Chapter 103 Stage Recording
Tang Zhichu touched his cheek. Wang Xiaoyan kept glancing at him, making Tang Zhichu wonder if there was something on his face.
“There’s nothing on your face. I just wanted to take a closer look. I feel like aside from being handsome, you don’t seem to have anything special. Why is Sister Yun so invested in you?”
Tang Zhichu was speechless.
“Want to take a walk together?”
Tang Zhichu looked around once more.
“Relax. With that guy from the Yu family here, no one’s going to take your picture. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be leaked. Besides, a white cap leading a musician around the estate—that’s a novelty. Do you know why I brought you food? Yu said you’d spent the whole day in the recording studio without eating a thing.”
Tang Zhichu was surprised at Wang Xiaoyan’s demeanor; she seemed suddenly different. Back in the gym, that baby-faced innocence made her seem detached from worldly matters. Now, it was as though she had seen through all the dust of the world.
On the wooden boardwalk by the lake, Tang Zhichu cradled a thermos and sipped pork rib soup—delicious.
Wang Xiaoyan leaned against a pillar, watching him drink.
Neither spoke, yet both felt at ease, as if their secrets were already known to each other.
Tang Zhichu was aware of Wang Xiaoyan’s relationship with Yu Hua, and Wang Xiaoyan knew about Tang Zhichu and Zhou Yun.
“What do you think I should do?” Wang Xiaoyan suddenly asked.
Tang Zhichu smiled and replied with a question, “Are you unwilling to accept it?”
Wang Xiaoyan shook her head, but didn’t refute.
“My father once told me: everything has its cause and effect. Don’t be afraid, and don’t shrink back. Just face it.”
“Face it? You mean tear off the mask and talk openly?”
“Not necessarily.”
Tang Zhichu wasn’t worried about Wang Xiaoyan confronting Yu Hua; she didn’t dare. If she did, she wouldn’t have come to him.
The world is bustling and noisy, but when things settle, how many aren’t swayed by their own interests?
At first, Tang Zhichu thought Wang Xiaoyan had come because Yu Hua sent her. Yu Hua was ruthless, never hesitating to shove his own woman forward. But now, it seemed that Little Yun had sent her instead.
Tang Zhichu finished the soup, pointed proudly at the thermos, and said, “If you tidy up for me, I’ll tell you what to do.”
Wang Xiaoyan paused, but obediently came over, dumped the bones from the lid into a nearby trash can, packed up the thermos, and looked at Tang Zhichu.
Tang Zhichu pulled out a tissue from somewhere, wiped his mouth, and looked at Wang Xiaoyan. “Let me try. Come watch on the day of the stage recording.”
Wang Xiaoyan was puzzled. “Watch what?”
“Watch me sing.”
“Why should I watch you sing?”
“Just come, you’ll see.”
June 13, the day of the fourth stage recording.
In the morning, Wang Xiaoyan and Zhou Yun appeared in the recording hall, arranging the area reserved for their project team.
Today’s news was 2+3—only two people from the “Good and Evil” project team.
Wang Xiaoyan still felt uneasy. Why was she here to listen to Tang Zhichu sing?
To let Yu see? To show him how obedient she was, moving in the direction he wanted?
“Sister Yun, do you trust him that much?” Wang Xiaoyan asked softly.
Zhou Yun, checking the seating arrangement, replied, “Does it matter if I trust him? Give it a try. You don’t have a better plan, do you? Are you really going to get stubborn and run back to Yuzhou? Yu would love that.”
Zhou Yun wasn’t confident either. Seeing Wang Xiaoyan often lost in thought, she knew Wang Xiaoyan couldn’t let go, or at least not so quickly.
She could handle most people, but wrestling with Yu? Zhou Yun knew that wasn’t realistic.
That’s why she sent Wang Xiaoyan to see Tang Zhichu. If possible, and if Tang Zhichu was willing, perhaps he had a solution.
When it came to scheming, Zhou Yun respected Tang Zhichu. During their reality show days, he had her tightly under control.
Who knew Old Tang would go this far, even onto the stage.
Trust wasn’t the issue, but Zhou Yun was genuinely uneasy. She even felt she shouldn’t have let Wang Xiaoyan meet Tang Zhichu.
After arranging the project seating, Zhou Yun and Wang Xiaoyan moved to a spot near the corner.
Backstage, Tang Zhichu, his makeup done, took out his phone. Zhou Yun had sent a message.
“I’m a little worried about you.”
Tang Zhichu smiled and typed a reply: “Wasn’t it you who sent her to find me?”
Zhou Yun replied instantly: “I’ll take her away right now.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. It’s not as complicated as you think.”
Just as Tang Zhichu finished replying, Big Bald Xige appeared at the door. “Little Tang, not ready yet?”
Tang Zhichu stood up and stretched lazily. “Done ages ago.”
“Come on, recording’s about to start.”
When Tang Zhichu and Xige arrived backstage, the screens were already showing the live feed. The director was explaining the rules to the audience.
Shen Jianxin rose when Tang Zhichu entered.
“How are you feeling? Not nervous, right?” Shen Jianxin asked with a smile.
Tang Zhichu shook his head. “I’m good.”
After Tang Zhichu sat, Xige stood behind him, giving him a shoulder massage.
Once again, Tang Zhichu was high-profile and efficient this episode: he completed the project recording on the first day, started rehearsals on the second, and had nothing left to do on the third.
The last to finish was Guo Jinglong, who was still rehearsing with a singer last night.
Many people looked at Tang Zhichu strangely. Those who’d never interacted with him wondered: was he really that extraordinary? Was he truly the once-in-a-century talent in Chinese music?
Tang Zhichu ignored those looks. These past days, he had also worked with Xige and Yun Miao on other projects.
After about twenty minutes, the PD notified Tang Zhichu to prepare backstage.
Once again, he suffered from a lack of points—unable to buy a good slot, he’d go first, just like Xige.
On stage, the host followed the usual routine: play some BGM to hype up the crowd, then let the project teams enter.
Zhang Ansheng, a renowned director from China, known for his suspense films, had been in the industry for over twenty years and made only seven movies. The reviews were polarizing—those that were good were exceptional, those that were bad were truly disappointing—but none had poor box office performance, with his lowest grossing film selling over two hundred million.
He was accompanied by the producer of “Good and Evil.”
The audience was generous with their applause when Zhang Ansheng was introduced.
Once the project team sat, the big screen started playing the film’s trailer. This trailer hadn’t been released publicly yet—they’d scheduled it for summer.
Zhang Ansheng’s trailers were famously abstract. This one opened with a murder: a gunman, expressionless, firing into a crowd.
Then followed a series of scenes that seemed connected yet disconnected. Whether the audience understood wasn’t clear, but the sense of mystery was palpable.
When Tang Zhichu and Liu Xingyun confirmed the project, they had received the film materials.
The core story was not complicated: after a mentally ill person commits murder, the victim’s family can’t accept it, and tries to prove the patient isn’t mentally ill. Knowing this isn’t realistic, he torments himself until he becomes as mentally ill as the murderer, then plans to kill the murderer’s family in the same way.
In the end, he doesn’t succeed—or perhaps, he does so psychologically. Overall, it’s a story of self-redemption: Good and Evil, impossible to define a person easily. Evil is him, good is also him.
“This project will pit Wildfire Alliance against Star Alliance. Let’s hand the stage over to Tang Zhichu from Wildfire Alliance—welcome!” With the trailer finished, the host left the stage.
(End of chapter)