Chapter Forty-Five: You Will Not Be a Sacrificial Pawn

Inside the private room.

The waiter finally snapped out of it and stammered, "He... he smashed the tea tray."

The owner slapped him. "Nonsense, that's what you call the beauty of imperfection."

Turning around, the owner's face broke into a wide smile as he greeted Hao Mingxing. "Sir, your skills are truly impressive. I've really learned something new today. As I said earlier, your bill for this private room is on the house. And as for the tea tray, I'll take it away and bring you a brand new one right away."

With that, the owner carefully carried the tea tray, now with a hole in it, and exited the room.

Wang Mo watched the owner leave, frowning. "I bet the owner has something up his sleeve. He's probably planning to use the broken tea tray as a gimmick to attract attention and draw in customers."

"It doesn't matter," Hao Mingxing replied with a shake of his head.

Wang Mo looked at Hao Mingxing with a complicated expression. "Xing, your martial arts are something else."

Hao Mingxing shook his head. "The tea tray was made of fir, not exactly the toughest wood. Anyone with some martial arts background could have broken it. Now, if it had been sandalwood, that would be a different story."

Wang Mo thought to himself: Forget fir, I don’t think I could break even plywood.

Seeing the shock lingering in Wang Mo's eyes, Hao Mingxing smiled. "Mo, are you really that interested in martial arts?"

"Of course," Wang Mo answered without hesitation.

What boy hasn’t dreamed of being a martial arts hero?

He couldn’t understand why, with such impressive martial arts skills, Hao Mingxing was so devoted to music.

People's interests truly are mysterious at times.

Luckily, Wang Mo's own interests had always been normal and singular: ever since he was young, he had only liked eighteen-year-old girls, and that had never changed.

Soon, the owner returned with a brand new tea tray and presented a tin of fine tea as well. He respectfully handed Hao Mingxing and Wang Mo each a business card, promising that from now on, any meal they had at his place would be at a forty percent discount.

Clearly, the owner's real intention was not about the meal, but rather to befriend this "martial arts master" Hao Mingxing.

Hao Mingxing, however, simply nodded and gave no further response.

...

Hao Mingxing was not someone skilled at socializing.

During the meal, he tried hard to find topics to talk about, but every conversation fizzled out after just a few sentences.

That's how it is for many with social anxiety; even when they try to engage, they never quite know how to start or what to say. Creating awkwardness, on the other hand, comes all too naturally.

Fortunately, Wang Mo didn’t mind; otherwise, this meal would have been nothing but embarrassment.

Wang Mo took the initiative and asked, "Xing, have you been busy with gigs these past weeks?"

Hao Mingxing nodded. "Yes, it's all been events and commercial performances... And every time, the organizers insist I sing 'Whatever'—not just once, but several times in a row. Singing it once or twice was fine at the start. Even ten or twenty times was bearable. But after singing it a hundred, two hundred times, honestly, I feel nauseated just hearing the title now."

Wang Mo burst out laughing.

Many singers who exploded in popularity thanks to a single song must have gone through this.

Hao Mingxing was no exception. Nor would Su Xueyao be.

He remembered how, in his previous life, Pang Long became a sensation with "Two Butterflies" and sang it for years. In the end, Pang Long himself said that just seeing the words "Two Butterflies" made him want to throw up.

"Did the company write any other songs for you?" Wang Mo asked.

"Yes," Hao Mingxing replied. "After 'Whatever' became a hit, your composition department custom-wrote three songs for me. But when I tried them out, none of them felt right. Singing them just didn’t have the same energy or immersion as 'Whatever.' So after discussing it with my agent, Director Qian, and Director Liu, we decided not to release anything new for now. My agent said that releasing new music needs to be done carefully—we can’t rush it, since 'Whatever' is still riding high. If I put out a subpar song now, it’ll only make things worse and open me up to criticism."

"That's the right approach," Wang Mo nodded.

He was starting to get a sense of Hao Mingxing's character.

Most singers, after a meteoric rise, would rush to release as many songs as possible—first, to cash in on their popularity, and second, in hopes that another hit would make them even more money.

But this strategy often burns out fans’ enthusiasm quickly.

Many singers who become overnight sensations by one song fail to make the most of their opportunity, overexposing themselves and squandering their fame, but without enough quality songs to support their popularity, they soon fade into obscurity.

Hao Mingxing, in contrast, chose quality over quantity.

"Are you on any variety shows right now?" Wang Mo asked.

"I’ve done one or two guest appearances," Hao Mingxing replied. "But as for being a regular on a show, even though all the major TV networks in the country have invited me, I’ve turned them down."

"Any singing competitions invite you?"

"Yes," Hao Mingxing said. "Just a couple of days ago, Tomato TV’s production team asked me to join their singing show. I’m planning to turn them down in the next day or two."

"What’s the show called?" Wang Mo asked.

"'Singer Style,'" Hao Mingxing answered.

Wang Mo raised an eyebrow.

That was a good show!

It was a music competition program—Tomato TV’s flagship variety show. The contestants were all well-known singers in the industry.

It was already in its third season.

Though the first two seasons hadn’t featured any A-list singers, the winners of both the first and second seasons had ridden the show’s popularity to the top of the music industry and reaped huge rewards.

So, anticipation was high for the upcoming third season.

Rumor had it that this season would feature a slew of big names—almost all powerful, B-list or higher singers, with even some A-listers eager to join.

For a newcomer like Hao Mingxing to receive an invitation from "Singer Style" was surprising even to Wang Mo.

"Why turn down such a great opportunity?" he asked.

Hao Mingxing gave a wry smile. "If I go, I’ll just be cannon fodder. The producers must have invited me because of my current popularity—to bring in some viewership. At best, I might get to the second round with 'Whatever,' and then I’ll be eliminated, since I don’t have any other songs strong enough to keep me in the game. In the end, not only will I fail to ride the show’s hype, but I’ll probably lose fans, too."

"Go for it," Wang Mo said with a smile.

"Huh?" Hao Mingxing replied.

"Take part in the show," Wang Mo repeated.

"But I’ll just be cannon fodder," Hao Mingxing protested.

"You won’t," Wang Mo assured him.

"Huh?"

"Participating in a heavyweight music show like 'Singer Style' will boost your profile in the music world faster than anything else. It’ll lay a solid foundation and save you a lot of detours. As for the song issue, I’ll handle it. I just finished writing a new song that I think suits you perfectly. That’s actually why I wanted to see you today. I’ll send you the song when I get back; give it a try and see how it feels."

With that, Wang Mo resumed eating.

The duck in blood sauce was delicious.

Beside him, Hao Mingxing’s hand, holding his chopsticks, lingered frozen in midair.