifying their minds. If there had been more space, the cameraman would have joined them too.

Thankfully, the camera operator didn’t sit down; otherwise, the interview would have been over.

Ji Zhao and Yu Cheng, new to being VJs, diligently completed their first full day of filming. They even rushed to the practice room to interview trainees still rehearsing, finishing just before midnight.

They slept soundly that night.

The next day, the rain stopped, but the sky remained overcast and misty. Sunlight peeked through gaps in the clouds, gilding their edges and bathing the entire estate in a soft, hazy light.

As the performance date approached, each group’s training schedule grew increasingly intense. Mentors visited the estate to teach one lesson per group, and by the time the day’s classes finished, night had fallen.

At 8 PM, the first performance officially went live.

Simultaneously, the voting channel reopened.

The trainees, however, had no time to check the results. They spontaneously extended their rehearsals deep into the night, not returning to their dorms until after midnight, too exhausted even to borrow a staff manager’s phone to glance at the feedback. They simply collapsed into bed.

Online, viewers erupted in fervent discussion. Amid the high buzz, the most popular trainees saw their Weibo followers skyrocket. According to statistics, the six members of Group A from “The Puppet Show” averaged a gain of 100,000 followers each.

Even Zheng Dongqing had surged from the bottom to the top 20!

When the Assistant Director gleefully announced this good news to the high-popularity trainees, he was so delighted that even his acne popped out.

Song Jiangjiang yawned and raised her hand. “Excuse me, Director, what does this mean for us right now?”

“Ah?” the Assistant Director replied, confused.

Shen Xin rubbed her temples. “If there’s no benefit, why did you wake us all up for this?”

Qiao Yue leaned against Song Jiangjiang. “I’m sleepy.”

The Assistant Director: “……”

His standing among the trainees was slipping further! Where had he gone wrong?

Ji Zhao yawned too. She hadn’t slept well last night; the horror movie she’d watched earlier must have gotten into her head. She’d spent half the night fighting zombies in nightmares, and when she woke up, she felt more exhausted than before.

Leaning forward on the table, Ji Zhaozhao spoke calmly, “Take your time. I’m going back to sleep.”

The trainees followed, all leaning forward on the table.

Right! The assistant director was just spouting nonsense anyway. None of this would make it into the final cut. They might as well use this chance to catch a few more z’s. Perfect!

Everyone’s admiration for Ji Zhaozhao deepened by at least a hundred layers.

The assistant director: “……”

He knew exactly what the problem was.

Fuming with anger, he glared around the room. When he saw someone still sitting upright, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. “Yu Cheng, you want to listen to me?”

Yu Cheng glanced at Ji Zhao, who was sleeping peacefully. “I’m worried you’ll take advantage of Her Majesty while she’s asleep and harm her.”

The assistant director: “?”

Ji Zhao woke up just in time. “She’s joking.”

Her fingers curled into a fist on the table. “Just spit it out already. Stop beating around the bush.”

The assistant director abandoned any pretense of maintaining a program atmosphere and got straight to the point. “Here’s the thing: your fan count has already surpassed 200,000, so the production team wants you to prepare a special gift for your 200,000 fans.”

“A fan gift?” Ji Zhao was familiar with the term. Fans had been asking for “fan gifts” in the comments on her recent promotional Weibo post. But she asked, “What kind of fan gift?”

“Singing, dancing, or showcasing a talent—anything goes,” the assistant director said. “Oh, and Jiangjiang, your fans want to see you perform a frog jump while rapping.”

Song Jiangjiang: “……”

They’re really not letting this go, are they?!

After the assistant director left, the group lingered, discussing what kind of fan gift to prepare. Ji Zhao turned to Yu Cheng and asked, “What talent do you want to showcase?”

Yu Cheng pondered. “My fans want to see my Lightness Skill. They say they’ll even watch it if it’s wire-assisted, as long as the wires are digitally removed to show off the trick. So, I’ll give them that.”

Ji Zhao nodded.

Yu Cheng didn’t have many talents. During her time as the Emperor, her main duty had been to approve memorials. She couldn’t exactly perform a live memorial approval for her fans, could she? Her mind raced, and suddenly she exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”

Yu Cheng asked, “What is it?”

“I can perform ‘What Should I Do?’ for my fans,” Ji Zhao said.

Yu Cheng was taken aback.

Ji Zhao gave her a meaningful look. “Isn’t that the kind of song you thought I’d choose?”

Yu Cheng’s eyes flickered. “…Yes.”

“Teach me,” Ji Zhao said. “We don’t need to learn too much—just up to the end of the chorus. If this song is too sweet, I might need to borrow a cuter outfit from the wardrobe department.”

She let out a soft hiss. “Won’t performing such a cute song damage my dignity?”

After rambling on for a while without hearing Yu Cheng’s response, she frowned slightly and hummed, then turned to look at Yu Cheng. She saw Yu Cheng staring at her blankly. Ji Zhao waved a hand in front of Yu Cheng’s face. “What are you thinking about?”

Yu Cheng snapped out of her daze. “Ah… I was just thinking…”

“What about?” Ji Zhao asked.

“Whether our fans will think we’re showing off our affection,” Yu Cheng replied.

Ji Zhao: “……”

What a unique perspective. That’s worth pondering.

With the public performance scheduled for Saturday, Yu Cheng had to squeeze in time to record a fan-exclusive video.

She chose a bright, sunny afternoon. Ji Zhao handled the filming as Yu Cheng demonstrated her Walking on Water Lightness Skill on the estate’s lake. The production team later edited the footage, adding a dramatic swordplay soundtrack. When the video was posted on Yu Cheng’s Weibo account, it quickly went viral.

Major media outlets re-posted the short video on various platforms, each garnering over 100,000 likes and comments.

Yu Wangmeng, Yu Cheng’s father, remained clueless about when his daughter had awakened her meridians. Their relationship had grown increasingly strained, but he attributed it to her rebellious phase. During an interview, he spent ten seconds praising Yu Cheng before devoting the remaining nine minutes and fifty seconds to expounding on his educational philosophy to the public.

Meanwhile, Su Jing, who was abroad on tour, was also interviewed after her performance. She casually mentioned having returned home two days prior to visit her daughter and encouraged fans to vote for Yu Cheng if they had the chance. For those unfamiliar with the voting process, she directed them to her Weibo account, where she had previously posted a tutorial video on how to vote.

One family, two parents—their differences were starkly evident.

Yu Wangmeng became the target of a round of online ridicule, but let’s put that aside for now.

Ji Zhao’s 200,000-yuan bonus wasn’t so straightforward. Although it only required her to learn a dance, the “What Should I Do?” dance looked simple but was actually full of intricate movements. She couldn’t simply copy Yu Cheng’s group’s dance either. In her spare time, she had to listen to the song and think of new moves.

This gave Ji Zhao a massive headache. Before bed, she climbed onto Yu Cheng’s bed and murmured, “What should I do?”

Yu Cheng found her adorable.

Though such a thought was utterly unbecoming of royal dignity, she truly found Your Majesty adorable. Here, Your Majesty wasn’t particularly tall, just a small figure. Standing on a stool and clutching the railing, her tiny brows were slightly furrowed, looking genuinely troubled.

“What are you thinking about?” Ji Zhao patted Yu Cheng’s quilt, her hand landing squarely on her calf. “I’ve noticed you’ve been absent-minded lately. What’s on your mind all the time?”

Yu Cheng shook her head and lifted the quilt. “I’ll teach Your Majesty.”

Ji Zhao glanced at the time. “Now?”

“Your Majesty can’t sleep, can you?” Yu Cheng replied.

Shen Yican and Chen Xingzi had recently become obsessed with playing cards in the neighboring dormitory to relax. The phrase “one last game, really the last one!” echoed from next door, yet the gathering still hadn’t dispersed.

With only the two of them in the dormitory, Ji Zhao, worried about the welfare matter, tossed and turned on the lower bunk. Thinking that even the Emperor’s subjects couldn’t have it easy, she climbed up to “bother” Yu Cheng.

Yu Cheng leaped from the upper bunk, landing lightly on the floor. “Let’s go.”

Ji Zhao remained on the ladder. “…You’re making this very awkward for me.”

Yu Cheng pursed her lips, pondered for a moment, and extended her hand. “Your Majesty, jump down. I’ll catch you.”

Ji Zhao, conscious of her status, refused to be caught in Yu Cheng’s arms. Adjusting her collar, she stepped down the ladder one rung at a time. She lifted her chin. “To the practice room.”

Yu Cheng asked, “Won’t you change your clothes?”

“I’ll just be dancing for a bit before going back to sleep. Changing back and forth is too much trouble,” Ji Zhao replied.

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