"Want to be a resident singer at Ye Se? That's not easy." Tan You and the bartender's conversation was clearly overheard. A middle-aged man at the bar turned slightly, quickly sizing up Tan You before speaking in a slightly flippant tone.
Tan You glanced at him. He wore a flowered shirt, ripped jeans, and had a pair of sunglasses hanging from his collar. To put it nicely, it was a hip-hop look. To put it less kindly, he looked a bit like a street punk.
Tan You wasn't the least bit angered by his tone. 'In the world of fame and fortune, why would anyone respect you right off the bat? You have to show them what you're capable of first.' To put it bluntly, this industry was just that cruel, and just that realistic.
And at Ye Se, ability naturally earned you respect. At the very least, that was relatively fair. After all, they didn't care about your looks or background, which gave ordinary people a chance.
