I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 15

Other than Chi Meng, everyone present also felt the strange atmosphere. They didn’t dare speak, only glancing around in confusion.

Xie Tongyue didn’t look surprised at the result. After saying “okay,” she unhesitatingly gave Song Jiaqi an F rating. Beside her, Shen Zhu pursed her lips and gripped the microphone tightly.

Even though she had received an A, she didn’t look happy at all.

Noticing this, Luan Xiu leaned back in her seat and murmured, “Shen Zhu is a qualified leader.”

“Song Jiaqi didn’t want to fight for it herself, nothing we can do,” Xie Tongyue replied, making a scissor gesture toward the camera.

“Good luck.”

On her way up the pyramid, Shen Zhu suddenly spoke. Song Jiaqi paused for a moment before casually finding a seat in Class F—far away from Su Mengyao.

And under the spotlight, the three trainees who climbed into Class A were undoubtedly the brightest stars of the moment. Among them, Renxing’s leader, Shen Zhu, was the most eye-catching.

At the very top of the pyramid, a nervous trainee sprang to her feet, stiff-faced, and gestured politely with both hands: “Big Boss, please—this seat’s for you.”

“Liu Yuexin, make us proud!” the other Qingniao trainees cheered, laughing.

Liu Yuexin wiped imaginary sweat. “Keeping a bit of breath is fine, but fighting for pride? Forget it.”

Shen Zhu’s features were cool and delicate, her manners soft. She smiled faintly at Liu Yuexin and sat down in the empty seat in Class A—right in front of Chi Meng.

And beside her…

“Impressive, Captain Shen,” drawled a lazy, mocking voice.

The speaker had striking purple hair, her palm propping up her chin, phoenix eyes narrowed slyly as she studied Shen Zhu. Her tone was subtle, making it impossible to tell her true intentions.

In the front row, Chi Meng perked up her ears.

Shen Zhu glanced at her, her smile faint. “Where are the others from Xinghuo?” she asked.

The girl waved vaguely in some direction. “Over there, I guess. We’ve got a lot of people, so we just sat wherever.”

“Oh.” Shen Zhu stopped speaking. The girl also fell silent, and an inexplicable tension hung between them.

Good or bad? Chi Meng wondered, feeling the air behind her grow quieter and quieter. When no one else in Class A spoke, she turned around, raised her hand with a bright smile, and said to Shen Zhu:

“Your stage was amazing! You’re incredible!”

Shen Zhu’s eyes lit up. She lifted her hand to give Chi Meng a high-five, smiling. “I’m older than you—call me jiejie.”

She was teasing about Chi Meng and Su Mengyao’s “sister” situation.

Chi Meng’s face turned red. “Jiejie, you’re amazing!”

She exaggerated the line with full-on radio-host projection, voice loud and perfectly enunciated. Shen Zhu couldn’t help but laugh.

“Tsk tsk,” the purple-haired girl cut in, “so amazing, and yet you don’t fight for rank 1. Captain Shen really has a good temper.”

Chi Meng caught the sarcasm in her tone.

Shen Zhu turned her head calmly. “With you here, how could it possibly be my turn?”

The purple-haired girl chuckled, then glanced at Chi Meng, stretching out her hand. “Xinghuo, Xue Weiran.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Chi Meng,” she said.

After introducing herself, Xue Weiran went right back to chatting with Shen Zhu, still in that mocking tone.

“Poor Captain Shen, having to drag your company’s little princess onto the stage with you. Dead weight, yet you still manage to soar. Truly deserving of the title Captain Shen.”

Shen Zhu: “……”

She looked like she didn’t want to respond anymore, turning her face toward the stage. In the front row, Chi Meng tilted her head. Little princess? Could she mean Song Jiaqi?

But after that, neither Shen Zhu nor Xue Weiran said another word. The air between them grew cold. The trainees sitting nearby shrank their necks, uneasy, speaking only in whispers if at all.

The presence of Renxing’s trainees seemed to electrify the atmosphere. The trainees who went on stage afterward, whether driven by pressure or motivation, gave performances at unprecedented levels. The mentors graded with equal passion, and even two unknown girls from the tiny company Qimiao Encounter Entertainment—Zhou Chunfei and Jiang Menghan—earned A and B ratings.

Now, of the nine seats in Class A, five were filled. Of the eighteen in Class B, eleven—including Chi Meng—were taken.

There were still many trainees left. The front rows grew tense, both those waiting to perform and those who already had. The feeling was like an approaching storm.

Chi Meng overheard someone say, “There are still three major-company trainees who haven’t performed. Add in potential dark horses from smaller companies, and seats are going to get tight. Someone might get PKed down a class.”

She froze, suddenly realizing where her unease came from. Even though she was sitting here now, that didn’t mean she’d stay here till the end. That uncertain, precarious feeling was… exciting.

The higher-ranked trainees’ faces were tight with nerves too, though at varying degrees. Then, amid the tension, came the highly anticipated trainees from Lehai’an Entertainment.

Six bright, youthful girls stood tall on stage. Thinking of Renxing’s performance, Chi Meng looked at them with high expectations.

“123!”

“12—”

The two in the middle spoke at the same time but missed the beat. They glanced at each other and laughed. One raised her finger.

“123, we are Lehai’an trainees—Dubi!”

“Yuan Yixin!”

The six girls introduced themselves one by one.

A mentor asked, puzzled, “This is the first time I’ve seen a group with two leaders. Does your team have two captains?”

The cuter one of the middle pair—Dubi—smiled brightly. “No, we’re a temporary group, so we don’t have a leader. That’s why we decided to do it this way.”

Former girl-group member Luan Xiu raised an eyebrow, nodding.

“Please begin your performance.”

The six quickly got into formation.

But from behind, Xue Weiran muttered, “No leader? More like no one wants to listen. Bet they don’t even have a main C.”

“Watch your words,” Shen Zhu said quietly.

Xue Weiran glanced around at the many listening ears and shrugged. “What? Doesn’t everyone already know?”

Chi Meng, hearing this for the first time, noticed other trainees subtly nodding. Apparently, Lehai’an’s internal issues were no secret.

And it showed. Without a clear C position, their stage turned messy. Moves that should’ve been in sync fell apart when someone tried to steal the camera, facing front instead of back, stepping forward instead of retreating. Not just Dubi and Yuan Yixin—the other four had their own tricks too. The whole stage became a battlefield, chaotic yet strangely fascinating.

“Weird,” Chi Meng whispered to 019. “I still like Renxing’s stage better.”

Renxing was united, fighting outward. Lehai’an was already fighting internally. Still, their individual skills kept the performance from collapsing completely.

From behind, Xue Weiran scoffed again. “This is it? A big company?”

Shen Zhu finally snapped. “Can you not talk?”

“Hmph.”

“This one’s even sharper than Jiaqi,” Chi Meng muttered. “Maybe I just haven’t seen enough. Are all survival shows like this?”

019: “019 doesn’t know. 019 has no idea.”

It was only a simple higher-dimensional passerby baby system—how would it know about human variety shows?

Chi Meng, used to its only function being chatter, let it go. When she came back to herself, the studio atmosphere had gone ice cold.

The six Lehai’an girls stood with heads bowed. Mentor Luan Xiu looked displeased as she announced their grades.

“Lehai’an—Dubi, C.”

The girl bit her lip, eyes wide, suddenly red-rimmed. She nodded unwillingly.

“Ye Yi, D.”

Ye Yi bowed nervously. “Thank you, teacher.”

“Sheng Xue, Tang Ge, Bai Ruyue—F.”

The verdict dropped like a bell, shocking the hall.

Even with years of training, three of Lehai’an’s six ended up in F Class. Many guessed the mentors were punishing their selfish camera-hogging.

“Finally, Yuan Yixin,” Luan Xiu said, looking at the sweaty, anxious girl. “A.”

“Ha!” Yuan Yixin’s shoulders slumped with relief. She bowed over and over in thanks, while Dubi bit her lip hard, glancing at her.

But it wasn’t over. Luan Xiu raised her mic again.

“Remember this: if you want to shine alone, then don’t choose to become an idol. A girl group is a whole, a team. Any selfish behavior will ruin a performance. If you like scheming, don’t be an idol—be an actress. Go star in palace dramas. That’s your stage.”

The six bowed their heads even lower.

“We’re sorry. We won’t do it again,” Yuan Yixin whispered.

Xie Tongyue stepped in to soften the blow, smiling. “It’s not too late to admit mistakes. Star Journey isn’t a solo show. Out of 129 trainees here, nine will debut together. That will be your shared stage. So keep working hard.”

“Everyone else too,” she added, turning to the pyramid, “sitting here today, seeing so many fresh faces—I can’t wait to see which nine will sit on the final throne. Don’t let me down.”

As a famous actress with stunning looks, her warm smile made many trainees stare blankly, then nod furiously.

Work hard! Work hard! We definitely will—we won’t let jiejie down!

With Luan Xiu scolding and Xie Tongyue encouraging, the mood was saved. Then staff paused the recording, escorting the mentors out and leading the trainees to a hidden door for their meal break.

They had only twenty minutes. The food was simple boxed meals with a bowl of light vegetable soup, already laid out in the cafeteria. Sit down and eat.

After the earlier drama, everyone lined up obediently. No one switched seats. The cafeteria stayed quiet, conversations hushed.

Chi Meng happily gnawed on a chicken leg.

Free food—this was the life!

Across from her, a row of girls stared enviously.

019 cleared its throat: “Ahem.”

Chi Meng: “?”

Cheeks puffed, she looked up—straight into a bunch of hungry, longing eyes.

She glanced at their untouched trays, blinked, and reminded them, “You guys should eat.”

It’s free, don’t be shy.

One girl whimpered miserably, “We can’t. Eating at night makes you gain weight. And I haven’t even performed yet.”

Chi Meng looked around. Sure enough, the ones eating heartily were mostly those who had already gone on stage. And even then, their “hearty” wasn’t like hers—she’d never seen anyone chew a single bite of rice for all eternity before.

Feeling out of place, Chi Meng pursed her lips, then suddenly pulled her meal closer and buried her face in her arms.

“Like this—you can’t see me, right?”

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