Chapter 81: Rejecting Clichés, Refusing to Play the Victim

"Hello, esteemed judges. My name is Zhang Yan-hong, and I am a hostess."
After Ning Dou-dou stepped off the stage, a young woman with heavy makeup and fashionable attire strode onto the platform, her towering heels clicking loudly.
She looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six years old.
The audience below had little interest in heavily made-up women like her, especially after the fresh and charming Ning Dou-dou had just performed, creating a stark contrast. Naturally, their enthusiasm waned.
These young men had come mainly to watch beautiful girls, after all.
But with her very first introduction, this woman instantly piqued everyone's curiosity. A buzz of commentary swept the crowd—some cheered, others admired her boldness, and many watched with keen interest...
The three judges on stage were visibly taken aback by Zhang Yan-hong’s self-introduction.
Fortunately, Li Wei-dong, the seasoned host, reacted swiftly. Two dry coughs dissolved the awkwardness, and he announced,
"Anyone with a dream is remarkable... Well then, please begin your performance."
"Wait, I want to tell my story first."
"No stories, please proceed directly to your talent performance," Li Wei-dong reminded urgently, fearing a sob story.
But Zhang Yan-hong ignored the judges’ cues and did not cherish her minute of stage time as other contestants did.
Instead, she gripped the microphone and addressed the crowd below with a loud, impassioned voice:
I was born in a remote mountain village, my family was so poor that we never had new clothes and rarely ate our fill. To help my parents lighten their burden, I never went to school.
Instead, I helped them chop wood in the mountains, then carried it down to sell.
Every day was a struggle, climbing up and down those hills. A single trip took a whole day, especially in the bitter cold of winter. Sometimes, my shoes would wear through, and I’d have to finish the journey barefoot, my feet frozen and bleeding.
But the very next day, I’d have to go again, for we had to survive and support two younger brothers.
We were so weak, each time we went to the market to sell wood, local bullies would harass us. Sometimes, we wouldn’t sell a single piece all day and would even get beaten...
"Stop, stop, stop. Our program rejects sob stories, rejects gimmicks, rejects contestants who only tell tales..."
"Contestant, your time is running out. Please begin your performance..."
The judges on stage grew impatient seeing her try to elicit pity. Nowadays, talent shows are heavily criticized for being competitions of misery, with too many contestants playing the victim.
The production team was determined to prevent such situations, which is why the audition time for each contestant was strictly limited to one minute, to cut off storytelling and pity tactics.
Yet Zhang Yan-hong remained oblivious to the judges’ impatience and urging, and continued her impassioned speech to the audience below, microphone in hand:

When I was young, my only dream was to let my parents eat their fill, to let my brothers eat their fill. If we could have meat once in a while, that would be happiness.
Because my family was poor, I never went to school, so I’m not very bright.
My thinking is simple.
At fourteen, I was tricked by a middle-aged man who took advantage of me. Afterwards, he handed me nine yuan.
He told me he’d take me to strike it rich, to change my fate, that he’d turn a chicken into a phoenix.
He took me to the forefront of reform—Dongguan.
When I arrived, I realized I’d been deceived, and my life plunged into darkness...
From that day on, in salons, hotels, train stations, and parks, I could be seen soliciting customers...
Every day I endured the advances of drunken, aged, ugly men...
Each time I earned only twenty or thirty yuan, most of which the middle-aged man took from me.
Days went by, then years.
I witnessed the rapid rise of Dongguan, saw the city’s brilliance, but for women like us, our sky remained gray.
I have dreams too, my dream...
Bang—
Li Wei-dong could bear it no longer and slammed the table.
Seeing this, Zhang Yan-hong reluctantly stopped speaking; it seemed that if the judge hadn’t done so, she would have continued indefinitely.
"Stop, just stop. Contestant, do you realize your performance time is over and you’re wasting time for others?"
"Oh, no. Why are you here? Where’s your talent?"
"Well, your story was touching, but we don’t need storytellers now. Please leave the stage."
The judges were no longer merely impatient, but truly angry.
They had been flashing red cards and calling for her to stop, but Zhang Yan-hong paid no heed and continued with gusto. Li Wei-dong finally slammed the table several times to show his fury.
The audience below, after hearing her lengthy tale, was not moved but instead responded with boos.
Who knows if it’s true—clearly a sob story.
Li Wei-dong saw that Zhang Yan-hong still refused to leave the stage and shouted angrily:
"Contestant, please leave at once. Don’t waste any more time for others. If you don’t step down, I’ll call security."
"No, I haven’t performed my talent yet. I won’t leave. If you won’t let me perform, I might as well die here."

Zhang Yan-hong was resolute, showing no intention of leaving.
Without regard for the judges’ reactions, she began her own show, singing and dancing. She chose a classic old song, “The Tears of the Dancing Girl”:
A single misstep, a lifetime of regret
Dancing for a living by the sea
A dancing girl is a human too
Who can I confess my pain to?
Forced by life’s hardships
Every tear swallowed in silence
Is this fate, destined
A lifetime spent in the dust
Dance and sway, embrace and hold
Dignity drowned in wine
Who cares I am a dancing girl...
On stage, Zhang Yan-hong sang with abandon, completely lost in her performance, as if the stage belonged to her alone.
She wore an expression of bliss, unstoppable.
But it was agony for the judges and the audience. Her singing was tone-deaf, resembling wails from beyond the grave, and her dancing could only be described as suggestive and vulgar.
The three judges were already flashing red cards and calling for her to stop.
The crowd below kept up a steady stream of derision from the moment she opened her mouth, but Zhang Yan-hong ignored it all, continuing her ecstatic performance.
"Damn, is this singing? It sounds like a sow howling!"
"I can’t take it anymore. It’s an insult to my ears and eyes. Ugly people always make a scene."
"This must be a publicity stunt to get famous. Get off, get off, it’s disgusting."
"Security, security, get her off the stage..."
Seeing Zhang Yan-hong’s dreadful performance, the three judges felt as if they might cough blood. Li Wei-dong finally could not endure it any longer and called for security to drag her off the stage...