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The most dangerous criticism—
Isn't hate.
It's competence.
The message arrived the next afternoon.
Not public.Not anonymous.Sent directly to the business email.
Short.
Clean.
Professional.
"I attended the showcase last weekend.Your artist has potential, but also clear limitations.If you're serious, I'd like to give some feedback."
No praise.
No insults.
No emojis.
I reread it twice.
Then once more.
"This one's real," I muttered.
Yueyin was practicing when I told her.
She froze mid-note.
"…Is that bad?"
"No," I replied. "It's necessary."
She frowned. "Why does that sound scarier?"
"Because it is."
We agreed to meet at a quiet café.
Public place.
Daytime.
Neutral ground.
The man arrived on time.
Late thirties.Simple clothes.Eyes that evaluated before greeting.
"I'm Zhou Wen," he said. "Former vocal coach."
Former meant burned out—or pushed out.
Either way, experienced.
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"I'll be direct," Zhou Wen said after listening to Yueyin sing a short section.
She nodded stiffly.
"You rely on emotional tone," he continued. "It works now."
Yueyin relaxed slightly.
"But," he added calmly, "it will fail you later."
Her shoulders tensed again.
"Your breathing collapses under pressure," he said. "Your high notes are safe but predictable. And you hesitate before transitions."
Silence.
He didn't look at her.
He looked at me.
"You're managing her pacing well," he said. "That's rare."
I didn't react.
"But you're also sheltering her," he continued. "That's dangerous."
Yueyin clenched her fists.
"I'm not fragile," she said quickly.
Zhou Wen finally looked at her.
"I didn't say you were," he replied. "I said you're untested."
That hit harder.
Yueyin swallowed.
"…So what should I do?"
He paused.
Then said something unexpected.
"Keep singing in small rooms."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"For now," he said. "Your voice needs friction."
He stood up.
"I won't train you," he added. "Not yet."
Yueyin looked crushed.
"But," he continued, turning back, "if you're still singing six months from now—and improving—I'll reconsider."
Then he left.
No card.
No contact info.
Nothing.
Yueyin didn't speak for a while.
Neither did I.
Finally, she laughed weakly.
"…He didn't even like me."
I shook my head. "He respected you."
"That's worse."
"No," I said calmly. "That's better."
That night, Yueyin practiced longer than usual.
Not obsessively.
Deliberately.
She stopped when something felt wrong.
Repeated it.
Adjusted.
No complaints.
No pouting.
That worried me more than if she'd cried.
The system flickered.
[Evaluation Event Logged.]Growth pressure detected.
I dismissed it.
Pressure was part of the deal.
Later, Xiaoyu messaged me.
"She's quiet tonight."
"She's thinking," I replied.
A pause.
Then:
"You didn't protect her from that."
I stared at the screen.
"I protected her from worse."
She didn't reply immediately.
When she did, it was simple.
"Then you did the right thing."
Before sleeping, Yueyin knocked softly.
"…Am I really that average?"
I didn't lie.
"You are right now."
She winced.
"But," I continued, "average people don't get comments like that."
She nodded slowly.
"…I'll prove him wrong."
I met her eyes.
"Prove yourself first."
She smiled.
Tired.
Determined.
This was the first real wall.
Not fame.
Not money.
But standards.
And once those appear—
You either grow.
Or disappear quietly.
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