I Became the Top Competitor in a Talent Show Novel - Chapter 9

Chi Meng has gone mad.

That was what Song Jiaqi thought, her heart trembling as she stiffly pulled her hand back.

Or maybe she was the one going mad.

In both her past and present lives, she had never once imagined that after losing role after role and award after award to the female lead, she would end up sitting in the same row as her—shaking hands.

What were those headlines back then?

“The Heiress of Renxing Loses Her Shine, Famous Director Seeks a New Star.”

“Song Jiaqi Throws Diva Tantrums, All Attitude and No Talent.”

“Rising Star Su Mengyao Warmly Clings While Song Jiaqi’s Arrogance Leads to a Bitter Defeat.”

She had never been afraid of losing, but overnight, she became the target of everyone’s scorn. Everything she had worked for, everything she had been proud of, was instantly dismissed. Her strength and skills, once a source of pride, became a laughingstock for others. As if she really was nothing more than the “vase” they called her. As if all her awards were rigged because she was the Renxing heiress. As if the iconic performances she gave were actually directed step by step by the director—some even claimed certain shots used AI face-swapping.

Obvious fake news spread vividly across the internet.

Those who once swore they loved her, loved her work, suddenly bared their fangs, their words venomous as dark tides that drowned her. When she couldn’t handle the pressure anymore and retreated, people sneered—“Look, she’s guilty!”—before rushing to Su Mengyao, showering her with praise, calling her talented, genuine, admirable.

Even she herself, in her moments of confusion, began to doubt—maybe everything she had was fake.

Until the night she was reborn. Then she knew.

It was fake.

Song Jiaqi blankly rubbed the hand that had just been shaken against her thigh, again and again, her eyes staring forward in a daze.

In the control room, the director watching the feed frowned.
“Is this the girl?”

The assistant director nodded. “Renxing’s manager said she’s been in a really low state lately. No need to force the cameras on her.”

“The sound team said she refused to wear a mic.”

In this industry, no matter how much someone tried to preserve their image, you still had to give the big companies some face. How much face—that was up to the director. Besides, if the show discovered promising talent, would they really let them go? Ratings came first.

Cen Hongjie, the director of Star Journey, shook her head. This wasn’t low spirits—this was a girl who clearly didn’t want to be in the business at all. But Renxing was a huge company. Surely they didn’t need to force their own heiress into the industry to make money?

Regardless, work was work.

She gestured for someone to go mic up Song Jiaqi. After all, the camera kept gravitating toward her row, almost magnetically. Without a mic, the effect was halved. Not only had they missed what Song Jiaqi had just said to Chi Meng, but the touching scene of three trainees holding hands was incomplete. The perfectionist director couldn’t stand it!

Meanwhile, Chi Meng was chatting with 019.

019 asked her why she made the female lead and female supporting role hold hands.

“Why not?” Chi Meng tilted her head. “Are they supposed to fight to the death later? Is Jiaqi the boss villain?”

In most stories, the villain was obvious—black eyeshadow, black clothes, roaring with laughter at the sky, clearly the bad guy.

But look at Song Jiaqi.

Chi Meng tilted her head at her.

The quiet girl sat with her head down, fingers fiddling, her long lashes casting shadows over eyes as deep as nightfall. She looked untouchable, but her makeup was light—no black eyeshadow, no billowing cloak. Just clean brows, a straight nose bridge, and lips soft and red, full like autumn berries.

The more Chi Meng looked, the prettier she found her.

She crossed her legs, rested her chin on her hand, and silently admired her.

019 muttered incomprehensibly.

“Hm? What did you say?”

019 grumbled: “You’re calling the female supporting role by her real name so intimately! Would you dare call her that to her face?”

“Why not? Should I call her ‘female supporting role’ instead?” Chi Meng asked calmly. “I don’t see the problem.”

I see the problem! 019 buzzed indignantly.

At that moment, staff hurried over with a mic for Renxing’s trainee. To avoid disrupting the shoot, the worker looked a little anxious.

Chen Zhu quickly accepted it with an awkward thank-you.

Snapping out of her daze, Song Jiaqi took the mic from her and casually tossed it behind her as if simply placing it there was enough. That was when Chi Meng realized—so she hadn’t been wearing one all along! No wonder she’d been so bold, swearing out loud just now.

“I’ll help you,” Chi Meng said, picking up the black clip mic.

“No.” Song Jiaqi’s rejection was cold.

Chi Meng blinked. Could it be that Song Jiaqi had some phobia of microphones?

Song Jiaqi glanced at her, frowning. “Stop imagining weird things.”

“Am I?” Chi Meng asked innocently, lifting the mic toward her.

Just then, Su Mengyao leaned forward from behind, curious expression saying ‘What are you doing? Let me in on it too!’

In an instant, Song Jiaqi shut down. She seized Chi Meng’s wrist, pressing her hand behind her waist, leaned her upper body back, crossed her arms, and stared forward with an icy face.

Only then did Chi Meng realize the hostility Song Jiaqi held toward Su Mengyao—sudden, baseless, but fierce.

Yet clearly, the two had never met before.

Could this be the natural clash between female lead and female supporting role? Chi Meng wondered. She had little experience with webnovels or dramas, so it was just a guess.

Still caught in Song Jiaqi’s grip, Chi Meng mischievously wriggled a finger against her back, while turning to Su Mengyao with a bright smile.

“Looks like no one else is coming.”

Su Mengyao glanced around, nodded in agreement.

The hall was full now. For the past two minutes, no new trainees had arrived. Slowly, the nervous atmosphere eased as girls chattered and exchanged plans to add each other on WeChat.

Then suddenly—the lights dimmed with a loud “ka!” Some of the more timid girls squealed.

From the ceiling, a single spotlight beamed down on the very top seat among the 126 chairs.

Hundreds of eyes turned upward.

The chosen girl sat frozen under their envious, yearning stares. In that instant, a seed took root in her heart—the wish to sit there forever.

But soon, the light slipped away like a shooting star, darting rapidly across the rows of faces. Young eyes followed, moths chasing fire.

Ka!

The light vanished again, as suddenly as it appeared.

Sighs of regret rippled through the room.

Then another loud switch.

This time, the spotlight hit the grand stage below.

A graceful woman stood there, radiant in a red gown flowing like fine wine. She smiled gently, her beauty filling the room.

“Wow!”

“It’s Teacher Xie!”

“Xie Tongyue!!”

“I love her dramas! I can’t believe she’s the host of Star Journey! I’m so happy!”

Trainees jumped to their feet, applauding.

“Good afternoon to all 126 trainees,” the actress said, voice smooth as velvet. “I’m Xie Tongyue, and I have the honor of being today’s host. On behalf of the entire production team, I greet our audience and our trainees. In the days to come, we’ll be sharing this journey together.”

Her warm voice drew blissful smiles, girls gripping each other’s hands in excitement.

But then her tone shifted, growing stronger, louder—

“So! Welcome to the nation’s most popular, strength-first, large-scale talent show—Star Journey!

126 trainees. 9 will debut. Who will be your favorite? Let’s find out together!”

The camera zoomed close as Xie Tongyue smiled.

“Now, please welcome our mentors. They will guide you—until the nine most beloved trainees are born!”

She turned, and multiple spotlights flashed.

Suddenly, a woman in a cap stood behind her, flanked by dancers in triangular formation like a spearhead.

Her sharp eyes glinted as she smirked, makeup highlighting her striking features.

“Hey, girl.”

Her face filled the giant screen, finger pointing first at the cheering trainees, then at herself.

“Watch me.”

Boom!

The drums thundered, igniting the hall.

The dancers struck sharp moves in sync with flashing lights, music so powerful it shook the bones. Excited trainees jumped up, clapping and shouting.

“Wow!!!”

The woman’s presence dominated the stage. Agile, controlled, every movement precise and powerful. With dynamic rhythm and energy, she sparked the dance flame in everyone’s hearts.

019 piped up: “Host, your jaw just dropped.”

Chi Meng: “……”

“Is everyone like this?” she asked, seeing trainees already mimicking the moves after one glance, raising their arms to try.

“I—I can’t,” Su Mengyao stammered, hands pressed to her chest.

Chi Meng turned immediately to Song Jiaqi.

Raising her right hand, Song Jiaqi rippled a wave from fingertips through her arm, shoulder, to the other arm—like flowing water.

Chi Meng and Su Mengyao: “Wow!”

“Can you do this too, like the teacher?” Su Mengyao twisted clumsily.

Song Jiaqi huffed and lowered her arms.

“She can’t,” Chi Meng explained seriously.

Song Jiaqi huffed again.

The woman was Luan Xiu, former girl-group member, now a famous actress in Huaguo, serving as Star Journey’s dance mentor. After her, another dance mentor, Shi Xinxin, appeared, giving an equally brilliant performance. The two even battled onstage, demanding music for a dance-off—their skill so overwhelming the trainees could only clap in awe.

A chorus of “wow” filled the room.

Then came the rap mentors, A-Meng and Baozi Yu, followed by vocal coaches Teng Jia and Xu Shengling, each performing before taking their seats.

The girls’ hands were red from clapping. Gazing at the mentor seats so close yet so far, many felt a deep awe.

These stars shone as if from another world, untouchable despite their proximity.

Amid the worshipful stares, Song Jiaqi propped her face on her hand, utterly bored.

Beside her, Chi Meng blinked.

“Xiao Jiu,” she whispered.

019, who had been sneaking peeks at the show, hurriedly hid its glowstick and responded: “System 019 at your service. I’m here.”

Chi Meng was silent for a while. Then softly, she said:

“If this is the level required to stand out in the entertainment industry… I’m way too far behind.”

As far as the Mariana Trench is from Mount Everest.

Even worse than a mere passerby.

019 made a surprised noise, a flicker of hope rising.

Could it be—the host had finally come to her senses? That she would give up chasing this path and shine in another field where her real strengths lay? She had her past life’s experience, after all. Why suffer pointlessly in showbiz?

Chi Meng asked seriously, “You said system 007, right? If I live a normal life, without breaking the rules, will it affect you?”

019: “…?”

A bad feeling rose.

“What I mean is—if I cut down my sleep time, would that affect you?” she asked gently. “You know I’ve been going to bed early and waking up early these two years. Always plenty of sleep. It must’ve given you the wrong impression.”

She emphasized:

“I’ve rested for two whole years. I can’t waste time anymore! I was too naive—at my level, I don’t deserve to be here. I must train harder.”

019 recalled all the nights its host stayed up working odd jobs under the guise of “life experience,” only to show up to class the next morning full of energy.

It fell into stunned silence.

Clearly, host and system weren’t even using the same dictionary.

You call that “plenty of sleep”?

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