Chen Yuan, the Chief Director, was not someone who would bend over backwards to accommodate others. To put it bluntly, she had a bad temper.

She was known as the iron lady of the variety show industry, famous for her no-nonsense approach. Even the original Su Ning, a spoiled young master, behaved obediently under her watch. The fact that his scandalous behavior only came to light during the finals was already miraculous, considering his track record.

The moment Su Ning picked up the phone, her voice came through with a heavy sense of authority:

“Su Ning, you’d better give me a reasonable explanation.”

Even over the phone, her tone carried an oppressive weight. Unlike Su Hongda, who relied on emotional outbursts to dominate a situation, Chen Yuan’s calm yet commanding voice had trainees holding their breath in her presence.

“Director Chen, I believe today’s press conference was the best explanation,” Su Ning replied smoothly. “At the very least, public sentiment against the production team has notably improved, hasn’t it?”

Previously, the program was criticized for inadequate safety measures, and leaked photos hinted at deliberate sabotage. The safety ropes were indeed cut, but the production team had responded promptly to the accident, arranging immediate medical attention. Accusations that they had caved to investor pressure were effectively negated when Su Ning announced his withdrawal.

Chen Yuan was protective of her reputation. Idol Star Map had maintained a stellar record through four seasons, building its reputation with solid production, high-profile contestants, and breakthrough performances. This season had finally reached its peak popularity, poised for a triumphant conclusion—until the scandal derailed everything. No wonder Chen Yuan was furious, extending her resentment even toward Guang Ying Entertainment, to the point of skipping the press conference entirely.

Now, the fact that she was returning Su Ning’s call signaled some softening in her stance.

“Hmph,” she snorted, not denying his statement. Then her tone sharpened: “Fine, but announcing a format change in front of reporters—when did we ever discuss this?”

“If I hadn’t said it, the audience would’ve erupted. That’s why I reached out to you immediately after stepping off stage,” Su Ning replied. “You can’t blame me for acting first and reporting later. With my withdrawal, the finals are now one contestant short. The format has to be adjusted—the only question is to what extent.”

Typically, a contestant withdrawing would simply result in a vacancy, with the finals’ performance lineup adjusted accordingly.

The problem was that the original Su Ning, as a resource-backed contestant, was slated for two performances on finals night: a group stage and a solo performance. With time down to the wire, reallocating his spots required significant changes to the choreography and rehearsal schedules, disrupting the other contestants who had already perfected their routines.

Compounding the issue was Sang Le’s injury. Given the original timeline, it was uncertain whether he’d recover in time to perform. This left Chen Yuan in a bind.

“Under these circumstances, the only solution is to postpone the finals,” Su Ning said, his tone calm despite her earlier scolding. “Otherwise, Sang Le won’t have enough time to recover.”

“You think you can just postpone it like that?” Chen Yuan’s voice rose sharply. “Do you know what that means? An empty schedule slot! Did you ask the platform if they agree? The investors? The advertisers? Do you think the fans have the patience to wait?”

“I understand all of this,” Su Ning replied patiently, waiting for her to finish her tirade. “But I have a solution.”

Chen Yuan was skeptical. “What solution?”

“We can host a revival match.”

“Revival match?!” Chen Yuan’s laugh was short and sharp. “Are you joking?”

Even Shen Mingzheng, listening nearby, frowned in disapproval.

Revival matches were rarely seen in recent talent shows, especially before finals. Fans invested real money in voting, valuing the immediacy and finality of the competition. Allowing eliminated contestants a second chance undermined the tension and urgency that kept audiences hooked. For the program team, it wasn’t worth the backlash, and it felt unfair to contestants who had already fought their way through.

Moreover, most eliminated contestants lacked the popularity to secure a debut spot. A revival match might let them make a fleeting appearance on the finals stage, but it wouldn’t change their trajectory.

Variety shows thrived on compelling narratives, and adding a revival match before the finals could disrupt the pacing and hurt viewership. None of the stakeholders would approve.

Yet Su Ning remained unperturbed.

As though anticipating their doubts, he continued, “Director Chen, I understand your concerns. But this situation is unique—I voluntarily withdrew just before the finals. No one saw this coming.”

“We all know a simple revival match with eliminated contestants doesn’t add much value. These are contestants who ranked just outside the top twenty. It wouldn’t create the excitement we need for a finale.”

“But,” Su Ning’s voice sharpened, “what if the revival match also included a challenge round? What if, alongside the old contestants, we brought in new, highly competitive faces?”

Chen Yuan paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this wouldn’t just be a revival. It’s a challenge—and perhaps more accurately, a replacement match,” Su Ning explained. “Half of the participants could be eliminated contestants getting another chance. But the other half would be fresh faces.”

“For example, the talent show Soaring Youth on a rival platform recently ended. It had decent buzz, and its tenth and eleventh place contestants were quite popular. Their vote margins were narrow, and their companies don’t seem to have immediate debut plans. I believe they wouldn’t refuse this opportunity.”

Chen Yuan fell silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her words were squeezed out through gritted teeth. “Bringing people over from a rival program? Are you serious?”

“They’re not rivals,” Su Ning corrected. “And objectively speaking, Idol Star Map has a slight edge in popularity. Contestants who didn’t debut elsewhere should seize every opportunity, don’t you think? After all, they’re not bound by non-compete agreements.”

This idea held some intrigue.

This year was hailed as a “hot year” for talent shows, with several platforms competing fiercely. Idol Star Map Season 4 had emerged as a dark horse, but Soaring Youth was a heavyweight contender with a history of success. Its most recent season saw razor-thin vote margins, leaving many fans lamenting missed opportunities. If those contestants joined Idol Star Map, it could spark genuine competition for debut spots.

The idea was bold but worth considering.

Chen Yuan’s mind raced with possibilities. However, she maintained her skepticism. “Fine, it’s an attention-grabber. But are they strong enough to match the hype? They didn’t debut for a reason.”

“They alone aren’t enough,” Su Ning admitted. “That’s why we’ll also invite trainees from Qilin Entertainment.”

At the mention of Qilin, Chen Yuan audibly sucked in a breath.

Qilin Entertainment was the undisputed leader in the idol training industry. Their trainees were meticulously selected, and the company rarely allowed them to participate in external talent shows, focusing instead on internal competition. Every group they debuted turned into a sensation.

Chen Yuan had previously reached out to Qilin with offers, only to be met with silence. Their arrogance was legendary.

But this time might be different.

“Idol Star Map’s popularity this season is unprecedented. If the follow-up is executed well, the resulting group’s potential could rival Qilin’s own. I believe they might reconsider,” Su Ning explained. “And for Qilin’s trainees, this could be their first opportunity to participate in an external talent show. They’d have a real chance to compete for debut spots.”

The possibility of securing such high-profile contestants immediately sparked ideas for programming tweaks. Su Ning’s proposal wasn’t just feasible—it had the potential to elevate the show to new heights.

As Chen Yuan deliberated, Su Ning added, “Of course, Guang Ying Entertainment acknowledges the disruption this incident has caused. To compensate, we’re willing to cover the additional costs of the replacement match through supplementary investment.”

Chen Yuan was momentarily speechless. “Supplementary investment? Wait, this isn’t charity. What’s your condition?”

“Director Chen, you’re a visionary. Securing stable collaboration with you is reward enough for Guang Ying Entertainment. Money is a small matter,” Su Ning replied smoothly. “However, we do hope that Guang Ying Entertainment can secure one spot in the replacement match. Consider it a chance for us to redeem ourselves.”

“Who are you planning to send?” Chen Yuan asked, suspicious.

“Not me, of course,” Su Ning assured her. “I’ve already announced my withdrawal. I plan to select another trainee from the company. Guang Ying Entertainment has invested so much—it’s only fair we get a chance to participate.”

Chen Yuan: “As long as it’s not you.”

Her bluntness was almost disarming, though she couldn’t help but wonder. With Su Ning proposing such strong competitors, did he really believe Guang Ying Entertainment’s struggling talent management team could hold its own against Qilin?

“You’d better be sure about this,” Chen Yuan warned. “The replacement match will rely on voting, and regulations are tighter than ever. I can’t rig anything for you.”

“You’re overthinking it. We just need one slot. Our trainee will rely on their skills,” Su Ning said with a smile. “I promise not to cause any more trouble.”

His composure and confidence were a far cry from the original Su Ning, leaving Chen Yuan with little room to argue. After a moment’s thought, she relented. “Fine.”

“Great! If you think this idea works, why not bring the platform’s representatives to Guang Ying Entertainment now? Coincidentally, Young Master Shen is here,” Su Ning pressed on. “I’ve prepared a full proposal, complete with a presentation. Public interest in the format change is sky-high right now. Time is money. The sooner we finalize this, the sooner we can release a statement.”

The show was being filmed in Haicheng, and the key decision-makers—Chief Director Chen Yuan, the streaming platform Orange Video, and the investors (Shen Shi Media and Guang Ying Entertainment)—were all nearby. With Shen Mingzheng pulling the strings, even the sponsors would fall in line.

“I was planning to come anyway,” Chen Yuan muttered.

Though she had vowed never to deal with Su Ning again, this morning alone had completely upended her impression of him. As she hung up, she added one last remark, tinged with a grudging respect: “Su Ning, I didn’t realize before—there’s something wickedly clever about you.”

Su Ning chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He handed the phone back to Shen Mingzheng, who exchanged a few words with Chen Yuan before ending the call.

When Su Ning turned around, he was met with a variety of stunned expressions.

The assistant director’s mouth hung open. Shen Huai looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Even Su Hongda, despite his best efforts to remain composed, couldn’t hide his shock as he demanded, “What proposal? We don’t have a proposal or a presentation!”

“I do,” Su Ning replied reassuringly. “I finished it last night.”

For a workaholic like Su Ning, pulling an all-nighter to draft a proposal was as natural as eating or drinking. He even had the energy to cook breakfast the next morning.