PS-Chapter 95 Genuine Pressure

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The combination of superstars Tan Hong and Chen Fei'er instantly filled the Singing China studio with dazzling starlight. 

The audience's reaction was naturally overwhelming - everyone stood up to applaud enthusiastically! 

This exciting moment lasted for several minutes before finally subsiding. 

The host then introduced the third judge. 

Although the audience was eagerly waiting for Capital City TV to reveal more shocking surprises, the presence of two iconic music stars was more than enough to dominate the scene; there was no need to overdo it. 

The third judge of Singing China was Zhen Zhen, editor-in-chief of Popular Music magazine. 

Over the past 30 years, the domestic pop music scene has had its ups and downs, but it has grown significantly, the market has expanded to unimaginable levels, and the industry has become immensely large. 

As a result, numerous publications - both print and digital - had sprung up to cater to this thriving field. 

Among them, Popular Music magazine stood out as the undisputed leader and was widely regarded as the authoritative voice of the industry. 

Zhen Zhen herself was a renowned figure in the music industry and enjoyed an excellent reputation in the field. 

The fourth judge was Lin Zhijie, the music director of Flying Stone Records. 

Flying Stone Records was one of the most prestigious record companies in the country. It had produced many "Heavenly Kings" and "Heavenly Queens" in the 1980s and 1990s, and its cassettes and CDs dominated the sales charts during that period. 

With the advent of the digital age, however, the rise of new media brought unprecedented challenges that pushed Flying Stone Records to the brink of bankruptcy. 

Faced with this crisis, the company underwent a drastic restructuring, shedding underperforming assets and excess personnel, and adapting to the times by exploring new business opportunities. This bold transformation allowed the company to regain its footing. 

Today, Flying Stone Records remains a respected name in the domestic and even Asian music market. 

With two male and two female judges - two legendary stars paired with two authoritative media representatives - Capital City TV had meticulously crafted a judging panel that could only be described as perfect. 

With the four judges in place, the first qualifying round of Singing China officially began. 

According to the rules, the preliminary round was also decided by the judges. The contestants would perform on stage, and if three or four judges refrained from pressing the red button, the contestant would pass and receive a ticket to the next round. 

If a contestant received two red lights, they would enter the standby zone, where the audience votes would determine which three lucky contestants would advance to the next round. 

The first contestant was Zheng Kai, a 24-year-old graduate of the Beijing Conservatory of Music, who represented the capital city. He opened with a performance of "Autumn Love Song", earning cheers from the audience. He received unanimous approval and secured the first ticket to the next round! 

The second and third contestants were then introduced. 

Unlike the auditions, the contestants in the qualifying rounds had been carefully selected from thousands of applicants, each bringing unique qualities - some had exceptional stage presence, others showed solid skills, while a few could sing and play instruments or deliver energetic dance performances. 

The attitude of the judges was serious and professional. Whether approving or rejecting a contestant, they gave appropriate feedback, praise or encouragement. 

The audience of over a thousand was equally candid. If they thought a contestant performed well, they applauded and cheered. If the performance fell short, they remained silent or even booed, showing no mercy. 

Several contestants, probably overwhelmed with nerves, stumbled in their performances, resulting in boos that left them visibly shaken on stage. 

Scenes like these were unheard of on talent shows just a few years ago. 

Back then, major networks competed fiercely for variety resources, flooding the market with reality shows. 

To create sensational content, production teams went to great lengths, focusing on contestants with "heart-wrenching, inspiring stories," "quirky personalities," "tragic illnesses," or "rags-to-riches fairy tales" reminiscent of Korean dramas to generate buzz. 

Contestants without compelling stories were almost embarrassed to show up. 

And if they didn't have a story? No problem - the production team would make one up for them! 

Refusing to play along often meant being eliminated in the next round without any explanation. 

Even friends and family members had to participate in the theatrics, with exaggerated emotional displays. Audiences, often made up of hired extras, would dramatically sob or cheer, leading to a flood of Internet memes mocking their exaggerated expressions. 

Some talent shows were even derisively dubbed "The Ultimate Sob Story King" or "China's Best Tale. 

Contestants, family members, and audiences were all acting, and the judges were no exception. 

Production teams carefully scripted lines, actions, and even personalities for the judges. Some were cast as troublemakers, others as adorable charmers, tear-jerkers, or mediators. The judges simply had to follow the script! 

Since the so-called "live" shows were often taped days in advance, editors had plenty of time to polish the footage. This "formula" of contestants crying, judges pretending to listen, viewers sobbing, and subsequent gossip and rumors flooding the Internet became a highly efficient, attention-grabbing cycle. 

It was even rumored that the editing and writing team behind the talent shows on Xiangnan Satellite TV had over a hundred members! 

The vast majority of TV viewers and netizens are not fools. They may be moved once or twice, but after the third or fifth time, they'll feel that their intelligence is being insulted. Overexposure naturally breeds resentment and resistance. 

As a result, many talent shows that tried to continue to fool viewers found themselves losing ground. For new programs to gain recognition, they had to focus on timeliness and authenticity. They could no longer treat reality talent shows like scripted movies. 

Stories could exist, tears could flow, excitement and ridicule were both acceptable - but faking it was not! 

In this regard, Capital City TV had done an excellent job. Despite the one-hour delay between the taping and the live broadcast, the reactions of both the judges and the audience were real. Contestants could no longer rely on a tragic backstory to turn the tide. 

Some contestants were eliminated in less than a minute with all red lights flashing, while others were able to interact with the judges and receive ample screen time-a stark contrast in treatment. 

These differences weren't due to hidden rules or shady practices, but were based entirely on the judges' and audience's evaluations of the contestants' performances. It was all authentic and believable. 

This sense of authenticity put immense pressure on the contestants waiting backstage. 

A large television was mounted on the backstage wall, broadcasting real-time footage from the studio. Everyone could see and hear the contestants performing in front of them. 

There were no rehearsals or prior arrangements - success depended solely on individual skill and mental strength. 

A great performance could lead to popularity and excitement, while a poor one could lead to national embarrassment. 

As Lu Chen waited for his turn, he noticed with interest that everyone had their own way of dealing with the stress. Some closed their eyes to meditate, some wore headphones to immerse themselves in music, some chatted incessantly with their entourage, while a few practiced their guitars over and over again. 

And some? They were sneaking glances at handsome guys! 

Lu Chen turned his head and smiled at Mu Xiaochu, showing all eight of his teeth. 

Mu Xiaochu was a student from the Capital City Foreign Language College. At 19 years old, she was in the prime of her youth, exuding a charm that was both delicate and lovely. 

Her shy and sweet personality made her a joy to tease. 

When their eyes met, Mu Xiaochu's face immediately turned red, like a little girl caught stealing candy. 

To Lu Chen's surprise, instead of avoiding him, she hesitated for a moment and then bravely walked over. 

"Senior," She asked softly and shyly, "Could you join me in a song? I'd like to practice one more time." 

Lu Chen could tell that it took great courage for her to make such a request. Without hesitation, he nodded and replied, "Of course! What song? I hope it's not too difficult!" 

"It's not difficult!" 

Mu Xiaochu quickly waved his hand and said, "It's Chen Fei'er's 'Sweet Memories.'" 

Lu Chen was pleasantly surprised and praised, "Great choice!" 

Sweet Memories' was Chen Fei'er's breakthrough hit and a classic example of sweet pop. Mu Xiaochu probably didn't know that Chen Fei'er was one of the judges; her song choice was purely coincidental. 

But with her voice and image, performing a sweet pop song was the perfect choice to captivate the judges! 

'(End of Chapter)'