I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 22.2

A-Meng: “?”

Is that just morning crankiness?

Song Jiaqi only gave A-Meng a look and then put the cap back on.

A-Meng sat down. Adhering to the principle of safety above all else, she reached for the seat belt. The window was on her right, and Song Jiaqi was on her left. The seat belt buckle was on the left, but the bus seat belt hadn’t seemed to be used often and was somewhat hidden. A-Meng’s fingers fumbled in the gap when a foreign hand suddenly descended and clasped her fingers.

The warm palm pressed against her slightly cool hand. Their fingers intertwined, the other person’s pinky finger accidentally resting in the space between A-Meng’s middle and ring fingers.

A-Meng only paused for a second, then deliberately closed her fingers around the hand.

Song Jiaqi, under the cap, moved her head, pulled her hand out of A-Meng’s, and said coolly, “What are you doing?”

A-Meng held up the seat belt.

Song Jiaqi, whose face was covered by the cap and couldn’t see anything, didn’t get a response from A-Meng for a long time, so she took the cap off again.

The blazing sunlight burst in from the window. Her vision changed from black to bright. Song Jiaqi instinctively closed her eyes, then slowly opened them.

Her calm eyes met A-Meng’s bright ones. A-Meng’s smile deepened. She shook the seat belt in her hand.

“Safety first, little Jiaqi,” A-Meng said.

What an old-fashioned way to address someone, Song Jiaqi frowned and said flatly, “I’m older than you.”

She released her hand. A-Meng, whose left hand was now free, searched for the seat belt lock, all while patiently calculating the hierarchy for Song Jiaqi.

“Mengyao is two days older than you.”

Hearing Su Mengyao’s name, the corner of Song Jiaqi’s mouth turned down. The scene from last night flashed before her eyes, then was suppressed. She wouldn’t hold a grudge against an eighteen-year-old girl for something that happened in the past, but that didn’t mean she could face Su Mengyao without feeling anything. The thought of the future Su Mengyao made her—

Song Jiaqi suppressed her rising emotions and looked at A-Meng. She hadn’t known this girl for long, but they somehow had a compatible aura. She couldn’t go through the training camp without speaking to anyone. It would be nice to get to know a friendly junior, but this friend just happened to be… very likable.

And she was particularly friendly with Su Mengyao.

But still, she was a twenty-eight-year-old soul. It was too silly to feel upset because a friend she wanted to make was close to Su Mengyao, especially since A-Meng was less than eighteen this year.

Seventeen and eighteen. Two girls close in age naturally had more in common than she did. What right did she have to be upset?

Song Jiaqi’s pupils darkened as she sank into her own feelings. Just then, her vision went black. A beautiful face suddenly came close, and those bright, clear eyes were right in front of her.

“You look a little unwell. Are you sick?” A-Meng asked. She had wanted to feel Song Jiaqi’s forehead to check her temperature but hesitated after getting so close.

Song Jiaqi held her breath, leaning back to increase the distance between them. Her tone was flat: “Didn’t sleep well.”

“What did you just say?” Song Jiaqi changed the subject.

Chapter 22.2

A-Meng smiled, looking at Song Jiaqi. She also sat back, crossed her legs, and repeated, “I just said Mengyao is two days older than you, so you have to call Mengyao jie-jie.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she heard a thinly veiled sneer from beside her.

But A-Meng was proficient in the skill of hearing what she wanted to hear and continued, “However, Mengyao has to call me jie-jie. By extension, I’m older than Su Mengyao, which means I’m older than you, so you have to call me jie-jie.”

Song Jiaqi frowned and said, “Aside from being more mentally mature than her, how else are you older?”

A-Meng raised an eyebrow.

Song Jiaqi, met with that look, realized her words had been ambiguous. She turned her head slightly, then turned back, using a different explanation: “Why would she call you jie-jie?”

A-Meng was concise: “Because food is the first necessity of the people.”

The image was of the scene last night, A-Meng handing the boxed lunch to Su Mengyao. It seemed this connection was established then. Song Jiaqi gave a cold, faintly mocking smile. “By your logic, if you find the oldest girl in the camp and make her call you jie-jie, then you are everyone’s older sister in the camp?”

A-Meng smiled sweetly, administering encouragement to the rebellious young girl, Song Jiaqi.

“Excellent use of inductive reasoning. I appreciate it.”

Song Jiaqi tilted her head, took a deep breath, and turned to look to the side.

Song Yingjun, who had opened her eyes at some point and was listening to their conversation, snorted. She met Song Jiaqi’s gaze, glared, and said in a deliberately harsh tone, “What are you looking at me for! What does that mean? Are you saying I’m old?”

Song Yingjun was the oldest of the five Renxing trainees. The awake trainees from Renxing laughed out loud. Even the girls sitting in the front couldn’t help but giggle.

“Jie, no need, jie,” Ye Qing deliberately leaned on Song Yingjun.

“Yes, jie, we need to be confident, not self-deprecating,” Ling Yao also squeezed in, innocently waking up Shen Zhu, who was sleeping between them.

Song Yingjun said indignantly, “Get off me, I’m old and my body can’t handle it!”

Everyone laughed even harder. Even Song Jiaqi had a smile on her face and said helplessly, “I didn’t mean that at all. How was I supposed to know you were sitting next to me?”

“You just don’t notice me then,” Song Yingjun insisted.

Song Jiaqi looked defeated and covered her face with her hat. A-Meng pressed down on her hand to stop her from moving, mimicking Song Yingjun’s tone and asking, “Tell me if you think my method works or not.”

Song Jiaqi: “…”

Fearing she might say “tell me, tell me” next, Song Jiaqi scoffed softly, “People always need to have dreams.”

A-Meng imitated her cold scoff. “You’re just humoring me.”

Song Jiaqi: “…”

The laughter around them grew louder. The trainees in the front turned around curiously to look at them. The gazes that had previously avoided Song Jiaqi were now more frequent. They had thought she was unapproachable, but after hearing A-Meng and Song Jiaqi’s conversation, they found their dialogue quite amusing and thought maybe she just naturally didn’t smile much, and would warm up if they got to know her.

One trainee smiled at Song Jiaqi, but Song Jiaqi shifted her gaze to the window.

“The bus is moving.”

The trainee thought Song Jiaqi hadn’t seen her, so she turned back to talk to others.

The six buses and the program’s vehicles formed a long convoy, driving grandly towards the east. The trainees in the buses were as excited as primary school students going on a field trip. Some even noticed the cameras installed on both sides and occasionally spoke into the lens.

A-Meng then realized that the small black objects were cameras. So, everything they had done before was being filmed?

Fine… then.

Aware of the cameras, A-Meng sat slightly self-consciously, pulling out a small booklet from her pocket to read. She was in the back row, next to Song Jiaqi, who was sleeping with her hat on. To avoid making a spectacle, I-Meng raised her hand and slightly turned the camera towards Song Jiaqi and the others, then quietly looked down.

The sunlight outside the window was intense. After the initial excitement subsided, the trainees lowered the curtains and either chatted quietly or caught up on sleep. With the bumpy motion of the bus, an occasional ray of light would sneak through a gap in the curtain, falling onto the booklet in A-Meng’s hand.

The bus drove for almost an hour. When it stopped and the driver announced their arrival, Song Jiaqi slowly opened her eyes, which were heavy with sleep. Having had a busy schedule in the past, she was used to sleeping in various environments, and the rocking of the bus was quite hypnotic.

Just then, she saw A-Meng putting a palm-sized book into her pocket.

Song Jiaqi stood up and casually asked, “A comic book?”

A-Meng said softly, “It’s a lyric book. Since I was idle, I decided to memorize some lyrics. You never know when I might need them.”

“?” Song Jiaqi looked at I-Meng in surprise, her eyes slightly brighter. Her lips moved, but she didn’t say anything.

After getting off the bus, the trainees lined up to retrieve their luggage and walked forward, guided by the staff.

In front of them was a factory-style gate enclosed by an iron fence. Inside was a wide road that led to a stage area in the distance. The national flag was flying, and the stage had four characters carved into it: “Learn to Cultivate Virtue

“A school?” A-Meng said.

“Yes, Mingde Private High School. It was just finished and hasn’t been put into use yet,” Song Jiaqi said. She had filmed a youth campus drama here not long after her debut. Mingde School was very wealthy, had strong faculty, and excellent facilities. She was surprised that the program team had borrowed it for the variety show.

The staff led the trainees to the dormitory building, announcing through the megaphone: “This building will be your residence from now on. The rooms have all been assigned and are posted on the doors. Please go inside, put down your luggage, and change into the clothes we have prepared for you. In twenty minutes, we will gather in the Mingyi Hall lobby.”

The staff member emphasized: “Only twenty minutes! Those who are late will be penalized!”

“The countdown begins!”

As soon as she finished speaking, the trainees with their luggage immediately rushed into the dormitory building. The staff member used the megaphone to remind them that they had enough time and shouldn’t run too fast, urging them to be careful.

The first trainees who rushed into the dormitory building ran to the rooms on the first floor, looked around, and exclaimed, “The first room belongs to Xue Weiran! She’s all by herself!”

Trainees on the other side shouted, “The doors here have two names on each, all A-class trainees!”

A-class trainees in the crowd shouted their thanks and rushed to find their rooms. Trainees who realized what was happening scrambled upstairs.

Sure enough, the dormitory building had five floors and no elevator. The first floor was for A-class, the second for B-class, and so on. Apart from the Center Trainee, Xue Weiran, who had a room to herself, and the other A-class trainees who were paired up, trainees in other classes were grouped six to a room.

The program team seemed to want to use this method to tell everyone that, apart from the A-class, all other trainees were no different.

Sighs rose and fell on every floor and in every room—some yearning for A-class, others with mixed emotions, disappointment, and sadness. But they quickly remembered the assembly, and without a chance to even introduce themselves to each other, they hurriedly grabbed their clothes and rushed to the bathroom to change.

The private school environment was excellent. The dorms had loft beds with desks underneath, and air conditioning in the bedrooms. On each person’s desk were a short-sleeved shirt and trousers, with another set hanging in the closet for a change. In addition to the clothes, there were also name tags printed with their class.

A-Meng quickly changed into her gray short-sleeved shirt and long pants and headed downstairs. On the floor below, trainees in yellow short-sleeved shirts were running down with smiles.

C-class: blue. B-class: purple. A-class: pink.

The 126 trainees were divided into five colors. The scattered pink stood out prominently among the various colors.

On the way to Mingyi Hall, I-Meng ran into Su Mengyao, and they walked together.

“Pink is so pretty. I want to wear it too,” Su Mengyao whispered.

“Keep going. It’s just the beginning,” I-Meng said with a smile.

Su Mengyao scratched her head and sighed profoundly.

Twenty minutes later, all 126 trainees were standing promptly in the Mingyi Hall lobby.

The Mingyi Hall lobby was extremely spacious, surrounded by a ring of square wooden steps where students could usually sit to watch performances on the stage below. The program team arranged for the trainees to stand on these steps, positioned according to their seating rankings in the pyramid from the early morning.

Before long, Xie Tongyue walked in, leading the six mentors and two unfamiliar women. Xie Tongyue was in front, with the others behind her. Today, Xie Tongyue wasn’t wearing an evening gown. She had changed into comfortable sportswear, her makeup was still immaculate, and she greeted everyone with a smile.

“Popularity first, skill above all. This is Star Voyage, the large-scale female idol survival show jointly produced by Dongjiang Satellite TV and Dongjiang Video. I am your host, Xie Tongyue.” Xie Tongyue followed the script to introduce herself and the mentors behind her, then got straight to the point.

“After the preliminary stage evaluations, you have been assigned to different classes. I want to ask you: Are you willing to stay in this class?”

The A-class trainees smiled and said they were willing. The trainees behind them loudly shouted they were unwilling, while others were too embarrassed to speak.

Xie Tongyue raised both eyebrows, looked at the trainees, and said seriously, “You are all here for one purpose: to debut. Of all of you, only the nine in A-class can debut. If you don’t advance, you fall back.”

The atmosphere in the room instantly became tense.

The gentle smile she usually wore was gone. Xie Tongyue looked at the young faces and said, “Only by striving towards the goal of moving forward can you possibly advance. We are standing here today to give you the chance to move forward!”

“In one week, here again, the same 126 trainees, five classes. Some will advance, some will fall back. The judging criteria will completely discard your preliminary stage performance and will only be based on this next task.”

A-Meng looked at Xie Tongyue, standing in the highest yet final row of trainees.

“The content of the evaluation is—the Theme Song!”

The trainees looked at each other, some clenching their fists behind their backs.

Xie Tongyue put down her cue card and said, “You have five days to learn the song and dance for the theme song. After five days, the mentors will re-evaluate everyone and shoot the theme song based on the results. Only one take will be used, and this one recording will be used for every episode that follows!”

The importance of this to the trainees was self-evident. Many swallowed softly, their eyes determined.

A-Meng lowered her eyelids, her smile deepening.

Just as everyone was looking forward to the recording of the stage, the entire hall suddenly dimmed. The pre-set large screen lit up, and a magnificent five-pointed star-shaped stage appeared on the screen.

The five-pointed star stage was segmented. A five-sided matrix in the center was surrounded by lights, exceptionally dazzling, with the five points circling it like planets orbiting the sun.

Nine people stood in the central matrix with their heads slightly bowed. Several dancers also stood on the five points.

The camera rotated, closing in on the woman standing at the very front of the central matrix. The woman suddenly looked up—it was Mentor Luan Xiu.

The music instantly started.

“This time, I’ll give it my all, don’t call me a moth to a flame.” As a former girl group member, Luan Xiu was a powerful dancer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sing well. Wearing a headset, her firm singing and powerful choreography erupted simultaneously.

“I’ve made all the preparations, our meeting is no coincidence.”

“Dreams have no barrier between them. Deciding this moment, to embark on a dazzling dream of starlight.”

The camera turned to the person behind Luan Xiu. Xu Shenglin’s voice was gentle: “Go explore, how far the sky is where the meteor passes.”

As soon as her voice faded, the camera turned to Teng Jia beside her: “Go pursue, a dream is not a distant horizon.”

“Go discover, whether your hand chooses to intertwine with mine…”

The nine mentors and dancers representing the A-class trainees each had a segment of screen time. The subsequent song footage was shared among the dancers on the other stages, some having more time than others, until the climax arrived. The camera pulled back. Amidst the leaping, excited notes, all the mentors and dancers performed their movements in perfect unison. The center of the camera remained on the A-class.

“Look at me now, be an idol!”

“Watch me become a star, one in ten thousand.”

The camera focused on Luan Xiu’s face. She raised her right hand to her eye, extending and spreading her thumb, index, and middle fingers, with her ring and pinky fingers held together, flipping them rhythmically with the music.

“I’ll shining, shining”

“Please choose me, to be an idol!”

“Shining brightly on this stage, I am, I am a star, one in ten thousand.”

A-Meng: Plenty of comments, I suppose.

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