Afternoon of the 19th – Semi-Finals
The studio had undergone noticeable changes. Every seat was now draped in blue covers emblazoned with the show's logo and a small line of text: "Eve of the Summit." The stage's layout had also been significantly altered. The right side featured fifty additional seats, distinguished by red-and-black covers.
On the left stood a life-sized plastic logo: [EVE OF THE SUMMIT]. While the grand finale was dubbed the "Summit Night," the current setup, bathed in pale yellow lighting with a fog machine billowing mist from the base, didn't feel cheap at all. Effect curtains framed the stage with lush foliage, evoking a majestic, almost dreamlike atmosphere.
One could always trust Mango TV's stage design. The Summit Night would undoubtedly be even more extravagant. Regardless, the semi-finals had an air of ceremony that set them apart from earlier rounds.
"Please enter in an orderly manner," staff members repeatedly announced.
Typically, 70% of the audience were women, but today, the gender ratio was nearly even.
Eight hundred spectators filed in, each wearing a wristband issued by the show for identification. After the recording, returning the wristbands would net them a small gift—though expectations shouldn't be high. Keychains or mini fans were the usual fare. Normally, signing up as an audience member was free, but travel and accommodation costs fell on attendees. Some out-of-town fans spent thousands just for the chance to be there. There were even cases where tickets, originally free, were scalped by insiders—on Earth, one dance competition show's tickets had been resold for over 20,000 yuan.
Backstage Conversations
"Ming-ge, what kind of grudge does She-jie have against that celebrity? We're getting 200 yuan a day—800 people means over 100,000 spent. Is she out of her mind?" A young man with a buzz cut whispered.
She-jie was a well-known casting agent in the Changzhutan film base. Today's gig was far easier than usual—no acting, just watching a show and "performing" at key moments. Buzz Cut thought more jobs like this would be great.
"Who knows? As long as the money clears, why care? Isn't that Chu Zhi guy some scumbag online? Maybe She-jie got dumped. Love turned to hate—get it?" Ming-ge, an older extra with minor film credits, replied dismissively.
Buzz Cut nearly bought it, then paused. "Wait, the guy's good-looking. She-jie's got the curves, but her face is mid. Doesn't add up."
"I don't get it. There's something else—"
"You 'don't get' a lot of things. Shut up and do the job," Ming-ge snapped before softening his tone. "Look, some questions don't need answers. Just remember our task: No clapping, no matter how good it sounds. Got it?"
"Don't worry, cuz. I've got zero taste in music. How good can a live performance even be? It's not like he's gonna grow flowers out of his mouth." Buzz Cut grinned. Ming-ge nodded. They were professionals, after all.
The two were a microcosm of the audience. Nearly all 800 attendees had been similarly briefed. A shared question lingered: Won't this leak?
But so what?
Eight hundred people were a drop in the ocean. Even if someone blabbed online or posted footage, the show's PR could spin it. Take the Desert Island preview—despite the live audience voting it the best performance, the pre-release edits had framed it however the producers wanted.
Truth mattered, but in an era of algorithm-driven narratives and controlled discourse, what people saw was increasingly curated. Even outright scandals—like the infamous Brainiest Minds rigging—were easily buried.
And if pressed? These 800 weren't hired by the network or even Da Hua Entertainment. At worst, it was She-jie's personal vendetta.
A drumbeat "boom!" silenced the murmurs.
By 6:00 PM Beijing time, the studio was set. Host Gu Nanxi strode onstage in a glamorous gray chiffon gown, her hair pinned up with a tiara. The outfit could've doubled as a wedding dress.
"To ensure fairness, we've invited notaries from the Wangcheng Notary Office—Mr. Tang Mai and Ms. Yu Yongpei—to oversee the voting."
The two officials waved at the cameras and audience, met with enthusiastic applause.
Some might scoff at notaries, assuming they're rubber stamps. But notary offices operate under China's Notarization Law. Their role? Certify that votes are tallied accurately—no tampering, no miscounts.
That said, if Li Xingwei bombed but still got 800 votes? Those votes would stand.
"Now, our illustrious judging panel."
A screen displayed fifty names and credentials:
[Fang Sheng: Music festival planner (MIDI, Cactus, Wheatfield), critic.
Er Li: Sound artist, founder of the Sound Museum.
Li Yu: Choreographer (CCTV Spring Gala, Peach & Plum Cup winner).
Zhang Mingyi: Record producer, critic...]
"With such expertise, our contestants face even greater pressure," Gu Nanxi said. "Let's hear from Mr. Fang Sheng."
Fang, a 1.6-meter-tall industry veteran once mockingly called "Little Potato," now commanded respect. "I look forward to tonight, especially to learning from senior Hou Yubin."
"Come on, Fang-laoshi, you're never this brief," Gu teased.
"Then I'll critique your hosting later," Fang shot back, grinning.
"No no, we've known each other five years—go easy on me!"
Their banter revealed a friendly rapport.
Meanwhile, backstage, the contestants had drawn their performance order. Whether by chance or design, Chu Zhi would take the stage last.