Shen An had no idea that the freshmen outside had already branded him a vicious senior.
He was leisurely conducting interviews with the next newcomer.
The previous applicant had set her sights on the Dance Group and seemed to have a solid foundation in dance. Although Shen An knew nothing about dancing himself, he could still judge the basics.
He didn’t need to be an expert; a quick glance told him the difference between high and low skill levels.
The more difficult the moves, the more impressive they were—that was enough.
But his main focus during these interviews wasn’t raw talent. It leaned more toward personality.
This was probably Zhao Qingyu’s true intention, even if she hadn’t spelled it out.
After all, the Art Troupe was brimming with experts. Someone inside would always know their stuff when it came to specialized skills like dance or singing.
These freshmen handpicked for the special batch weren’t lacking in ability. They all met the Art Troupe’s standards, or they wouldn’t have made the cut.
Talent and personality—both were crucial for the Art Troupe, probably split right down the middle at fifty-fifty.
Other departments might prioritize personality traits like endurance and a willingness to grind. Think someone who could take scolding without flinching, handle daily twelve-hour shifts with a smile, and thrive as a corporate drone or beast of burden.
But pure grit didn’t cut it in the Art Troupe.
In terms of professionalism, the Art Troupe demanded more individual flair than other groups.
Take the Dance Group: if you couldn’t dance, they weren’t going to train you from scratch. This was a school club, not a boot camp.
And the personality they sought differed from other organizations too.
Being a tireless workhorse wasn’t enough here. They wanted people who could command the stage, brim with confidence—folks who wouldn’t freeze up or get stage fright.
To be brutally honest, the special batch and regular batch already drew a line between the stars and the grunts.
Those who made it through the special batch would become the Art Troupe’s core members, regulars on every performance stage.
The regular batch? Mostly interchangeable “laborers”—props, movers, gophers handling the grunt work that required no real skill.
So the special batch evaluated stage presence and poise: no shyness, no nerves, pure confidence.
The regular batch hunted for diligence: reliable, unflinching, happy to shoulder any task without a peep.
In that sense, the Art Troupe was a massive operation, catering to every personality type.
With the interview priorities clear in his mind, Shen An handled them effortlessly.
To test pressure tolerance and confidence, playing the nice guy wouldn’t work. He had to apply some real heat.
And so, every freshman who emerged from the interview echoed the first girl’s assessment: this senior definitely wasn’t a good guy.
Who grilled people like that in an interview?
After a while, Shen An also pieced together the Art Troupe’s structure.
First came the performing arts divisions: Dance Group, Model Group, Singing Group, Street Dance Group, Musical Instruments Group, Drama Performance Group, and Host Group—seven major groups in all.
Each functioned like its own department, with roles obvious from the names.
Then the standard departments: Art Troupe Office, Outreach and Publicity Department, Organization Department, Life Department, and Discipline Department—five in total.
Seven groups and five departments made up the whole.
These five mirrored the Student Union’s setup—a mini student council, really.
The Office deserved special mention. It was the Art Troupe’s brain trust: coordinating, strategizing, analyzing. The Deputy Troupe Leader oversaw it.
Qi Taili held the title of Office Director in name only, though it meant little in practice.
The Life Department—nicknamed the Ox-Horse Department—handled the hauling and logistics. It had the most visibility but the least clout of the five.
The rest were straightforward from their names.
It was almost funny: Shen An had already done plenty for the Art Troupe, yet only now did he grasp its org chart and staffing.
Not every special-batch applicant was performance-oriented, though. Plenty eyed the regular departments, with the Office topping the list.
It offered the fastest track to promotion and influence, being closest to the core decisions.
This little college Art Troupe already mimicked a real company. No wonder people said university was half society: innocent dreams of student life mixed with harsh realities.
Then there was something else Shen An couldn’t quite relate to.
During interviews, he occasionally ran into applicants who were nervous, or who bombed and broke down sobbing.
Some even begged him tearfully for mercy, swearing they’d take the grueling Life Department if it meant joining the Art Troupe.
He got the crushed pride leading to meltdowns—hell, he’d been there himself.
Student egos ran sky-high back then: lofty self-views, huge expectations, zero tolerance for setbacks. Pure, unbeaten idealism.
But what baffled him was how many breakdowns stemmed not from bruised pride, but sheer desperation to join the Art Troupe.
As if getting in was like acing the imperial exams, vaulting social classes and skipping decades of struggle.
This was just a school club interview—not a civil service exam. No lifetime job security. Was it really that big a deal?
When he’d entered university, he took what he could get. No big loss if he didn’t.
Four years later, he felt zero attachment to student orgs. Just school lapdogs, herding enthusiasm with bluffs and hype.
Most folks he knew felt the same post-graduation, dismissing the departments outright.
But on second thought, maybe that was his issue.
Different worlds, after all.
And this Art Troupe might not be as dismissible as he assumed.
He had no clue about the deeper reasons yet. His only takeaway: every applicant treated this like life or death.
Good thing he wasn’t half-assing it or picking on whims. Otherwise, he’d feel guilty.
Seeing their intensity, he doubled down—got even pickier and sterner.
The later freshmen suffered for it.
Every few emerged with red eyes. Most applicants were girls anyway, especially the pretty ones.
Xu Yijing was spot on: the Art Troupe scooped the college’s top-tier looks.
Every girl who walked in was a knockout, averaging seventies or better in the looks department. Many had talents too—dance, song, instruments.
No doubt they’d been pampered “little fairies” their whole lives. A little pushback from Shen An, and the tears flowed.
Viewed that way, Zhao Qingyu hadn’t stuck him with a raw deal.
Interviewing was fun enough; interviewing cute girls? Jackpot.
Get even seedier: spot a favorite, give her a boost, then… opportunities galore once she was in.
But Shen An’s heart was stone. Beauty didn’t faze him. He stuck to the script, even as they whimpered. “Next,” he’d say coolly.
Not that he was some saint. He just knew: kindness to women was cheap, forgettable.
The right dose of toughness? That stuck.
As long as it didn’t turn to hate, future openings dwarfed mere “nice guy” vibes.
The others lacked his cynicism. They pegged him as heartless stone, unmoved by damsels in distress. Out in the hall, the freshmen gossip and dread thickened.
It was against this buzz that Wang Yuqiong reached the door of Room A105.
She didn’t rush to snoop. Instead, she hung back quietly, eavesdropping on the chatter for intel.
Soon she had the scoop: the interviewer was a handsome senior, but cold-hearted, by-the-book strict.
She brushed off the gripes and shade. Sour grapes from those denied favors—pure selfishness.
He was the interviewer. Fair and square was fairest.
She concealed these emotions perfectly, without a single trace showing on her face. Once she had gathered enough surface-level information, she leaned in with enthusiastic warmth, striking up conversations and probing for more specific details.
Wang Yuqiong had always been exceptionally skilled at dealing with people, men and women alike.
Beautiful women often eyed each other with instinctive rivalry, but none of the pretty young women in the room could hold a candle to Wang Yuqiong.
If their average looks rated in the seventies, then Wang Yuqiong’s beauty rivaled Zhao Qingyu’s—easily in the nineties and above, top-tier perfection.
Coupled with her slender one-point-seven-eight-meter frame, she exuded an overwhelming presence in both face and figure.
Yet before any subconscious hostility could surface, Wang Yuqiong’s gentle, disarming charm smoothed it all away like a spring rain.
Her smile was incredibly infectious, effortlessly winning over the trust of those around her.
With hardly any effort, Wang Yuqiong pieced together nearly everything about the interview process.
The questions varied from candidate to candidate, but patterns emerged—things that could be summarized and anticipated.
Wang Yuqiong jotted down the most common ones in her mind and, while waiting in line, silently rehearsed her responses.
Of course, she felt a twinge of nervousness too.
These girls, with their above-average looks, had been pampered since childhood. Someone like Wang Yuqiong, with her stunning beauty, went without saying.
When it came to securing the best offers, she was undeniably the top contender here.
Even though her mental resilience far outstripped the others and she had mentally prepared for the worst-case scenario, people always hoped deep down for the best outcome.
She couldn’t help wondering: what if the interviewer turned out to be completely unmoved by flattery, and she slipped up even a little?
Would she really get rejected?
She had no intention of resorting to crocodile tears or feigned vulnerability to garner sympathy. She simply hadn’t considered the possibility of failing.
Confidence, after all, was so often tied to one’s looks.
Wang Yuqiong appeared mild and poised on the surface, but the pride and self-esteem buried deep in her heart burned brighter than that of any other girl there.
Soon enough, one by one, they filed in and out. It was her turn.
“Next~”
The interviewer’s voice drifted from the classroom. Wang Yuqiong had already moved to the front of the line.
At the sound, a flicker of tension appeared on her delicate face.
But along with it came a spark of doubt.
This voice…
It sounded so familiar…
Almost like his?
No, that couldn’t be right~
Wang Yuqiong gave a self-deprecating chuckle in her mind. He was probably still racking his brains over how to handle Zhao Qingyu right now, wasn’t he?
Tch, stop overthinking it.
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and strode into the interview room with confident determination.
“Name.”
Shen An kept his head down, his pen scratching across the paper as he finished jotting down notes on the previous candidate.
“Shen An??”
The moment Wang Yuqiong pushed open the door and spotted him, her thoughts ground to a halt. The confidence on her face froze into stunned bewilderment, and when he asked for her name, she blurted it out without thinking.
Laced with unprecedented shock.
Huh?
Shen An blinked, lifting his head to meet Wang Yuqiong’s dazed and astonished gaze head-on.
Oh…
What an incredible coincidence!
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the interview room fell utterly silent.
