Chapter Seventy-One: The Official Commencement of Filming

Not every singer's performance was flawless; in fact, some singers, due to the lack of rehearsal time, delivered rather poor results.
Ren Qian sat in the very front row of the audience, ears pricked, listening with utmost concentration.
As he listened, he analyzed swiftly.
With his extraordinary professionalism and almost perverse analytical ability, it was no challenge for him to pick out the flaws in each singer and pinpoint the exact issues. As soon as the first performer finished, the second took the stage.
Meanwhile, Sun Muhan was called by Ren Qian to sit with him in the audience to watch the rehearsals together.
Shapu Liang's greatest flaw as a singer was his excessive focus on emotion at the expense of storytelling—a rather outdated singing mentality. He poured too much personal feeling into a song, favoring lyricism above all else.
A song can have many emotional directions; when a singer imposes a rigid frame on it, the song loses seventy percent of its vitality—only a specific audience can resonate with it.
Shapu Liang's lack of storytelling left all his songs shallow; in other words, his style blocked listeners from drawing on their own experiences to enrich the song’s meaning.
In Ren Qian’s view, this style was almost self-destructive, and it was no surprise Shapu Liang had faded from the limelight. By now, his style was so deeply ingrained that Ren Qian couldn’t be bothered to point it out again.
After Shapu Liang finished his performance, he greeted Ren Qian before sitting down beside Sun Muhan.
“Old Sha, do you get the feeling you’re back at the very start of your career? I haven’t worked this hard in years,” Sun said.
“Yeah, not even my own concerts make me push this hard. I’m exhausted!”
Other singers continued their rehearsals, and forty minutes later, after Murong Xue finished, Ren Qian gathered all the contestants and pointed out the mistakes in their performances, one by one.
He bluntly highlighted what sounded unpleasant, where the missteps were, and what needed improvement, holding nothing back.
Ren Qian was unflinchingly direct in his criticism; he had no time for beating around the bush or speaking in riddles. His duty was simply to identify strengths and weaknesses; whether anyone chose to heed his advice was not his concern.
If someone was eliminated, it was no loss to the production team.
As the saying goes, honest advice is hard to take. At first, the two veteran singers were dismissive.
But after rehearsing as Ren Qian suggested, they found his feedback struck precisely at their weak spots and flaws, and the details that had repeatedly frustrated them were resolved with his guidance.
“This young man has a unique perspective!”
The two veterans couldn’t help but sigh in unison. They were out of touch with the latest trends in the entertainment industry and knew nothing of Ren Qian, who had risen meteorically in just three months, and he was so young besides.

Thus, they had formed prejudices against him.
Yet Ren Qian, with his remarkable professionalism, incisive insight, and superlative analytical skills, won them over completely.
They had to concede: with just a few words, Ren Qian cleared up their confusion and opened their eyes.
Xu Zhiqian and Hu Yanbin, by contrast, knew Ren Qian well—he was a chart-topping, powerhouse singer-songwriter who had dominated the Golden Melody Chart for a month, a frequent trending topic on Weibo...
There were too many accomplishments to count.
The two were convinced of one fact: given another three to five years, no one in the industry would rival Ren Qian’s influence.
So they humbly accepted his guidance, sometimes even eagerly seeking his advice. Such an attitude was naturally endearing; if they kept up this momentum, Ren Qian would not hesitate to share his resources with them.
Helping them create one or two best-selling albums was not out of the question.
“All right, everyone, take a short break, then continue rehearsing. Remember this: give it your all!
On this show, which boasts the highest viewership in the country, who stays and who goes isn’t decided by the production team, but by the five hundred-strong live audience who’ll be watching you perform. They won’t care how glorious your past was; they’ll judge you only by your performance today. So, in every competition, show your very best.
If you’re eliminated, as a singer, your loss will be enormous—I won’t stress this again.
Soon, you’ll understand.
In time, more and more singers will be crying, begging, even offering money, just for a chance to appear on this show.
You are fortunate; I may not always be willing to write songs for singers myself in the future.”
For reasons unknown, the six singers chose to believe Ren Qian’s words, even though they sounded exaggerated and unrealistic. Yet coming from him, they seemed perfectly attainable.
Analyzing it carefully, Ren Qian’s vision could well become reality.
First: the six songs he provided were all of exceptional quality—an undeniable selling point.
Second: the elimination and ranking system was brutal for the singers, but a thrill for the audience, which would boost ratings.
Finally: the addition of new contestants would generate even more discussion.
No matter how they looked at it, the show was bound for explosive popularity. Thinking this, the singers felt lucky they hadn’t refused Jiang TV’s invitation.

……
In the days that followed, Ren Qian only made token appearances.
The singers had already reached a state of near-perfection; the remaining flaws were lifelong habits, difficult to correct in the short term.
Besides, the audience likely wouldn’t notice such subtle imperfections, so Ren Qian didn’t push further.
After all, this was a variety show, with plenty of factors to mask any defects. And… since it wasn’t broadcast live, the post-production team could always fix the audio and edit as needed.
……
Time flew by, and soon it was the day of the official recording.
A good beginning is half the battle; the first episode had to go off without a hitch. If the premiere failed to satisfy audiences, "I Am a Singer" could face an existential crisis.
The six singers were in their dressing rooms, doing makeup and getting into the right frame of mind, while Ren Qian was backstage, also putting on makeup—though in his case, it was just a quick touch of powder and a bit of hairstyling.
As long as he looked presentable, he was ready.
The five hundred-member judging panel had already taken their seats. Since "I Am a Singer" was still unknown and lacked influence, the audience was casual, chatting and making a racket.
Even after repeated requests from Director Hong Tao to find more refined spectators, the place was still noisy.
This was hardly a good sign.
“The lighting crew, don't turn on the lights; camera crew, don’t start filming yet…”
Ren Qian walked onstage and made two hand gestures.
He needed to assert control. If the audience was allowed to talk at will, the premiere was doomed to flop, and all his plans would be thrown into chaos.