Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

"Very sexy."

The moment those three words landed, the air in the practice room seemed to freeze.

He Xu's expression didn't change much, but the tips of his ears turned slightly red—not very noticeable under the light, but anyone looking closely would definitely notice.

"Alright," he said, his voice returning to its usual hoarse calm. "Stop flattering me. Your problem now isn't the flavor, it's the foundation."

He walked to the mirror and stood still again.

"The essence of this song isn't about big, explosive moments, it's about control," He Xu's voice returned to its calm tone when he was teaching.

"In the demo you just saw, the dancers' movements weren't very large, but why did it look so dynamic? Because they paused for a moment longer at the end of each movement."

He gave a demonstration—his arm drew an arc from bottom to top, pausing for a beat at the highest point.

"See? It says, 'Go this far, stop for a moment, then stop.' This pause brings out the tension."

All seven people nodded in unison.

"And the rhythm of the hips." He Xu turned around, with his back to the mirror, and did a simple pelvic tilt. "It's not about swinging your waist, it's about using your core. Your waists are too flexible, and your cores are too relaxed, so it looks like you're doing a folk dance."

Li Bufan burst out laughing, only to be glared at by He Xu.

"Next, eye contact." He Xu's gaze swept over the seven people. "This song doesn't require you to flirt with the camera."

He paused.

"What you need to do is 'not look at the camera'."

Someone paused for a moment, then asked, "Not looking at the camera? Then where should you look?"

"Look elsewhere," He Xu said. "Look at the floor, look at the ceiling, look at your hands, look at the scenery outside the window—just don't look at the camera."

"Why?" asked the boy with flaxen hair, raising his hand.

"Because the theme of this song is 'almost there, yet not quite.' The more you look at the camera, the more you seem to be trying to please the audience." He Xu's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"When you don't look at the camera, the audience will stare at you. That's what 'being close yet distant' means."

The practice room was quiet for a moment.

Then Li Bufan was the first to clap, and the applause was particularly loud in the not-so-large space.

"Brother He Xu, you're amazing!" His voice was filled with genuine admiration. "Did you take acting classes before? How do you know everything?"

He Xu glanced at him but did not answer the question.

"Half an hour is up," he said, bending down to pick up his jacket from the ground. "You can practice the rest on your own."

"Huh??? So fast???" Li Bufan's voice was filled with obvious disappointment. "Brother He Xu, please stay a little longer—just a little longer—"

"We agreed on half an hour." He Xu draped his coat over his shoulder and walked towards the door. "The rest of the content is the same as what I just said. Try to apply what you've learned to other situations."

He paused for a moment as he reached the door.

"Oh, right." He turned his head, "In the chorus of this song, there's a hidden downbeat on the third beat. It's not emphasized in the demo, but you can add it in yourself; it will add more depth."

After saying that, he opened the door and went out.

A cool breeze blew in from the corridor, blowing on the burning back of his neck.

He Xu took a deep breath, put on his coat, and zipped it all the way up.

He admitted that Xu Shutong's song was indeed well-written.

It's not one of those cheesy, catchy pop songs; it has substance and depth.

and--

He looked down at his hands; his fingers were still trembling slightly.

While dancing just now, he completely immersed himself in the emotions of that song.

He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

The last time was probably a few years ago, when I was practicing dance with Shen Yiheng and the others in Banxing's practice room.

Back then, his voice wasn't damaged yet; he could still sing and dance at the same time, stay in the practice room from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m., and even say "Let's do it again" with a smile after finishing a dance.

Not anymore.

My voice isn't what it used to be, and my physical strength isn't what it used to be.

But those three minutes just now, it felt like he was back in that time again.

He Xu shook his head, trying to clear these chaotic thoughts from his mind.

He quickened his pace toward the dormitory, and as he turned the corner of the stairs, he heard faint music coming from downstairs.

It's the instrumental version of "Blade".

Yang Sheng and the others are still practicing.

He Xu paused for a moment, then continued walking forward.

He doesn't plan to go down.

Yang Sheng didn't need him to go down.

The child has already learned to swim on his own.

-

When He Xu returned to his dormitory, he found a new notice posted on the door.

It's written clearly in black and white: the "Absolute Debut" program team will distribute mobile phones tonight from 8 PM to 9 PM.

Participants will be able to contact their families and handle personal matters during the event. The entire process will be filmed by cameras, so please be mindful of your words and actions.

A line of small print was added to the bottom right corner of the notification bar: Do not disclose any unbroadcast content of the program; violators will be disqualified from the competition.

He Xu stared at the paper for two seconds, then pushed open the door and entered the dormitory without expression.

Wang Yijun was the only one in the dormitory. She sat cross-legged on the top bunk, holding an English novel in her hand, without even looking up.

"Did you see the notice?" Wang Yijun's voice floated down from above.

"Um."

"Who are you calling?"

He Xu took off his coat and threw it on the bed, sat on the edge of his lower bunk, and bent down to untie his shoelaces.

"Nobody's here."

Wang Yijun finally looked up from behind the book, glanced at him, and didn't ask any more questions.

He had gotten used to He Xu's "if I don't want to talk, I won't" style.

At 8 p.m., the multi-functional hall next to the studio was temporarily converted into a "call room".

There were more than twenty tables arranged in four rows, with several mobile phones on each table—the same ones that the contestants handed in when they joined the group.

The staff called out names one by one, and the contestants retrieved their phones and found their seats.

Cameras were set up in all four corners of the multi-functional hall, with red lights on, and two photographers carrying equipment walked around the aisles, capturing the expressions of each contestant.

Some people start scrolling through their contacts before even sitting down, some stare blankly at their phone screens, and some take a deep breath before pressing the dial button.

He Xu took the phone, found a corner seat, and turned it on.

The moment the screen lit up, message notifications flooded in like a torrent.

The number in the upper right corner of the WeChat icon jumped around and finally stopped at "99+".

The same goes for text messages; the screen is full of unread messages.

He Xu frowned, not rushing to open it, but first swiping away the push notifications before opening WeChat.

I had to scroll down several pages to reach the bottom of the message list.

Most of them are from partners—performance invitations, choreography requests, course inquiries, brand promotions, and all sorts of other requests.

He glanced at it briefly and did not reply.

My finger continued to scroll down, pausing briefly at the "Choreography" section.

There were more than a dozen messages asking about my availability.

"Teacher He, there's a boy group making a comeback with their title track next month, could you take the role?"

"Mr. He, when would be a convenient time for you to choreograph the debut song for our company's new girl group?"

"Professor He, we'd like to ask you to publish another version of that project we collaborated on before..."

He Xu read through each item one by one, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

He turned down all collaborations before joining the project, making it clear that he would not be taking any orders during this period.

In the end, these people still sent the message.

He was about to put his phone down when his finger suddenly stopped.

The third to last message was sent a week ago.

The nickname is "Han Yu".

The message contained only one line: "Teacher He, do you have time to choreograph a dance for me? It's a new song I wrote for a niche boy band, and I'm a bit short on time."

He Xu stared at the line of text for a few seconds, his expression unchanged.

But his fingers tightened slightly as he held the phone.

Han Yu.

The last time we met was in the hospital's infusion room. The man, wearing a baseball cap and a jacket, said, "Good luck in the game, don't lose too badly."

But the next time we met might be several years ago.

He Xu did not reply immediately, but scrolled up through the chat history.

There aren't many conversations between him and Han Yu; the most recent one is this choreography request.

Scrolling back further, there was a demo of a song that Han Yu sent me three months ago, asking for my thoughts after listening to it.

He Xu replied, "It's alright, but the chorus could be revised a bit more."

Han Yu replied with an "Mm," and that was it.

Going back further, six months ago, Han Yu sent a very long voice message.

He Xu hadn't listened to it.

It's not that I didn't want to listen, it's just that I was busy at the time and forgot about it later.

And then—I never opened it again.

He Xu scrolled back to the bottom of the chat history and his eyes stopped on the line "Do you have time to choreograph a dance for me?"

The red light of the camera was on in the corner, and the cameraman was carrying the equipment through the aisle, the lens panning across his profile.

He Xu flipped his phone over, placing it face down on the table.

Not far away, Li Bufan was sobbing uncontrollably into his phone.

"Mom—I miss you so much—the production crew doesn't allow cell phones—I haven't heard your voice for days—"

His voice was so loud that it could be heard in half of the multi-purpose hall. His dirty orange hair swayed under the lights, and his face was covered in tears and snot.

Some of the contestants next to him were laughing, while others had tears welling up in their eyes.

Lu Yiming sat at another table, his phone between his ear and shoulder, his hands nervously rubbing together on his knees.

"Mmm... I'm fine... I'm eating well... I'm sleeping well... No, no, the teacher didn't bully me..."

Yang Sheng, Song Yingwen, and Jiang Yang sat together, sharing a table.

Yang Sheng is talking to his family.

"Okay, I understand... I'll take care of myself... You guys take care too... Alright, alright, bye."

He hung up the phone, let out a long sigh, and turned to look at Song Yingwen.

Song Yingwen was video chatting with his sister, his expression much gentler than usual, with a faint smile on his lips.

"Sis, don't send any more snacks, the production team will accept them... I know, I'll take good care of myself... Yeah, you too."

Jiang Yang's message was the shortest: he shouted into the phone, "Mom, I'm fine, bye," and then hung up.

The three of them looked at each other and saw the same emotion in each other's eyes—a desire to go home.

But no one said it out loud.

Wang Yijun was sitting next to He Xu, texting her mother.

He typed very quickly, with a cold expression, but his fingers stayed on the screen for much longer than usual.

After sending the last message, he put down his phone and glanced at He Xu.

He was staring blankly at the phone case.

"Aren't you going to fight?" Wang Yijun asked. "If we don't fight now, it'll be too late."

He Xu was stunned for a long time, but finally picked up his phone again: "...call."

Then he opened his contacts and found Han Yu's phone number.

I dialed the number.