Chapter 45: Huaning TV Station 5
The trainees quickly realized it was pointless to rack their brains in frustration here. Instead, it would be better to seek advice from the talent instructors.
Many of them decided to head to the third basement level to consult the talent instructors. Although the talent instructors weren’t as intimidating or harsh as the physical training Instructor, and some were even stunningly beautiful, there was still something unsettling about approaching them alone. So most decided to go in groups.
Xia Bai also tagged along, though he had his own reasons—he wanted to see what the third basement level looked like.
The third basement level was even colder than the second. A hazy chill seemed to linger in the dim corridors. Apart from the three judges’ offices, which had nameplates, all the other old, tightly shut doors were nameless, their purposes unknown.
Assistants stationed outside two instructors’ offices informed them that only one person could enter at a time.
There weren’t many people waiting outside the talent instructor’s office, so you could go in directly. However, the line outside the physical training instructor’s office already had three people. Xia Bai noticed that Liao Manni was at the front of the queue.
Since appearance was a major factor in evaluations, most trainees, unable to think of creative talent ideas, gravitated toward the physical training instructor for advice on enhancing their looks.
After some thought, Xia Bai decided to join the queue as well.
When Xia Bai got in line, Liao Manni had just gone inside. She came out about 20 minutes later, looking troubled.
The next few trainees followed a similar pattern—none of them left the office looking happy.
Xia Bai was the fourth to enter.
The physical training instructor’s office was as large as three dorm rooms combined. She sat on a central office chair with a blood-stained whip resting on her desk. Behind her was an entire wall of mirrors. Anyone entering would inevitably see their reflection.
When Xia Bai looked closer, he realized it wasn’t a single mirror but multiple mirrors pieced together, capturing different angles of his body. The reflections were magnified and distorted on the mirrored wall, resembling a disjointed human puzzle. As he moved, the fragmented reflections swayed erratically.
“Good day, Instructor,” Xia Bai bowed politely.
The physical training instructor seemed to be in a good mood. “Please, sit.”
Xia Bai sat on the chair in front of her desk, surrounded by countless mirrors and camera lenses. No matter where he looked, he saw himself—down to the pores on his face.
The instructor asked, “Do you have any appearance-related questions for me?”
Xia Bai nodded, placing his hands neatly on his knees like an obedient schoolboy. “Instructor, could you please tell me how I can improve my appearance?”
The instructor’s eyes were sharp, with a faint vertical slit resembling a snake’s. She studied his face, her gaze intense and piercing. Occasionally, she nodded, only to shake her head the next moment.
Ordinarily, most people would feel uneasy under such scrutiny, especially as she repeatedly shook her head. They would start questioning their facial features and wondering about their flaws. However, Xia Bai remained completely unfazed, his expression blank and clueless as he stared back at her.
Noticing this, the instructor said directly, “First of all, your eyes are problematic. They look too dull.”
Xia Bai glanced at his reflection in the many mirrors. His eyes, multiplied and magnified from different angles, stared back at him. The flaws were impossible to miss.
He blinked. “That’s because I haven’t encountered anything interesting.”
The instructor continued, “Your mouth is also an issue. Can you even smile? It’s too stiff. I’ve emphasized the importance of facial expression management repeatedly. With your poor expression management, your solo performance would be downgraded in the new evaluation criteria.”
Xia Bai tugged at the corners of his mouth, forcing a smile.
The instructor: “…”
She stood abruptly. “Your height is another problem. You’re not even 180 cm tall. For a male trainee, that’s unacceptable.”
“I’m 177 cm. I admit it’s not 180, but I’m still taller than the average male height. Instructor, you should spend less time online and more time in reality. Out there, I’m considered quite tall.”
The instructor frowned. “Are you arguing with me? In the 404 Program, any male trainee under 180 cm is useless! Wait until you’re on stage; you’ll see for yourself.”
“And another thing—why are you so skinny? You don’t even have muscles. What kind of trainee are you?”
Xia Bai lifted his shirt slightly to reveal his waist. “I have some.”
The instructor took a deep breath, visibly restraining herself from grabbing her whip. Her voice was sharp and hoarse. “Since you’re so confident, why did you come to me?”
Xia Bai replied, “I noticed you have a beautician in your team. Can you recommend some skincare products? I’ve never used them before, but I heard they improve skin quality.”
The instructor’s chest heaved in frustration. “Get out!”
Xia Bai: “Oh.”
He left the office with a jar of face cream in hand.
The queue outside hadn’t grown longer, and it was almost time for breakfast.
The cafeteria was at the far east end of the second basement level. It was a small place where low-ranking trainees were only allowed to eat plain rice and steamed buns.
As soon as Yang Mei spotted Xia Bai, she waved him over enthusiastically. Xia Bai carried his bowl of rice over. “Where’s the captain?”
Just as he asked, Ling Changye entered the cafeteria. He noticed Xia Bai and Yang Mei, his gaze briefly landing on the jar of face cream in Xia Bai’s hand.
Xia Bai quickly stuffed it into his pocket. “The physical training instructor gave it to me.”
Breakfast was limited to 40 minutes, and most trainees arrived together. Soon, the cafeteria was packed, and members of the Regulatory Bureau began to hover nearby. Ling Changye said nothing, simply taking his tray and sitting down.
During this short meal, the trainees exchanged information.
Zhong Zicang said, “I went to the talent instructor. I told her I had no ideas for a solo performance. She hinted that I should think of something eye-catching.”
Zhang Runyue added, “Same here. She said my looks are average, so if my performance is ordinary too, how can I attract the audience’s attention or leave an impression?”
It seemed the talent instructor’s main advice was for everyone to put on a performance that would wow the audience. She wasn’t wrong. During the preliminary evaluations, those who simply sang and danced didn’t score well, while someone like Baldy, who used a skill to surprise—even shock—the audience, scored decently.
However, ordinary players lacked such unique talents to stand out.
The low-ranking trainees felt even more distressed.
Since Xia Bai was the only one among them who had seen the physical training instructor, he briefly recounted his experience. “She pointed out areas she thought I could improve—my dull eyes, stiff mouth, lack of muscles, and insufficient height. But I think her aesthetics don’t align with mine. Don’t you agree?”
“…”
Silence.
Finally, Ling Changye muttered, “Hmm.”
“…”
Encouraged by the response, Xia Bai added, “I do have muscles, though.”
Yang Mei exclaimed, “You’re amazing, little brother!”
“…”
Tang Ying redirected the conversation to a more serious note. “Is that all? If that’s the case, why did Liao Manni react so strongly?”
Liao Manni, who had sung a farewell song after Ling Changye’s performance and joined the Regulatory Bureau’s high-ranking group, was visibly distracted after her visit to the physical training instructor. She often used her phone as a mirror.
Tang Ying discreetly pointed in Liao Manni’s direction. “She also went to the physical training instructor, but ever since she returned to the practice room, she’s been restless.”
Liao Manni was sitting at a table with several players from the Sacred Game Guild, eating dinner. While others at the table chatted as they ate, she was the only one engrossed in her phone, looking at her face on the screen. Her hand moved between her mouth and nose, occasionally smiling, then frowning, and despite the food in front of her, she hadn’t taken a single bite for a long time.
Xia Bai hadn’t anticipated her reaction to be so extreme and started describing the shape Instructor’s office environment in greater detail.
Zhang Runyue commented, “That’s actually understandable. Liao Manni has always been quite particular about her appearance. After being criticized by the judges and audience onstage last night, she hasn’t been able to smile since. And now, being told about her facial features in an office filled with mirrors, it’s natural for her confidence in her looks to waver. She’s probably feeling insecure about something she used to take pride in.”
They noticed Liao Manni finally put down her phone and thought she had recovered. But then she grabbed Baldy’s arm, turned his face toward hers, and asked him something. Baldy smiled, touched her face briefly, and returned to chatting with others. After a brief silence, she went back to staring at her phone, studying her face.
Tang Ying said, “Liao Manni is Baldy’s lover. When she first entered the game, he took a liking to her. She likely doesn’t have any body or soul skills—perhaps just a skill tied to some item since some tools and weapons can be traded.”
She said it subtly, but everyone understood. Liao Manni relied on Baldy to survive in the game—or, to put it bluntly, she lived off her face and figure. Naturally, she was overly concerned about her appearance.
Xia Bai thought this was an isolated case but soon realized many players were in similar situations.
In just one day, almost all the players had met with the two Instructors individually.
That evening, the players fell into two groups: those who were too preoccupied with deciding what to perform to eat or sleep, and those who kept glancing in mirrors, obsessing over their faces.
Yang Mei remarked, “The shape Instructor is so strict. She even criticized my appearance.”
Ling Changye quipped, “PUA.”
Still unfamiliar with online terms, Xia Bai asked, “What’s PUA?”
Yang Mei knew. “It’s a form of psychological and emotional manipulation. The captain says the shape Instructor is PUA-ing us based on our looks.”
Xia Bai suddenly understood. The training instructor—and perhaps the entire production team—was likely manipulating their self-perception based on appearances.
From their initial performance stage, where thousands of overly aggressive viewers mocked and judged them, to the constant emphasis on the importance of appearance linked to life and death, followed by individual criticism of their looks, it all felt like a systematic attack.
The Instructor’s office, filled with mirrors and cameras, along with the harsh environment of the show, seemed to serve as tools for this manipulation.
Xia Bai had already realized the importance of appearance in real life. It influenced people’s impressions, likability, and even career prospects. Everyone cared about their looks to some degree, even those who didn’t rely on them for a living.
But when appearance was tied to the unknown and fear of death, the concern became so deep it was almost subconscious.
Was appearance really that important?
In Idol 404, no one could deny its significance.
Most players were too preoccupied to discuss anything, so Zhong Zicang didn’t organize them that night. The night passed with everyone weighed down by heavy thoughts.
The next day, they had to finalize their performance programs. They needed enough time to rehearse, and if any special props were required, they had to inform the production team in advance.
After breakfast, Zhong Zicang gathered his group in the practice room for a collective discussion.
“It’s best if we come up with a program today. Even if it’s just an immature idea, share it. Three heads are better than one—we can refine and improve the ideas together. Who knows? A great idea might emerge.”
Still, no one spoke. Under high pressure, some people have bursts of creativity, while others find their minds completely frozen. Even if they had ideas, the sheer number of performances from the initial stage covered almost every possibility.
Besides, this performance directly determined their survival. Most people didn’t dare make hasty decisions, even though the anxiety was unbearable.
“Alright.” Zhong Zicang seemed to have expected this. He didn’t get discouraged and calmly said, “Then let me summarize what we observed during the initial stage to help everyone brainstorm programs with more focus.”
“The most crucial point, which I think everyone has noticed, is that the online audience isn’t normal people. No, let’s be direct—they aren’t human. They’re likely a group of ghosts.”
Everyone silently agreed. It was precisely because they knew they were being watched by ghosts that they were even more nervous.
“When planning our performance, understanding the audience is fundamental. Catering to their preferences and needs is key. Captain Ling has already demonstrated one method, but since that path has been used, we need to think of other directions.”
He scanned the 23 faces around him and said, “For example, we could choose a heartwarming theme, like ‘Warming the Human World,’ to remind these cold ghosts of the warmth of humanity and family.”
Several eyes lit up.
“Captain, I can do stand-up comedy. I could try writing a script with this theme.”
“Dancing could work too, right? Who says simple performances won’t work? As long as the core message is touching, we could ask the dance Instructor to choreograph something meaningful.”
“Exactly. I’ve said before, if we put our hearts into it, we can come up with good programs.” Zhong Zicang proposed another direction. “We could also showcase something new to the ghosts—things they wouldn’t know. With technological advancements, the human world might be very different from when they passed away. They’d probably be curious.”
“Smart appliances?”
“Robots! I could use a robot to perform a mechanical dance for them!”
Zhong Zicang continued, “Don’t forget our professional skills. Most of us are students from the Heping Medical School, and many have hospital internship experience. Ghosts are people who have died. We could perform something related to emergency treatments.”
Zhang Runyue suggested, “This could work for our group performance. We could incorporate our expertise into the stage, showing how modern medical techniques save lives. Many of these ghosts likely died with regrets or pain. We could show them we’re working to reduce such suffering.”
Zhong Zicang nodded. “Great idea!”
Wang Wei added, “We could do a skit about an emergency room and tie it to the first ‘Warming the Human World’ theme.”
“Good. Let’s keep that idea as well.”
Under Zhong Zicang’s leadership, the lower-tier group started brainstorming, actively participating in the discussion. Ideas emerged one after another.
The dark cloud hanging over the practice room began to lift, and hope returned to many faces.
Before, they had felt completely hopeless. The competition was brutally unfair, designed to exploit and suppress those without skills. Facing the skilled players, they had felt powerless and desperate.
Zhong Zicang had previously tried to comfort them, saying that if they worked hard, they could surpass the mid-tier group or pass the solo stage. At the time, they had taken it as mere consolation.
Now, they truly saw hope. Perhaps, even as unskilled lower-tier players, they could compete against the skilled ones if they gave it their all.
As long as they genuinely put in the effort and prepared diligently.
Xia Bai glanced at Zhong Zicang and noticed the faint smile on his face. His crescent-shaped eyes showed heavy dark circles—he probably hadn’t slept last night either.
Now, Xia Bai understood why Zhong Zicang was the president of the Heping Medical School’s student council. He wasn’t someone who only shouted slogans. He genuinely worked hard to find solutions for everyone and had a sharp mind.
After the group discussion, everyone dispersed to brainstorm their programs but remained collaborative, working in small groups.
Zhang Runyue gave Zhong Zicang a crooked thumbs-up, tilting his head to match.
It was a gesture Zhong Zicang had made on the ambulance before they entered the game. Seeing it now, Zhong Zicang couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
Wang Wei voiced her admiration outright. “President, you’re amazing. We’re both third-year students, but the gap between us feels massive.”
Zhong Zicang replied, “Weiwei, when we get out of this game, you’ll be an incredible person too. You just lack experience. You’re smart and adaptable.”
“Mm!” Wang Wei nodded firmly, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Zhong Zicang. “I already have some ideas and don’t feel as scared anymore. I’ll definitely give it my all.”
Zhong Zicang turned to Xia Bai, who had been silent the entire time, and asked, “Junior, have you come up with anything?”
“Yes,” Xia Bai said. “I want to perform corpse restoration.”
“…”
Zhong Zicang’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Junior, this reverse thinking is brilliant. If dissecting a body got you cursed by a hundred thousand ghosts, corpse restoration might earn you a hundred thousand praises.”
“Junior Xia Bai, you’re amazing! You didn’t let the setback from the initial stage defeat you and even found a path to success!” Wang Wei chimed in with praise.
Xia Bai smiled faintly and didn’t elaborate further.
Corpse restoration, simply put, involved repairing broken, damaged, or decayed bodies. According to Chinese burial customs, bodies should be intact for peace in the afterlife. This was why organ donation was rare, and full-body burials were common.
While bodies were lifeless and had no emotions, their relatives often couldn’t let go emotionally. When they saw their loved ones’ lifelike remains, they felt comforted, as if they hadn’t really left.
Repairing remains could sometimes allow loved ones to see them off more peacefully.
In the game, the corpses’ appearance was inextricably linked to their curse. The worse the appearance, the deeper the hatred and resentment.
During the initial stage, Xia Bai’s mistake had been doing a clinical autopsy in front of 100,000 ghosts, damaging their fragile emotions.
If corpses could be repaired, restoring them to their best condition before death, it might soothe the souls of the departed.
What the dead needed was not an autopsy, and what the living needed was not a dissected corpse.
What everyone wanted was to meet again beautifully.
Starting from the second day, Xia Bai noticed that more and more people were going to the physicality instructor’s office.
On Mondays, the two instructors’ offices were usually the busiest because everyone wanted to ask for advice and directions. By Tuesday and Wednesday, the numbers decreased as everyone focused wholeheartedly on preparing their performances. But on Thursday, during such a tense moment, why were so many trainees suddenly flocking to the physicality instructor’s office again?
Was it because their talent preparations had hit a bottleneck, and they were looking to improve their appearance, which accounted for 60% of the evaluation?
“It’s both that and something else,” Ling Changye told him during lunch. “Last night, the physicality instructor told Feng Sheng that her team has a plastic surgeon who can perform cosmetic surgery.”
Feng Sheng was the only player in the top group who didn’t have any particular skills. He knew he had made it into the top group because he drew inspiration from Ling Changye’s performance during the initial stage and managed to perform a ritual dance.
If this week’s competition was a group match, he wouldn’t have worried. He believed that with the powerhouses in the top group, they would still emerge as the top group again, and no one would be eliminated. Everyone would be safe.
But this week’s competition was a solo performance. It had nothing to do with teamwork. All participants rated as F-class would be eliminated, which was a disadvantage for him in the top group. Everyone in this group seemed so confident and capable. There was no discussion or brainstorming, which made him even more anxious. He couldn’t sleep for nights on end.
He deeply felt the hopelessness of being an ordinary person among a group of elites.
It seemed the physical instructor understood his thoughts perfectly and told him, “Since you’re in the top group, the judges and the audience have higher expectations of you. You must show significant improvement to stay.”
How could he show significant improvement?
When he first came up with his performance idea, he thought it was pretty good. But later, compared to all the novel and unique performances, his seemed mediocre. The more he thought about it, the less confident he felt.
As for appearance, which carried more weight, he had no advantage either. His looks were very ordinary. Even if he practiced his posture and expressions or learned makeup, he couldn’t compete with those who were naturally good-looking.
How could he improve quickly?
If only he could have cosmetic surgery.
In fact, this idea was already in his mind when he approached the instructor. Her words only solidified his resolve.
“Instructor, does your team have a plastic surgeon?”
“Yes.”
Liao Manni was in the same boat.
The physicality instructor told her, “Do you really think you have E-class skills? Even on the initial stage, your performance wasn’t enough to qualify as E-class. You were only rated that high because you were the first to perform. It’s a disadvantage to go first, and to be fair, we were more lenient in scoring.”
“Think about it yourself. Compare your performance to others. Don’t you think your performance wasn’t good enough to make it into the top group?”
Liao Manni found herself agreeing with the instructor.
“You still can’t smile properly, can you? It makes your face look even worse.”
“Then what should I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. The performance is coming up soon. Practice won’t be enough. Go for a lip-lift to get a natural smiling effect.”
The players at the dining table were stunned. Most of them thought of visiting the physicality instructor to get skincare advice, learn makeup techniques, or change their hairstyle—small changes. No one had ever thought of going to her for cosmetic surgery.
Wang Wei said, “But wouldn’t cosmetic surgery here be risky?”
“Cosmetic surgery is risky in real life too,” Zhang Runyue replied. Although her graduate studies weren’t directly related to cosmetic surgery, she had encountered it often in her research topics.
She knew that cosmetic surgery came with risks. It wasn’t a necessity in life. But many people still resolutely chose to undergo it because their society valued appearances so highly. Many believed they could change their lives with a better face.
Indeed, she knew people who had changed the trajectory of their lives with a new face.
High rewards always came with high risks. Cosmetic surgery here might be extremely risky, but the potential rewards were equally high—it was about survival.
Zhang Runyue said, “Some people will definitely choose cosmetic surgery. Once some of them do it, the competition in 404 will become even more intense, and our pressure will increase.”
She was right. That afternoon, Liao Manni went to the physicality instructor to undergo cosmetic surgery.
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