I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 23

If on the first day of recording everyone hadn’t really felt the weight of it, now, watching the screen where the mentors and dancers performed in perfect unison, they could no longer ignore the truth:

In five days, they themselves would be the ones standing on that stage.

And that stage would not only be witnessed by the audience in front of them, but broadcast on television and video platforms, seen in countless households. The thought alone made hearts surge like pounding waves—an excitement that lingered even after the video ended.

Xie Tongyue returned to the center. Looking at the trainees who had grown heated after the theme song reveal, she spoke seriously:

“Let me remind you again—five days from now, we will use the theme song as the evaluation content to reassess your class levels. And in order to once again make clear the true spirit of Star Journey, I have one more piece of news to tell you.”

She paused, sweeping her gaze over pairs of eyes filled with anticipation and shine, before smiling:

“That is—only the eighty-six trainees in Classes A–D will be able to stand on the theme song stage!”

At those words, many of the F-class and lower-ranked D-class trainees turned pale, their breathing quickened. Some who believed in their own strength became even more determined. And some—like Chi Meng—remained calm.

She stood in the very back row, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed forward.

One, two, three, four, five… she counted. Between her and Xue Weiran standing at the center of C-position, there were exactly nine whole rows.

As though the atmosphere wasn’t tense enough, Xie Tongyue continued solemnly:

“There are forty trainees in F-class. But! The number of eliminations in the first round is not forty, but forty-two! That means—when the first ranking announcement comes, all F-class trainees plus the last two ranked in D-class will leave this stage.”

A sharp intake of breath ran through the hall.

Some had just put on their trainee uniforms and hadn’t even unpacked their luggage in the dorms, yet now the hammer of elimination numbers fell squarely on their heads, leaving them stunned and blank.

The entire venue fell into dead silence—even breathing grew hushed. F-class trainees in particular had faces gone white, some staring nervously at their shoes, while D-class trainees were just as uneasy, anyone possibly being those bottom two.

“I don’t want to be eliminated the first round, that’s too humiliating.”
“Me neither…”

Amid the panic, Xie Tongyue tilted her head, softened her expression into a gentle smile.

“But don’t worry. You still have time. Right now is your chance,” she said warmly. “Everything can still change. You know, I only act—I’ve never learned singing or dancing. Yet as the host of Star Journey, I must show you that if even I can manage, then you—teenagers and twenty-somethings with limitless potential—most certainly can.”

“Don’t give up. No matter your position, your skill, or your current level—just do it, and keep pushing forward!” she said, holding out a steaming bowl of motivational “chicken soup” for the soul.

“Now, let all the mentors and I perform the theme song live once more. Don’t be nervous—join in with us, all right?” She raised her mic toward the trainees.

“Good!” the trainees shouted, spirits lifted by her encouragement. Excitement bubbled as they realized they could watch a live performance again—especially since two of the mentors were men, and the song itself was lively and cheerful.

The theme song began. This time Xie Tongyue stood in C-position, mentors arrayed behind her, her radiant smile shining toward the crowd.

“This time I’ll give it my all…”

Chi Meng’s eyes followed mentor Luan Xiu. With no foundation at all, dancing was her greatest obstacle for this theme song.

The infectious, upbeat, almost brainwashing tune ended. The trainees clapped eagerly:

“That was amazing!”
“Teachers really are on another level.”
“Luan Xiu sang and danced through it all without even losing her breath—so strong!”

Then mentor Luan Xiu lifted the mic and said, “The standard we just performed at—that is the evaluation standard five days from now. Anyone aiming for A-class must reach this level. My requirement is: complete, and perfect.”

“Can you do it?” she asked.

“YES!” the trainees roared.

“Good. We mentors will be waiting,” Luan Xiu replied.

“Then, let our training officially begin. Welcome to the Star Journey training camp.” Xie Tongyue smiled.

With the theme song revealed, trainees were led to their classes. At the entrance, staff distributed materials: two A4 sheets with lyrics and sheet music, plus a small booklet where mentors had compiled “knowledge points”—covering vocals, dance, rap, and acting basics. Vocal training alone contained fundamentals like voice production and singing techniques—all things Chi Meng needed.

“Martial arts secret manual,” she joked to 019.

019 came online: “If you learn it, you’ll master divine skills?”

Chi Meng blinked. “You even know the phrase divine skills?”

019 confessed, “Last night at HQ, I met a new friend, Tong, from the Transmigration Department. It’s a gold-finger system. Tong said it’s bound to a heroine who was once the arrogant fiancée of a dragon-protagonist, and she just unlocked a martial arts manual after breaking off the engagement. Host, do you know what a cultivation manual is?”

Chi Meng slowly closed her mouth. “…No idea.”

“Do you have a manual that can let me master dancing in three days and dominate the dance world in five?” she teased.

019 wilted. “019… doesn’t have a shop function. 019 cannot provide help like that.”

“019 is a useless low-level system,” it muttered in self-blame.

Chi Meng quickly reassured it: “Of course you’re useful. I need your help right now.”

Instantly energized, 019 declared, “System 019 is at your service!”

Chi Meng spread the lyric sheet, tucking her hands behind her back. “You can read human words, right? That’s incredible for a non-human! Now, listen while I recite the lyrics—check if I make mistakes.”

And so, just like many times before, she tricked—no, sought help from 019, who gladly obliged. As she followed the group up the stairs, she recited the lyrics. By the time she reached the classroom, she had memorized them.

019 clapped wildly: “Host, you’re the best memory-holder I’ve ever had! Only two listens and no mistakes!”

Chi Meng smiled, folded the sheet, tucked it neatly into the booklet.

Inside F-class, no one knew which mentor would come. Some chatted, some introduced themselves, others shrank silently into corners.

Chi Meng quietly sat beside Song Jiaqi, picking up the sheet Song had tossed aside.

“Recitation check. One wrong word and you copy it twice,” Chi Meng announced.

Su Mengyao, who had been crawling closer, froze midway and instantly crawled back, horrified. Fresh out of exams herself, she couldn’t bear that phrase.

Song Jiaqi stretched her long legs out lazily. “Won’t. Not copying.”

Such rebellion.

Chi Meng waggled the paper. “Let me confirm—do you know how to read?”

“No.”

“Drop the ‘no,’ then yes. Here, read this line.”

Song Jiaqi deadpanned: “The school bus has a brain-rot virus?”

Chi Meng raised an eyebrow. “Have you been infected by Su Mengyao?”

Su Mengyao, sitting in front, turned warily to glare back at them, hair tips bouncing.

Chi Meng waved her off, then said to Song, “Fine, since you won’t, listen to me sing instead. Tell me if I go off-key.”

Song Jiaqi: “???”

Who’s unskilled here?

Her face darkened, but before she could speak, Chi Meng held her arm and softly began to sing, eyes meeting hers.

Her voice was steady, clear—so much that Song froze.

“This time I’ll give my all, don’t call me a moth rushing into the—”

Before the word “flame” came out, the classroom door banged open. Mentor Luan Xiu strode in. Trainees leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering.

Cheers echoed from other classrooms as well.

Luan Xiu gestured for quiet. “Though I am a dance mentor, I believe I can still teach you something in vocals. But when I walked in, I was disappointed.”

The smiles froze.

In the corner, Chi Meng bent and quickly pulled Song Jiaqi up.

“You are F-class—the weakest of the five classes, most at risk of being eliminated in the first round. As I entered, I already heard A- and B-class trainees practicing. And you? What are you doing? Laughing, joking? When those above you are grinding hard?”

She then pointed randomly at one girl. “Huang Xinyu. Step forward. Sing a portion of the theme song.”

Huang Xinyu turned pale, clutching her lyric sheet. “Teacher, I… I can’t sing it.”

“Doesn’t matter. Try as you like.”

But she couldn’t utter a word, finally on the verge of tears.

Next, Luan Xiu called on another: Huo Xintong. She managed a hesitant first line before faltering, cheeks flushing.

“Not knowing is fine—that’s why I’m here. But remember your purpose standing here,” Luan Xiu said firmly. She laid out their study plan:

Day 1: learn the song.
Days 2–3: learn dance piece by piece.
Day 4: memorize the choreography.
Days 5–6: combine song and dance into a full performance.

Chi Meng stared at the lyrics again and again, silently rehearsing though she had already memorized them.

“And to match everyone’s pace, aside from me, we also have an assistant teacher. If anyone masters the song ahead of schedule and passes my check, you may move on to dance practice.”

With that, she began teaching line by line. Two repetitions, then verse by verse.

Finally, with music only—no lead vocals—most froze in panic. But a clean, steady voice rose right on beat.

“…I’ve made all my preparations, meeting is never just chance.”

Everyone quickly fell in behind. Surprised, Luan Xiu looked toward the back—at Chi Meng.

Song Jiaqi also stared, realizing Chi Meng had hidden her ability, pretending to read blank paper like the rest.

Concealing her strength?

When they finished, Luan Xiu praised them, then dismissed to self-practice, half an hour until individual checks.

Chi Meng raised her hand, “Teacher, I’d like to try.”

She sang with clear eyes meeting Luan Xiu’s. Other trainees fell still, watching in awe.

“Very good. You’ve memorized quickly,” Luan Xiu said, patting her shoulder.

“Thanks to studying a lot before,” Chi Meng answered modestly.

Remembering she was fresh out of high school, Luan Xiu nodded. “You can move on to dance. But I’ll check again tomorrow—you must keep it up.”

Chi Meng thanked her, then suddenly lifted the sheet, eyes shining:

“Teacher, could you also teach me how to read the notation and symbols here?”

Clearly, she had relied entirely on memory. Luan Xiu smiled, took the page, began explaining basics. Halfway through, she found herself holding a pen—where had that come from? But seeing Chi Meng’s earnest, eager face, she carried on.

Afterward, Chi Meng handed her water with both hands, gratitude plain in her eyes. “Thank you, Teacher Luan. You’ve worked hard—please drink.”

Somehow, she already had a bottle opened. Luan Xiu looked at her bright smile and thought: so diligent, so sharp. Pride as a teacher swelled in her chest.

“Remember—this won’t count unless you still have it tomorrow,” she teased.

“Of course! I love exams!” Chi Meng grinned, ponytail swishing.

Nearby trainees inhaled sharply. Who loves exams?!

“Training camp is the best—food, lodging, clothes, and free lessons!” Chi Meng told 019.

019 nodded furiously. It too was secretly learning music knowledge—so it could help her review!

Chi Meng then asked, “Wait—where’s Jiaqi?”

Had she fallen in a pit somewhere?

019: Together we’ll learn—019 won’t be a useless system!

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