In the Name of the Study God

The Guangba No. 8 School Auditorium.

Fang Jun sat on a plastic chair backstage, his guitar resting on his knee, his left hand pressing down chords while his right hand plucked at the strings a couple of times. But no sound came out, because he didn't dare use any force.

He was afraid of messing up.

Even more afraid of being heard messing up.

He quietly ran through the music score again in his head and realized he had the chorus's melody memorized backward. He quickly corrected it in his mind.

After correcting that, the first verse started getting fuzzy again.

Great. The more he thought about it, the more jumbled it became.

"Hey, looking cool, playing guitar," a voice snapped the nervous Fang Jun out of his trance.

He jerked his head around. Lin Mo, An Yuexin, Jiang Yunlu, Xie Yuling, Chu Miaomiao.

The whole gang.

Every single one of them.

"So... why are you all here?!"

Fang Jun's expression turned incredibly complicated.

Nervousness was one thing, but this kind of nervousness was supposed to belong just to him and Luo Ruiyu.

Now here we are—his audience had come straight to the backstage area.

"We were worried about you," Lin Mo said.

"But... I thought only people registered for the tryouts could get in here?"

Fang Jun glanced over at the student council member at the entrance responsible for checking registrations.

That person had looked over at them several times, but strangely enough, didn't come over to stop them.

"No worries, I can get in on my face alone," Lin Mo said, looking completely matter-of-fact.

Fang Jun opened his mouth, but didn't argue.

Point taken. The power of the academic god among students.

The tryout judges had already taken their seats: representatives from the student council, two music teachers, and Director Huang.

That's right, Lin Mo's old acquaintance, Director Huang.

The auditorium's setup was very simple.

On stage, a computer was connected to speakers, used for playing backing tracks.

A single standing microphone stood in the center.

No lights, no stage decoration—the fluorescent ceiling lights above were all on, at least.

The waiting area was already filled with quite a few people.

Singers were the most common, taking up more than half of them. Some were quietly singing along to songs playing on their phones, others wore headphones and closed their eyes, getting in the mood.

A few dancers were stretching in a corner.

There was also a guy doing a comedy skit quietly reciting his lines with his partner playing on his phone nearby. Their chemistry looked questionable.

Some played instruments—playing the piano wasn't considered all that impressive a skill.

Being able to sing and play your own instrument? That was the real deal.

That was just the hierarchy of disdain.

Fang Jun looked down at his guitar, feeling a little more reassured.

"Pretty nervous, huh?" Lin Mo teased.

"A bit," Fang Jun admitted honestly. "Originally, I wanted to just sing something casually, fail if I failed. But later..."

His words trailed off, and his gaze unconsciously drifted toward Luo Ruiyu.

Lin Mo caught on instantly and finished the thought.

"But someone pushed you, saying that if you're going to do something, you should do it well, right?"

"It wasn't pushing—just that whatever you do, you should give it your all!"

Luo Ruiyu added.

"Of course, if you actually don't make it, it's not a big deal. I just hope we can try our best."

That was a very reasonable thing to say. After all, the art festival auditions typically weeded out about two-thirds of the acts, and the remaining ones had to go through further tweaking.

In previous years, there were cases of acts getting cut even after the adjustments.

Jiang Yunlu scanned the room and did a quick count.

"There are mostly singing acts—at least twenty or more. The elimination rate in auditions is around two-thirds, and making it through doesn't mean it's safe either. There's still the fine-tuning round later. I've heard that in previous years, acts that passed the first round still got cut."

She paused.

"But your advantage is obvious. Look around—how many people brought their own instruments?"

Not many brought their own instruments. Playing the guitar was already considered impressive among the students.

"Being able to sing and play adds a level of showmanship. The judges aren't deaf," Jiang Yunlu analyzed coolly.

As they chatted, the auditions began.

Guangba No. 8 was pretty straightforward about this—they had all audition participants sit together in the auditorium to watch the entire process.

Whoever went on stage, whoever got cut, that was being watched by a few hundred people in the seats. The judges didn't have any room to play favorites.

In terms of fairness, the school had its merits.

The first person on stage was a singing contestant—a guy in a black baseball cap, the brim pulled down low. As he walked on, his steps were a little wobbly.

When the music started, he went straight into rap.

To be honest, his sense of rhythm was there, and his flow was pretty smooth. But the problem was, brother, your lyrics were laced with curse words.

The teachers on the judges' panel wore expressions that varied wildly.

This was an art festival. A school art festival.

A bespectacled music teacher in the audience immediately raised a hand to stop the performance.

The guy froze for a moment, probably not expecting to be cut off so quickly.

"Next."

Short and direct, without any buffer.

Lin Mo looked at Fang Jun; neither said anything, but their expressions were the same.

Serves you right.

Several acts followed, one after another—singing, dancing, and even a guy performing a kuaiban story (a traditional form of rhythmic storytelling).

Technically, there wasn't anything wrong with them, but they were just too plain.

It was like ordering a bowl of plain congee at a restaurant. You get your congee—no complaints—but you have zero desire to take a second spoonful.

The audience's reaction was equally honest. The applause was scattered, purely out of politeness.

"What number are you guys?" An Yuexin leaned over and asked.

"Number thirty-two," Fang Jun said, flipping the number card in his hand. "It's pretty early."

"You might snag the first spot, then."

Just as An Yuexin said that, sudden laughter came from the stage.

Lin Mo looked up. On stage stood two people: one tall and skinny, the other short and plump—an actual duo comedy act.

One was the straight man, feeding lines; the other was the funny man.

And what was interesting was that their skit was all about things happening in the school itself.

Lots of students burst out laughing.

Even some of the judges on the panel had to stifle their grins.

Lin Mo couldn't help but laugh along with them a couple of times.

In his previous life, on the day of the art festival, he wasn't even at school. He and Fang Jun had snuck off to an internet cafe.

Back then, those two only had one thing on their minds: gaming all night!

Forget the art festival, forget the auditions. None of it was their business.

Now looking back, he realized he had actually missed out on a lot of interesting things.

Sure enough, the comedy duet became the first act to pass the audition.

Several more acts made it through after that. The time slots were very tight.

For stage acts like skits and comedies during auditions, they only needed to perform a portion and show the core highlights.

Full versions would be evaluated later.

For singing acts, it was even simpler—basically just over a minute, finish the first half of the chorus, then wrap it up.

In plain terms, it was like a web novel's "first three golden chapters." You had to grab people's attention right from the start; no matter how good the later part was, it wouldn't matter if you didn't hook them.

For singing acts, it was all about stage presence, really.

Anyway, the school also had its fixed arrangements.

Those who sang steadily but without any emotional ups and downs almost all got cut.

This was kind of like singing competition shows on TV. You might hit every note perfectly, but without explosive energy, the audience wouldn't remember you.

Hitting high notes wasn't necessarily a good thing, but at least it made people pay attention.

Just like that singing show "I Am a Singer"—only by belting out high notes did you get more votes.