Recording

Recording began with the opening group chorus, featuring all the contestants. They walked out from backstage together and stepped onto the stage, facing the live performance space.

To keep the stage effect intact, Little Flying Hero’s live camera feed was completely turned off.

The lights onstage were bright, while below them was a sea of darkness; the roar of countless voices seemed ready to split one’s eardrums. The packed audience rippled like boiling water, and the glow sticks shimmered like waves of light breaking through bubbles. The venue was clearly no warmer than the chill of early spring blowing through it, yet it made people feel as if they were burning from the inside out.

The contestants’ breathing grew heavier; their hearts pounded violently. Anxiety bred even more excitement, and their eyes burned as they blinked hard to hold back tears.

Yu Mao was short, so she stood in the front row. She heard screams from below, and many people were calling her name. There were so many of them, layered over one another, that they cut cleanly through the chaotic noise and reached her clearly.

She glanced down at the audience in mild confusion, trying to figure out exactly who was calling her, but before she could look closely, the chorus began and she had to follow the blocking.

Yu Mao’s stride was a third shorter than everyone else’s... In order to keep up with the group’s pace, she hurried along with tiny quick steps, her expression wooden as she mechanically followed the rehearsed path.

Whether it was because she was too cute or not, an off-key “cat” suddenly rang out from the audience, piercing straight through the air. A number of the contestants immediately cracked, their facial expressions collapsing as they more or less revealed a dazed look.

Even the livestream viewers heard it. The barrage of comments exploded in shock and laughter at the same time.

[Our kitty is so focused on her blocking; even Nan Changgeng looked down at the audience, and she didn’t even turn her head]

[She probably doesn’t know they’re calling her. She even made a bet with Sister Nan before—what does she think of herself? That sea of red is all her fans]

[I really want to know what her reaction will be when she finds out. The host has to tell her, aaaah!!]

[My heart aches so much. What kind of life did this kid used to have, to be this unconfident about herself?]

[Honestly, I feel like this kind of thing causes her zero psychological damage... Her belief that nobody likes her is entirely objective, not insecurity. This is probably the most relaxing way to stan someone for the first time; you basically don’t have to worry about her being upset over all sorts of things. The only thing that can break her is Nan Changgeng’s business, right?]

[She hasn’t broken, but I have first... Domestic entertainment has just received its first “buy one, get one free” fan-stanning package. When other celebrities’ fandoms feel their idol is even a little bit at a disadvantage, no matter how good the relationship looks on the surface, the fans will still start fighting. But with ours, we truly don’t dare do anything. Watching my girl practically get raised like someone else’s pet, I still have to smile and show goodwill to them, and help charge ahead like she’s my own child to tear into the antis. I’m numb]

[Put that way, it really is suffocating... Feels like our kid’s life is in someone else’s hands]

[To be honest, there’s no difference. Do we have anyone here who knows something about psychotherapy? Can you take the kid away and get her treated? This really isn’t sustainable]

The livestream barrage gradually drifted off topic, while the live audience remained immersed in the atmosphere, screaming with constant excitement.

Yu Mao sang her part with absolute seriousness, unmoved by anything else. From the corner of her eye, she occasionally glanced at Nan Changgeng, who was within her field of vision.

Although this was a chorus, each contestant had a solo showcase segment; whenever the camera swept over them, it would pause for a second, and the contestants all did their best to catch the shot and strike the most flattering pose.

When it was Yu Mao’s turn, by sheer coincidence her gaze had drifted toward the woman in the right-front seat, and she hadn’t even lined up with the camera; her face appeared especially conspicuous on the venue’s big screen.

The fans in the audience fell silent almost at the same time.

A second later, another heart-rending “Yu Mao!” rang out; it was hard to say whether there was a trace of resentment hidden in it.

The host stood at the edge of the stage, the corners of her mouth lifted as she struggled not to laugh. Listening to the director’s reminder in her earpiece, she silently noted down several things she would cue later.

After the chorus, the contestants moved to the leftmost seats onstage and sat down. The host came forward to guide the program and, as if casually, said, “Who was just shouting for our Yu Mao? What a voice. It’d be a waste not to be a singer. Why does it sound like there’s a little anger in there too?”

The audience immediately burst into laughter, and even other fandoms who loved stirring things up shouted loudly:

“She’s mad because Yu Mao didn’t look at the camera!!”

The fan who had shouted just now cooled off in an instant, immediately behaving herself and shrinking her neck so the person in front of her would block her completely.

The host immediately turned to Yu Mao with a mischievous smile. “Did you hear that? They said you didn’t look at the camera.”

The director also cut in smoothly, and Yu Mao’s face appeared on the big screen once more.

She sat very straight, expressionless, and blinked slowly like an exquisite doll. Taking the microphone handed to her by staff, she replied a beat late, “I didn’t hear it.”

The host choked on her own saliva and finally couldn’t hold back her laughter.

It was a response that didn’t bend at all, as if she were pretending to be stupid; yet everyone knew she was answering seriously, so it came off as genuine stupidity instead, which gave it a kind of dry humor.

Especially when, amid the audience’s laughter, a sharp shout suddenly cut through like an angry kettle coming to a boil.

“Yu Mao, I’m angry!!”

The laughter only grew louder. The host twitched at the corner of her mouth, forced down her amusement, and coughed twice before asking, “Did you hear that this time?”

Yu Mao nodded. Her gaze swept across the audience, but she couldn’t find the person, so she asked directly, “Why are you angry?”

What she really wanted to ask was why being angry meant she had to be told specifically.

To keep the audience from straining their voices, the host kindly answered for the other person: “Maybe because they shouted so hard for you and you still didn’t hear them.”

But that kindness wasn’t very kind. Knowing full well that Yu Mao hadn’t understood, she also didn’t explain that it was just a joke.

She rested her elbow and waited leisurely for Yu Mao’s reaction.

She only got a light, airy:

“Oh.”

Nothing else. It was as if her question had really only been meant to get an answer.

“That’s it?” The host looked surprised. “You... don’t want to say anything else?”

Yu Mao sat up straight and tilted her head slightly. “Say what?”

“Uh... never mind, it’s nothing.”

The host felt the mood was getting a little cold and had wanted Yu Mao to give a bigger reaction, but now she simply gave up.

Because the fans below had already been so charmed by that tiny movement of hers that they were howling again; there was no need to do anything extra. Especially since getting Yu Mao to follow her pace was honestly difficult, so why make things harder for herself?

Yu Mao’s eyelashes fluttered as she lowered her eyes, subtly pressing her lips together while idly fiddling with her fingers, looking entirely detached and above it all.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand; she just couldn’t be bothered to understand, and she also wasn’t willing to spend even a sliver of brainpower on something unimportant.

She had never troubled herself over other people treating her as an outlier. That special treatment let her be openly lazy in social interactions; no one would force her to give the kind of responses ordinary people gave naturally, and she had gained who-knew-how many conveniences from it.

The host continued with the program. The next segment was the individual stages for a few mentors; each person had two minutes. The response was enthusiastic, and it ended quickly as well.

Yu Mao sat there stiffly, completely unmoved by the lively cheers filling the venue. She wanted to sit in the back, wanted to sit behind Nan Changgeng, but because she was short, she had been arranged in the very front row instead; directly in front of her was the stage, and there was nothing there.

—At least, nothing to her.

She very much wanted to turn around and look back, but had to mind the occasion and held herself back again and again. When no camera was aimed at her, she twisted her body and looked toward the rear right, seeing Nan Changgeng with her legs crossed, turned slightly to the side as she chatted with the contestant beside her.

The seating was arranged in a tiered layout; each step was almost level with the contestants’ shoulders after they sat down, and rows of chairs were placed on the tiers.

So from Yu Mao’s angle, when she looked back, her gaze landed level with the woman’s trouser leg. Lowering it slightly, she could see the exposed cuff of a cotton sock; the ankle was slender, and the bone rose faintly beneath the skin.

Once her eyes settled there, they were hard to pull away. Yu Mao couldn’t turn back anymore and had to tilt her head up to look higher, seeing the woman’s right hand resting casually on the edge of the chair, fingers curled inward, tapping lightly. The short white edge of her nails knocked against the transparent plastic chair, the sound crisp and clear.

This lower-than-usual angle felt novel to Yu Mao. The gloom caused by her bad seat lifted, and she even felt that this angle was perfect, very convenient for turning her body to look. Sitting directly in front of Nan Changgeng wouldn’t have been nearly as convenient as this.

Her spirits lifted at once. Gripping the back of the chair, she looked up again and caught the half-raised corner of the woman’s mouth when she spoke, listening carefully to the low conversation between the two.

This behavior was already quite conspicuous among the contestants, but everyone’s postures were actually fairly relaxed, so she didn’t seem too out of place.

Someone in the audience called her name, but she didn’t hear it. Nan Changgeng did.

Her gaze swept down on instinct, and unexpectedly met Yu Mao’s eyes.

Nan Changgeng raised a brow in surprise and smiled. She lowered her crossed leg and leaned forward, her tone teasing as if she were asking the obvious: “What are you looking at me for?”

At this angle, she really did look more like a little pet.

“I want to keep looking at you.” Yu Mao was as direct as ever.

Nan Changgeng was already used to her answers. She reached out and pressed the top of Yu Mao’s head, trying to turn it back around. “Doesn’t your neck hurt? The performance is about to start. Look ahead.”

At center stage were the host and the first opening contestant; they were in the talking introduction segment now. The performance order had been drawn at random beforehand, so being first was both lucky and unlucky.

But the Flying Flower duo, who had drawn first, had a steady mindset. They came out swinging with a killer opening; the unlucky one was the next contestant to go on.

Nan Changgeng had watched the rehearsal and had high expectations for the pair’s performance; she didn’t want Yu Mao to miss it. But the little cat clearly had no interest in it at all.

Feeling the resistance under her hand, the two of them stared at each other for a moment.

Nan Changgeng seemed to be thinking, then her hand slid downward. She extended one finger and unobtrusively slipped it through the girl’s hair, brushing along the shell of her ear before feeling inward; sure enough, she touched something hard.

She asked in a low voice, “Is this an earphone or an in-ear monitor?”