Her Majesty The Empress Has Made Her Debut In The Center Position [Ancient to Modern] - Chapter 4

After Ji Zhao finished playing “White Snow,” the entire studio fell into a brief, deathly silence.

Song Jiangjiang was the first to clap, shouting, “That was beautiful!”

The audience snapped out of their trance and began clapping. The instructors seated in a row whispered among themselves, their hushed conversations muffled by their microphones. Only when the trainees gradually quieted down could a few snippets of their murmurs be heard.

Cheng Feiwan smoothly guided the proceedings. “Teacher Ruan, what are your thoughts?”

Ruan Qing, though past fifty, showed no signs of aging. Her face exuded a serene composure and cool elegance, befitting a music industry legend. Though she had retreated to the background in recent years, her influence remained unshaken.

Ruan Qing picked up her microphone and turned to address the trainees. “I’d like to ask everyone: Did anyone recognize the piece Ji Zhaozhao just played?”

“It was ‘White Snow,'” Yu Cheng answered.

Ruan Qing nodded. “And did you truly find it beautiful?”

Song Jiangjiang, now a devoted fan of Ji Zhaozhao, nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! I could never play like that. The way Ji Zhaozhao’s fingers danced across the strings—it was… it was incredible!”

“Really? I thought it was just okay,” the short-haired girl said, crossing her arms. “Teacher, I think Ji Zhaozhao’s performance had technique but no emotion. It wasn’t a good performance.”

Her criticism was so obvious that Ji Zhao finally gave her a second look.

Her name tag read: Tong Wei, Class A

After Tong Wei spoke, the trainees began whispering among themselves again.

“I feel the same way too. Hahaha, maybe she just isn’t talented. I can’t even hear the beauty in it.”

“The technique was solid, but when you really think about it, it was just so-so.”

“She played it, but not completely. It was an invalid performance.”

“This trainee has a point,” Ruan Qing said, turning around.
Encouraged by the approval, Tong Wei stood taller, looking down her nose at Ji Zhaozhao with disdain. Who does this Ji Zhaozhao think she is? Not only has she bewitched Yu Cheng into being utterly infatuated, but she also dares to aspire to be in Class A with me? Dream on!

Ruan Qing looked at Ji Zhao and explained, “You may not realize this, but ‘Yangchun’ and ‘White Snow’ are two of the ten great guqin pieces, originating from the story of ‘Song Yu’s Reply to the King of Chu’ in the Chu Ci.”

“Wow! That’s such an ancient origin!” Cheng Feiwan chimed in with a laugh.

The King of Chu once asked Song Yu why his talents weren’t recognized by the people. Song Yu replied, “The higher the song, the fewer who can harmonize with it.” Yangchun Baixue—songs like “Yangchun” and “White Snow”—the more refined, complex, and artistic they are, the fewer people there are who can sing along. That’s what it means to be “a song too high for harmony.”

“So, if Weiwei thinks it sounds bad…” Pei Jia began, “and I say I think it sounds good, does that mean I have really good taste?”

Tong Wei’s face flushed with anger at these words.

What was Pei Jia trying to imply? That Tong Wei had bad taste and couldn’t appreciate good music? And why was she calling her “Weiwei” as if they were close friends?!

Ruan Qing smiled. “Music is meant to be enjoyed. While niche music can be sophisticated, mainstream music has a longer-lasting impact. How long have you been playing the guqin, Ji Zhao?”

“Since I was three,” Ji Zhao replied.

Ruan Qing nodded. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard such pure and classically refined guqin playing. I teach vocal music in Class A, so I’d like to hear more. Teacher Cheng, what do you think?”

After watching the trainees’ performances, the instructors discussed the matter, and Cheng Feiwan ultimately decided the final rankings.

Given Ruan Qing’s seniority, her input naturally carried significant weight.

Pei Jia excitedly bounced on her toes, tugging at the hem of Ji Zhao’s clothes and whispering with excitement, “Zhaozhao, you can stay in Class A!”

Class A?

Ji Zhao glanced at the name tag on her clothes, liking its shape.

*******

After considering the opinions of her mentors, Cheng Feiwan gave Ji Zhao an A grade. She leaned in close to the microphone, her voice gentle. “In terms of vocals, both I and the other mentors believe you’ve already reached the level of a professional singer. But I’m even more looking forward to seeing more of your versatility in the next evaluation.”

“To become an idol, you need more than just vocal skills. You need a versatile stage presence, excellent expression management, superior songwriting ability, and you have to learn singing, dancing, and rapping—all of it.”

“Of course, we’ll be teaching you all of this in the future. Let’s work hard together!”

Ji Zhao mimicked Pei Jia’s slight bow. “Thank you, teachers.”

Pei Jia’s final grade was Class B. As she exited, she clutched Ji Zhao’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely make it into Class A in the next evaluation! I won’t let you be alone!”

“I won’t be alone,” Ji Zhao said.

“What do you mean?” Pei Jia demanded, her eyes darting rapidly. “Do you think Yu Cheng from Firefly Agency could get into Class A? No way! She’s just a beautiful waste who got into the company through connections!”

Through connections?

Ji Zhao stifled a laugh. Wasn’t that exactly what Grand General Yu despised the most?

Pei Jia was about to say more when Ji Zhao casually changed the subject: “When did you become so obsessed with rankings? It’s not like you’re in a rush to get home.”

Pei Jia was speechless for a moment before she burst out: “I-I’ll definitely be eliminated in the first round by Meimei!”

Ji Zhao remained silent.

They returned to their seats. When Ji Zhao noticed Yu Cheng was gone, her heart sank. Could she have gone back again? How could a subject possibly return before the Emperor—

“Yu Cheng’s company went backstage to prepare,” Song Jiangjiang said, following her gaze.

Ji Zhao hummed in acknowledgment.
Song Jiangjiang leaned closer. “I’m in Class A too!”

“Congratulations,” Ji Zhao said. She slowly withdrew her gaze. “What about Yu Cheng?”

“That depends on her performance, doesn’t it?” Song Jiangjiang watched the stage, where five energetic girls in sailor uniforms were dancing to the rhythm, their movements lively and charming. She shook her head. “But her chances of getting into Class A are slim.”

“Why?” Ji Zhao asked.

“You know Yu Cheng well enough to know her abilities. Her father’s a movie star, and he pushed her into his friend’s talent agency for ‘real-life experience.’ Rumor has it she’s tone-deaf and clumsy. If she spills rice on stage… well, you’ll see for yourself later.”

Ji Zhao said, “I don’t think so.”

Song Jiangjiang’s interest was piqued. “Want to bet on it?”

“What’s the bet?” Ji Zhao asked.

“Let’s bet on whether Yu Cheng gets into Class A. If she doesn’t, you have to pretend to be my boyfriend!”

“And if she does?” Ji Zhao pressed.

“Then I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend,” Song Jiangjiang replied.

Ji Zhao gave her a look.

Song Jiangjiang chuckled awkwardly. “If she does make it, I’ll wash your clothes—until you get eliminated.”

Ji Zhao glanced at the stage. “What if you get eliminated first?”

Song Jiangjiang stiffened, speechless.

Was she implying I was definitely going to lose?

As soon as the previous performance ended, the trainees from Firefly Agency entered the stage. Except for Yu Cheng, their expressions were gloomy. Tong Wei’s reddened eyes suggested she had been crying, and even Ding Chuan, usually the quietest, asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” a girl who looked like the captain stepped forward. “We’re ready.”
Cheng Feiwan nodded. “Begin your performance.”

Ji Zhao couldn’t help but lean forward eagerly.

Firefly Agency’s performance featured an original song and dance routine with intricate choreography and complex formations. Midway through, Tong Wei delivered a solo rap, instantly energizing the atmosphere.

Yu Cheng moved with such natural grace that she seemed to belong on the stage. Every movement was perfectly timed, her footwork fluid and precise. Jiao Ye commented that she was a born performer with exceptional stage presence, though she needed to work on her facial expressions. Cheng Feiwan asked kindly, “Are you too nervous? You’ve been expressionless the whole time, like you were dragged onto the stage.”

Yu Cheng bowed. “I wasn’t dragged onto the stage.”

“Holy cow,” Song Jiangjiang said, staring in disbelief. “Did she suddenly get it? Or was she just pretending all along?”

Ji Zhao leaned back, chuckling. “I stand by my bet.”

Song Jiangjiang’s face twisted in disbelief. “You knew she was this amazing all along?”

Ji Zhao shook her head.

She only knew that her Esteemed Minister Yu, though seemingly reserved and aloof like a flower on a high cliff, was fiercely competitive. With the original host’s muscle memory and Yu Cheng’s martial arts training since childhood, mastering the performance wasn’t difficult.

Ji Zhao turned to her side. “I remember that trainees in the same class are assigned to the same dormitory, right?”

Song Jiangjiang replied, “That’s right, but Class A already has six members, including Yu Cheng, and the dormitories are only four-person rooms. You two might not end up together.”

Ji Zhao said, “It’s up to us to make things happen.”

Most of the trainees in this batch were newcomers, their skills varying widely. After the initial assessment, only eight trainees made it into Class A.

It was past 5 a.m., and both the trainees and instructors were exhausted. Cheng Feiwan announced the day’s filming complete after assigning the first assessment task: a theme song performance.

The production team arranged buses to transport the trainees to their dormitories in shifts.

Ji Zhao and Pei Jia stood by the roadside, waiting for the bus.

“I heard the production team really splurged on this filming location,” Pei Jia said to Ji Zhao, sharing her latest scoop. “They rented an entire estate with medieval European decor! Even the dormitories for Class F are huge!”

“Are they still bunk beds?” a girl nearby asked, her voice slow and expressionless.

Dressed in a sailor uniform, she stood beside a massive suitcase. The beads in her twin ponytails swayed with her movements. She introduced herself as an independent trainee, without a company or teammates, currently in Class B. Pointing to her name tag, she said, “I’m Qiao Yue. You can just call me Yueyue.”

Pei Jia and Qiao Yue hit it off immediately and shared information. “They’re definitely bunkmates,” Pei Jia said. “You join an idol group for the team dynamic, and living together helps build camaraderie.”

Qiao Yue nodded in agreement. “I hope we get to room together!”

They were the last group to go to the dorms. By the time they arrived, most of the trainees had already showered and gone to bed. The production team said they’d film dormitory footage later, after the trainees had gotten some rest.

A staff member led Ji Zhao to the designated Class A dormitory and reminded her, “The other three are already inside. They’re probably asleep, so please be quiet.”

Ji Zhao looked at the sign on the door.

Room 309

Members: Ji Zhao, Yu Cheng, Chen Xingzi, Shen Yican

She pushed the door open.

Chen Xingzi and Shen Yican were already asleep, each in a bunk bed by the balcony. A figure sat on the lower bunk by the door. In the dimly lit room, she could only see a vague silhouette.

The figure had been facing away from the door. Hearing the door open, she abruptly stood up and moved to bow. “I—”

“No need for formalities,” Ji Zhao said, rolling her suitcase inside. She glanced at her sleeping roommates and sat on the bed. “Didn’t I say it already? Here, we’re not lord and subject. There’s no need for bows.”

Yu Cheng was silent for a moment. “…Yes.”

Her tone carried a clear defiance.

However, Ji Zhao had no energy to argue with her. The dormitory had a bathroom, so she took out her pajamas and went to take a shower. When she returned, she saw Yu Cheng still standing in the same spot, unmoved. “Didn’t you take a shower?” she asked, exasperated.

Yu Cheng shook her head.

“Go take a shower,” Ji Zhao ordered.

“No one to protect me…”

“Nobody here wants to assassinate me,” Ji Zhao said through gritted teeth. “I won’t repeat myself a second time.”

Yu Cheng stood quietly for a moment, then turned and went into the bathroom.

Ji Zhao was already exhausted. Although there were more people in the room than when she was the Emperor, the living conditions were far superior. The pillow and mattress were far more comfortable than the imperial bed, and she practically fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

She had a dream.

She dreamed she had returned to the Great Qi Dynasty, standing on the long steps under the scorching sun, sword in hand. She closed her eyes.

At the same time, she raised her sword.

Then she woke up.

She stared blankly at the upper bunk bed frame in the dim light, her scattered thoughts gradually coalescing as she remembered where she was. She glanced at the bathroom—the light was off. Yu Cheng must have finished showering and gone back to her upper bunk to sleep.

She sat up and got out of bed, but a gust of wind blew up from beneath her feet.

Where’s the wind coming from?

Her expression sharpened as she finally noticed the dormitory door was ajar, and light spilled in from the corridor.

Ji Zhao walked over to close the door, but in that instant, she had a sudden flash of intuition and changed her action from closing to opening. It was nearly noon, and the bright light made her squint. She closed her eyes briefly. “…Yu Cheng?”

Yu Cheng stood in the doorway, tall and straight like a young white poplar. Seeing Ji Zhao emerge, she hurriedly asked, “Why did you come out?”

Ji Zhao’s head ached. “That’s the question I should be asking you. What are you doing here?”

Yu Cheng pressed her lips together. “I just couldn’t stop worrying.”

“What’s there to worry about?” Ji Zhao’s temper flared. “Go back and sleep.”

“No.”

Ji Zhao glared. “Are you going to sleep or not?”

Yu Cheng shook her head again.

Fuming, Ji Zhao lunged forward and grabbed Yu Cheng. “Come back and sleep with me.”

Yu Cheng resisted. “Your Majesty…”

Ji Zhao persisted relentlessly. “I don’t care if you want to or not—you’re going to sleep! My words don’t mean anything to you anymore, do they? You’ve gotten so bold, Yu Cheng. You think you’re so independent now? I—”

Mid-sentence, Ji Zhao suddenly felt her feet leave the ground as her entire body was lifted into the air. Her words cut off abruptly.

She couldn’t believe it. “Did you just pick me up?”

Yu Cheng, who had never done anything so improper before, instinctively denied it. “No.”

Ji Zhao laughed in exasperation. “Then what do you call this? My feet are off the ground!”

Yu Cheng: “……”

Ji Zhao: “Now I’m spinning in circles…”
Yu Cheng: “…………”

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