Chapter 62: No One Else is so Manly
This round of the competition was about testing the contestants’ skills in special effects makeup, and among all the techniques, aging makeup is considered very basic, an entry-level skill.
The competition itself was a showcase of talent, and contestants were expected to display the coolest techniques they had within a limited time frame. Ideally, they would pour all their knowledge into their designs. No one would dare create something as simple and out of place as aging makeup.
It’s like a cooking competition where everyone else is making “Buddha Jumps Over the Wall[mfn]Buddha Jumps Over the Wall is a famous Chinese dish renowned for its rich flavors, luxurious ingredients, and intricate preparation. The name is a bit of an exaggeration, suggesting that the dish is so delicious that even a Buddha would be tempted to jump over a wall to eat it.[/mfn]”, while Jiang Xiaoyuan decides to make scrambled eggs with leftover rice.
She didn’t even use a model.
The host, upon seeing Jiang Xiaoyuan, felt her scalp tingle but still forced herself to approach. “Excuse me, contestant number twelve, what’s the theme of your work?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Me.”
The host: “…You mean you’ve made yourself up to look like you?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan pointed at the dressing mirror labeled “Model” and explained, “I wanted to time travel and have a conversation with someone—a version of myself several decades from now.”
The host: “…”
The host imagined the future for a moment and resolved to switch to hosting trivia shows, never wanting to work with so-called “art contestants” again. A math or knowledge competition would be much easier—everyone would just bow their heads to calculate or raise their heads to answer questions, and the host would never be left speechless on stage.
But since things had already gone this far, she couldn’t let the stage go cold, so the host forced a laugh. “…That’s certainly creative. So, contestant number twelve, what do you plan to ask your old self? The winning lottery numbers? Future housing prices or stock trends? Or when you’ll finally strike it rich?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan glanced at her as if she was an idiot. “People can’t know the future in advance; otherwise, it would disrupt the rules of cause and effect, and the future would change drastically. Haven’t you heard of the butterfly effect and parallel universe theory?”
The host: “…Haha, contestant number twelve certainly has broad interests and careful considerations.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “I just want to ask her if, after all these years, she ever doubted herself, wanted to give up, or had any regrets. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would suffice—no need for specific details.”
Standing in front of the dressing mirror with her convincingly old and wrinkled face, Jiang Xiaoyuan seemed to be facing her elderly self from decades into the future.
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “I often doubt myself. I think about giving up every day—morning and night, like clockwork. I’m more diligent about that than doing actual work. I’m always afraid that if I continue down this path, I’ll regret it someday. It’s like walking through a minefield, stepping carefully with every move, constantly anxious.”
“Everyone only lives once—there’s no rehearsal,” she continued. “So every decision makes me nervous for a long time. I don’t know if others feel the same way—I just know that I waste a lot of time every day being scared. I always want someone who’s been through it to tell me their thoughts. But the people I ask either don’t agree with me or are just as confused. So, I want to ask my future self—if she could give me a guarantee, then I wouldn’t have to worry anymore, and I could focus on my work.”
The host was suddenly at a loss for words.
“I know the makeup isn’t great,” Jiang Xiaoyuan smiled at the audience. “But this was the first special effects makeup I ever learned, so it’s sentimental to me.”
The audience didn’t applaud, especially the younger ones. The atmosphere was almost eerily silent.
But Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t mind. She bowed, moved her dressing mirror aside, and calmly lined up to wait.
It wasn’t until the next contestant came on stage with an imperial costume that the audience finally snapped out of the strange quiet.
The competition moved into its final phase, where the judges no longer had scoring power and were left to give their remarks.
The technical expert critiqued the contestants, highlighting the special effects techniques like an insurance salesman listing product features. When it came to Jiang Xiaoyuan, she simply said, “contestant number twelve showed a unique perspective, but her aging makeup technique was basic, and the overall design was too plain. You have creativity, but I hope you’ll put more effort into your technical skills next time.”
Her critique was fair, but by this point, the audience had lost respect for the judges. If they had stuck to their guns earlier instead of changing scores due to outside pressure, the audience might have admired their integrity. But the moment they caved, their credibility was gone. This mean behavior just shows that the judges are guilty.
Normal people can’t tell how much gold is in a comment anyway. They responded to the judges based on their feelings—if they liked the judge, they accepted their words as gospel; if they didn’t, they dismissed it as nonsense.
After the judges’ “professional comments”, no one applauded, the atmosphere felt like a failed comedy show.
The host, with no better idea, pushed the competition forward with a stiff smile. “Now, audience judges, please take your voting devices and cast your vote for your favorite contestant to give them a chance to be revived!”
The contestants stood with their backs to the big screen, their eyes darting nervously. Only Jiang Xiaoyuan seemed indifferent, sneaking a small mirror from her pocket to peek at the screen.
Four light beams slowly rose on the screen. It was an obvious knockoff of China’s Got Talent, but with a cheap design. The beams were so thin they looked like flashlight beams, and the stick figures on top were just blobs of color, their heads and limbs barely distinguishable.
Through her mirror, Jiang Xiaoyuan saw her light beam jump twice and then stop, shorter than all the others.
Yet she felt strangely calm, not disappointed at all.
She remembered the first time she argued with Teacher Jiang, shouting at him in anger, “One day, you won’t be able to afford me!” That shout was mostly out of anger.
Now, with a serene smile, she thought: “One day, this cheap stage won’t even qualify me to sit as a judge.”
There’s a vast world out there, but some people laughably believe that tripping someone up in their little corner of the world will stop them from rising.
Their world will always be the size of a manhole cover. What’s the point of holding grudges against such pitiful people?
The one-minute voting time quickly came to an end, and as expected, Jiang Xiaoyuan ended up at the bottom in terms of votes. There were no surprises, and no miracles occurred. The contestant next to her, who won an award by leading Wu Huang, was trying hard to squeeze out a tearful expression, but unfortunately, their acting was a bit off—their face turned red from the effort, yet it didn’t seem convincing at all.
Originally, there was supposed to be a segment for the eliminated contestants to give their remarks, as part of wrapping up the entire preliminary competition. However, at this moment, neither the organizing committee nor the host dared to let Jiang Xiaoyuan’s “dog’s mouth that can’t spit out ivory[mfn]Dog’s mouth that can’t spit out ivory is a Chinese idiom that describes someone who is greedy or unwilling to let go of something they have acquired. It comes from a story about a dog that steals a piece of ivory but is unable to spit it out because it is so valuable.[/mfn]” say anything shocking again. They abruptly replaced this segment with a speech from the “revived contestant.”
The staff politely escorted the eliminated contestants off stage. Just as they were about to leave, a voice from the audience suddenly called out, “Excuse me, I have an objection.”
The host, already numbed by the word “objection” that day, froze.
Jiang Xiaoyuan looked over and saw it was Qi Lian, who had somehow made his way to the front row and grabbed a microphone from an a guest who left early.
Qi Lian, nonchalantly holding the mic, stood with one hand in his pocket, looking defiant in front of everyone.
Several staff members rushed toward him, but he turned to face the cameras, presenting them with a perfect shot.
Qi Lian: “As one of the audience judges, do I not have the right to raise an objection?”
The staff, bathed in the camera flashes, hesitated.
The host, uncomfortable, said: “Please go ahead.”
Qi Lian: “It was an honor to be invited as an audience judge. Before voting, I spoke with the woman in front of me and the man to my right. We all liked contestant number twelve’s creativity. I don’t know about the others, but at least the three of us voted for her. So, why does the scoreboard show she only got two votes?”
Host: “…”
Ignoring the staff’s awkward expressions, Qi Lian turned to the audience, addressing the other judges: “We were voting for contestants No. 1, 8, 9, and 12. So, who voted for contestant number one?”
Sensing the situation spiraling, the host quickly said: “Sir, our voting system is fair…”
But Qi Lian paid her no mind. After counting the hands, he announced, “Three votes for contestant number one. Who voted for contestant number eight? Please raise your hands.”
“Five… six votes in total. Okay, now who voted for contestant number nine? Please raise your hands—Alright, a total of seven votes.”
The host: “Sir, please don’t disrupt the event. If you continue, we have the right to ask you to leave.”
“I’ll leave right away.” Qi Lian didn’t even look at her. “Now, those who voted for contestant number twelve, please raise your hand.”
He raised his hand first, and after a brief silence, one hand after another shot up.
With a smirk, Qi Lian turned to the host. “There were 30 audience votes. contestant number one got 3, contestant number eight got 6, and contestant number nine got 7. That leaves 14 votes. After deducting two abstentions, contestant number twelve should have 12 votes. Now, I’m not sure if my math is off, and I can’t count numbers less than 30, or if your voting system malfunctioned, causing everyone to press the wrong buttons?”
The host’s vision nearly went black. With this statement, tomorrow’s headline, “Obvious Rigging at Competition,” was practically guaranteed. Just one wave after another of trouble.
Qi Lian raised his head and met the gaze of Jiang Xiaoyuan, whose face was deeply wrinkled. Suddenly, he said, “You’re definitely not alone. We’re all scared. Who can guarantee they’re always right? We’re all just ordinary people, and it’s tough for us to stick to something. We’re constantly questioning ourselves. Some people give up after a couple of doubts, but there are always those who, even after doubting themselves a thousand times, still make it to the end.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan was suddenly overcome with emotion, feeling as if there wasn’t another person in the world as manly as him.
Qi Lian took his hand out of his pocket and waved to the excited media, signaling them to stop causing a scene. He calmly returned the microphone to the guest table, completely ignoring the livid face of Fan Xiaoxiao. He made a gesture to Jiang Xiaoyuan — and miraculously, she understood. He was saying, “Wash your face, let’s go.”
Without hesitation, she bypassed the other contestants on stage and headed straight for the backstage. She didn’t want to stay under the same roof with these fools for even one more second.
The audience was in an uproar, the judges stood there frozen like roasted quails, and the host awkwardly remained on stage, her heavy makeup barely concealing the desolation in her heart.
Of course, the organizing committee couldn’t let them leave like this. Organizers quickly stepped in for damage control, offering a ridiculous explanation — “The voting system had a short circuit, and the event staff were interns who failed to properly check the equipment.”
It seems like every mistake in the world can be blamed on “interns” and “temporary workers.”
In the end, all the contestants who were qualified for the finals should have gone on stage to take a photo with the judges, but because of the chaos, they did not take a photo together. The finalist certificate was handed to Jiang Xiaoyuan by one of the organizers, who rushed after her, smiling awkwardly as a barrage of cameras snapped away.
This little pre-selection event had so many twists and turns that Jiang Xiaoyuan started to feel like she didn’t even want the certificate anymore. For a brief moment, her second-year syndrome and princess-like nature flared up, and she wanted to throw the certificate back at the organizer’s face, declaring, “I don’t care about this. Give this piece of trash to whoever wants it.”
But before she could act on this impulse, she saw Fan Xiaoxiao through the crowd.
Fan Xiaoxiao’s gaze was like two machine guns, filled with so much hatred that it felt like she wanted to shoot Jiang Xiaoyuan full of holes from miles away. At this moment, not even Jiang Bo himself could pull her away from her seething anger.
Jiang Xiaoyuan suddenly felt triumphant. She quickly adjusted her expression, flashing a victorious smile as she thought, “Why shouldn’t I take it? It would be worth it just to see that old witch seethe with rage.”
So, Jiang Xiaoyuan graciously took the certificate from the chairperson’s hand and said, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll do our district proud in the national finals.”
Fan Xiaoxiao’s nails were digging so hard into her bag strap that it was about to snap.
Only now did Jiang Xiaoyuan snap out of her princess-like delusion and remember why she was competing for this semifinal spot in the first place—apparently to make a splash in the finals and advertise for her Beijing studio…
Thank goodness for Ms. Fan’s hateful glare, or else she might’ve let her emotions make her forget her true purpose.
Now that she’d achieved her goal, her studio’s future wasn’t necessarily bright, but at least she had a good start.
At this moment, Teacher Jiang rushed out of the crowd. He hadn’t intended to stay until the competition ended, but now he was going to miss his flight. Fortunately, he had his suitcase with him, so he could leave right away.
Jiang Bo grabbed Jiang Xiaoyuan’s arm and quickly gave her a few instructions: “Hurry up and handle the follow-up work for the studio here. The semifinals are still one or two months away. We’ll officially move before the semifinals. And what’s with that ridiculous body painting thing? Cut it out. Go back, learn properly, and don’t pull these little stunts again. If you do, you might as well quit.”
With that, he waved, his coat fluttering dramatically like a movie scene. “We’re leaving.”
“Where are you going?” A sudden voice pierced the air, freezing Jiang Bo’s elegant exit halfway.
Fan Xiaoxiao had somehow walked over and was now staring at him with a sinister look.
Jiang Bo moved his lips as if unsure what to call her, but in the end, he said nothing.
“Where he’s going is none of your business!” Jiang Xiaoyuan, who had just been scolded like a child by Teacher Jiang, suddenly regained her fighting spirit. She stepped forward, blocking Fan Xiaoxiao from Jiang Bo, and said, “We’re leaving, far away from you. The mere thought of sharing the same air as you is a burden on my lungs.”
Jiang Bo sighed and said to Jiang Xiaoyuan, “Why do you talk so much nonsense? Let’s go, there’s still a lot to do.”
He glanced at Qi Lian, who had already driven the car over, nodded to him, and then picked up his suitcase, hailing a taxi.
“You’re leaving?” Fan Xiaoxiao suddenly went mad, grabbing the open taxi door and tightly clutching Jiang Bo’s shoulder as if she wanted to strangle him. “You dare to leave?”
The taxi driver looked back at them curiously. “How many of you are there? Are you getting in or not?”
Jiang Bo lowered his eyes, hiding the deep sorrow swirling within them.
He suddenly bent down, stuffed his suitcase into the car, and pried Fan Xiaoxiao’s hand off his shoulder. It wasn’t difficult—she had never expected him to resist, and the moment he made that motion, she seemed to lose all her strength.
Without looking at her again, Jiang Bo got in the car and shut the door. “To the airport, please.”
In the end, he didn’t say anything to Fan Xiaoxiao—there was simply nothing left to say.
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