Live Variety Show

“Sister Tingsong, Director Zhang’s on the phone.”

In the chaotic photo studio,
Liu Tingsong lifted her eyes,
glancing sideways.

For the shoot,
her makeup was heavier than usual—
upturned eyeliner,
a small mole dotted just below,
unobstructed yet framed by rimless glasses,
tempering her allure
and accentuating her cool, distant air.

A loose light-gray suit,
a deep-V shirt revealing a stretch of straight collarbone,
a silver chain dangling,
swaying with her movements.

The approaching assistant froze,
letting out a soft “ah,”
then sincerely sighed:
“Sister Tingsong, you’re so beautiful.”

If it were someone else’s praise,
it’d feel like empty flattery.
But this assistant, fair-skinned with round cheeks and almond eyes,
made everything she said feel endearing.

Liu Tingsong seemed to smile,
not at the compliment,
but at the assistant’s adorable, stunned expression.

The assistant snapped out of it,
hurrying forward two steps,
handing over the phone,
lowering her voice to remind:
“It’s a personal call.”

Liu Tingsong nodded slightly,
already guessing a few things.

She didn’t have much rapport with this Director Zhang,
so personal calls were rare.
Going through the trouble to bypass her studio
meant it was likely an urgent, difficult request.

Sure enough,
as soon as Liu Tingsong picked up,
an anxious female voice came through.

“Hello, Sister Tingsong,
this is Zhang Qingying.
We worked together once before—
do you remember?”

Without waiting for a reply,
she rushed on:
“I’m so sorry for contacting you privately.
It’s urgent.
I tried your manager,
but she shut me down.
I had to pull strings to get your personal number.”

Liu Tingsong finally spoke:
“Hello, Director Zhang.”

Hearing a response,
the woman lit up,
quickly saying:
“It’s an emergency,
so I’ll get to the point…”

The assistant stood by,
her wandering gaze landing on a mirror,
hoping to admire her boss’s stunning look again.
But she noticed Liu Tingsong’s expression shift
from casual to serious,
her back straightening.

The assistant blinked,
not yet puzzled,
when she heard:

“Alright, I understand.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Should I head over now?”

“Huh?”
The assistant’s eyes widened,
a bad feeling creeping in.

Before she could ask,
Liu Tingsong stood,
glancing at her reflection,
muttering:
“Shouldn’t need to remove the makeup…”

What?!

The assistant snapped to,
hurriedly reminding:
“Sister Tingsong, we have another shoot soon!
Teacher Li’s schedule is packed—
it’ll be nearly impossible to reschedule!”

She tried to stress the tight schedule,
hoping to dissuade Liu Tingsong from getting involved in Zhang’s big mess.

Liu Tingsong seemed to listen,
her expression clearing as if realizing something.
She turned,
approaching the busy photographer setting up the scene.
After a brief exchange,
he nodded.
Moments later,
the assistant saw her boss return,
saying lightly:
“Let’s go.”

Go?

Go where?

The assistant froze,
then collapsed inwardly.

What was her sister doing?
This was Teacher Li!

How many in the entertainment industry
begged for a slot with her and got none?
And her sister just ditched it?!

This was a shoot specially arranged by the manager
to build hype for Liu Tingsong’s comeback,
a formal announcement to fans that she was back.
Yet now her sister was dragging her along to leave.

The assistant could already picture
the manager’s fury when she found out.

Before she could stop her,
Liu Tingsong was already out the door.

Ten minutes later,
the assistant and Liu Tingsong sat in a car arranged by the show’s crew.
Only then did she learn what her artist had agreed to.

It was a show called *Return to the Band*,
a spin-off from a band competition reality series.

The first season’s massive success
catapulted several bands to fame,
including the now-popular Burning Meteor.
But the show couldn’t escape the curse of declining seasons.
By the third season,
ratings plummeted,
barely making a ripple.

Later, Zhang launched another variety show,
which tanked even harder,
not only failing to profit
but losing a chunk of money.
Desperate,
this year she leaned into nostalgia.

The show took the form of live-streamed interviews,
visiting bands from the first season’s top eight in order of ranking.

To boost entertainment and buzz,
each episode invited a heavyweight musician
to chat with the band
and collaborate on an impromptu song at the end.

The show exploded in popularity.
Just seven episodes in,
it produced two hit singles.
Audiences grew eager for the now-famous Burning Meteor’s episode,
which hit the trending charts multiple times before airing.

As the director,
Zhang Qingying wouldn’t let this buzz slip away.
She’d hyped it up subtly and overtly,
teasing a major guest
and promising sparks with Burning Meteor,
vowing an exceptional new hit.
The anticipation soared,
with 40,000 viewers waiting online before the broadcast even started.

Zhang had pulled every string,
securing a highly respected veteran for the episode,
feeling confident.
But this morning,
she got a call—
the guest backed out!

It drove Zhang mad,
her lips blistering from stress.
She frantically contacted others,
only to be told their schedules wouldn’t work.
Finally, she reached Liu Tingsong.

She didn’t know about Liu Tingsong’s connection to Xu Fengruo,
only that they’d briefly worked together once.
She’d heard Liu Tingsong had a stellar reputation in the music industry,
often helping new talents
and even mentoring a band—
though which one was unclear.

Clinging to a slim hope,
she tracked down Liu Tingsong,
and to her shock,
she agreed!

Zhang Qingying was overjoyed,
joining the car herself to show her sincerity,
heading with Liu Tingsong to the filming location.

The live-stream screen was still black,
but the viewer count in the corner
climbed at a terrifying pace.
Bullet comments flooded nonstop,
discussing Burning Meteor and the mystery guest without pause.

[Hurry up and start!
What’s with Zhang?
Last time with Star Orbit,
it was half an hour late.
Now it’s over an hour and still not on!]

[Chill, it might not be the crew’s fault.
Maybe someone in the band’s pulling a diva act.]

Before the comment faded,
others chimed in,
naming Xu Fengruo.

Fans instantly fired back.

[Sure, sure, everything’s our sister’s fault.
No one even knows who it is,
and you’re already bashing us!]

[Don’t be so obvious, other fandoms.
Who’s the core of Burning Meteor?
Everyone knows.
Without Xu Fengruo,
would the others have made it?
Stop targeting her all the time!]

[What are you, internet judges?
Always pointing fingers.
Annoying.]

Moments later,
sarcastic comments popped up.

[Who doesn’t know Xu Fengruo’s bad temper?
Does she need others to drag her?]

[Her yelling at her manager at the airport is still fresh,
and fans are whitewashing what?]

[Hilarious.
No one’s named names,
and you’re already defending!]

The screen filled with arguments,
escalating out of control,
until a comment cut through.

[Why are you all fighting?
My friend’s on the crew—
it’s not Xu Fengruo’s fault this time.
The guest bailed,
and Zhang’s scrambling to find a replacement.]

The comment floated by,
and the screen briefly quieted.
Then a flood of new comments erupted,
frantically spamming.

[What?
Will the live stream even happen?]

[No way!
I’ve been hyped for Burning Meteor for days,
swapped shifts with a colleague,
and cleared my whole afternoon!]

[Oh no, will a last-minute replacement even be good?
Don’t bring in some nobody to fill space.
Burning Meteor hasn’t dropped a new song in ages—
I’m counting on this!]

The director in the front seat was frantic,
earlier chatting casually with Liu Tingsong,
now head down,
hands gripping her phone tightly.

As the complaints grew louder,
even with Liu Tingsong as a backup,
she broke into a sweat.
She couldn’t dig into who leaked the news,
her mind consumed by the debts from before.

This show,
funded by loans and favors,
wouldn’t have been a live stream
if not for creditors breathing down her neck.
She’d have polished it first,
avoiding this near-disaster.

But it was too late for regrets.
She could only pray this episode ended perfectly,
a stunning comeback to save her.

Sweat dripped onto the screen,
sliding down.

The assistant in the back was anxious too,
her face pale.
Unlike the director,
she didn’t dare look down,
terrified of seeing her phone.
The manager had likely heard
and was probably calling nonstop.
She pretended not to notice…

Another call came,
vibrating in her hand.

The assistant gritted her teeth,
leaning back as if facing death,
muttering:
“I’m so dead.”

She was the one who handed Liu Tingsong the phone!

Liu Tingsong paid no mind,
eyes closed since boarding,
as if this was just a small favor,
stirring no emotions.
Only her hand,
clenched tightly at her side,
betrayed her nervous tension.

Last night, Xu Fengruo had driven her out,
warning her never to step foot in her place again,
wanting no contact.
And now…

Liu Tingsong opened her eyes,
gazing at the familiar building,
exhaling softly.
But before she could relax,
a heavy feeling pressed on her chest.

The nanny van stopped.
Zhang sprang out,
shouting:
“Start the broadcast!”

People poured out of other cars,
cameras on shoulders lighting up,
rushing inside.