Rong Ruoyao stood frozen in place.
She had even chosen a male teammate as reinforcement, yet still couldn't outperform Rong Yu?
If she'd known Rong Yu's team could do 140 push-ups, she wouldn't have stopped at just three earlier—she clearly had more stamina left!
Once Rong Yu picked the final performance slot, she'd be stuck with the second-to-last.
But she didn’t want to be positioned so close to Rong Yu.
She was afraid of becoming nothing more than a foil to her...
Standing beside her was Jiang Shuang, who had been in Rong Yu’s team last time.
When she saw Rong Yu gather a group of low-ranked contestants, she had secretly rejoiced, glad she’d secured Lisa first.
But now, witnessing Rong Yu’s overwhelming strength in what was just a silly game, an inexplicable twinge of regret crept into her heart...
She swallowed the irrational feeling and calmly observed the situation.
Rong Ruoyao pondered.
The first three performance slots were unfavorable—without a clear reference point, the audience would vote too cautiously.
That left only the fifth or sixth slots.
Just as she was about to speak,
Rong Yu raised her sketchboard and declared brightly, "Our team chooses to go first."
"What?"
"First?"
"Then why did she push herself so hard in the push-up challenge?"
The room erupted in chatter.
Lisa was stunned. "The first slot is the least advantageous. Are you sure, Rong Yu?"
"Absolutely." Rong Yu smiled. "Isn’t it wonderful to perform when the audience is brimming with anticipation?"
Lisa gave her a thumbs-up.
Going first came with significant drawbacks.
The audience would unconsciously use the first performance as a benchmark, voting conservatively. Across singing and dancing competitions, there were rare—if any—instances of the opening act winning first place.
It just showed how confident Rong Yu was.
Lisa genuinely admired her boldness.
The live stream exploded with reactions.
"Choosing to go first? All I can say is: respect."
"Let’s be real, this is overconfidence—borderline arrogance."
"Winning once doesn’t mean she’s destined to keep winning. This is laughable."
"Her teammates are all bottom-ranked except her. Picking first? She clearly doesn’t care about them."
"A ballad as the opener? She’s asking to fail..."
"..."
Rong Ruoyao smirked mockingly.
Even if she didn’t win the push-up challenge, she could still secure the final slot. As long as she achieved her goal, what did it matter?
She picked up a pen and wrote "8" on her board.
The other teams quickly selected their slots.
Though no one had high expectations for Rong Yu’s team, her previous victory and soaring popularity made others wary of performing too close to her, afraid of direct comparisons.
Thus, no one chose the second slot.
In the end, Lisa’s team—with the fewest push-ups—was automatically assigned second.
"The order is set," the host announced. "Now, please head to the dressing rooms to prepare. We’ll see you on stage."
Rong Yu’s team hurried to the dressing room.
The stage crew had already prepared their costumes, as Rong Yu had requested.
Initially, the directors had refused the unconventional demand.
But Director Chen waved it off. "Just let her have it."
He knew Rong Yu had unusual connections. Rather than argue, he indulged her—curious to see what kind of performance she’d deliver.
The audience settled in.
In a dimly lit corner reserved for family sat Class 20 students, Old Master Ji, Old Master Hai, Old Master Si, and Duoduo.
Director Chen’s eye twitched.
"Cameras are banned from this section," he warned. "No lighting either, or face the consequences."
The control room immediately shut off the cameras covering that area.
The lights dimmed.
The curtains parted, revealing a warm spotlight on an antique gramophone, its brass horn gleaming faintly, as if worn by time.
Rong Yu emerged from the darkness, wrapped in an old beige scarf, stepping slowly to center stage as soft music began.
Whispers spread through the audience.
"Shouldn’t the opener be a high-energy performance?"
"Ballads are at a disadvantage in competitions."
"No climax means no votes."
"Overconfidence leads to hard lessons."
"..."
"Shut it," Old Master Ji snapped, turning around. "Let us enjoy the show."
Nearby viewers fell silent.
How were they being disruptive with the stage volume so high?
And why was an old man even here? The noise alone could give him a heart attack.
Also—why was there a little girl no older than five? Shouldn’t she be outside playing in the dirt?
"Quit staring!" Old Master Ji glared. "Pipe down!"
Old Master Hai sighed. "Honestly, you’re less composed than Duoduo right now."
Old Master Si nodded. "Acting like a teenager."
Old Master Ji snorted.
He had a mother now—why shouldn’t he act youthful? He’d gladly act like a baby if he could.
He itched to rub it in their faces, just to watch them seethe with envy.
But this was a secret he had to keep.
The agony of not being able to boast was unbearable.
The prelude ended, and the singing began.
Everyone expected Rong Yu to start, but it was Su Tian.
Her voice carried the cadence of traditional opera.
Dressed in a simple school uniform, she incorporated subtle operatic gestures. Her voice rose and fell, the gravelly undertones of her vibrato evoking a rusted gong—raw, emotional, and unexpectedly poignant.
Su Tian followed Rong Yu’s guidance meticulously, restraining her voice with precision.
She treasured this opening moment, this chance to stand onstage. Four lines of opera silenced the crowd.
Rong Yu stepped forward, adjusting the gramophone. A familiar melody resumed as her voice wove into the music, joined one by one by her teammates...
The live stream erupted again when the adapted lyrics appeared onscreen.
"Oh my god, they changed the song!"
"The original was about love, but this version sounds like mourning a lost family member."
"It’s like they’re singing straight into my soul—I can’t stop thinking about my mom, who passed last year..."
"This is too beautiful. I’m in tears..."
