Chapter Seven: Seeking Help from Outside the Arena

"Didn't you ever think about going to college? Did you debut straight after high school, or did you attend a vocational school?" Li Feifei, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up.

"College?" Zhou Miao scratched his head. "Of course I'll go to college. I want to apply to the Central Conservatory of Music and study systematically."

"Do you know their admission scores? Can you really get in?" Wang Jiang asked skeptically.

He wasn’t very familiar with these things, but any university with “Central” in its name sounded extremely difficult to enter!

"The composition department has a lower threshold, about 210 points in JS province," Zhou Miao recalled.

Wang Jiang’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What? 210 points? That low? Damn, maybe I should apply! If 210 points is enough for Central Conservatory, I'd go—even if it's for the postnatal care department for sows!"

Zhou Miao shot him a look. "The total score for college entrance exams in JS province is 480. Where you’re from, it’s 750."

"Oh, really?" Wang Jiang scratched his head, disappointed. He’d thought he could take advantage of a loophole. His grades were abysmal; if 210 points could get him into Central Conservatory, he’d have gone, music major or not.

"And besides the entrance exam, you also have to pass the arts exam, which tests your instruments, music theory, and other professional skills. Even if your grades are high enough, if your expertise isn’t up to par, they won’t accept you," Zhou Miao added, thoroughly crushing Wang Jiang’s hopes.

"But I still think you’re oversimplifying things. The entertainment industry is not easy to break into. Have you watched that show, ‘Produce Camp 5’? Those trainees first compete within their own companies for a spot on the show, then have to compete with a hundred others for just a few debut positions," Wang Jiang said earnestly.

"Exactly! And let me tell you, debuting doesn’t mean much. After leaving the show, most cool off quickly. Online, people joke that debuting is equivalent to unemployment. Only one or two actually become famous," Li Feifei, secretly a devoted fan, chimed in enthusiastically.

"I watched a bit of that show," Zhou Miao laughed. "Those guys act like old ladies—disgusting!"

Wang Jiang quickly covered his mouth. "You’re too bold saying that, especially with cameras rolling. Be careful—when the show airs, their fans might come after you!"

Zhou Miao waved his hand, unconcerned. "So what? I’m not worried at all. Did I say anyone by name? If any fan comes after me, it means they’re admitting it themselves. Clearly, they think so too."

Was that even possible? Wang Jiang was shocked. I insult your idol, but you can’t retaliate, because if you do, you’re admitting your idol is effeminate!

"Actually, Zhou Miao, you could join those talent shows. These days, the male contestants are worse looking than ever. You’re much better looking than they are," Li Feifei suggested.

Wang Jiang was dumbfounded. He’d been wondering how to steer Zhou Miao back onto the right path, but now Li Feifei was giving him tips—wasn’t she sabotaging him?

Without a second thought, Zhou Miao rejected the idea. "One black mark in my life is enough—Transforming Plan. Asking me to act cute on a show like Produce Camp? You might as well kill me."

"There’s more than one path to being a singer. I’m young. No rush. Step by step," Zhou Miao said confidently.

Wang Jiang wiped the sweat from his brow, suddenly remembering a saying: Why are men so average, yet so confident?

He sighed and excused himself, heading out to find the director. "Director, can I borrow your phone for a bit?"

"What do you need it for?" the director asked, puzzled.

Wang Jiang replied helplessly, "I really don’t know how to make him see reality. I want to look it up online."

To look it up online... The director was stunned by Wang Jiang’s idea, but after a moment, handed him the phone.

Wang Jiang opened the search bar, thought for a moment, then typed: How do you shatter a young person’s unrealistic dreams?

Instantly, countless results popped up, most of them motivational fluff. Wang Jiang frowned as he scrolled.

Suddenly, his fingers stopped. He clicked on an article titled: "Face Reality! Watch Me Crush My Platinum-Ranked Cousin’s Professional Esports Dream!"

The cousin’s symptoms matched Zhou Miao’s: obsessed with gaming (music), dreaming of a professional career (singer), failing to realize his own capabilities.

The article’s author sent his cousin to an esports training camp to compete against real professionals. The cousin was thoroughly defeated, his esports dream shattered, and he went home crying that very night.

Wang Jiang’s eyes lit up. He handed the phone to the director. "Director, do you think this method could work?"

The director took the phone, his eyebrows rising as he read. The article was amusing, but if the same approach were used with Zhou Miao...

It seemed feasible.

The director put away the phone. "I see what you mean. We can try it. Leave the rest to me; I’ll contact the right people."

"Great!"

After settling the plan, Wang Jiang returned to the room feeling relieved. Seeing Zhou Miao and Li Feifei chatting happily, he felt a pang of sympathy. Poor kid—he had no idea his musical dreams were about to be dashed.

Putting an arm around Zhou Miao’s shoulders, Wang Jiang said earnestly, "Miao, dreams are just illusions. Happiness is what matters!"

Zhou Miao gave him a puzzled look. "Where did you get that insight? You just stepped out for a bit and came back so cheerful?"

Suddenly, Zhou Miao’s eyes narrowed and he pinched Wang Jiang’s belly fat. "Did you sneak my chocolate?"

Wang Jiang yelped in pain and quickly begged for mercy. "No, I didn’t! I went out to get you a gift!"

"A gift?" Zhou Miao let go, grinning. "Why so formal? We’re so close!"

He asked curiously, "What kind of gift?"

Damn, he’s too straightforward. Wang Jiang rubbed his aching belly, deciding not to tell him yet, or he might get beaten.

"It’s a secret. You’ll know when you get it," Wang Jiang said mysteriously.

Meanwhile, the director scrolled through his contacts, making several calls. He wanted to find a music professional nearby, but none were close enough. Finally, through an old alumnus, he got in touch with a master: a graduate of the Central Conservatory’s piano department, former band member, released albums, and once enjoyed fame, but ruined his voice through smoking and drinking and left the industry.

Now settled in Yunnan, he ran a music shop and taught piano to children. The director struck a deal: more screen time for his shop in exchange for participation—essentially an advertisement.

After hanging up, the director smiled slightly, anticipation in his eyes. What would tomorrow bring?