The only reason Jiang Lechen became a member of the boy band Hot Boy 101 was due to a classic case of heatstroke-induced poor judgment.

During the summer vacation after his college entrance exams, little Jiang Lechen, in a bid to earn enough cash for a pair of limited-edition basketball sneakers, signed up for a food delivery app and became a glorious delivery boy.

His very first order was to go stand in line for some brand’s “high-end burgers” in Sanlitun.

Jiang Lechen truly could not understand why anyone would wait three hours for a hamburger. Was a high-end burger really just meat between two buns? But the tip for this delivery was just too good to pass up.

Bending his principles for a fistful of cash, he pushed into the crowd, gleefully calculating how much this single order would help his sneaker fund.

As he waited, he thought, Sanlitun really is the promised land for hipsters.

Just look around—it’s only a burger joint, but everyone’s dressed to the nines. All these handsome guys, six-foot-one, six-foot-three, with their hair dyed every color of the rainbow and decked out in trendy luxury brands.

Jiang Lechen, clad in his standard-issue yellow delivery vest and a matching yellow helmet with rabbit ears, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Everyone’s eyes were on him.

Though he was only eighteen, Jiang Lechen had already cultivated an impressively thick skin. He stood there, chin up, thinking: So what if I’m scalping burgers? I’m earning money with my own two hands. I’m proud of it!

…Unfortunately, that pride evaporated into thin air after three hours of sweating buckets in line.

The long queue snaked forward at a snail’s pace. The scorching sun made Jiang Lechen feel lightheaded, and if it weren’t for the delivery fee, he would’ve bailed long ago.

After rounding one final corner, he finally squeezed into a beautiful glass building. Thank god. The building had air conditioning, complimentary lemon-mint water, little cookies, and… a registration form.

The form asked for his name, age, home address, graduating school, personal hobbies, and a description of his talent for a showcase.

Jiang Lechen stared at the form, dumbfounded. No matter how he looked at it, this felt less like they were selling burgers and more like they were selling people.

The gears in his brain finally started turning. He quickly stopped a staff member and asked, “…Ma’am, what exactly is this line for?”

The staffer sized up the boy in the yellow delivery vest. Even dressed so haphazardly, his standout features were impossible to hide. His hair wasn’t styled at all, just a fine, short fringe resting on his forehead. His eyes were large, round, and youthful, like a fawn’s—clear and pure—and they were now staring at her with curiosity.

The staffer was taken aback. “You don’t know what this line is for?”

Jiang Lechen said, “I thought it was for hamburgers.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. The guy before you thought it was a line for COVID tests.”

Jiang Lechen: “…”

Using a tone one might use to coax a small child, the staffer said, “We’re holding auditions for a boy band. You’re a sharp-looking kid. Since you’re already here, why not give it a shot?”

—“Since you’re already here.”

These four words are like a mysterious, inescapable spell for Chinese people.

Maybe the sun was just too hot that day.

Perhaps the free mint-lemon water in the building was just too delicious.

Maybe Jiang Lechen’s brainstem was starved for oxygen…

In any case, he surrendered to the spell.

And so, just like that, Jiang Lechen dazedly participated in the first round of open auditions for the boy band Hot Boy 101.

And so, just like that, Jiang Lechen dazedly became a glorious member of Hot Boy 101.

And that was five years ago.

…

So, what kind of [BEEP] (expletive censored) boy band was Hot Boy 101?

Simply put, it was a small entertainment agency that wanted to ~shamelessly copy~ borrow the successful formula of a major overseas girl group and create a similar 100-member “trainee-style” boy band in China.

That’s right—a one-hundred-member boy band.

The company’s boss had a pretty naive idea: if he signed 101 good-looking guys all at once, surely one of them would become a star. As for the other hundred, they’d just be the weeds the star stepped on to get higher. Just sprinkle a little water on them and let them grow wild.

Unfortunately, his 101-handsome-guys recruitment plan wasn’t much of a success.

Most handsome guys also have brains. No one would pass up a major agency to sign with his little startup and suffer.

Besides Jiang Lechen, the other good-looking boys in the company left as soon as they gained a hint of popularity—no one wanted to go down with this sinking ship. The ones with less popularity simply quit and returned to being regular people.

Jiang Lechen was stuck in the middle. He didn’t have the drive to fight his way to the top, nor the ability to completely check out and lie flat. He could only muddle along, year after year.

He’d always been a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He had signed a ten-year contract with the company. With five years left, he figured he could just blink and it’d be over.

Other idols were willing to die for the stage; he didn’t have such lofty ambitions. He just wanted to collect his two-thousand-yuan monthly base salary.

And don’t you dare underestimate two thousand yuan. That was enough to cover his living expenses at university for a whole month.

That’s right—unlike those “nine-year-education dropouts” common in the industry, Jiang Lechen was a university student! A student at a top-tier 985 university, no less!

His acceptance letter arrived shortly after he joined the band, for the school and major he’d always dreamed of. Of course, he wasn’t about to give up his university education for some vague idol dream. Come on, this was a degree from a 985 university we’re talking about!

He asked the company if he could study while still being part of the group, which wasn’t a big ask since their band hardly played any gigs anyway. Luckily, the boss was reasonable about it and approved his request.

For the past five years, Jiang Lechen has been juggling school and his agency. Monday to Friday, he pushes through his 8 a.m. classes, striving to keep his attendance and GPA up.

After classes, he heads to the agency for dance, voice, and acting lessons. On weekends, he stays in his dorm, waiting for that rare chance to perform.

…Honestly, Jiang Lechen felt less like he was chasing a dream in showbiz and more like he was at a military boot camp.

All of Jiang Lechen’s university classmates knew he was a “part-time idol.” At first, they found it interesting. Some asked for photos and autographs, joking they could sell his signature once he got famous. Later, when they realized Jiang Lechen was a complete nobody in the entertainment world, they slowly stopped referring to him as one.

Some classmates even advised him to break his contract if the penalty wasn’t too high.

But little Jiang Lechen had a mind of his own and wouldn’t listen to anyone. “No, I think I can still be salvaged! I went to the Yonghe Temple the other day to have my fortune told. It says I’m destined to be famous!”

…Right. Okay.

However, before Jiang Lechen could become famous, his company became “famous” first.

—The “going viral for all the wrong reasons” kind of famous.

The company was called out by authorities for tax evasion. Instantly, it was like a tree falling and the monkeys scattering. Everyone from the boss to the finance team disappeared, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell of a company and a safe full of worthless idol contracts.

Jiang Lechen’s reaction was a beat too slow. By the time he heard the news, it was too late to run.

But then he thought about it—he didn’t need to run at all. His base salary was two thousand a month, which didn’t even meet the minimum threshold for income tax. What was there for him to run from?

He might as well wait and see what happened.

Soon enough, something did happen—F Entertainment, a titan of the industry, actually acquired their company!

Little Jiang Lechen couldn’t help himself. He ran back to the Yonghe Temple for another fortune reading.

The fortune stick he drew… was a sign of great peril.

Jiang Lechen’s expression didn’t change. He ripped the fortune slip to shreds on the spot and declared with righteous conviction, “As a 985 university student born and raised under the red flag of New China, how could I possibly engage in feudal superstition?”

Then he walked out of the Yonghe Temple with his head held high.

Arriving at work on time, but leaving whenever—that’s called a flexible work schedule.

Believing the good fortunes, but not the bad ones—that’s called flexible faith.

…

After the acquisition, the new boss—a renowned agent in the industry—summoned all the remaining idols for individual interviews.

Three minutes per person. If you didn’t pass, your contract was terminated on the spot. If you passed, you stayed for further training.

Before, everyone wanted to break their contracts. Now, everyone wanted to stay.

Why wouldn’t they? The new boss was beyond famous—he was Gu Yuzhe! A legendary ace agent in the industry, the man who had single-handedly launched the careers of multiple pop superstars and award-winning actors.

Although Mr. Gu was a behind-the-scenes figure, his face was unforgettable even among the sea of beautiful people in the entertainment industry. He had sharp brows, clear eyes, and a steady, composed demeanor.

When he wasn’t smiling, he appeared a thousand miles away; when he did smile, it was like a spring breeze. He was known across the industry as a formidable character.

He had extensive connections; a major Hollywood director once invited him to a private Christmas party at his house. It was said that his PR skills were outstanding, as he single-handedly salvaged the reputation of a megastar whose career had fallen apart after coming out. Not to mention, with support from F Entertainment, he launched his own agency and was the driving force behind many A-list celebrities.

Jiang Lechen had heard plenty of gossip about Gu Yuzhe. To a slacker like him, who was stuck in a small-time agency, Gu Yuzhe was a legend, a figure from another universe. He never imagined that one day, he’d have the honor of being interviewed by Mr. Gu himself.

Jiang Lechen took a deep breath and walked into the conference room.

The people before him all went in smiling and came out crying. Most didn’t even last three minutes before Gu Yuzhe cut them off.

Jiang Lechen, however, was pretty zen about it. He got yelled at almost daily during his veterinary internships. Could Mr. Gu’s scolding be any worse than his supervising teacher’s?

With that thought in mind, Jiang Lechen was utterly calm.

Several people were seated in the conference room, all unfamiliar faces. They were likely the new company’s planners, publicists, and executive agents. They sat stone-faced and silent, like a jury at a trial.

Then again, that’s what they were. With just a shake of their heads, these young people who weren’t cut out to be idols would be thrown out.

In the center sat a handsome man in a three-piece suit, his hair slicked back, revealing his fine features. His aura was mature and coolly detached. This was the legendary Gu Yuzhe.

When Jiang Lechen walked in, the “jury,” who had just endured a string of duds and weirdos, finally showed a flicker of a smile. They exchanged a look that seemed to say: So there is some raw talent in this group after all. We were starting to think they were all bizarre creatures.

Only Gu Yuzhe’s expression remained unchanged, still a mask of cool indifference.

One of the jury members spoke up. “Let’s start with a self-introduction.”

Jiang Lechen quickly stood at attention. “Hello, teachers. My name is Jiang Lechen. ‘Le’ as in ‘happy,’ and ‘chen’ as in ‘sincere.’ I’m twenty-three years old, weigh 62 kilograms, and I’m 179 centimeters tall. That’s my real height, and I hope the publicity team sister won’t round it up to 180.”

Jury Member #1: “Why can’t it be written as 180?”

“Because I am committed to being the gatekeeper of 179 cm. That way, whenever I encounter a male celebrity who claims to be 180, I just have to stand next to them, and their real height will have nowhere to hide!”

Jiang Lechen declared, his face a mask of righteousness. “Even when I die, my epitaph must read: ‘Any male celebrity shorter than me is not 180 cm tall’!”

Jury Member #1: “…That was a great self-introduction. Don’t do it again.”

Jiang Lechen: “?”

Jury Member #2: “We’ve reviewed your file. You received high scores in your vocal and dance classes, but your acting scores are low. The teacher’s comment says: ‘Constantly breaks character and laughs, unable to get into the role.'”

Jiang Lechen looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m really not good at acting, but I think my singing and dancing skills are decent.”

No one said anything. In the entertainment industry, there was no shortage of good-looking people, nor was there a shortage of people with solid skills. Unless he had something more outstanding to offer, there was no reason for them to waste resources on someone with average overall abilities.

Jury Member #3: “Anything else to add? Or any questions for us?”

Jiang Lechen thought for a moment, then asked, “I haven’t graduated from university yet. My previous company allowed me to attend classes while being in the group. If I get to stay, can I continue my studies?”

“You haven’t graduated?” Jury Member #4 flipped through his digital resume. “You received your acceptance letter right after you joined the group. Logically, you should have graduated by now. Did you delay your graduation?”

“No,” Jiang Lechen said quickly. “My major is a five-year program.”

“A five-year program…” Jury Member #5 was also looking at his resume and read aloud, “A 985 university medical school. Whoa, we’ve got a top student here.”

At that, the eyes of several jury members lit up. The entertainment industry is a tough game these days, flooded with pretty faces who aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.

Looks aren’t enough; you need the academic credentials to back them up.

Not long ago, a celebrity went on a variety show and couldn’t even answer how many provinces are in Northeast China. The gaffe went viral, and he became a laughingstock online—the kind of bad press no amount of endorsement deals could fix.

The fact that Jiang Lechen got into a 985 university on his own merit shows he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Plus, a medical school background comes with a built-in “celibate in a white coat” persona. With the right presentation, he could actually be marketable.

Such a promising seedling finally prompted Gu Yuzhe, observing in silence, to speak.

“Which medical school specifically, and what major?” The man’s voice was distinctive, deep, and unique. He didn’t speak loudly, but the entire room fell silent the moment he did. “Clinical medicine?”

Jiang Lechen wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He looked at Gu Yuzhe. “No… uh, Mr. Gu, the ‘medical school’ part was a mistake in the company’s registration. I am studying medicine but not in a regular medical school.”

“…?” Gu Yuzhe raised an eyebrow.

Jiang Lechen: “I’m in the College of Veterinary Medicine.”

Everyone: “???”

“Hehehe,” Jiang Lechen lifted his chin proudly. “My specialty is the treatment of large livestock. I once set a personal record for neutering twenty-three piglets in one hour. And my GPA is number one in my year!”

Everyone: “…”

…

When his three minutes were up, Jiang Lechen walked out of the conference room.

After he left, the room exploded as the jury debated whether to keep or cut him.

“I just checked, and the admission scores for veterinary medicine are also really high, not much lower than those of regular medical schools. This kid must be smart!”

“Does he look smart to you?”

“If we keep him, how do you plan to market him? The idol who’s best at butchering pigs? The vet who’s best at singing and dancing?”

“Just picture it—walking the red carpet on weekends in sponsored haute couture, then spending weekdays treating cats and dogs at a clinic?”

“I think that’s actually kind of cute. A nice contrast, don’t you think?”

“He’s got great variety show potential. Every other sentence is a punchline. Maybe forget the idol route and push him towards variety shows.”

They went back and forth until a rhythmic tapping sound echoed in the room.

Everyone followed the sound. Gu Yuzhe’s fingers were slightly curled, his fingertips tapping the tabletop rhythmically. Once, twice, three times… It was his usual habit when he was deep in thought.

“…Keep him.” Gu Yuzhe spoke, his words carrying the finality of a judge’s gavel. “Didn’t he want to be the gatekeeper of 179 centimeters? Then let him.”