How about we add each other on QQ?

His words dripped with sarcasm, so much so that even someone with the longest ears could pick up on it. Zhang Zhichang was secretly amused. He had originally thought that, faced with the complexities of the entertainment industry, Yun Jin Su would be a naive newcomer and he’d have to put in extra effort. But now it seemed that she was clearly a firecracker.

That was just as well. If Yun Jin Su really was a pushover, he’d be in trouble. He had to live up to Old Master Lu’s expectations, juggle a host of other responsibilities, and just now, when he’d tried to approach Yun Jin Su, she had shown no interest. If he kept pressing forward, he’d look like a pathetic sycophant.

So, all things considered, Zhang Zhichang much preferred Yun Jin Su to have a bit of backbone. At the very least, she shouldn’t get the short end of the stick in these verbal skirmishes. The entertainment industry was full of far more difficult challenges; if she couldn’t even handle this, he’d really have cause for worry!

While Zhang Zhichang was quietly amused, Zhang Chuchu, who had just been on the receiving end of Yun Jin Su’s sharp-tongued sarcasm, looked even more sour. However, just as she was about to lose her temper, Wang Tao spoke up, “That’s right, Xinghui—how did you know? Do you actually know Yun Jin?”

“What are you talking about? This is my first time meeting Teacher Su.” Xinghui replied, “It’s just that I’m a songwriter, so I’m especially sensitive to voices. Just now, did you notice during Teacher Su’s remarks that there was not a single extraneous noise in her speech, and when she paused, you couldn’t hear her breathing? That’s the most basic breath control for singing. It’s the same as with you guys and street dance—if you don’t have the stamina, you’re wasting your time. Teacher Su’s lung capacity just now could easily surpass that of a strong man. And there’s more: her vocal cords were completely clear of any noise, which is an even higher level of skill. But if I explained further, I’m not sure you’d understand.”

Shao Xinghui didn’t hold back—he shared everything he’d picked up on. How much outsiders like Zhang Chuchu and Luo Zizhen could actually comprehend was entirely up to them. As for him, he was now brimming with admiration for Yun Jin Su.

Although folk songs aren’t as widely sung as pop songs, when you compare the two, pop music is a mere child! Even those of them who write original music wouldn’t dare claim to be on par with the village chiefs who sing mountain songs. Those singers train through the harshest winters and hottest summers, using nothing but their unamplified voices to produce heavenly music. As for pop singers? They’re far too dependent on sound engineers, microphones, and other equipment. Without stage lights and the adoration of fans, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Frankly, in the old days, they wouldn’t have been worth a second look.

It was understandable for Zhang Chuchu to doubt Yun Jin Su. But for Luo Zizhen to look down on folk songs? That was just plain stupidity!

“Thank you, Teacher Shao, for explaining,” Yun Jin Su said, the corners of her lips lifting into a perfectly poised smile. To outsiders, it was a sweet, enchanting expression, even somewhat captivating. But for Yun Jin Su, this was nothing more than a formulaic, polite smile—a skill honed from years of practice with her third grandfather, a lover of the stage. Since childhood, he’d trained her for his own theatrical enjoyment, making her rehearse with him in their spare time.

Frankly, if Zhang Chuchu couldn’t even manage her facial expressions, could she really be called an actress? Or was she just a pretty face? Shaking her head inwardly, Yun Jin Su looked at Zhang Chuchu.

At that moment, Zhang Chuchu was staring right back. Their eyes met, and Zhang Chuchu suddenly drew a sharp breath. Yun Jin Su’s expression seemed unchanged, and yet it had transformed entirely. In her brilliant eyes, it was as if blades flashed—an icy chill emanated from them, making Zhang Chuchu’s feet go cold.

What was happening? Zhang Chuchu’s mind went blank, but when she looked again, Yun Jin Su had already turned away. Had she imagined it? She was unsettled, but to her credit, she managed not to betray much fear, drawing on her own acting experience.

What she didn’t realize was that Yun Jin Su’s look had been deliberate. Voice, stage presence, movement, and expression—these are the four fundamentals of theater, and just now, Yun Jin Su had simply projected a hint of ruthlessness. For someone who had grown up sparring onstage with her drama-obsessed grandfather, this was child’s play. It took barely any change in her facial expression to convey a chilling malice through her gaze. That icy feeling that had left Zhang Chuchu breathless and cold? It was simply because she couldn’t keep up with the performance. On set, there’s always a director to call “cut,” but in real life, that sudden chill is hers to bear alone.

“No wonder Xinghui is considered the future leader of Chinese pop music—such professionalism,” Zhang Zhichang praised, seeing that Zhang Chuchu was left speechless while Shao Xinghui had spoken with such expertise.

Then he glanced at Zhang Chuchu. A moment ago, she had been arrogant and overbearing, but after Yun Jin Su’s silent rebuke, she was pale as a ghost.

But Zhang Zhichang didn’t spare her another thought. Aside from the fact that she’d bought her way into the production, he wouldn’t have chosen her based on her profession alone if it weren’t for the financial backing she brought. Besides, she’d already wasted so much of everyone’s time since arriving, just as Yun Jin Su had said—everyone’s busy! He still had to arrange the stage, oversee the contestants. When Zhang Chuchu questioned Yun Jin Su, she was questioning him, wasting his time and doubting his choices. This woman and Luo Zizhen alike—when the opportunity arises, he’ll make sure to teach them a lesson.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just undeserved praise,” said Shao Xinghui modestly.

Zhang Zhichang chuckled, “Let’s not get sidetracked. Let’s start the meeting.”

They all sat down. The meeting lasted two full hours. When it finally ended and Yun Jin Su walked out of the conference room, she rolled her neck. Meetings were always such a hassle—even just sitting that long left her feeling dizzy and weary.

“Teacher Su.” She had barely left the room when someone called her from behind. Turning around, she saw Shao Xinghui jogging over with a bright smile.

“Teacher Shao.” Though Yun Jin Su was heir to the Seven Schools, she was not arrogant or aloof. When she saw Shao Xinghui, she greeted him with a polite smile.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Teacher Su, but… could we add each other on WeChat?” Shao Xinghui asked, producing his phone, a little embarrassed. Seeing Yun Jin Su hesitate, he hurried to explain, “We’re both mentors for the Center Position Girl Group these next two months. It’d be good to have a way to communicate.”

“I’m sorry, Teacher Shao, it’s not that I don’t want to, but…” Yun Jin Su took out her ancient smartphone. “My phone can’t keep up with the times—WeChat won’t update to the latest version, so I can’t use it. How about we add each other on QQ?”