The elimination round results were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, creating huge ripples in Lin Chen's previously tranquil life. That night, his phone was practically flooded with messages and missed calls. Besides Mr. Wang's increasingly urgent invitations, more unfamiliar numbers and people claiming to be from talent agencies and music labels came knocking, offering increasingly tempting deals.
"Mr. Lin Chen? We are 'Sky Music.' We greatly admire your talent. We can offer a more flexible cooperation model than Star Glory, guaranteeing at least one album per year!"
"Mr. Lin, we are 'Radiance Media,' focusing on personalized artist development, guaranteeing your creative autonomy. Revenue sharing is negotiable!"
"Hey bro, interested in live streaming? Our platform can immediately give you a multi-million dollar signing bonus, preferential traffic, guaranteed to make you money faster than participating in the competition!"
These successive "opportunities" dazzled him, and also made him realize even more the importance of Chen Kai's advice. He wasn't blinded by these sweet words; he simply responded politely that he would "consider," and then, following Chen Kai's advice, meticulously recorded the companies' information, preparing to consult his professional lawyer friend later.
However, the outside clamor was merely the tip of the iceberg. What truly chilled Lin Chen was the subtle shift in the atmosphere within the training camp.
After advancing, the program allocated significantly more screen time to him. Interviews, backstage footage, even training sessions were all filled with his presence. The stylist's attitude towards him became much warmer, proactively selecting more photogenic outfits for him and even suggesting contacting a familiar image consultant for a more professional long-term plan. His vocal and dance teachers provided more detailed guidance, as if he had suddenly transformed from a rough diamond into a work of art worthy of meticulous craftsmanship.
But behind this "attention" lay invisible pressure and stricter control.
"Lin Chen, your 'Mountain Question' was indeed good, but for the next competition, consider choosing a song with a higher level of popularity? Like that 'Starry River' that's been trending on Douyin lately, a slightly modified version would be more likely to attract fans," a deputy director from the production team casually suggested after an interview.
"Lin Chen, straighten your back when you walk, make sure your eyes are bright, and always remember you're on camera," the cameraman would remind him from time to time.
"Interact more with Li Haoran; the show needs some 'brotherly' moments," the scriptwriter (whom they called "process design") would subtly hint.
He was like a suddenly discovered, promising commodity, quickly labeled and incorporated into a pre-planned marketing script. He felt every step he took, every word he uttered, even every expression he made, being scrutinized and evaluated by countless eyes, all trying to guide him in the direction that would generate the most buzz and attract the most viewers.
What made him even more uncomfortable was the isolation and exclusion from the other contestants.
The few people who used to exchange a few words with him now looked at him with more distance and scrutiny. During breaks, he often sat alone in a corner, while the other contestants, who were obviously signed or had connections, formed their own little circle, chatting and laughing, their eyes occasionally sweeping over him with a hint of coldness.