Inducement, coupled with implicit threats. Lin Chen's heart sank. He clearly sensed the cold, controlling nature behind the other person's professional smile as he tried to assert a modicum of autonomy.
"I... need a little more time to discuss this with my family," Lin Chen insisted.
"Okay," Mr. Wang's tone noticeably cooler. "I hope you can make a wise decision soon. After all, opportunities don't wait." With that, he hung up.
Listening to the busy tone, Lin Chen sat on the edge of his bed, motionless for a long time. Outside the window, the city's neon lights still flickered, outlining a bustling cityscape, but in his eyes, that light now seemed cold and artificial.
The next morning, the pending review results for the provincial capital competition of "The Voice of China" were announced. Lin Chen's name was prominently listed among the qualified contestants. Also announced was a week-long closed-door training camp. All qualified contestants would stay in a hotel arranged by the production team for intensive training in vocal music, dance, stage performance, and other areas, as well as recording the subsequent elimination rounds. This news temporarily made Lin Chen forget his contract worries, and a wave of genuine joy welled up in him. He had, after all, earned recognition for his singing. He immediately called home. His mother's frail voice was filled with excitement and pride, and his father, though quiet, had softened his tone. He then messaged Chen Kai with the good news, who replied with a thumbs-up and a reminder: "Enjoy the stage, stay clear, and be cautious with your promises."
Dragging his simple luggage, Lin Chen arrived at the training base on the outskirts of the city. It was a star-rated hotel, a floor of which had been reserved by the production team. The environment was far better than he had imagined. The clean rooms, the sumptuous buffet, and the ubiquitous signs and backdrops bearing the "China New Voice" logo exuded an air of professionalism and "dream-making."
However, this sense of "professionalism" quickly transformed into another form of pressure once the training camp began.
In vocal lessons, the teacher praised his timbre but focused on "correcting" his natural singing habits, which stemmed from the mountains. He was instructed to adopt a more "scientific," "standardized," yet also more structured vocal positioning and resonance.
"You need to express strong emotions, but your technique must be precise! Don't be too casual!" the teacher repeatedly emphasized.
Dance class, with no prior experience, was even more agonizing. His stiff movements and uncoordinated limbs made him the clumsiest of the group. Sweat soaked his shirt, and his knees and elbows were bruised. He gritted his teeth and persevered, yet a sense of failure filled his heart.
The body teacher and stylist began to transform his appearance. They criticized his less-than-slender figure, which had been the result of years of hard work, his skin, roughened by the mountain wind, and his "rustic" clothing, which seemed out of place in his surroundings. "The camera magnifies all flaws. You have to lose weight, take care of your skin, and dress in line with fashion trends. These are the basic qualities of an idol."
What made him even more uncomfortable was the pervasive atmosphere of scrutiny and comparison. The contestants appeared harmonious on the surface, but secretly, undercurrents swirled. They compared clothing brands, inquired about each other's backgrounds, and banded together to exclude "amateurs" without support. Ajie, the man who had warned him, also lost his composure after being harshly criticized on camera by the instructors for a blunder in a dance assessment. Late one night, drunkenly, he cried to Lin Chen, "It's useless! Those of us who aren't signed to an agency are just here to run! The camera time, the difficulty of the song selection, and the judges' comments are all already arranged!"
Lin Chen felt like he was being pushed by a tremendous force, into a pre-set mold. They seemed to be working hard to smooth away the "edges" and "impurities" of his wild nature, trying to mold him into a cookie-cutter "idol product" that would cater to the fast-paced market. He still practices "Shan Wen" every day, but under the guidance and advice of those "professionals", he sometimes even doubts whether the creations and sounds he cherishes are really so "inappropriate"?