I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 24

Class F had 40 people, about as many as a high school class. They gathered in little groups of three or five, or four or six. From a distance, it was just a sea of black-haired heads. But finding Song Jiaq i was easy—she could never be with the others. Just look toward the most remote corner.

But Song Jiaqi wasn’t there.

Chi Meng tilted her head, slowed her steps, and walked toward the cleared space in the room that had been set aside for early dance practice. As she passed a few girls in the back row, she smiled and asked warmly:

“Hello, Jian Zi, did you happen to see Song Jiaqi?”

Jian Zi—the “sandwich cookie” classmate who, during the first stage evaluations, had inherited Chi Meng’s 99th seat and was wedged between Song Jiaqi and Su Mengyao—showed a dazed look at the mention of that name. She shook her head and said she hadn’t seen her.

“Alright, thank you,” said Chi Meng.

A few girls curiously looked at Chi Meng. The girl next to Jian Zi gave her a shy smile. Her voice was soft and gentle as she asked:

“Do you mean that tall, thin, very pretty girl from Renxing Entertainment? The one with black curly hair? I think I saw her go out the back door, right when Teacher Luanxiu told us we could dismiss.”

“Thank you for telling me, Wei Xin.” Chi Meng curved her lips into a smile and said to the others, “I’ll head over then. Good luck, everyone!”

She made a little cheering gesture.

Wei Xin was a little flustered and surprised, staring at Chi Meng’s departing figure. She whispered, “She knows my name?”

The trainee next to her replied casually: “Our names are all stuck on our shirts, easy to see. Don’t daydream, let’s keep practicing—she’s already started learning the dance.”

“…Okay.” Wei Xin lowered her head, glancing at her stomach. Everything in the classroom was new, and the air conditioning was blasting cold. She wore a jacket, and her name tag was on the T-shirt inside, invisible from the outside. But since no one cared about what she had said, she pressed her lips together and stopped talking.

Chi Meng walked up to Teacher Li, bowed, then lifted her head with a radiant smile.

“Hello teacher, my name is Chi Meng. I don’t have any dance foundation, so I’ll be troubling you for extra guidance.”

Her voice was open and confident. Some trainees nearby, still struggling with their songs, let out a breath of relief. With such little time, some learned fast, others slow, and the slower ones felt under crushing pressure. Since Chi Meng admitted to having no dance background, it wasn’t something she could just fix overnight. The others believed they could soon catch up with her progress, and their mental burden lightened.

Teacher Li was one of Luanxiu’s backup dancers and often choreographed for her stages. With a well-proportioned figure, she wore tight yoga pants that showed clear muscle lines in her legs. Though her voice was gentle under the brim of her cap, her words were not:

“I’m very strict. I won’t go easy on you just because you’re from Class F.”

“That’s wonderful, teacher!” Chi Meng said brightly.

Meanwhile, the trainees waiting for assessment lined up in front of Luanxiu.

“Wrong beat, go back and practice.”

“First lyric off-key, eliminated.”

“Your singing is quieter than the music, out.”

“Not enough confidence, voice too soft, unqualified.”

With her head lowered, Luanxiu didn’t even look at the ones in front of her. The moment they failed to meet her standards, she raised her hand and cut them off, sending them back to practice.

The tension spread. As more and more people stumbled, the ones still in line grew timid, almost too afraid to step forward.

Seeing this, Luanxiu arched a brow. “What’s wrong? You don’t even have this much confidence?”

“Instead of worrying about making mistakes, wouldn’t it be better to discover your weaknesses early and go practice? What’s so scary about failing now? Isn’t it better than failing in five days during the real evaluation?” Her voice was calm. “Next. Who’s coming up?”

From the crowd, someone raised her hand. It was Bo Ruyue from Lehai Entertainment. She stepped forward and said, “Teacher, I’ll go.”

Luanxiu nodded at her.

The instrumental started again. Bo Ruyue took a deep breath and opened her voice to sing. The other trainees lifted their heads to watch her. When the song ended, a rare pleased smile appeared on Luanxiu’s face.

“Very good. Just like that. Keep it up—you’ve passed.”

Applause broke out around them. Bo Ruyue bounced happily in place twice. “Thank you, teacher!”

She turned back, face glowing with joy, and said to her companymates Sheng Xue and Tang Ge, “We embarrassed ourselves once already. This time we can’t. Let’s do our best!”

Both nodded quickly.

After the first round, seeing that some lacked sufficient vocal ability, Luanxiu simply switched off the speaker. She led them line by line, correcting their singing. After repeating it, she replayed the instrumental and had them practice again.

In the meantime, during the breaks between failed trainees’ re-tests, she glanced at the dance group. There were four people with Teacher Li—including Chi Meng—carefully practicing each move step by step.

Chi Meng: “I feel so stiff.”

Chi Meng: “The moves are right, but it feels wrong somehow.”

019: “But everyone else looks about the same?”

But “about the same” wasn’t enough.

Sweat streamed down Chi Meng’s forehead. Looking in the mirror, she saw that apart from Bo Ruyue—whose movements looked the best—everyone else’s dance still looked better than hers, even if just subtly.

Teacher Li turned to them and said: “Don’t rush to learn too fast or too much. Every move needs to be precise. Feel which muscle is exerting strength, repeat it, and let your body memorize it.”

“For those without a foundation, first focus on remembering the moves. Then, little by little, follow the rhythm. Beginners who can’t keep up right away might get discouraged.”

Everyone nodded.

It was only the first day of camp. The trainees officially moved in at 2:30 that afternoon, and already it was 6 p.m. Tomorrow would be the first real day of training. After her reminder, Teacher Li dismissed them, walking over to join Luanxiu.

After a whole afternoon, almost every trainee could now sing the theme song accurately—it was just a matter of maintaining it. Having stayed with them the whole time, Luanxiu encouraged them briefly, then told them to go eat.

Since yesterday’s recording had gone until 3:30 a.m., and today’s gathering was at 1 p.m., many hadn’t slept much. Their faces looked tired. The mentors didn’t demand extra practice but instead told them to adapt to the schedule first—head to the cafeteria, then go back and unpack.

The classroom door wasn’t locked. After Luanxiu and the cameraman left, Chi Meng, who lingered behind, saw a staff member bring in a laptop and hook it to the projector.

Their eyes met briefly across the room—nothing spoken, yet everything understood.

Chi Meng smiled faintly and sipped her water.

“Dinner time—!”

Su Mengyao charged toward the cafeteria, followed by a pack of equally excited trainees.

They might be tired, but food? Never too tired for that.

The dining hall was the school cafeteria. Mingde High wanted to make a name for itself, so the food was supplied by their contracted caterer—showcasing exactly what their students would eat. A mix of Chinese and Western food, all buffet style: take as much as you like, but only what you can finish.

Su Mengyao swallowed her saliva and asked the lady behind the counter: “Can we pack it to-go?”

The lady, thinking she was planted by the program team, immediately answered in crisp standard Dongjiang Mandarin: “Of course! The cafeteria provides eco-friendly, non-polluting bags. Take as you need.”

Su Mengyao blinked blankly. “Oh…”

Jian Zi, who came with her, teased with a laugh: “Seriously? You can’t finish and still want to pack it up?”

“I can finish it!” Su Mengyao huffed, grabbing two more meat buns. “I’m bringing it for Mengmeng—she went back to the dorm first. She asked me to bring her some food.”

“Oh, she didn’t come?” Jian Zi said casually, not caring much. “Maybe she was too tired and went to lie down. She was the first among us to finish the singing and start dancing. Makes sense she’s exhausted.”

Since that was the case, Su Mengyao doubled her own meal portion for Chi Meng, loading it all into bags. Afraid the thin bags might break, the auntie even gave her a few extra. Watching her leave, the auntie muttered: “Such a skinny girl, yet eats so much?”

Back in the dorm, after practicing alone for a bit longer, Chi Meng returned. Most of the others were still eating, so it was quiet.

As she slowly climbed to the fifth floor, 019 asked with concern: “Host, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just hungry,” Chi Meng replied. She didn’t feel too tired—on the contrary, the exercise had energized her.

“But I don’t like stairs. Hopefully I get to live downstairs someday.”

019 sighed: “Must be leftover trauma from all that food delivery in your past life.”

Chi Meng chuckled. Crossing into this world was like being reborn. After regaining her student rhythm, she suddenly felt curious about everything, doing both useful and useless things. Maybe it was the nonstop grind of her last life that made it hard to stop… or maybe the abrupt end of her past had loosened the shadow of death.

Because she really had died once.

With a faint smile, she tidied her bag, hung up her clothes in the wardrobe, stuffed the thick lyrics booklet inside, leaving the once-bulging backpack flat and empty, hanging it on the chair.

Footsteps and laughter echoed outside—the others had returned.

Her roommate Su Mengyao burst in, shouting excitedly: “Mengmeng! Delivery’s here!”

“…Call me what?” Chi Meng turned, startled at the pile of food in Su Mengyao’s hands. “Feeding pigs?”

Su Mengyao giggled, shoving it into her arms. “Piggy-sis, eat up! All from your little sister’s love—just for you.”

Chi Meng’s face darkened. “…Much obliged. Thank you very much.”

Su Mengyao gave a cheeky grin and went to unpack her things.

The whole dorm buzzed with noise now. Down the hallway, someone shouted that the program crew would come collect their phones soon, and warned to hide anything contraband.

After a round of “intel-sharing,” the atmosphere grew even livelier.

Chi Meng, after confirming that no one else wanted a share of Su Mengyao’s “heartfelt delivery,” sighed lightly, hung her smart watch on the door handle, and stepped out.

She wanted somewhere quiet and breezy to eat.

Besides the main staircase in the middle, the dorm had stairwells at both ends. With forty people split across one floor, only seven rooms per hall, it wasn’t crowded.

Chi Meng walked up and stopped at the landing between two floors. Facing the tiled wall, she bit into a bun.

The white ceramic tiles reflected a faint shadow—slender gray arms lifting, shoulders shrugging, sliding into dance steps.

Chi Meng: “Mmm-mmm-mmm…”

She turned, took another bite, raised her bun-holding hand into the air, twisted her body, arms dropping as she swayed. “Mmm-mm-mmm…”

She froze for a beat, chewed, then moved again.

“Hmmm-hmmm-hmm…”

One bun finished, she practiced the moves she remembered. “Did that look better?” she asked 019.

019, ever the brainless cheerleader, shouted: “Perfect! Amazing!”

Chi Meng laughed, bent down to grab another from the bag—when she noticed a glimmer of light above, at the stairwell corner out of sight.

A girl in a gray jacket rested her chin on her hand, leaning against the green-painted railing, her lashes lowered as she quietly watched. Who knew how long she had been there?

Chi Meng: “…”

“Hi,” Chi Meng rose slowly, without a hint of embarrassment. She smiled at Song Jiaqi. “So you were here. Have you eaten yet?”

She lifted the bag in her hand and asked, smiling: “Second-hand delivery—want some?”

Chi Meng: It’s delivery. Fresh delivery.

Song Jiaqi: Hungry. I want to eat.

Chi Meng: It’s from Mengyao’s heartfelt effort.

Song Jiaqi (furious): Take it away! I’d rather starve!

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