Without needing Qin Ze to push her, Qin Baobao declared with fighting spirit that she would practice singing, her ambitions burning hot.
Qin Ze was responsible for correcting and training her.
"Your voice can't tremble here. Carry it through in one breath."
"No, no, your voice is too high. It's not time for you to erupt yet. Before the rhythm starts, you have to stay calm, sorrowful, and low."
"I told you not to tremble. Why are you trembling again? Honestly, Qin Baobao, can you even do this? What a waste of such a good voice."
"You're not high when you should be high, and you're not low when you should be low. What exactly are you trying to do?"
"Your expression isn't invested enough, and your voice is too stiff. It doesn't feel like you're singing—it feels like a fool reciting scriptures. The most captivating thing about singing is that it can move people's hearts, but I can't see any emotional investment on your face at all."
"Bao Bao, this is a rock love song. Being too hyped won't work, but being too affectionate won't have the right flavor either. Why don't you just withdraw from I Am A Singer? You're a block of rotten wood. There's nothing I can do with you."
Having fighting spirit was a good thing, but reality was always full of obstacles. This song was easy to sing but difficult to sing well. No matter how Qin Ze listened, he was dissatisfied. Poor Qin Baobao's voice had gone hoarse.
"Stop, stop, stop. Rest for half an hour and let your throat recover." Qin Ze lifted his teacup for a sip and shook his head in disappointment.
Qin Baobao was angry, aggrieved, and dejected as she sprawled on the sofa and gulped down some water.