Wen Ying went after Professor Fang.
Xie Qian had a hunch: Wen Ying was meddling again.
Helping friends was one thing, but Fang was an adult who didn’t even like Wen Ying, and yet she still poked her nose in… Xie Qian lowered his gaze. Clearly, Wen Ying hadn’t done enough practice tests.
He’d ask his cousin for more tonight.
Sure enough, Wen Ying returned empty-handed after a bit.
Director Lü had gone off with his old classmate Producer Yan to talk business. Seeing Wen Ying’s expression, Xie Qian guessed she’d failed.
No surprise there.
Fang was obviously stubborn as a mule.
“You tried convincing her to be a judge?”
Wen Ying nodded, and Xie Qian grew more puzzled. “Why?”
Wen Ying couldn’t quite explain it.
Fang had defended Pan Li before, after all.
She admired Fang’s expertise but didn’t care for her habit of giving lofty advice without understanding the stakes.
Yet, in that moment, realizing what Fang was turning down, Wen Ying had chased after her on impulse.
She wanted to test her own power—to see if she could nudge history off its course.
It was just a few minutes.
Last life, Fang didn’t judge. What if she changed her mind this time?
Wen Ying hadn’t used her rebirth for harm. Fang becoming a judge would bring her fame and fortune—a win.
But Fang wouldn’t listen. The reborn halo? Nonexistent for Wen Ying!
She couldn’t spill all this to Xie Qian, so she mumbled, “No reason. Call it my good deed of the day!”
Fang ignored her advice because they weren’t close, and Fang didn’t like her.
She might not shift Fang’s career, but she could damn well change Xie Qian’s fate!
To do that, she had to become his good friend!
…
Producer Yan struck out with Fang but hit it off with Lü. On the phone, Lü had mentioned the “Food Festival” briefly, piquing Yan’s interest enough for an in-person meet.
They sat down, and Yan nodded along to Lü’s pitch. For old times’ sake, he shared some inside scoop:
“The station’s prepping a food segment. You’ve handed me a pillow just as I’m dozing off. Leave the proposal—I’ll run it by the higher-ups. It’s basically a done deal; just depends on how much support the station gives.”
A street office lead was too small-scale. Yan hinted Lü should tap the district.
If the district pitched the station, the festival would be impossible to keep low-key.
Lü weighed the pros and cons, thanked Yan for the tip, and brought up Wen Ying and Xie Qian’s identities.
Yan had clocked Xie Qian right away—hard not to, with that face!
“No worries on the promo front. Put that Xie kid there, and if the cameraman doesn’t shoot him, they’re blind.”
Yan cracked a grin.
Lü thought Xie Qian didn’t seem the type to crave TV time.
He’d pegged it early: these part-time students weren’t hard up. TV was a dream for some, but Xie Qian might find it too flashy.
No need to spell that out to Yan, though.
Business done, Yan walked Lü out. He genuinely liked Xie Qian and, on a whim, had someone fetch some tickets.
“The station and Mango TV are co-hosting a singing contest. You young folks might enjoy it.”
Yan said “you young folks,” but his eyes were on Xie Qian.
Wen Ying felt life’s unfairness again.
Rebirth? Useless compared to good looks… Xie Qian, used to preferential treatment, thanked Yan calmly and took the tickets.
Outside, he split them, offering half to Lü. Lü waved them off, “You kids like this stuff—what’d I do with them?”
“You’re busy, can’t watch live, but you’ve got younger relatives. I’m just passing on the favor. Without your connection, Yan wouldn’t have given us so many.”
Xie Qian’s words were smooth as silk. Lü pocketed the tickets after all.
With an old pal, Lü could’ve asked for some himself, but Yan didn’t offer, and Lü wasn’t about to beg.
After parting with Lü, Xie Qian dumped the rest on Wen Ying.
She hesitated, “All for me? That’s not right—Yan gave them to you. I’d feel weird going alone… How about we go together?”
—You, feel weird?
Xie Qian nearly snorted. Remembering her flop with Fang, he held back.
After a pause, he took them back. “You’re right, all for you isn’t fair. Tomorrow, I’ll bring two math tests. Score over 120, then we’ll talk about the show.”
“…”
Something’s off here.
Why doesn’t Xie Qian play by the rules?
Lesson learned: never fake modesty with him—he takes it literally!
Wen Ying huffed, pulled out her phone, and called Li Mengjiao. When it connected, her tone was back to normal.
“Heard Mango TV’s doing a talent show—regional auditions, then finals at their HQ. Rongcheng’s starting soon. Wanna join?”
“It’s girls only, mostly singing.”
“Just letting you know—not pushing you to sign up.”
The ’04 Super Girl wasn’t a big deal pre-broadcast—promo was weak. It blew up in ’05 when Mango TV snagged a fat dairy sponsor, hyped it hard, and added SMS voting—one yuan a text. Fans shelled out.
Last life, Li Mengjiao joined the ’05 Super Girl—the “gods’ battle.” The winner stayed famous for over a decade. Li Mengjiao, up against that era, didn’t even make Rongcheng’s finals.
The ’04 version had less buzz and lighter competition.
Li Mengjiao loved singing and dancing—school arts star. Stalling with Wen Ying was fine, but performing was her passion. Wen Ying wasn’t sure ’04 was better for her, but as a friend, she had to tip her off now that she’d stumbled on it.
Unbeknownst to Wen Ying, Li Mengjiao was shopping with Qin Jiao, Xu Mei (Qin Yi’s girlfriend), and Xu Mei’s close friend.
Wen Ying’s call had Li Mengjiao 80% sold. She asked Qin Jiao if she should join. Xu Mei’s friend laughed:
“Xu Mei, this is your gig! You’re the KTV mic hog every time.”
