The Vicious Female Supporting Character Goes Viral After Her Masks Drop During the Talent Show - Chapter 9

Zhong Yan’s performance was a complete reimagining of the original “Unfailing.” Beyond moving the climax to the start, she infused the entire song with traditional Chinese opera vocal techniques. In the high-pitched segments, her notes reached a full octave higher than the original version.

What shocked Mu Bin the most was that despite the extreme height of the notes, her breath control remained incredibly stable. He had seen many singers force their high notes, resulting in a thin, hollow sound because they lacked the lung capacity to support the pitch. But Zhong Yan’s voice was bright, resonant, and grounded. It possessed an explosive power while perfectly balancing pitch and emotional delivery—a feat impossible without years of profound training.

As for the arrangement, placing the climax at the beginning allowed her to seize the audience’s attention the moment she opened her mouth. The studio fell into a deafening silence. Mu Bin could feel everyone around him reflexively holding their breath, captivated by her voice, which bloomed like a solitary orchid in a deep valley.

The fusion of opera was another gamble that tested a singer’s expertise. Done well, it adds layers of classical charm; done poorly, it sounds disjointed and ruins the song’s balance. Zhong Yan’s execution was undoubtedly the former. Her transition between pop and opera styles was seamless, giving the song a beautiful, ancient aesthetic while heightening its emotional tension and artistic flair.

To Mu Bin, Zhong Yan’s rendition of “Unfailing” was practically a masterclass in vocal technique. As the last note faded, he couldn’t help but burst into applause. To hear such a performance in an idol survival show was genuinely exhilarating.

The studio erupted in the most enthusiastic cheers since the recording began. The exhaustion of the late-night session vanished; everyone was suddenly wide awake.

Zhong Yan lowered her microphone and smiled at the towering pyramid, the cheering crowd, and the dazzling spotlights. She leaned forward in a graceful bow. It turns out, she thought, that being the center of attention feels quite good.

“Help! That was incredible!” the contestants chattered excitedly.

“I finally understand why the Producer called her ‘Teacher.’ She really is a teacher! I’m definitely clinging to her for the rest of the show. Teacher Zhong! Ahhh!”

“This is too much. What did I do to deserve being on the same stage as her? I’m not worthy…”

“Is she really a trainee? How is this trainee-level?! I’m in total shock!”

“Wow! The real Final Boss has appeared!”

On the mentor panel, Rap Mentor Qian Wei was the first to speak, his Mandarin tinged with a heavy Southwestern accent. “This song isn’t in my area of expertise, so I’ll just speak from the perspective of an audience member. My feeling is: it was simply too, damn, good! You are a powerful singer!”

Finished, Qian Wei turned to Mu Bin. “Alright, my audience review is over. I’m handing the mic to Teacher Mu for the professional critique. I think Teacher Mu is even more excited than I am, haha!”

“I am. I am definitely excited,” Mu Bin said, nodding repeatedly as he looked at Zhong Yan. “You are truly amazing. This is professional singer level—honestly, you’re better than some professionals out there.”

Mu Bin patted his chest. “To be honest, I couldn’t sing this song as well as you did.”

Zhong Yan bowed slightly again. “You flatter me, Teacher.”

“No need to be humble; I mean every word,” Mu Bin waved his hand, his eyes full of admiration. “I don’t even have anything left to critique. You are an absolute ‘A.’ If I don’t give you an ‘A,’ it would be a reflection of my own poor taste, and my colleagues would laugh at me.”

Mu Bin’s wit drew a bright laugh from Ye Shi.

“Let me add one thing to what Teacher Mu said,” Ye Shi said, looking at Zhong Yan with interest. “I noticed your facial expressions are incredible! Some singers lose control of their faces when hitting high notes because of the physical effort, but you looked stunning the whole time. You seemed completely at ease! As an idol, expression management is vital, and you’ve already reached the standard of a debuted artist.”

Zhong Yan offered another round of thanks.

Ye Shi then turned to Yan Shi, throwing the topic to him. “Is our Producer satisfied with her singing? She sang the theme song of your drama, so you have the most right to speak.”

“He was stunned into silence; how could he not be satisfied?” Mu Bin cut in first. He laughed and patted Yan Shi’s shoulder teasingly. “During the performance, I tried to talk to him, and he completely ignored me. I looked over and saw this kid was so focused his eyes didn’t leave the stage for a single second.”

Yan Shi lowered his head and gave a soft cough, a rare, helpless smile appearing on his cold, handsome face. “Teacher Mu, please don’t tease me.”

“Look, even your ears are turning red. Don’t deny it,” Mu Bin said, as if discovering a new world. “After recording for this long, I’ve realized something: this kid might not talk much, but if his ears turn red, it means you’ve hit the nail on the head.”

Though Mu Bin was joking, he was right. At the start of the recording, Yan Shi had seemed distant and unreadable. But after working together for a few hours, Mu Bin realized he was just “cold on the outside, warm on the inside.”

As the crowd joined in the teasing, Zhong Yan curiously glanced at Yan Shi’s ears. They were indeed a soft pink, standing out vividly against his pale, cool complexion. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Ahem… Teachers,” Yan Shi said, trying to redirect the attention away from his ears. “Shouldn’t we let the trainee introduce herself?”

Mu Bin slapped his forehead. “Ah, right! We got so excited by the stage that we forgot the basics.” He turned back to Zhong Yan with a serious but curious expression. “So, can you let us know who you are? I’m genuinely curious about your background. You sing so well; did you go to a conservatory? Your info sheet is blank.”

“And another thing,” Ye Shi added. “I saw your training period is listed as ‘0 months or 10 years.’ What does that mean?”

“I’d be happy to answer your questions,” Zhong Yan said with a smile. “My name is Zhong Yan, and I am currently an individual trainee.”

“The ‘0 months or 10 years’ part means that I have never been signed to an agency or received professional idol training. In that sense, I have 0 months of experience. However, because of my love for the stage, I have been practicing vocals and dance for ten years. From that perspective, my ‘training’ has lasted a decade.”

After mapping out her life plan, Zhong Yan hadn’t wasted a single second of those ten years. Aside from writing, she spent all her time mastering various skills. With the resources of the Zhong family and the natural talent her character possessed in the script, learning was effortless.

“As for my background, I did study music academically. I didn’t write it on the form because I have quite a few degrees, and I wasn’t sure if I should list them all or just pick one.”

Zhong Yan rubbed the tip of her nose and said calmly, “So, I just left it blank.”

“Too many degrees?” Mu Bin laughed. It sounded like a “humble brag,” but after seeing her talent, he was intrigued. “It’s fine. Tell us all of them. We have the patience to listen.”

Zhong Yan nodded and began her list.

“I completed my undergraduate studies at Imperial University, double-majoring in Music and Literature. After that, I was accepted into the National Academy of Dramatic Arts for my Master’s, where I studied Playwriting and Performance. I have recently finished the defense for both of my theses.”

When she finished, the room fell silent for three full seconds.

It wasn’t just the trainees and mentors; the staff behind the scenes were stunned, including the Executive Producer, Zhang Jing. He knew she was the author “Zhong Yan,” but he hadn’t realized that even without that title, she was an academic powerhouse.

She had studied so much for two reasons: First, true skill is the only way to control one’s destiny. Second, in the original script, Lu Tingshen’s parents loved literature. To make her a “perfect match,” her parents had forced her to study it. She only got permission to study music by convincing them it was a “hobby” to further impress Lu Tingshen.

After the silence came a wave of gasps.

“Good grief,” Mu Bin said admiringly. “That is quite the resume. And all top-tier schools.”

Yan Shi, however, was fixated on the word “Literature.” For some reason, it bothered him. He looked at her name on the sheet—Zhong Yan. It was phonetically identical to the author he knew, with only one character difference. Even her gaze was the same.

Could the world really be this small? Yan Shi’s heart began to race.

He looked up and asked a question no one expected. “Have you worked in other fields before? For example… something related to literature?”

Zhong Yan met Yan Shi’s eyes and narrowed hers with a slight smile. “Yes. Actually, speaking of that, this is the second time the Producer and I have met.”

Yan Shi’s heart skipped a beat.

Zhong Yan turned to the room and said unhurriedly, “I actually have another identity. I wanted to perform first because I hoped everyone would get to know me as a trainee first, without being influenced by my other role. Before joining this show, I was a full-time writer. My pen name is Zhong Yan—’Zhong’ as in ‘devotion,’ and ‘Yan’ as in ‘words’.”

As her voice fell, the room plunged into silence once more.

Finally, Ye Shi picked up her mic, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You… you are the original author of Hate the Spring Breeze?”

Zhong Yan nodded. “Yes.”

The studio instantly turned into a madhouse.

“Teacher Zhong Yan! It’s the real Teacher Zhong! I’m witnessing history!” “Am I at a breaking news press conference?! I’m going to faint from shock!” “Wait, I thought Teacher Zhong Yan was a 30-year-old mother of two? The internet lied to me! She’s a young beauty!” “Is the world ending? Why is a legendary author in an idol survival show?!” “The Producer is the one who’s going to lose it! Once, you were my benefactor; now, I am your Producer. What kind of fated encounter is this?!”

Everyone knew the history between the author Zhong Yan and the actor Yan Shi. It was well known that she had practically hand-delivered him to his “Top-Tier” status by fighting for his casting. Furthermore, just two weeks ago, the #1 trending topic was “Yan Shi’s Failed Fanboying” because the author hadn’t replied to his comment on social media.

The production team, sensing a goldmine, immediately cut the feed to a split-screen showing Yan Shi’s every micro-expression.

Yan Shi’s ears turned a deep crimson. He had a million things to say but didn’t know where to start.

It was Zhong Yan who broke the ice with a smile.

“Though this is the second time I’ve seen the Producer, it’s the first time he’s truly seen me, so I’ll go first.”

She looked directly at Yan Shi, her eyes shimmering. “I saw the comment you left for me on Weibo. I didn’t reply then because I wanted to reply to you in person today.”

Yan Shi looked up, meeting her steady gaze.

“Thank you for your brilliant performance in Hate the Spring Breeze. I want to tell you that—from the moment of casting to the final broadcast and everything since—you have always been the best Male Lead in my heart.”

To Zhong Yan, whether as a screenwriter in her past life or as a person within this script, Yan Shi was the only one who deserved to be the “Best Male Lead.”