Chapter 70
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This chapter is edited by Cthulhu. Thank you for your contribution!
Chapter 70: Lost the Game? Winwinwin!
Stage aisle.
Liang Xiaoxiao nervously steadied her breathing, pursed her lips, and attempted to smile.
The girl’s eyes curved gracefully, with sparkles at their edges, and her light orange eye makeup was quite striking. She looked delicate and charming, youthful and vibrant.
Unfortunately, her smile lacked confidence and therefore lost some of its charm.
There was nothing they could do about it.
Although Liang Xiaoxiao was already considered pretty by her neighbors, friends, and classmates, she seemed somewhat unremarkable compared to the other contestants.
Not to mention, she didn’t photograph well.
Liang Xiaoxiao had signed with a small company for almost a year. Before beginning intense training, the first lesson they taught her was to view herself as ordinary.
No need for pickup artistry or deliberate suppression.
The company boss simply showed her an unedited photo of herself in the camera, which made her realize she had no competitive advantage in the entertainment industry’s beauty competition.
Actually, this was quite normal. Unless blessed by the Muses, being able to display 8 points of beauty and uniqueness on the big screen was considered fortunate.
But for girls filled with dreams, diving into the entertainment industry, and eager to shine, this reality could be a crushing blow.
Although Liang Xiaoxiao wasn’t in this category, she still felt insecure after this realization.
Lately, she had been practicing smiling in front of the mirror, just to appear better on camera, even slightly better.
Even though her short-term efforts couldn’t match those of her competitors.
Even though Kirimi Miyuki possessed a perfect smile, good manners, and a friendly demeanor, with expression management skills beyond compare.
But… if she tried a little harder, maybe it would bring some peace of mind.
Liang Xiaoxiao attempted to calm herself and took small steps toward the stage.
The stage was immense; just walking to the center depleted almost all her strength.
The girl’s heart pounded like a drum, her breathing grew heavy, the dome’s bright lights were soft but felt scorching, she could almost smell something burning, and the sound of rushing blood filled her ears.
The suffocating tension intensified as the lighting system kept changing.
Liang Xiaoxiao felt slightly dizzy; she had imagined herself losing control or getting a low rating, but she never anticipated being scared and trembling before even beginning.
It was embarrassing, wasteful, and futile.
Liang Xiaoxiao couldn’t help but feel disgusted with herself – if she couldn’t overcome this obstacle, she didn’t deserve to step onto the stage.
The girl struggled to break free from fear.
But the vast stage, the stretching rows of seats, the endless distance in the background, and the gradually rotating stage lights all seemed like a tangible swamp pulling at her ankles, slowly consuming her.
As the silent countdown began, the theme song’s background music started right on cue.
Effort and sweat would not betray oneself.
Even though her mindset wasn’t well-adjusted and her dance skills were only average among the trainees, with twelve hours of daily training, her body had developed muscle memory for the theme song.
So, when the first note sounded.
The girl successfully took a step and instinctively adjusted her breathing, preparing her vocal state.
The lyrics she would sing moments later reappeared in her mind, and the release of dopamine helped ease the tension. She felt better than expected, and her smile became more natural.
But the next moment, a virtual illusion arrived as if on cue, with grand lights and shadows filling her pupils like fireworks, screams and cheers roaring like a strong wind, crossing mountains and seas.
“Liang Xiaoxiao, I love you!”
“Sweetheart, you are the best!”
“Xiaoxiao, don’t turn ‘Candy’ into a flying disc dance, okay?!”
These AI-selected words of encouragement from the internet felt so authentic, as if they had traveled through time and space.
The audience seats below were filled with a bustling crowd, deceiving the eye with people of all kinds, waving glow sticks, banners, and signs, shouting unique phrases that enhanced the immersive experience, just like true fans, displaying enthusiastic and tireless support.
Liang Xiaoxiao was confused.
Perhaps, like most contestants, she lost her thoughts momentarily, mistaking it for reality in her daze.
This sense of reality, for those yearning for fame and glory, eager for the bright lights of the true stage, could be considered a purely potent stimulant of excitement.
However, for those mentally unprepared and still feeling lost inside, it could be like an overwhelming mountain of endless pressure.
And Liang Xiaoxiao happened to be the latter.
Her dance steps stiffened, her singing cracked on the first lyric, and even though she relied on muscle memory, she performed poorly, no longer light and smooth as before, her facial expression completely uncontrolled.
The time on stage was only three minutes.
But these 180 seconds seemed to split and stretch endlessly, extending so far that she could clearly comprehend the cruel fact that she was ruining everything.
Intense anxiety spread.
Overwhelming fear took control.
Much confusion emerged.
In the girl’s muddled mind, memories rushed like galloping horses, frantically retracing in an instant.
“Idol, what do you mean to you?”
This was what interviewers typically asked during auditions.
Liang Xiaoxiao remembered her response then, all scripted words taught by the company beforehand.
Even if she had answered seriously, she couldn’t have come up with anything impressive.
Because the word “idol” didn’t shine in her eyes, nor did it hold any special meaning.
If forced to say, she believed idols were neither sacred nor great, just a profession that earned more than other jobs.
Liang Xiaoxiao didn’t like the stage, nor did she like being an idol.
She only signed with the company because her parents needed money for her younger brother’s tuition, accepted the seven to eight thousand offered by the agent, and was pressured into signing a fifteen-year contract, a slave contract capable of consuming her youth.
Subsequently, she was forced to leave school, didn’t obtain her high school diploma, remained confined in that small company space, trained relentlessly according to their targets, and at seventeen could see through the first half of her life at a glance.
For Liang Xiaoxiao to reach Sea City and pass the audition for “Dazzling Stage” was truly miraculous, an accident, a gift beyond fate – even her company hadn’t expected her to succeed.
This luck hadn’t come easily.
And precisely because it hadn’t come easily, even though she knew she lacked qualifications, even though she knew it was impossible, she couldn’t help but dream.
– If I could survive a few more rounds, would the contract terms improve?
– If I could fit in and debut, would my fate change completely?
These pragmatic, anxious thoughts, mixed with the reality’s helplessness, compelled her to do her best, forced her to practice until she wept quietly at night, forced her to ignore her true desires and self.
So…
Liang Xiaoxiao couldn’t afford to daydream.
She hadn’t anticipated the moment of stepping onto the stage, nor had she imagined being loved and admired by so many.
This directly resulted in the fact that, even though virtual reality created a grand stage just for her, it provided no encouragement or fulfillment, instead leaving her feeling lost and confused.
“Idol, what do you mean to you?”
The interviewer’s words echoed in Liang Xiaoxiao’s ears once more.
Liang Xiaoxiao’s mind went blank, her dance steps became chaotic, her shoes slightly slipped, her ankle twisted, her body tilted, stumbling as if about to fall.
But unexpectedly,
The girl, in her dazed state of losing balance, found the answer.
Indeed, idols were neither sacred nor great, just a job that paid more than other professions.
However, to become a qualified idol, one must endure public scrutiny, accept fans’ love, bear the responsibility of weaving dreams, and shoulder more public opinion and attention.
If one approaches it half-heartedly, they will end up like now, unable to overcome even false illusions and false stages.
Liang Xiaoxiao, in self-mockery, fell heavily to the ground like a butterfly, her earrings coming loose in the process.
Before the sharp pain could travel through her nerves, strong feelings of unwillingness and encroaching darkness compelled her to force herself up and continue dancing.
Meanwhile, the live stream of the stage accident exploded with comments, with messages flying across the screen:
“Waaah, Sister Flying Disc fell!”
“So sad, was she too nervous?”
“Another poor soul tricked by the virtual reality system.”
“Oh no, will she still dance? Did she retrieve her fallen earpiece?”
“Sister Flying Disc clearly twisted her ankle badly, continuing to dance shows incredible professionalism.”
On the stage.
Liang Xiaoxiao lowered her gaze, like a robot programmed with instructions, disregarding her expressions, the lost earpiece, her swollen and throbbing ankle, and the increasingly chaotic scene below, singing in rhythm and successfully completing the theme song.
Shortly after, the virtual scenery below the stage dissipated, leaving behind a solitary, cold lingering spotlight.
Liang Xiaoxiao stared somewhat dazedly at the empty stage, with a buzzing sound in her ears, static noise in her head, her temples throbbing, sweat soaking her back, and feeling a cold tingling sensation in her ankles and sides.
But at that moment, compared to the terribly disastrous stage performance, these discomforts seemed insignificant.
If she truly had fans, they must be deeply disappointed, right?
Feeling disoriented, Liang Xiaoxiao went to the medical room alone after bowing to the camera and declining the staff’s assistance. After receiving basic bandaging, she sat silently against the wall, lost in thought.
Over at the Tutor Group, Chen Baijiu was the first to provide feedback.
Though avoiding harsh language, his objective comments were pointed, acknowledging the contestant’s spirit before assigning a Grade D rating.
The other mentors had varying tones and perspectives in their feedback, but their opinions on the rating were remarkably unified, resulting in a unanimous Grade D.
Because Liang Xiaoxiao had insisted on performing for sympathy points, many expressed regret and disappointment.
Especially her fans.
Yet, despite her low rating, unremarkable looks, and stage performance being excluded from the show, she had gained some popularity among Grade D contestants due to her impressive flying disc dance at the beginning.
Liang Xiaoxiao’s Weibo followers approached two hundred thousand, and excluding the management company’s influence, this level of popularity growth would be considered remarkable in a typical talent show.
Currently, in the super topic titled “Potato God’s Cult,” there was considerable discussion:
“Ugh, her secondary rating is Grade D, she has almost no chance of debuting.”
“… There’s no other way, in Xiaoxiao’s situation, it’s like being passively drained by three families. While it’s not too severe, there will certainly be people from other families who are displeased.”
“So, why are her fans called potatoes? It seems so silly.”
“Because the flying disc Xiaoxiao used that day was made of potatoes!”
“Then why not call it the Flying Disc Cult? How annoying!”
“Haha, might as well call it stir-fried rice cakes.”
Liang Xiaoxiao’s stage performance didn’t generate much buzz.
External discussions about “Dazzling Stage” remained focused primarily on Chu Yuanqing, followed by Kirimi Miyuki, Xie Qingxuan, Ji Shuzhu, Chen Yining, and other Grade A frontrunners.
As for the ongoing live ratings, fewer people maintained interest.
The Grade C assessment lasted three and a half hours, and except for the first performer Chu Yuanqing, the results of the other 37 contestants were largely disappointing, naturally causing audiences to lose patience.
The Grade D rating stage proved even more brutal, with Liang Xiaoxiao’s failure leading to subsequent contestants struggling with their performances, deteriorating progressively, and various stage mishaps occurring with increasing frequency.
By the time Grade F ratings began, evening had fallen, with 48 contestants performing one after another, continuing until early morning before finally concluding the entire round of secondary ratings.
During this period, including Chu Yuanqing, many popular contestants had returned to their dorm rooms, where nano cameras were absent, leaving only individual cameras that players could disable themselves.
Consequently, most popular individual channels displayed black screens with no visible or audible content, causing a steady decline in live chat participants, dropping from tens of millions to mere millions.
Nevertheless, many still felt disappointed when the official “Dazzling Stage” website announced the end of live streaming, wishing they could continue watching personal channels even in complete darkness.
Meanwhile, in an underground base, in a dormitory on the F floor.
Chu Yuanqing tiredly pushed aside her blanket and got up, resembling a sleepy kitten as she drooped her head and gazed at the camera covered with a towel, feeling perplexed.
Are internet trolls really this persistent now? They can’t see anything clearly, yet they continue tirelessly insulting me.
Although this confirmed the complete collapse of her online image, and she would likely face elimination soon, she rarely had the chance to sleep and wake early today and genuinely didn’t want her rest disturbed.
Especially after enduring the curse of the Sea of Truth and the magical reaction, her energy levels required additional recovery through sleep today.
“Huh? Disappeared, did the live streaming room shut down?”
Chu Yuanqing’s witch senses and crisis perception simultaneously vanished, leaving her with a sense of calmness washing over her entire being, as if she were in a quiet, gentle forest, and drowsiness suddenly overwhelmed her.
The girl released a soft yawn and glanced around with heavy eyes.
It was now very late at night, and both Xie Qingxuan and Tang Liuli had dutifully returned to sleep, leaving only Liang Xiaoxiao’s bed empty.
Where had this child gone?
Chu Yuanqing pondered briefly, but exhaustion prevented deeper thought, and she immediately wrapped herself in her blanket and quickly fell asleep.
Soon after, the dormitory door opened.
Liang Xiaoxiao entered silently, having apparently used the public bathroom outside, showered and blow-dried her hair before returning, her body still emanating the scent of shower gel.
The young girl’s bare face appeared fair and innocent, with slightly reddened eyes. Her expression showed quiet acceptance of reality as she climbed into bed, seeming to lack security. She wrapped herself tightly in the sheets, like a spring roll, seeking comfort and safety.
From a distance, she resembled a large cocoon, exuding an undeniable cuteness and humor.
Liang Xiaoxiao began serious self-reflection.
The secondary rating had failed, and chances of getting favorable performance placement seemed minimal.
In the upcoming group competition, whether teams formed freely or top players made selections, she would likely be chosen last. Even if she managed to join a winning team, she wouldn’t stand out or attract many votes.
No matter how she analyzed it, the possibility of debuting seemed nonexistent.
Liang Xiaoxiao’s sadness deepened with each thought.
After leaving that stage, her hope of remaining for additional rounds had practically shattered. Her time on “Dazzling Stage” now merely meant waiting for final judgment.
Liang Xiaoxiao couldn’t contain her tears. Usually maintaining a positive outlook, she had convinced herself, even when pressured by her parents to sign a contract, that brighter days lay ahead and stardom awaited.
After nearly a year with the company, watching former classmates enter college while her future remained uncertain, even her optimistic nature couldn’t prevent feelings of defeat and sorrow.
Regarding “Dazzling Stage”…
This show resembled a cup of hopeful poison for her. It could transform her fate but also narrow her future paths to the point of despair.
Now, the sugar-coated hope had worn off, leaving bitter despair that slowly dissolved, painting an increasingly hopeless future in her mind.
Liang Xiaoxiao felt devastated and wept quietly. She tried to wipe her nose but realized her arms were wrapped too tightly to free them, causing her to cry harder.
But then,
A delicate hand held a tissue to her face, gently wiping away her tears and runny nose.
Liang Xiaoxiao tearfully gazed at the figure standing on tiptoes before her. The person appeared bathed in light, majestic and divine, with a delicate face wearing a gentle smile, resembling a compassionate deity from above.
It was Chu Yuanqing.
Nullparadox
So precious… QAQ