CHAPTER 7: THE FUNERAL INSTRUMENT

The production team hurried to Jiang Su’s room to replace her camera. Awkwardly, they went over the filming rules with her again.

They had assumed everyone knew these rules already, so they hadn’t bothered explaining them earlier—almost causing a misunderstanding.

Jiang Su nodded absentmindedly, not finding the situation particularly concerning.

The camera automatically tracked faces.

As it turned to follow her movements, it made faint mechanical noises.

At first, Jiang Su didn’t know where the sound was coming from. Once she realized, she simply disabled the device altogether.

Seeing that she had no intention of making a fuss about it, the production crew let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Their eyes swept over the delicate-looking girl. Just as expected—she’s weak.

Not even a hint of temper.

She probably picked A at random.

The crew left, and Jiang Su covered the camera before taking a shower and going to bed early.

In the livestream, viewers never got to see her practice.

Since the bed was too comfortable, she ended up sleeping in for once.

The next day was the initial ranking evaluation.

She took her time with breakfast, changed into her outfit, and only then headed downstairs—leaving the livestream audience speechless once again.

[She’s not even a little anxious?]

[Maybe she’s just trying to enjoy her time here. After all, she probably won’t get another chance to come back. Pfft.]

The ranking evaluation order was based on the grade each contestant had chosen—A went first, followed by B, C, D, E, and F. Within each grade, the order followed the alphabetical order of company names.

Since Jiang Su had chosen A, Wan Yue and the others were grouped with her, scheduled to go on early.

“Ding Xuan goes first, then Lin Sifeng’s company is second, then us…” Wu Qingqing quickly sorted out the order.

Wan Yue was already so nervous that sweat formed on her forehead.

She had never gone on stage this early before.

Wu Qingqing repeated the director’s instructions, “Remember your assigned parts for the song, don’t forget the choreography…”

“The director asked you to stand out as much as possible,” Wu Qingqing said, looking at Jiang Su with a complicated expression.

Jiang Su had barely trained for long, yet this responsibility had landed on her shoulders.

She showed no sign of nervousness and asked, “How much should I stand out?”

Wan Yue, thinking she was backing out, interjected, “Just do whatever you want. Even if you don’t stand out at all, it’s not like the director will do anything to you.”

That’s how it was in a team—individuals rarely got the chance to shine.

No matter how well Jiang Su performed in the company, once everyone was mixed together, she might not be as eye-catching anymore.

“Got it,” Jiang Su replied.

After another practice session, Jiang Su suddenly disappeared.

“What’s she up to now? Running away at the last minute?” Wan Yue asked.

Wu Qingqing was startled. “She’s back.”

Everyone turned to see the girl dragging a large bag behind her.

“What’s that?” Yu Xinyan asked curiously.

Jiang Su answered, “I borrowed it from the show. It’s an instrument.”

“Huh? You’re going to accompany yourself?” Wan Yue thought she must be joking.

And what kind of instrument could fit in that bag?

A piano? A violin? Any high-class instrument would be too big.

Don’t tell me it’s a ukulele?

Oh no, ukuleles were so common now—they were practically an influencer’s prop. Did she really think she’d stand out? Even a guitar would be better!

Wan Yue wasn’t the only one with this thought.

The livestream chat was just as unimpressed.

Meanwhile, Ding Xuan’s group of three performed a song called A Little Sweet. The song itself was light and sweet, their outfits were cute, and their simple dance moves weren’t too exhausting to execute. It was pleasant to watch.

But toward the end, one of them missed the beat, throwing off the entire team’s rhythm.

That’s the thing with group performances—

One person excelling wouldn’t make the whole group shine.

But one person falling behind could drag down everyone’s ranking.

Zhao Qiuying gathered the mentors’ opinions and announced their initial rankings: “C, E, E.”

Ding Xuan got a C.

This meant a six-point deduction.

Ding Xuan took a sharp breath, and tears welled up in her eyes.

The atmosphere in the room instantly became heavy.

Some viewers began complaining:

[They’re being way too strict on Ding Xuan.]

[Even if she couldn’t get an A, she should’ve at least gotten a B.]

[Is anyone even getting an A today?]

…

When Lin Sifeng’s turn came, they performed an internationally famous girl group dance, instantly hyping up the whole room.

The chat was flooded with people screaming, “Ahhh!”

Xuan Wen commented coolly, “A lot of their movements weren’t precise, but they captured the right vibe.”

Yelena added, “They clearly lost steam toward the end, and their singing was off-key and inconsistent.”

Finally, Zhao Qiuying announced their rankings: “B, C, C, C, E.”

Lin Sifeng got a B.

Immediately, people in the chat started arguing:

[Shouldn’t she have gotten an A?]

[So as long as the dance is hype, accuracy doesn’t matter? Just being energetic gets you a high ranking now?]

The two sides kept debating.

Wan Yue felt her scalp tingle. She swallowed hard and said, “…It’s our turn.”

Jiang Su hummed in acknowledgment, picked up her large bag, and walked ahead.

Wan Yue’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

Was she serious? She was actually bringing that big bag on stage?

Wan Yue started to rush after her, but Wu Qingqing pulled her back. “…Don’t act rashly.”

Wan Yue took a deep breath and forced herself to hold back. If Jiang Su messed this up, it would be hilarious.

Meanwhile, Yu Xinyan followed behind Jiang Su, looking like a devoted little puppy. Her excitement even eased some of her nerves.

Finally, they stepped onto the stage.

[Here we go, time for the most embarrassing performance of the night.]

[It can’t be that bad, right? They recruited Wu Qingqing this year, she should be decent.]

[Is she better than Lin Sifeng, though?]

They had chosen a similarly sweet and simple song, just with a slightly faster tempo than Ding Xuan’s group.

The director had personally selected it.

It was supposedly easier to avoid mistakes.

Wu Qingqing was the first to sing.

Then Yu Xinyan.

Then Jiang Su.

The moment Jiang Su held the microphone and started singing, everyone froze.

Her voice was stunning—so beautiful that it almost felt out of place in this group.

Wan Yue had heard her sing before, yet she still couldn’t help but clench her fists.

Was the chat all praising her right now?

Would she be completely overshadowed?

Wan Yue grew more nervous, her mind spiraling with thoughts. Her heart pounded, and then—she missed her cue.

A single mistake wasn’t a big deal.

But after missing her part, she froze.

The rhythm immediately fell apart, and by the time it circled back to Wu Qingqing, she was already struggling to hold it together.

Only Yu Xinyan, almost like a machine trained for crisis, managed to smoothly pick it up, pulling the melody and rhythm back on track.

But Wu Qingqing’s heart had already sunk.

Because Wan Yue still had more lines to sing.

And sure enough—

When it was Wan Yue’s turn again, she froze for a second time.

Her panic escalated, and tears welled up in her eyes.

A song that was supposed to be sweet now sounded completely broken—like a love story where the guy suddenly cheated right before the wedding…

Yu Xinyan and Wu Qingqing were sweating.

Only Jiang Su remained composed.

[They really flopped… Three Golds never fails to make me cringe.]

[Wu Qingqing deserves better.]

[Yu Xinyan is quite unexpected—how is she even steadier than Wu Qingqing?]

[Jiang Su doesn’t seem nervous at all… does she have something to rely on?]

[What “rely on”? There’s no way to salvage this. Jiang Su probably just lacks empathy. I’ve been saying all along that she’s just here to coast.]

The person typing this barrage of comments had only sent out the first half when their fingers froze mid-sentence.

Jiang Su dragged a large bag forward and took a step ahead.

Wu Qingqing and Yu Xinyan instinctively stepped aside for her.

Wu Qingqing gritted her teeth in frustration but kept singing, knowing she couldn’t afford to stop.

Things were already a mess—was Jiang Su seriously still thinking about standing out?

Next up was Wan Yue. The more she sang, the more panicked she became, and her performance grew increasingly disordered.

The audience below murmured among themselves. The mentors frowned. Even Yan Yucheng couldn’t help but clench his fingers.

How the hell did they pick such garbage?

At that moment, Jiang Su bent down and unzipped her bag.

[Is she about to faint? = = She really looks so fragile.]

[…Is Jiang Su trying to salvage the situation? How? Even if she played “Flight of the Bumblebee” on the spot, it wouldn’t be enough to save this.]

The next second, the frail and melancholic girl in their eyes pulled out from her bag… a golden… suona?!

Without changing expression, Jiang Su casually lifted the suona and played a phrase.

The instrument’s piercing volume instantly overpowered the stage’s sound system, drowning out Wan Yue’s already faltering voice.

[Isn’t this making things worse?]

[Damn, where did she get this lung capacity?!]

[HAHAHAHA I’M LOSING IT. This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone whip out a suona on stage.]

Jiang Su lowered her gaze slightly and continued playing.

The melody started in the mid-range, trembling slightly as it climbed higher and higher, until finally reaching a sharp peak. At that moment, it felt as though a once-loving couple had their relationship shattered bit by bit—before it was brutally, irreversibly torn apart in one agonizing moment.

Wan Yue’s broken voice, mixed into the performance, suddenly sounded like a girl’s helpless, panicked breakdown in the face of a crumbling love—no longer just a jarring mess.

Everyone’s hearts clenched, lifted, then wrenched apart.

The suona’s melody began to swirl and descend again… Slowly, gently, it softened into a lingering, sorrowful whisper, before finally fading into a quiet, mournful stillness.

It was as if the tragic love story had been sealed with a final, irreversible ending.

Jiang Su’s loose strands of hair fluttered slightly. She lowered her eyes, her expression indifferent—like a storyteller recounting a tale of heartbreak in a calm, detached voice.

For a moment, the entire venue was stunned.

Finally, someone shakily typed:

[The suona… the gangster of instruments… the funeral maestro… its reputation is well-earned.]