Chapter 984: Strategic Talent

Even without searching, Luo Quan now knew this middle-aged man was a comedian—he’d been performing for laughs from start to finish, cracking a few jokes that had everyone roaring.

But the more comfortably he could act so freely in front of so many celebrity beauties, the more it proved his status and seniority were immense.

On one hand, he had years of experience; on the other, even his bolder jokes wouldn’t make anyone angry.

Although Luo Quan hadn’t appeared on many variety shows, she could still recognize these basic dynamics.

While everyone was laughing, Luo Quan also learned the host’s identity.

Li He, the flagship host of Duoyuan Entertainment Channel, had nearly a century of hosting experience, having hosted dozens of programs large and small since his debut, most of which received rave reviews.

This male host’s style was witty and humorous, and he loved interacting with female guests, using popular jokes to create highlights.

In his early days, he was criticized for being too familiar and disrespectful, but as his seniority and status grew, those criticisms faded away, replaced entirely by praise for his hosting skills.

In the hosting industry, especially in entertainment programs, those with over fifty years of experience were already rare gems; hosts like Li He, with a hundred years under their belt, were treasures of every channel, wielding enormous influence and vast resources.

So when female stars were teased, they all played along—it was just harmless banter.

Although Li He played the role of a lecher on stage, he maintained perfect boundaries—he had never been exposed for any groping or predatory behavior to this day.

No matter what he was like behind the scenes, on stage he was a gentleman wrapped in the guise of a lewd uncle.

Beyond that, he was also a veteran of the entertainment industry and a walking treasure trove of connections.

Whoever cultivated a good relationship with him wouldn’t necessarily have a smooth path to stardom, but they’d never lack for roles.

So of the ten women on stage, eight greeted him like family, beaming with joy.

But Luo Quan could easily see through their forced smiles—when it came to acting, these actresses still lacked the polish.

Of the two women who didn’t laugh heartily, one was Luo Quan, the other was Chu Yueyan.

The latter was the highest-ranked among the ten beauties on stage.

Excluding women who didn’t compete—like the Empress or the Holy Maiden—Chu Yueyan was arguably the most beautiful in the universe.

After seeing her in person, Luo Quan couldn’t help but marvel at how otherworldly this woman’s beauty was—every frown and smile held the power to control heartbeats and breathing.

Her makeup wasn’t flamboyant, but the natural peach blush on her cheeks made her seem caught between gentle serenity and delicate shyness.

Her exquisite face, like cold porcelain and frosty jade, was sculpted by flawless curves, her features perfectly harmonized to radiate a brilliance that dimmed everything else.

When her eyes met the stage lights for an instant, it was like a dazzling, beautiful firefly dancing in the sunset’s glow—heart-stopping.

Luo Quan had always complained she had no rivals—even after meeting Xu Yanqing, she still held that view.

But after meeting Chu Yueyan, her heart finally wavered.

This woman truly could match her in beauty.

She was undoubtedly the universe’s officially recognized most beautiful woman—labeled a Level Nine peak, but Luo Quan felt she’d already stepped half a foot into Level Ten, utterly unlike the other nine at her level.

No wonder everyone treated her with such deference—not just because of her status and popularity, but because they knew they couldn’t compete with her.

As for Li He’s jokes, Chu Yueyan looked utterly uninterested, as if forced to perform.

Luo Quan knew this state all too well—it was just like her own past, when she’d wanted to slack off but was dragged onstage anyway.

Only Chu Yueyan concealed it better.

“Luo Quan, why are you staring at Yueyan so intently?”

Li He’s sudden question jolted Luo Quan, shifting all attention to her.

As the lowest-ranked among the top ten beauties, she normally had no camera time—but Li He’s eyes were sharp enough to catch where her gaze was fixed.

“No, I just noticed Sister Chu Yueyan is incredibly beautiful, so I couldn’t help but look a little longer.”

Luo Quan didn’t hide it—she spoke plainly.

Chu Yueyan, intrigued by Luo Quan’s honesty, began to study this young woman with the look of a Shenyou Federation native.

Hmm… her facial structure was undeniably that of a world-class beauty, so why did the final result fall just short?

Her skin and figure were excellent—why was there still something missing?

No one could answer this question yet, because Li He clearly had more questions for Luo Quan: “Luo Quan, who do you think is more beautiful—you or Chu Yueyan?”

Luo Quan’s eyelid twitched, then she grinned: “Of course Sister Chu Yueyan is more beautiful—the netizens have already ranked us; that’s the most objective and fair ranking.”

To be honest, this was the first time she’d admitted someone else was more beautiful than her—it felt strange.

While correct, her answer had zero drama.

If she were someone who loved publicity, she’d have said: “Chu Yueyan might be prettier now, but who knows about the future?”

The universe’s legal age of adulthood was twenty, but development continued until thirty.

Luo Quan was under twenty-five—technically, she could still change naturally, so this wasn’t wrong, avoided backlash, and helped the production team generate buzz.

Li He had practically fed her the line, but Luo Quan refused to bite.

“This new generation isn’t easy to work with…”

Li He sighed inwardly, but decided to give Luo Quan another chance: “As the youngest among the ten, how about you open the talent performance segment?”

“No problem.” Luo Quan agreed without hesitation—this was probably the one thing she was most skilled at on stage.

Her swift acceptance surprised Li He: “I thought you’d shyly refuse.”

“Because performing is my strength,” Luo Quan said confidently.

“Then go ahead,” Li He gestured invitingly. “The stage is yours to command.”

“Actually, I’ve already recorded my performance on a crystal chip—just play it for everyone,” Luo Quan said, holding up a small crystal.

Before joining the show, she’d been notified that a performance would be required.

Since she couldn’t reveal the performance she’d prepared for the Annals Assembly, everyone had to come up with something else.

Fortunately, Luo Quan had no shortage of acts—she immediately prepared Plan B.

Because it was a symphony, one person couldn’t produce its grandeur, so she had to use a recording.

Fortunately, Li He didn’t mind—he stood to the side, arms crossed, waiting.

Seeing this, Luo Quan handed the crystal to the crew and told them to play it.

Soon, the giant screen behind the stage showed multiple Luo Quans—some holding a conductor’s baton, others playing various instruments.

If any Shangyi students were here, they’d recognize this scene instantly.

When Luo Quan had competed before, people had criticized her for using an entire orchestra in a solo contest, calling it unfair.

So she simply became the entire orchestra herself—performing every single part of the symphony alone, then stitching them together.

Such a performance didn’t need a conductor, but for ceremonial effect, she added one anyway.

That solo-orchestra image had stunned countless people back then; now, reenacted on the universe’s stage, it drew endless awe.

In the universe, mastering multiple skills wasn’t hard—but mastering them all deeply was not simple. It required not just talent, but relentless, decade-long dedication.

These alien instruments, though many were unidentifiable, numbered dozens—none repeated—and mastering them all would take decades.

Crucially, these estimates were based on universe standards.

But Luo Quan came from a level-two backward planet—she lacked the universe’s superior genetics and abundant educational resources.

Yet despite starting far behind, she’d achieved what most universe natives couldn’t.

And she wasn’t just multi-talented—her martial talent was absurdly high, and her beauty held real promise of breaking into Level Nine.

Combined, these traits made the audience wonder: Was she really a genius from some great family, sent out to endure hardship?

The odds of such a divine being emerging from random DNA pairing were simply too low.

But whether the audience believed it or not, the miracle of life stood before them—and would now show them just how miraculous life could be.

The video began. Luo Quan raised her baton. All the Luo Quans played in unison under its command.

(PS. Song title: New Continent, also known as Dvořák’s Ninth Symphony, Fourth Movement)

Listeners initially thought this was a gentle, lyrical piece—but within three seconds, the surging melody shattered that illusion.

The music, like a ship setting sail, created an intensely stirring, blood-pumping atmosphere, raising goosebumps on nearly every listener.

Then, as the song reached its climax, a towering giant’s shadow appeared on stage.

The giant held a long sword, raising his arm and shouting as if rallying his soldiers to charge.

The shadow instantly turned the audience’s abstract emotional response into something tangible.

A surge of adrenaline, an uncontrollable urge to fight, swept through every viewer.

Fortunately, Duoyuan Entertainment Channel immediately released a blue aura, calming those affected.

The song ended swiftly. Luo Quan waited nervously for the audience’s reaction.

A solo symphony was flashy, but she didn’t know if they’d like it.

The audience’s expressions shifted dramatically—initially excited, but gradually relaxing, leaving Luo Quan uncertain.

Her anxiety ended only when Li He stood and clapped loudly.

He clapped hard, prompting the entire audience—on and off stage—to erupt in applause.

“Luo Quan, if you’re already bringing out a symphony like this, what will you do at the Annals Assembly?”

Amid the applause, Li He asked, concerned.

Of course, Li He knew Luo Quan had something else prepared—he was just prompting her to showcase her talent—but Luo Quan refused to play along.

“Symphony? What’s a symphony?” Luo Quan had never heard the term before.

“You really…” Li He stared at her, torn between laughter and exasperation, thinking: Can’t you just cooperate?

But since she’d asked, and he happened to know, he answered seriously:

“The finest music can give birth to Song Spirits. The greatest Song Spirits can profoundly influence emotions across vast areas. If they inspire positive feelings, they’re called War Songs.”

“Your piece, though only summoning a spectral Song Spirit, already possesses War Song effects—indicating tremendous potential.”

“Typically, War Songs can’t be performed casually—they cause uncontrolled emotional shifts and risk accidents.”

“So when used for entertainment, the channel must equip Song Spirit Dampeners to weaken their impact.”

Fortunately, although Duoyuan Entertainment Channel hadn’t anticipated Luo Quan would perform a War Song, all emergency equipment was ready—so the War Song’s effect didn’t last long.

If we switched channels, we’d probably already have had a live broadcast disaster.

“So that’s how it is.” Luo Quan finally understood why the audience below had suddenly shifted from excitement to calm—it must have been the Song Spirit Jammer at work.

“If I remember correctly, you’re only twenty-four, right? At such a young age, composing music on the level of a War Song—back in those turbulent times, you’d have been a definite strategic-level talent!”

Li He recentered the topic on the show and began lavishing praise on Luo Quan.

The term “strategic-level talent” was absurd—Luo Quan dared not accept it, and simply laughed it off with, “Teacher Li, you’re too kind.”

Seeing how clueless she was, Li He grew frustrated and stopped feeding her lines, turning instead to interview other female stars.