Qi Shejiang then exclaimed, “Oh, I meant, you sing really well!”
Meng Jingyuan laughed, “Now that sounds more like it.”
At this moment, the director’s team began whispering among themselves, smiles on their faces. This program was indeed worth it; while that line wasn’t in the script, the effect was exceptional. For their television station, they particularly enjoyed such segments!
Zhang Yue is whatever, his sharp tongue and insults are no longer news. I didn’t expect Qi Shejiang to be quite capable either, responding on the spot. No wonder he has mommy backing him up; a newcomer fears nothing and just pushed back like that on the show. Moreover, it wasn’t insulting or anything, quite well measured—let’s be honest, Zhang Yue really does look good. Qi Shejiang continued, “His singing skills are exceptional! Just have him stand there for a performance, everyone, he definitely won’t miss a note!” Meng Jingyuan asked, “Are you praising him?” Qi Shejiang tilted his head, “Isn’t it? Did he miss a note or something? I don’t understand that.” The audience chuckled lightly, and someone even exclaimed “Yah,” thinking this line was obviously self-deprecating about his own singing skills. Meng Jingyuan nudged Qi Shejiang, partly reminding him that they needed to pick up the pace, “If you don’t understand, just stop with the blind praise. Why do you keep harping on him?” Qi Shejiang sighed, pretending to be distressed, “Aren’t I just jealous of him? Why does he have a group, and I don’t? Is it because I don’t look good enough?
” —Newcomers debuting around the same time formed groups, and he was left out. Unexpectedly, this joke circled back and linked to his own situation. The audience paused for a second before they realized it, then bursts of warm laughter erupted, with some adding in whistles. The cameraman cleverly pointed the camera back to the Guanshan Band, zooming in on Zhang Yue. Zhang Yue: “……………”
