Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Fang Yi leaned back in her chair, her tone tinged with emotion: "These four people really chose a great date spot. Sun Zhuohang and Wu Jiayuan's place was lively and energetic, while Jiang Yining and Lin Zhen's place was leisurely and artistic. The two groups had completely different styles, but both were very comfortable."

Host Cao flipped the script back to the flow page: "Alright, both groups have finished watching. Now—it's finally time to reveal the suspense."

The four people in the observation room sat up straight at the same time.

Fang Yi leaned forward: "Come on, let's see where He Xu took Zhuang Wenmin."

The screen went black for half a second, then lit up.

The scene begins in front of a dark gray iron gate.

Zhuang Wenmin stood at the door, wearing a black leather jacket, dark gray straight-leg pants, and a pair of ankle boots, with her hair tied in a low ponytail.

She glanced at He Xu beside her, her expression indifferent, but her eyes held a hint of confusion, as if asking, "Why did you bring me here?"

He Xu stood beside the iron gate, wearing a black windbreaker with the zipper halfway up, and carrying a small canvas bag in his hand.

He pushed open the iron gate, turned to the side, and gestured with his chin towards the inside: "Go in."

Zhuang Wenmin followed him inside.

The camera cuts to a panoramic view of the interior—a row of cubicles, each with a draggable paper target hanging in front of it, soundproofing cotton on the walls, and cool, even lighting overhead.

On the right side of the counter, a row of glass cases displays various models of pistols and rifles. Behind the counter, on the wall, hangs a sign with several large characters printed on it.

Fang Yiren was the first to react, jumping up from her chair: "Wait???"

The host, Cao, even changed his tone: "Target—target range??"

Teacher Wei opened her mouth, then closed it again, and then laughed out loud: "So the place He Xu took Zhuang Wenmin to was—a shooting range??"

Fang Yi jumped up from his chair and leaned in front of the screen: "Shooting range??? He took a girl to the shooting range on a date??? What's in this guy's head?"

The host, Cao, laughed so hard he slapped the table: "I spent all night guessing art museums, concert halls, and dance studios—but they went to a shooting range."

Teacher Wei leaned back in his chair, adjusted his glasses, and smiled in a way that suggested he was even more interested after being surprised.

"But you know what, this choice is actually quite interesting. Taking a girl with a cold personality to a place that requires focus and a sense of control—the shooting range has no social pressure, no need to make small talk, and the two of you are doing the same thing together, with synchronized rhythm. For someone like Zhuang Wenmin, it might be much more comfortable than sitting in a coffee shop having an awkward conversation."

Fang Yi turned her head and glanced at Teacher Wei: "Teacher Wei, now that you've analyzed it, I suddenly feel that He Xu is quite something."

Wang Yiren, holding her coffee cup, added slowly, "And think about it, who is Zhuang Wenmin? A makeup artist, dealing with brushes, tweezers, and small scissors every day. She has steady hands, sharp eyes, and is extremely picky about details. Maybe she'd be interested in shooting?"

Fang Yiren nodded: "Now that you mention it, they actually seem quite well-matched?"

"Keep watching." Wang Yiren gestured with his chin toward the screen.

In the footage, the front desk of the firing range was more stringent than He Xu had anticipated.

After entering, we passed through a security door, and the receptionist asked both of us to show our original ID cards.

After verification in the public security filing system, they were asked to sign a "Shooting Activity Safety Commitment Letter" and undergo an alcohol breath test—the standard procedure for legal commercial shooting ranges in China, none of which can be skipped.

When Zhuang Wenmin handed over her ID card, she glanced at He Xu with a faint expression, but her lips twitched slightly: "Do you come here often?"

"This is my first time here in China." He Xu pushed the signed commitment letter back. "I practiced in the US when I was filming."

After verifying their identities, the staff collected their ID cards for temporary safekeeping. Then, they pointed to the equipment area next to the counter: "Goggles and earmuffs must be worn at all times. Once inside the shooting area, the muzzle must always be pointed towards the target, and your finger must not touch the trigger. The instructors will go over these steps with you again."

A male coach in his early thirties walked over, placed two pairs of goggles and earmuffs on the table, and spoke politely but clearly:

"If this is your first time here, I'll walk you through the basic procedures first—grip, stance, loading, aiming, and pulling the trigger. In domestic shooting ranges, it's one-on-one with the instructor throughout the entire process, and my hand will stay near the safety during shooting. Let's shoot a set of basic targets first to get a feel for the controls."

Zhuang Wenmin put on her goggles and glanced at He Xu.

He Xu stood to the side, without moving.

"Mr. He? Come here first, I'll show you the process." The coach waved to him.

He Xu turned his head and glanced at him, saying in a flat tone, "I don't need to learn."

The coach was taken aback.

The security guard next to him also looked up from behind the counter, his gaze lingering on He Xu's face for a moment before he walked over, his tone more serious than before:

"Mr. He, our rule is that no matter whether a customer has handled a gun before or not, they must go through the safety procedures and basic operations when they come to our shooting range for the first time."

Looking at his serious face, He Xu didn't argue and nodded: "Okay, then you see."

He walked to the front of the shooting position and took a 9mm Glock from the coach—a model that is not the most common in commercial shooting ranges in China, but is registered and equipped with, and is similar in grip and weight to the one he used at the Los Angeles training camp.

The gun handle is secured with a safety chain, the other end of which is fixed to the firing table; this is standard equipment at domestic firing ranges.

He took the gun in his hand, rubbed his fingertips against the texture of the grip to check the feel.

Then he turned to the side, stood with his feet slightly apart, his weight on the balls of his feet, gripped the gun with both hands, arms outstretched, and muzzle pointing downwards.

The coach stood to his side and slightly behind, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table, not far from the safety position.

"Fire five times dry-fire first to familiarize yourself with the trigger travel," the instructor said.

He Xu pulled the trigger five times.

The movements were clean and crisp, with each shot spaced as evenly as if it were fired from a metronome.

"Load the gun."

He Xu pulled the slide to chamber the round.

"Aim at the target and fire automatically."

He Xu raised his gun.

His gaze fell on the black dot in the center of the target paper through the crosshair, he adjusted his breathing, and pulled the trigger at the last moment of his exhalation.

boom--

The spent cartridge ejected and rolled onto the floor tiles with a crisp sound.

The coach glanced at the target paper and paused for a moment.

He didn't say anything.

He Xu fired a second shot.

Then came the third shot, the fourth shot, and the fifth shot.

The intervals between each shot were so consistent, it was as if the same person had repeated the same set of movements countless times.

After firing five shots, he put the gun down, pointed it downwards, and turned his head to look at the coach.

The coach stood there, his expression a subtle, unspoken blankness.

He walked over, pulled the target paper over to look at it, blinked, and looked at it again.

On the 25-meter target track, the bullet holes in the small area right in the center of the target paper were densely clustered together.

"Five shots... all within the top ten." The coach's voice was a little dry.

The coach looked up at He Xu, his lips moving several times: "...You call this 'practicing for a while while filming'?"

He Xu put the gun back on the table.

The instructor followed the procedure to put the guns away, unload the magazines, pull the slide to check the guns, and only signaled to the next group that they could continue after confirming that the guns were empty.

He Xu thought for a moment and added a sentence that fit his character perfectly: "...maybe it's because the dancer's hands are steady."

The observers were completely dumbfounded.