Chapter 53: Wang Han's Unlikely Friendship Across Generations

In the evening, after enjoying the dinner Wenrun had prepared in advance, Ren Qian took a car to the Jiangnan Provincial Broadcasting Building.

The recording of the “Day by Day Upwards” program was being held inside the broadcasting building. Ren Qian arrived nearly two hours early and stood outside the entrance.

People bustled to and fro in front of the building—sightseers peered in curiously, while scalpers wove through the crowd, hawking tickets they’d managed to acquire through certain channels.

One such scalper approached Ren Qian, speaking in a thick Jiangnan accent, trying to persuade him to buy a ticket. “The show’s about to start, and it’s nearly impossible to get a seat for ‘Day by Day Upwards.’ But I’ve got tickets—just three hundred yuan and you’re in.”

Ren Qian was speechless. He raised his hand to decline and walked straight toward the building.

Upon learning that he was part of the Dream of the Red Chamber crew, the staff verified his information and led him to the makeup room.

“Young man, not many come so early like you. Han is one of them.”

Jiangnan TV’s famous host Wang Han also often arrived two hours early, spending the time in the lounge reviewing scripts, memorizing lines, and connecting them with his own knowledge.

The staff member thus automatically categorized Ren Qian as someone meticulous and destined for greatness.

“You should wear this suit—it’ll make you look more mature and composed. I’ll give your hair a slight wave, and after makeup, you can wait in the lounge. Take the opportunity to chat with Han if you can—seize the moment.”

The makeup artist handed him the clothes, which bore a small sponsor’s logo—a bit of advertising, really.

Obediently, Ren Qian took the clothes, changed in the dressing room, and transformed from a sunny youth into a poised, successful man of presence.

“Standing dumbly before the mirror,
The face of youth in memory lingers.
Comb your hair like a grown man,
Slip on a dashing suit—”

Ren Qian hummed the tune as he walked out, feeling a surge of pride: this appearance truly was a gift from the heavens.

Blessed with a fine voice and striking looks, possessing the musical heritage of another world, and surrounded by beauty and affection—his life was already so blessed, it felt complete.

“Hm, you’ve got the figure for it. Now let me do your hair.”

Ren Qian sat as told, letting the friendly makeup artist work her magic.

“All done, you look great. Go straight down the hall to the lounge. Han is usually there, but be sure not to bother him when he’s studying—wait until he’s free.”

The makeup artist, ever helpful, pointed him in the right direction. Ren Qian thanked her and set off.

There were only a few people in the lounge since it was still early. Wang Han was among them, script in hand, memorizing his lines.

In reality, there’s a prompter in the middle of the audience seating, just in case the host forgets his lines and things go awry.

If you ever attended a live taping of “Day by Day Upwards” in China, you’d notice that, aside from Wang Han, the other hosts glance at the prompter now and then.

Qian Feng, in particular, relied on it heavily.

During the program, a director would also write reminders with a marker on the ground in the center aisle, prompting the hosts about the next segment.

Thus, the other hosts saw little reason to come early and memorize their lines.

But this was what set Wang Han apart.

Years of steady dedication allowed him to recite the run of a show backwards and forwards.

That’s why he was the pillar of Jiangnan Broadcasting—and capable of holding his own on any grand occasion.

From a distance, Ren Qian observed Wang Han. He was nearly identical to his counterpart in the other world: same age, short beard, black-rimmed glasses, sharp yet gentle eyes—a scholar’s air.

Ren Qian couldn’t help but recall Wang Han’s stunning performance during the finale of “I Am a Singer.”

During the live show, Sun Nan had suddenly announced his withdrawal from the competition, throwing the backstage crew into chaos.

This was a live broadcast disaster!

Handled poorly, over a hundred million viewers at home would switch channels in a heartbeat.

Handled poorly, the five hundred-strong jury would whisper and the scene would spiral out of control.

Yet Wang Han, relying on his immense professionalism and commanding presence, defused what could have been a catastrophe for the entire station—not something just anyone could manage.

“I wonder how many are hoping to climb this big tree,” Ren Qian mused, smiling, suddenly remembering that this world had yet to see a show like “I Am a Singer.” That performance artist’s name last time—wasn’t it Hong Tao? Was he really a director, or just a madman…?

As his thoughts wandered, a shadow suddenly fell over him.

“Young man, not bad—here so early?”

He looked up to see Wang Han himself. The host’s kindly expression seemed to approve of Ren Qian’s early arrival.

“I’m just a country boy, here to see the Grand View Garden.”

Uh…

Wang Han was taken aback. Usually, people greeted him respectfully as Brother Han, introduced themselves, said they watched his shows, and asked for guidance.

Why was this young man’s answer so peculiar?

Wang Han, who liked to control the tempo and atmosphere, felt a bit uneasy.

“Are you here for the program? What kind of guest are you?”

“I came with the Dream of the Red Chamber crew—not an actor, not a director, just a composer here to broaden my horizons,” Ren Qian replied with a smile.

“The Dream of the Red Chamber TV series? I watch that often! You’re Ren Qian, aren’t you? I’m a fan! Whether it’s ‘A Maid’s Lament’ or ‘The Song of Good Fortune,’ I love them all. Especially ‘A Chronicle of the Stone’—I can’t get enough!”

Wang Han spoke animatedly, without a hint of pretension.

After listening to those classical pieces, he’d followed Ren Qian online and was startled to find he wasn’t a seasoned veteran, but a young man.

Later, discovering there had been some friction between Ren Qian and Wan Feng, Wang Han concluded Ren Qian was a young man of sharp talent.

Yet, meeting in person, Ren Qian turned out to be calm and reserved, with a maturity rare among his peers.

“You flatter me,” Ren Qian replied modestly, feeling awkward under Wang Han’s easy familiarity.

But Wang Han didn’t mind in the slightest. He plopped down beside him and began discussing those songs in depth, then extended the conversation into a wide-ranging analysis of Dream of the Red Chamber.

Ren Qian, with the soul of a forty-year-old and considerable study of the Four Great Classics, was more than up to the topic. Whatever Wang Han brought up, he parried deftly, at times borrowing the wisdom of great scholars from the other world, leaving Wang Han astonished.

Back and forth, the two chatted animatedly.

Soon, time had flown by. The guests had all arrived, the hosts were ready, and the director was calling out instructions. The show was about to begin!

“Ren Qian, my young friend, take a moment to rest here. I’ll see you on the show.”

Even as he was about to go on stage, Wang Han didn’t forget to say a word.

It seemed he already regarded Ren Qian as a friend, regardless of age.