In the photo data, this monster had fish eyes, human lips, and two ugly slits for nostrils.
Its lower body featured an even split between human and fish traits. Even its two legs were fairly divided—half fish tail, half human leg.
The data stated that this weird had an extremely cruel personality, yet it fancied itself an artist most of the time.
Thus, for killing—whether players or weaker weirds—it had its own twisted rationale.
Blunt bloodshed was crude to it; it preferred turning its prey into part of its art.
In short, this was a weird that pursued niche tastes to show off its personality.
Unfortunately, in this Strange Talk World, the other weirds weren’t exactly sane either. So its prized art ended up mediocre among the weirds.
Unrecognized talent made this weird even more volatile. This Idol Draft Dungeon was its final gamble, staking all its weird life’s savings!
Failure meant death!
Rao Fei carefully studied the data in his hand. The description of this dungeon’s weird carried strong personal bias.
Probably, the player handling communication with Writer Weird had directly relayed her exact words.
No wonder Bureau Chief Zhao had told him to carefully discern the data’s content.
What drew him most was the final paragraph: 【But strangely, after Tonight’s Big Star achieved decent results, this weird never appeared from start to finish. This didn’t match its seemingly aloof artist persona and its actual love for attention-seeking.】
Never appeared from start to finish…
Rao Fei silently mulled over the words, feeling his budding horrific guess gain more credibility.
Incidentally, it sparked another association.
Without wasting precious call time, he mentally poked Wang Xingxing, regardless of whether the guy was sleeping: “Wang Xingxing, I remember the dungeon that nearly cost you your life last time was codenamed 【Patrolling Security Guard】, set in a Tourist Garden, right?”
About two minutes later, Wang Xingxing’s groggy voice came through: “Mm. What?”
“After you got back, didn’t you complain about nightmares every night, dreaming of being torn apart by a big orange mushroom?”
Wang Xingxing sobered up a bit then, knowing Rao Fei wouldn’t ask without reason. Though reluctant, he carefully recalled: “Yeah, a big orange mushroom. The most messed up part was those weird security guards next to me—they watched with this super envious look.”
“Now that I think about it, it’s ridiculous. Were they thinking I didn’t deserve to be killed by an orange mushroom?”
“‘Red-Orange-Yellow-Green-Cyan-Blue-Purple-Gray’—that was the employee ranking in your dungeon back then?”
Wang Xingxing’s mental tone perked up: “Vice Captain Rao, how’d you know? You been to that dungeon too?”
Rao Fei didn’t elaborate: “Sort of. I’ve been to a dungeon linked to that Tourist Garden.”
Because the Strange Talk World was a complete world, every powerful weird dungeon contained numerous sub-dungeons of varying difficulty.
It could be seen as the departments under a normally functioning big company.
Finally, Rao Fei asked Wang Xingxing a profound question that left him baffled.
He asked: “Wang Xingxing, have you ever seen a red mushroom?”
He had seen one.
At a weird’s windowsill.
Across the entire Bizarre Island, one difference between players and weird staff was this: For survival, players anxiously and cautiously observed their surroundings, noting every observable detail.
Weird, with home-field advantage, acted lax and didn’t bother scrutinizing everything.
The two potted plants on the Third-Floor Su Selection Manager Windowsill had caught Rao Fei’s eye on the first day of the dungeon.
Later, one evening, a bizarre half-merman-shaped stone appeared in the big pot.
Accompanying the stone were four blue mushrooms, one red mushroom, and the light green mushroom in the smaller pot.
Rao Fei thought that verifying his guess would be simple.
After the first Grand Performance ended, the program group didn’t give the trainees much rest. The next morning, the associate director @’d all members in the work group, notifying them to prepare for the second Grand Performance immediately.
From its urgent tone, it desperately wanted to reclaim the dignity lost in the first one.
After all, for any program group, having contestants’ votes rigged by unknown weird gangs—while the group lacked the power to fight back—was utterly shameful.
Yet, while the associate director geared up eagerly, trouble hit with the investors.
After the first Grand Performance, major investors pulled out one after another.
These investors had originally been roped in by total Director Shi through personal connections.
With such a massive incident at the Grand Performance—contestants rigged by unknown weird gangs—and only an associate director stepping up to manage…
Combined with some sharp weirds sensing that four days ago, two powerful weirds had clashed over the sea…
Many investors concluded that Tonight’s Big Star’s total director was probably gone.
An Idol Selection Show without its lead director to hold things together—what future did it have?
The program group faced a major financial crisis, blanketing the entire Bizarre Island in heavy tension.
Even Su Ximu, who hadn’t socialized much lately, got pulled into several small private groups by other colleagues these past two days.
The heavier the program group’s mood, the faster the messages flew in those groups—each comment a heart gripped by anxiety and layoff fears.
【Makeup Group Little Beauty: @all members, do you think our show can keep going? It won’t disband midway, right?】
【Camera Group Bouncy Bunny: No way!!!】
【Logistics Group Old Liu: With funding short, will they cut our wages?】
【Props Team Da Zhuang: If they cut wages, I’ll hang myself at the director’s doorstep!】
【Makeup Group Little Beauty: Little birdie told me the investors pulled out because our director seems gone.】
Seeing this, Su Ximu—who’d been lurking—finally stopped scrolling.
Gone?
What did “gone” mean?
【Camera Group Bouncy Bunny: I heard too. Asked my relatives—they say he was killed four days ago. Corpse probably dumped in the sea by now.】
Gone… meant dead?!
The boy holding the phone froze entirely. He didn’t even notice the water in his little watering pot for the mushrooms had run dry.
This was his first time brushing so close to a murder case.
He couldn’t help recalling four days ago…
But he recalled nothing special.
To him, it had been a perfectly calm day.
He hadn’t expected that on the same day, same island, a human life had quietly vanished.
Su Ximu set down the little watering pot and absentmindedly fiddled with the smooth top of the strange stone in the potted plant.
He couldn’t help thinking positively—everyone in the group used words like “heard” or “seems,” so maybe the director just had sudden business and couldn’t show his face temporarily.
In the motion, the still-lit screen tilted outward slightly.
The half-merman strange stone being patted on the head seemed to blink in a daze. On its somewhat ugly face, two trails of water slid straight down like tears.
While Su Ximu spaced out, a shrill cry suddenly erupted from downstairs: “Director!”
Down below, the associate director—who’d just passed the dorm building seconds ago and heard a trainee call from upstairs—looked up.
Right in view, unerringly, was a big mushroom potted plant.
For a mushroom weird, passing here was like a normal person strolling through a Chaotic Burial Mound. Every time he had to pass, he deliberately avoided looking up.
But today was an exception.
Distracted by his thoughts, he reacted on instinct. Hearing the shout, he blankly lifted his head.
The instant he looked up, what he first saw was still the mushroom potted plant that terrified him.
Then, the stone inserted beside the red mushroom.
A shrill “Director!” burst from him involuntarily.
After shouting, the associate director noticed something off. The next second, his gaze locked straight onto the boy looking down from upstairs.
What kind of gaze was that?
Hard to imagine such clear eyes on a vicious, murderous weird.
His hand was still on the head of the victim weird, yet he acted like nothing happened…
So what about him? What should he do?
Would that instinctive shout make the other think he was mourning the director’s passing?
Driven by survival instinct, the associate director bellowed again: “Serves you right!”
“Stone Fish! Remember that makeup artist you killed back then? She was my second cousin’s niece’s third son’s classmate!”
“And that young guy from the camera crew! He was only 32 when he died!”
“Hahahaha!!!”
” Serves you right! Die in a ditch! Heavenly justice!!!”
The associate director’s mad rant drew onlookers from hidden corners—program staff and trainees alike.
From afar, Rao Fei patted Wang Xingxing’s shoulder: “You’re probably right. He… really doesn’t seem malicious toward trainees or fond of killing.”
Wang Xingxing gulped hard, mentally finishing Rao Vice Captain’s unspoken words for him: “So he likes killing weirds, right?”
“That stone is the dungeon BOSS?”
Rao Fei squinted into the distance: “Not just that. See those mushrooms?”
Wang Xingxing nodded.
“Look familiar? He’s indirectly avenged you. That red one is the orange mushroom’s superior.”
“Ah.” Wang Xingxing nodded reflexively.
Then whipped his head back: “Ah?”
With the associate director going nuts downstairs, the other staff might stay quiet, but the selection supervisors in the dorm definitely couldn’t ignore it.
The first-floor selection supervisor emerged first, fawning as he reached to support him: “Director, my condolences.”
But the associate director shoved him aside, ignoring him.
Then the second-floor one ran down—same treatment.
Until the third-floor one came clattering down. The associate director shut up instantly and even shed two crocodile tears.
Faced with a weird that could landscape on a whim, the associate director stifled even his sycophantic urges.
Seeing he’d muddled through this, and the other didn’t seem inclined to hold it against him, the associate director shakily beckoned back the first- and second-floor supervisors he’d shoved earlier.
The two weirds supported his arms, one each side, as he muttered to himself: “Sigh, thinking of those things again got me too emotional and lost my composure.”
Then, with a glance that gave the two horrors a hint, he was extremely cooperatively dragged away from the spot by the two horrors.
It wasn’t until they were probably out of that ancestor’s line of sight that the associate director finally let out a solid sigh of relief.
What he hadn’t expected, however, was that his performance today had instead confirmed the rumors of the past couple days.
If even the associate director, who was usually closest to the director, said so, then the director really was beyond saving.
That evening,
Su Ximu, who had been passively stuffed with a mouthful of melon, shared it as usual with Blue 242 Leader, who had come to chat with him.
“I heard the director died.” The young man paused after taking a sip of the sweet silver ear pear soup, then added, “The associate director and the director seem to have a grudge.”
When it came to imitating the people around him, regardless of the final results, Su Ximu took it very seriously.
He had just learned “I heard” that afternoon and used it that very evening.
Blue 242 Leader listened intently. After hearing it all, he shared a bit of his own gossip in return: “I heard it too…”
The young man quietly tilted his ear while holding his sweet soup bowl.
Blue 242 Leader leaned in a bit closer and whispered dramatically, “I heard not only that an investor pulled out, but the associate director is also preparing to disband the program team.”
In the real world, halting a show definitely wouldn’t be that simple.
But here, many processes could be simplified.
Su Ximu didn’t understand the ins and outs of the entertainment industry, so when Blue 242 Leader said it, he really thought disbanding the program team was something that could be done very quickly.
He couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen to the trainees in the program team?
He had heard some trainees mention that before recording started, their contracts were all in the program team’s hands.
As he pondered this question, his phone rang again. It was “Big Bro.”
Ever since “Big Bro” stopped being angry, the calls had become more frequent.
Su Ximu pointed at his phone toward Blue 242 Leader, then answered without avoiding anyone: “Hello? Big Bro.”
“Mm. Little Xi, were you happy today?”
“Mm…” Hearing Big Bro ask that, he hesitated a bit: “Sort of, I guess? It’s a little complicated?”
Su Xuanxiao understood: “Because of your program team’s situation?”
“Big Bro, you knew?”
“Mm.” Su Xuanxiao nodded and added, “I was actually considering whether to invest in your program team today.”
He was searching for suitable topics to chat with Little Xi about: “The analysis reports from below are all a bit formulaic. You’ve been working in this program team for a while now, so from your perspective, do you think this show has investment value?”
Investment value?
Such a big question—even if Su Ximu didn’t really understand, he knew it involved a lot of money.
“Investing, like with the Tourist Garden last time? Is our show really going to get canceled?”
“Pretty much. Without new funds injected, yes.”
With confirmation of the gossip from “Big Bro” outside the instance, Su Ximu remembered Big Bro was asking for his investment opinion: “Uh, that investment—you’re asking me?”
Sensing the young man’s lack of confidence on the other end, Su Xuanxiao guided him: “Just say whatever. I just want a more comprehensive understanding of the Tonight’s Big Star project.”
“I have my own judgment, and the company has employees responsible for project analysis.”
The implication was, say what you want—it won’t affect my decision. I just want one more source of info.
Even if that source was a bit subjective, it didn’t matter. Project analysis was all about analyzing such things.
Hearing Big Bro say that, Su Ximu relaxed instead. He treated it like a mentor assigning a paper: “Then let me think about it, Big Bro. I’ll call you back tomorrow once I’ve figured it out.”
Su Xuanxiao nodded in satisfaction at the promise of a callback. They chatted a few more sentences before hanging up.
After the call, Su Ximu said a few more words to Blue 242 Leader. When Blue 242 Leader was about to leave, he even stood up and walked him to the stairwell.
The next day, with the “paper” weighing on his mind, Su Ximu got up very early and, unusually, ran into the trainees heading to the practice room.
For the first time, he chose to walk with the trainees, planning to check out the dance studio together.
On the way, he proactively asked one of the trainees who usually seemed the most diligent and whose dancing wasn’t bad: “How long have you been a trainee?”
Trainee No. 44 was just an ordinary player—not like Wang Xingxing, who had been scared half to death yesterday.
He wasn’t too nervous facing Supervisor Su. Hearing Supervisor Su ask that, he blurted out without thinking, keeping his persona in mind: “Seven years, three months, and five days.”
He remembered it that clearly.
Su Ximu recalled that Trainee No. 44, Liu Jie, was only twenty this year.
That meant he had started as a trainee at thirteen. Such diligence at that young age, unwavering for seven years.
Feeling Supervisor Su’s kind and admiring gaze—though he didn’t know why Supervisor Su suddenly asked—Liu Jie, who was gradually realizing Supervisor Su was a major thigh in this dungeon, enriched his persona further to win more favor after stating the time.
“My dream since childhood has been to debut. Not for the money—I just want to stand on that stage.”
“I once watched an idol selection show. We were all ordinary people, but just by standing on that stage, they suddenly had all these devoted fans following them. Back then, I couldn’t figure out why those fans had so much energy and love to chase after someone they might not even know the name of.”
“I still don’t get what they see in it even now, but one thing I’m sure of: I want to be the one who’s followed, the one shining brightly. I absolutely! Absolutely won’t betray their love!”
After that, Liu Jie recalled the many sob-story-style idol selection shows he had watched and incorporated the lines from those interviewees: “My family isn’t well-off. My dad has terminal cancer, and his greatest wish before dying was to see me debut on TV.”
“If my skills and looks aren’t up to par, then I wouldn’t dare dream. After all, no one should be morally blackmailed. But!” As he spoke, tears welled in his eyes, his expression firm like a stubborn little white flower swaying in the wind: “Why, in my last agency, did I have to be pushed out of a debut position by those with connections and backers?”
“Tonight’s Big Star is my last chance. If 100% effort is my usual limit, then this time, I’ll give 120%!”
“The entertainment industry is brutal. I’m almost 21—22 by lunar age—and with my dad’s situation, I can’t afford to lose.”
“If I don’t debut this time, I…” His expression turned wistful: “I’ll probably have to leave this world forever.”
Su Ximu listened to this full dramatic performance from Trainee No. 44 Liu Jie in a daze.
He couldn’t bear to keep questioning Liu Jie and waited for his emotions to settle a bit before asking Wang Xingxing and some other trainees: “If this show can’t continue, what would you think?”
This was the first time Su Ximu, as supervisor, had a heart-to-heart chat like this with the trainees.
Part of a supervisor’s job actually involved psychological counseling for the trainees.
But before this, everyone had been too busy. Aside from rest times, he rarely saw them.
So there had been no opportunity for this work.
Today, he seized this small gap while they walked to the practice room to chat.
Su Ximu had thought about it a lot the night before. Personally, he felt whether an idol selection show was worth investing in ultimately came down to the people.
If the program team’s trainees were worth it, then the show was worth it.
If they had perseverance, determination, good looks, a willingness to learn, and top-tier stamina, they already qualified as budding superstar idols.
Conversely, if the trainees’ personal qualities fell short, even the best program team would struggle alone like one tree trying to prop up a forest.
The trainees were thrilled inside at the question.
Such a good thing?
But on the surface, they all looked determined.
One trainee couldn’t hold back his real feelings and said something similar to No. 44: “This is my last chance…”
But while No. 44’s intent had been a sob story, this one’s truly was his last chance in every sense.
His momentary despair and dejection hit Su Ximu, standing not far away, almost immediately.
Su Ximu thought, sure enough, the trainees had probably heard some of the program team’s rumors too.
He turned his gaze to Wang Xingxing. Wang Xingxing’s skills were strong—basically a guaranteed debut position.
The kind of strength even an outsider like Su Ximu could recognize.
Wang Xingxing held back his pounding little heart from being so close to Supervisor Su and said, “As long as I can debut with my teammates, I’m willing to put in any effort!”
Fake was fake—it could never move people like genuine emotion.
Listening to all the trainees before him, Su Ximu could sense their sincerity.
He even felt his own usually slow-beating heart start going thump, thump, thump…
He couldn’t do much else or sway “Big Bro’s” decision. He didn’t know how to do investment analysis either.
All he could do was relay exactly what these trainees said today to “Big Bro.”
