Li Yuanjie submitted his composition on the last day of the first recording session. Most of it had been hastily thrown together, but after some communication with the singers, the results were passable.
Li Yuanjie handed his "Frankensteinian masterpiece" to Zhang Yanzhuo and instructed Gou Bing to handle the collaboration. He had no time to work with this horned oddball.
Confident of victory, Li Yuanjie completely washed his hands of the matter.
After Gou Bing and his team left, Zhang Yanzhuo took matters into his own hands. Gou Bing, lacking the authority to intervene, watched helplessly as Zhang Yanzhuo butchered the already mediocre song through rewrites and jarring tempo changes.
Zhang Yanzhuo's musical tailoring skills rivaled Li Yuanjie's.
Gou Bing wore a troubled expression, unsure how to proceed. Reporting the truth to Li Yuanjie would surely spark an explosive confrontation, potentially leading to a premature withdrawal from the show before it even aired.
Peaceful collaboration was the key to success.
Ultimately, Gou Bing concealed the truth. After all, Yang Chaoyue was doomed anyway. As long as they avoided last place, a favorable draw at the start of the second session could set the stage for a dramatic comeback, potentially even more effective than a smooth performance.
While the other teams were progressing at a similar pace, Ye Huanqiu's group was far ahead, having completed their recording by Tuesday morning.
The session cost Ye Huanqiu 4,500 yuan, and that was only because he personally handled the programming and master recording. Had he outsourced the work, the entire process would have easily cost 18,000 to 20,000 yuan.
With the song recorded, Ye Huanqiu should have gracefully stepped back. However, touched by Yang Chaoyue's rare initial kindness towards him, he casually mentioned the upcoming stage performance.
In addition to the song "Chinese," he had received a wealth of visual materials. While the song didn't require elaborate choreography—just a strong sense of rhythm—stage design was a specialized skill.
Yang Chaoyue's company would likely outsource the stage design to a generic dance company, a move that would severely diminish the song's impact.
That's why Ye Huanqiu proactively offered his suggestions, which Yang Chaoyue found astonishing.
"A Ye, you even know about stage design and choreography?"
"Just a little," he replied modestly.
Yang Chaoyue increasingly felt that Ye Huanqiu was like one of those hidden masters from martial arts novels—a prodigy who blended seamlessly into ordinary life. Despite his youthful appearance, his capabilities were truly remarkable.
Without hesitation, Yang Chaoyue adopted all of his suggestions.
These proposals were surprisingly cost-effective, yet the rehearsals in the dance studio yielded impressively polished results. This approach saved Yang Chaoyue's company a significant amount of money.
Even Sister Zhang, her manager, couldn't help but wonder which agency Ye Huanqiu had emerged from. Not only was his creative talent undeniable, but he was also a skilled music instructor and knowledgeable in stage design and choreography.
How can one person be so versatile? she marveled. Do all-rounders like this even exist in the entertainment industry?
Leading up to Friday, Yang Chaoyue dedicated herself entirely to rehearsals at her company, often practicing until eleven or twelve at night. Sister Zhang watched her relentless efforts with a mix of concern and admiration.
She asked Yang Chaoyue why she was pushing herself so hard. After all, it was just a variety show, and Tomato TV's intentions for inviting her had been far from genuine—they'd likely only wanted her to stir up publicity.
Yang Chaoyue's response was unwavering: "I need to prove something. It's not about showing I'm better than others; it's about letting them know that what I lost, I'll reclaim myself!"
On Friday, Tomato TV's I Am a Creator was set to resume filming its second half. This time, Ye Huanqiu entered the building unhindered, but the sympathetic glances he received from those around him were much the same as when he'd left on Monday.
He walked alone into the green room, only to find that the nameplate outside had been removed. If not for his excellent memory, he might have struggled to find the place.
The original nameplate had read "One Leaf Knows Autumn."
This confirmed what a famous Earth celebrity surnamed Huang had once said: "Before you make it, you'll encounter all sorts of petty scheming on set. But once you're famous, everyone around you becomes a 'good person,' their faces beaming with smiles. Every time they see you, they'll greet you with, 'Teacher Huang, you must be tired.'"
That's how the real world works: the weaker you are, the stronger they become; the stronger you are, the weaker they become.
There was nothing more to say, and Ye Huanqiu wasn't foolish enough to complain publicly. It wasn't that what they had done was right, but simply that he wasn't yet in a position to do anything about it.
Those who seek to accomplish great things must first master their composure. Reacting like a bristling Emei monkey—leaping about, snarling, and frothing at the mouth at every setback—only invites mockery.
Ye Huanqiu sat alone in the green room, his expression as calm as still water, until a staff member finally came to summon him.
The staff member had taken quite some time to find him. Without proper signage, it was easy to miss the room—a consequence of their own negligence coming back to bite them.
As Ye Huanqiu left the green room to prepare for his performance, he encountered the other seven creative teams already waiting backstage.
"Hmph, all bluster and no substance," Li Yuanjie scoffed, his nose practically twisted with anger after standing there for over ten minutes.
The others looked equally displeased.
Yet the reason for their delay stemmed entirely from the production team's oversight.
A nearby staff member opened their mouth to apologize, but Ye Huanqiu smiled faintly and shook his head.
This matter could easily escalate. To the others, he was merely a soon-to-be-eliminated contestant whose pique would likely fade quickly, not worth their grudge. But if the blame shifted to the staff, they might become scapegoats.
After all, the scheduling decisions came from higher-ups.
"Still smiling... unbelievable," Gou Bing, ever observant, noticed Ye Huanqiu's polite gesture to the staff.
Li Yuanjie was still seething when the hosts, Wang Ziqiang and Meng Yan, arrived.
"I can't wait to see you embarrass yourself on stage!" Li Yuanjie snarled.
As Director Zhang's familiar countdown echoed through the studio, the cameras began rolling.
Eight teams of songwriters and singers took their places on stage, dressed in their performance outfits. Sun Nan and Tan Weiwei, seasoned veterans of the music scene, wore dignified attire that exuded timeless elegance. Having long outgrown the need to compete for attention, they left the flamboyant styles to the younger contestants.
Liu Ning had somehow managed to borrow a school uniform, while Chen Yihan wore a flowing, natural-style dress with deliberately curled ends.
Cheng Xiao's ensemble featured a black crop top paired with a custom-made qipao-inspired skirt, concealing hot pants underneath. The overall effect was both alluring and provocative.
Wang Lingkai and Zhang Yanzhuo, as always, sported their signature outlandish outfits, unafraid of eccentric fashion as long as it drew attention.
Finally, Yang Chaoyue debuted a new hairstyle: the iconic Nezha buns, with two small buns atop her head and pink braided ribbons woven into her long hair, complemented by an understated Hanfu gown with a traditional cross-collar design.
The audience erupted in thunderous applause to welcome the performers.