Chapter 9

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“Whew, it’s finally over!”

Once the students from the first round of testing had left, the examiners could finally shed their stern expressions and show a more relaxed side.

“There really were more people than ever this year. Hey, we definitely need to tell the higher-ups that if next year is like this, I suggest we split the sessions over at least two days,” Chief Examiner Zhang joked. “Otherwise, even just having lunch today was more stressful than restful.”

“I think next year we’ll have even more participants. With the market improving and people’s living standards rising, cultural and entertainment pursuits are becoming more popular,” another examiner noted, hinting at the increasing appeal of the industry. He concluded, “So, the next few years might just see a strong upward trend.”

Everyone agreed on this general forecast, although opinions varied on the specifics. Some thought the boom would only last four or five years, giving current students a good head start; others felt it could take seven or eight years to fully unfold. Some were more conservative, suggesting it could take nearly a decade since, while the mainland market had started to take off, competition from regions like Hong Kong still held it back.

Mentioning Hong Kong and Taiwan caused an awkward pause. The reality of the disparity was undeniable, and it didn’t sit well with anyone.

One examiner shifted the conversation:

“By the way, who impressed you the most today? I thought that kid Lin Hao was quite good. He has a strong presence, appears composed, and seems to have great potential,” someone commented.

“Yeah, he was impressive. The kid has a star-like quality,” another agreed. “And he didn’t get stage fright. He commanded the room. The moment he stepped on stage, everyone quieted down. Has he performed before?”

“No, actually. When I read his profile, I was surprised…”

…

Unaware he had become a topic of conversation, Lin Hao returned home and resumed practicing his Tibetan dance. With the second round of testing over, he was now preparing for the third.

The decision to focus on Tibetan dance came from a friend’s suggestion after seeing him perform a traditional Guozhuang dance well. Since then, Lin Hao had been training rigorously with a teacher, who recognized his potential but drilled him mercilessly to make up for his lack of experience.

One memorable time, the teacher had left for a two-week trip and wasn’t there to supervise his practice. When they returned, Lin Hao had to endure the excruciating process of stretching his stiff muscles… tears were shed.

But hard work does pay off. From “wasting money on useless training,” he had progressed to “spending money and learning something worthwhile.” Of course, after just half a year, he wasn’t at a professional level, but he had certainly improved, focusing on this one dance enough to make some impact.

At 3 PM, Lin Hao was back at it, making the most of the time left.

The choreography symbolized a joyful harvest celebration, with powerful, expansive movements and lively jumps throughout the performance. Although he had become more accustomed to the intensity, it was still far from easy.

“If you can finish the routine without breaking a sweat, you’re definitely not using enough energy,” his teacher would say. So, in addition to mastering key parts, he continued to polish his overall technique, ensuring everything was well rehearsed for the big day.

…

Two days later, the results were announced.

Lin Hao was joined by his friend Xu Wei, who had been working on his album but was dealing with slow progress.

Despite having gained initial fame by writing “Persistence” for Tian Zhen, and facing numerous social commitments in the early months, Xu Wei’s popularity was waning. Commercial performances had dwindled, and his free-spending habits meant he might soon be broke again. But that wasn’t the focus today.

Xu Wei, still riding high from his past success, strutted over confidently, sunglasses on, dragging Lin Hao along. When he spotted Lin Hao’s name at the top of the list, he yelled out:

“Wow! First place!”

Lin Hao felt a bit embarrassed. Wasn’t the plan to stay low-key no matter what?

Xu Wei’s shout attracted everyone’s attention—some curious, some rolling their eyes, others envious. Suddenly, Lin Hao felt like the lead character from a typical “starting-from-nothing” novel, with all eyes on him. Xu Wei was clearly enjoying it, until Lin Hao dragged him away.

“Hey, what’s the rush? You should be celebrating this victory!” Xu Wei protested.

“Yeah, but we agreed to keep things low-profile,” Lin Hao muttered, feeling annoyed. Xu Wei had changed since his brief brush with fame, gathering new friends and acting like a big shot, which grated on Lin Hao.

As an only child, Lin Hao had never liked being bossed around, and there was always that lingering sense of superiority he felt, knowing his future could be different. He was aware this wasn’t the best attitude, but… who was going to change him? Fight him?

“Fine, fine. I get it,” Xu Wei replied, the fun fading a bit. “So what’s next? Does this mean you’re in?”

“Still have more rounds. Tomorrow is the second test, with a reading and an impromptu acting challenge,” Lin Hao explained.

“Reading again? Didn’t you already do that?” Xu Wei asked.

“Last time was prepared reading. Tomorrow will be a random selection of prose,” Lin Hao clarified.

Xu Wei seemed less enthused. Hanging out with Lin Hao felt juvenile compared to his older, more carefree crowd.

…

The next day, the campus was still bustling, though less chaotic.

Lin Hao was in the third group, third to perform. He chatted with familiar faces from the first round. Everyone seemed more at ease, including Zhang Ziyi, who was particularly cheerful, and Hu Jing, likely more relaxed from making it past the first cut.

Although Lin Hao wasn’t paired with anyone he knew, he did notice Qin Hailu in the crowd. She wasn’t easy to spot, and unlike celebrities like Xiao Yanzi or He Jiong, she’d changed over time. His searching glances earned him a few disapproving looks from nearby girls.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Lin Hao waited patiently. Finally, it was his turn to perform, starting with the reading portion.

He drew The Back View by Zhu Ziqing—a domestic piece, unlike the foreign ones that were harder to interpret emotionally.

With a minute to prepare, he took a deep breath and began:

“I said, ‘Father, you go on.’ He glanced out of the train window and replied, ‘I’ll get some oranges. Stay here and don’t wander off.’”

Despite how this line has since been parodied, in the moment, it carried deep emotional weight. The section required a subtle but profound delivery, rich in genuine feeling without becoming overly dramatic.

“…I saw his back, and tears quickly welled up in my eyes. I wiped them away immediately, not wanting him or others to notice,” Lin Hao continued, finding his rhythm and emotional core.

The examiners exchanged nods, impressed by the balanced and heartfelt delivery.

“He walked over to the car, placed the oranges on my coat, and patted off the dirt. He seemed relieved. After a while, he said, ‘I’m leaving. Write when you get there!’”

“I watched him as he walked away. He turned back after a few steps to check on me, saying, ‘Go inside; there’s no one out here.’ I waited until his figure disappeared into the crowd before going back in, my tears welling up once more.”

“Thank you, professors. I have finished my recitation.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Lin Hao’s performance was understated yet full of genuine emotion, moving seamlessly from a farewell scene to the sorrow of being left behind.

Some examiners, having seen his earlier performance, noted his improvement. This time, he wasn’t just the handsome boy they had first noticed. Yet, none immediately commented, leaving an awkward pause.

…

“Did you pick this piece for him?” someone silently asked Zhang, who merely shrugged in response.

Of course, Zhang had an inkling of Lin Hao’s strategy: impress in the first round, surprise in the second, and stabilize in the third.

But seeing the other teachers’ glowing eyes, including the usually reserved class advisor, Zhang realized trouble might be brewing. Lin Hao had shown too much promise, and with these teachers’ tendencies, they were bound to give him a hard time.

Sure enough, Professor Yu broke the silence: “You made several mistakes during your reading, both minor and major…”