Chapter 15: Finally Scored a Meal Allowance

One day of recording was more agonizing than ten days of overtime.

By the time they called it a wrap, Li Tingzhou was in a complete daze.

Ren Shiyu was still brimming with energy, her makeup barely even smudged.

She had initially wanted to treat everyone to a nice dinner to celebrate a smooth start, but the sight of the three young men’s states made her burst out laughing. The words on her lips turned into mere consolation: “You’ll get used to it eventually!”

As for the meal, there would be plenty of chances later.

After bidding farewell to the First Sister, Li Tingzhou first removed his makeup and changed into his own clothes.

By the time he was done, Dai Jier and Mao Maoyu had finished around the same time. Drained of energy, they silently agreed to head straight back to the hotel for dinner. While waiting for the elevator, the two great designers, ever concerned with urban development, had already started discussing which takeout to order.

“Our Heartbreak is finally scoring a meal allowance. Not bad at all.”

No wonder everyone wants to squeeze into the big circles of inner entertainment. If nothing else, as long as you’re popular, have buzz, and can drive topics, the platform’s treatment is genuinely top-notch, no matter what netizens say.

Dai Jier nodded in agreement. “It’s pretty great.”

The elevator descended from the upper floors. With a ding, the doors slowly opened.

Three or four people were already inside.

All wearing either masks or hats.

Li Tingzhou and the other two stepped in without a care.

A massive corporation like Tide Group, with Wave Tower’s three zones, A, B, and C, all serving as their office space, it wouldn’t be surprising to run into any public figure here. Besides, Heartbreak’s own celebrity status wasn’t so high that they needed to clear an entire elevator for themselves. Squeezing into an elevator—how big of a deal could it be?

Li Tingzhou stood near the door, facing the mirror-like polished surface.

He finally had a moment to think about Xi He.

Just the thought of her made that inexplicable premonition resurface in his heart.

The feeling was familiar, unsettling and melancholic. They were clearly still in their honeymoon phase, exchanging greetings morning, noon, and night, voice calls lasting over half an hour, yet Li Tingzhou couldn’t turn a blind eye to this invisible interference…

The elevator stopped on the 5th floor, and two more people squeezed in.

Li Tingzhou had to move further inside, instinctively reaching for the side handrail. But what greeted him wasn’t the cool temperature of the rail, but the warm, knuckle-defined touch of a stranger’s hand.

He quickly turned his head. “Sorry.”

The person, wearing a mask, paused slightly before replying, “It’s fine.”

After that, the elevator stopped on almost every floor. People outside, seeing it was full, couldn’t enter, and the doors would close again. It wasn’t until Basement Level 1, when two people exited, that Mao Maoyu finally made his way back to Li Tingzhou’s side and whispered, “Brother Jier and I are still thinking of getting some marinated raw seafood. You willing to try a little?”

Aside from organ meats, Li Tingzhou also politely declined any raw ingredients.

He shook his head. “You guys enjoy it.”

Ding—

The elevator finally stopped at Basement Level 3.

The driver responsible for chauffeuring Heartbreak was already waiting at the agreed spot. The three got into the car and, unsurprisingly, were immediately stuck at the parking lot exit. Li Tingzhou rolled down the window for some air. The neighboring ramp was also jammed.

He glanced over twice, then boredly turned his gaze back.

~

“So, what’s your decision?”

“Nothing good.”

As he spoke, Cui Lin’s face was still turned towards the window on his side.

Chi Yue had no idea what he was looking at. He could only re-summarize everything they’d discussed that afternoon. Seeing Cui Lin still unmoved, he switched tactics, playing the emotional card a little.

“I don’t trust others, but Xu Yuenan is my classmate. She competed with me for the national scholarship for four years. She joined CCTV right after graduation, had a child, and then jumped to Tide. Honestly, she’s the only one I’ve truly admired all these years. She’s leading this project, and her boss is serving as Honorary Executive Producer. I think this lineup is absolutely reliable.”

“You’ve said all this, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is fundamentally a female competition variety show. You want me, a man, to be the host?”

Cui Lin noticed the indicator light on the neighboring ramp turn green; that car left first.

He finally turned his head back, relaxing against the seat.

Chi Yue corrected him, “Not the host, the initiator.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is, a host just follows the script and runs the process. An initiator needs to anchor the core concept and express your viewpoints.”

Cui Lin gave Chi Yue an odd look. “Weren’t you there the day I came out to my mom? Was the scene too chaotic for you to hear clearly? Then I’ll say it again. I’m not interested in women, nor do I want to participate in a project marketed under the gimmick of ‘all-female,’ and even less do I want to express some viewpoint on their competition, whether it’s genuine emotion or sheer hypocrisy.”

“I don’t have that strong a desire to express myself.”

His resistant attitude couldn’t be clearer.

This time, Chi Yue was truly at his wit’s end. He grasped for words. “President Maggie’s attitude was so humble…”

“If you’re so chivalrous, you go.”

People humble themselves to achieve a goal.

When there’s profit to be made, what’s a little groveling?

“All that aside, the project hasn’t even launched, and you’re already anxiously fretting over an old classmate. Does she need this modicum of fawning from you? No wonder you can’t even land a second marriage.”

More piercing than Cui Lin’s words was his deeply suggestive snort.

Chi Yue instantly felt ill at ease and could only bitterly protest his innocence. “Your Honor the Impartial Judge! What chivalry? It’s just… you not filming and always being idle isn’t good. Earlier this year, Hundred Blossoms invited you to that travel variety show, and you refused. I saw the preview—they seemed to be having a good time.”

Cui Lin acted as if he hadn’t heard. “So boring. Put on some music.”

The assistant in the front seat dared not disobey. Knowing Cui Lin’s temper all too well, he immediately connected via Bluetooth and played a trending monthly playlist. The first song was “Telepathy.”

Chi Yue again grasped for conversation. “First Sister’s music show is recording right on the 12th floor.”

The assistant carefully watched his boss’s expression through the rearview mirror, ensuring the silence was filled. “Yeah, Tide’s music variety show is already in its seventh season. This year it’s supposedly very interesting, with an impressive guest lineup.”

Cui Lin, from out of nowhere, seemed interested. “Who’s on it?”

“That Zhuang Yifan who used to sing ‘What’s the Price of a Sincere Heart,’ and Zhao Chenmin, who performs at the Spring Festival Gala every year. There’s also Ma Du, who used to cha-cha on those Jade Channel adult variety shows. He’s hilarious, but his singing is genuinely good…”

The assistant didn’t mention the rest.

Their celebrity status was too low; even if he named them, Cui Lin wouldn’t know them. Better not to.

After “Telepathy” finished, the next song was “Brittle Glass.”

This just showed that a god-tier live performance could truly act like a life-extending pill, forcefully pushing “Brittle Glass” back onto the charts and even securing the monthly runner-up spot.

Cui Lin, who had been listening with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them.

“How many times has he been dumped? He sings so pitifully.”

Chi Yue was empathetic, at least, and said, “Singers need a few bumpy relationships to produce good songs. Who’s singing this? I’ll follow them later.”

The assistant answered, “A small band, called Heartbreak.”

~

On the second day of recording, people began arriving below Area A for their commute to work.

The three members of Heartbreak were well aware of their band’s modest fanbase size and were purely observing the spectacle. Until, as they stepped out of the car, someone suddenly yelled “Mengmeng” at the top of their lungs. With that example set, a chain of “MengmengMengmengMengmeng” followed, like ducklings looking for their mother, startling everyone.

Li Tingzhou was puzzled. “Are they shouting for me?”

Why did it sound like they were both happy and a bit angry?

Ten-level internet surfer Dai Jier just smiled and said nothing.

How could Mengmeng possibly understand a fangirl’s love-hate feelings…

As soon as the elevator reached the 12th floor, everyone automatically entered work mode and began recording. Compared to yesterday’s scene where “Zhuang Yifan scolded his partner to tears” dominated the entire session, the second day, where real progress began, was full of undercurrents. Without the script deliberately creating conflict, messy problems surfaced one after another.

The main guests, guest singers, and post-production teams—no one could escape, each getting a full 33.3 lashes!

Oh, there was an exception.

Ren Shiyu and Heartbreak’s group, with four people, only got 25 lashes each if divided equally.

When Li Tingzhou abruptly corrected the allocation issue for Heartbreak’s lashes, there was silence at first, then laughter. Ren Shiyu immediately laid down three ground rules. “Enough with the lashing talk! Let’s agree: any difficulties, we don’t argue who’s right or wrong. We first figure out how to solve the problem.”

Solving the problem was paramount.

According to the program’s rules, each group’s practice space, professional equipment, and recording studio usage all had time limits. However, only two studios were available for booking.

The first studio’s usage rights were determined by drawing lots—pure luck.

The luckiest, Zhao Chenmin and her guest singer, got a full half-day.

The second required competition.

How to compete?

The program team set ten questions for each group. Whoever answered the most correctly got priority usage rights. Correct—just priority usage rights, not a generous half-day.

Of course, the questions wouldn’t be too difficult.

The program team thoughtfully provided a question bank for everyone to “familiarize” themselves with the scope. In the interest of fairness, the Ren Shiyu-Heartbreak group could only send two people.

“Then Mengmeng, you should go.”

Dai Jier and Mao Maoyu unhesitatingly pushed Li Tingzhou forward.

Ren Shiyu didn’t waste words either and quickly pulled him aside to cram the question bank.

“What Cantonese song received the most live votes in the previous six seasons?”

“How many foreign singers have appeared on Night Heart to date?”

“What stage had the highest number of performers on stage at the same time?”

“Which singer’s works have been performed the most times on the main competition stage?”

“Who was the first champion singer to successfully defend their title?”

A dizzying array of qualifiers, an immense scope encompassing the previous six seasons—every aspect increased the difficulty. Li Tingzhou scanned through a full five pages of questions within the time limit.

This was where the advantage of a young brain showed.

The youngest main guest was 35-year-old Ren Shiyu; the oldest, Ma Du, was 50. Unless it was something very familiar to them, how much could they cram in such a short time? They all basically had to rely on the younger guest singers in their groups.

Seen in this light, the program team’s little icebreaker game was somewhat useful.

Regardless of how many answers they could get right, at least everyone was working hard for the studio usage rights.

In the end, Ren Shiyu and Heartbreak, with nine correct answers, happily took first place.

The reward: four hours of studio usage rights.

The host asked, “Will you use it now or choose a specific time slot?”

Ren Shiyu was about to answer when Li Tingzhou tugged her sleeve. She paused for two seconds, understanding his reminder, and asked, “Is the usage duration the same for these two choices?”

“Popular time slots will have a correspondingly reduced duration; conversely, less popular slots will have extended time.”

Considering the guests’ limited energy and varying physical states and lifestyle habits, the popular slots were naturally midday to evening. Who would bustle about in the studio early in the morning or late at night?

Ren Shiyu, upon hearing this, of course chose the longer duration!

She could endure it, and the three young men of Heartbreak could endure it even more.

“You guys have no objections, right?”

“We all listen to you, Sis!”