Chapter Two: You Even Managed to Capitalize on This Trending Topic

Pushing open the door to the preparation room, a cloud of thick cigarette smoke billowed out, nearly knocking Xu Ming unconscious.

After receiving the call from his master, he had caught an early flight to Beijing the next day, stepping into this hallowed hall that countless performers dreamed of.

"Master." Xu Ming called out to announce his presence.

"Ah, Mingzi is here. Find a seat yourself; I won't bother playing the host," Uncle Benshan joked. A master serving a disciple was unheard of. The group chuckled, the laughter thinning the oppressive atmosphere in the room.

The Spring Festival Gala broadcast was only fifteen days away. If they couldn't nail down a program within the next two days, they would be in serious trouble.

Xu Ming found a spot and sat down, quickly blending in, and lit a cigarette himself. Fighting secondhand smoke with firsthand smoke—it sounded absurd, but it actually provided some relief. He considered it one of the world's great unsolved mysteries.

"Well? If anyone has any good ideas or material, speak up. Don't hold back now; everyone needs to contribute what they can," Uncle Benshan said.

In truth, he was feeling overwhelmed this year. With the passing of his partner Gao Xiumin, the departure of Fan Wei, and Song Dandan bowing out, a series of frustrating setbacks had him contemplating retirement from the Gala. He had originally intended to push his disciple Xiao Shenyang, even commissioning the sketch *Super Superstar*, but it was rejected during the vetting process. He then tried to promote Liu Xiaoguang, but that act was also scrapped.

After a series of failures, his gaze eventually landed on Xu Ming, his latest rising-star disciple.

Seeing that no one else spoke up, he looked at Xu Ming and said, "Mingzi, you start us off. Any idea is fine; just think of it as opening up the floor for everyone."

"Alright, let me say a few words." Xu Ming stood up with his hands behind his back, drawing smiles from the room. He carried himself with the poise of a leader, showing not a hint of stage fright—a composure that exceeded everyone's expectations. After all, when it came to the Spring Festival Gala, who didn't feel a drum of nervousness in their chest?

"I was eating at a restaurant a while back and saw something quite interesting. A customer tipped the waiter a hundred yuan in advance, telling him that when his friend arrived and tried to order lobster or abalone, he should say they were out of stock..."

Xu Ming knew the lines to the sketch *Not Short of Money* by heart; it was simply too iconic. However, he couldn't just hand it over. The program had to be a "collective effort" to ensure everyone felt they had a stake in its success. He didn't have high demands for himself; playing the role of the waiter was enough.

"Hey, I've seen that happen too! I hadn't even thought of it until you mentioned it. That's really interesting," screenwriter Xu Zhengchao slapped his thigh, growing excited. "If we stuff the punchlines into this framework, I think it could work."

"No rush. Let everyone share their thoughts first, then we'll decide," Uncle Benshan glanced at his youngest disciple with surprise; he hadn't expected him to make a contribution right out of the gate.

With Xu Ming breaking the ice, others followed suit. But by the end of the round, everyone agreed that the framework Xu Ming had proposed was the best.

"Then we'll settle on the material Mingzi suggested as the framework. No objections?" Uncle Benshan asked, wanting to avoid any appearance of favoritism.

"I think it's solid," Xu Zhengchao nodded. The framework was set.

The group then began to discuss it fervently. Once the skeleton was in place, they needed to flesh it out. Soon, Xu Zhengchao raised the issue of substance: "We need to add some depth. Just a simple dinner party is a bit hollow."

Whether it was *Super Superstar* or *Happy Birthday*, the comedic effect was definitely there, but they had failed the vetting process. This stumped the group again. When it came to crafting jokes, the veteran sketch team had no problems, but injecting "grandeur" or "substance" was a challenge. How to be funny while maintaining positive energy was the headache of every language-based program at the Gala.

"Family members of a critically ill patient treating a doctor?"
"Impoverished parents treating a teacher for their child's sake?"
"Old classmates meeting up and pretending to be rich to impress a first love?"

The group offered suggestions, but all were shot down by Xu Zhengchao and Uncle Benshan. "The first two are too heavy, the latter is too frivolous." The room fell back into a gloomy silence. True artistic creation is rarely a smooth process; it is more often like constipation—a painful, piece-by-piece struggle.

"Chasing dreams," a soft voice drifted from the corner. It exploded in everyone's minds like a thunderclap.

"Go on," Xu Zhengchao said excitedly.

"The grandfather is helping his granddaughter chase her dream, but due to certain reasons, he's strapped for cash and is forced to resort to this desperate measure," Xu Ming explained.

"A 'forced' measure! Now the motivation is sound. For example, it's the grandfather's first time bringing his granddaughter to the big city, and he forgot or lost the money he had set aside for the meal, and the guest is arriving any second. He has no choice." Xu Zhengchao clapped his hands and looked in the direction of the voice, only to find it was Xu Ming.

Under the gaze of the group, the latter was bashfully scratching the back of his head. "I was just throwing it out there. Don't think I'm just causing trouble."

"Why are you acting so fake? Talent is a good thing; why play humble in front of me? Sit over here," Uncle Benshan scolded, gesturing for Xu Ming to sit beside him. When it came to acting, his disciple was in a league of his own. If nothing else, after seeing his raw, realistic performance in *Ma Dashuai*, even Morgan Freeman's acting felt a bit over-the-top.

Uncle Benshan's scolding was superficial; anyone could see the smile on his face and tell he treasured the boy. Creative talent is always in demand, and on top of that, the kid was handsome. When he first walked into the room, they had wondered if some idol had walked into the wrong office—he had truly elevated the average attractiveness of Benshan Media.

"What do you think that dream should be?" Uncle Benshan asked, testing him.

"Singing," Xu Ming didn't hesitate. "It's the most intuitive and the most convenient." It required no props, could be performed on the spot, minimized the chance of errors, and was great for building up a performer's image.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. This disciple of yours is something else. His brain is truly sharp. How old are you?" Xu Zhengchao, who shared the same surname, was quite impressed.

"Twenty, born in '89," Xu Ming replied.

*Whoa, he's damn young.*

Hearing his age, the group felt an extra layer of favor toward him. After all, a talented thirty-year-old and a nineteen-year-old were two completely different concepts.

"And what identity should the guest have?" Xu Zhengchao had a vague idea, but he wanted to hear the boy's thoughts first.

"A guest from *Star Boulevard*, Bi Fujian," Xu Ming said, naming a figure who, in the future, would be censored out of existence.

The room went quiet for a moment, and then the noise exploded. What a masterstroke! Even that hot topic could be utilized.