Chapter 22: The Frenzy of Betrayal (Support the New Book)

The enthusiastic citizen’s comment wasn’t particularly long, but the replies beneath it were countless.

[Enthusiastic Citizen]: “I don’t know which brand of headphones Little Red String uses, but I’m certain they’re not worth two thousand summer coins, because headphones that expensive would never be stuffed with pig bristles.”

“Maybe I said it wrong—pig bristles aren’t necessarily in headphones.”

“………………”

“……………………”

“In the end, you can criticize He Luoluo, but to slander ‘Melancholy’ is simply a sign of brain trouble.”

“@Little Red String.”

Old Black: ????

Damn it!

Old Black was furious, trembling all over with rage.

Was this person insane?

What had he done to deserve someone writing an essay to attack him?

Seething, his eyes fell upon the subsequent replies.

[Good Citizen]: “This move by Little Red String really impressed me. In all my years, I’ve never seen someone stick their butt out and wait to be kicked. @Little Red String.”

[Kabuda]: “Criticizing He Luoluo is fine, but slandering ‘Melancholy’ is a sign of brain trouble. @Little Red String.”

[084646]: “+1, @Little Red String.”

[Yo-Yo]: “My uncle is the director of psychiatry, and if you need, I can book you an appointment. Free of charge, since you seem to have no money anyway. @Little Red String.”

The replies beneath the enthusiastic citizen’s comment were fairly civil, mostly repeating, ‘You can criticize He Luoluo, but slandering ‘Melancholy’ is unacceptable.’

Old Black’s comment, on the other hand, received no such courtesy—only a torrent of curses, each one gleaming with wit.

Not only did they insult him, they did so in creative ways, never using a single vulgar word.

Because vulgarities would risk their accounts being banned.

“I—I damn it!”

By this point, Old Black’s composure had completely collapsed, and he finally understood just how difficult this job was.

He also realized how foolish he had been.

He had used the power of professional internet trolls to challenge thousands of netizens head-on.

He should have known.

Those downloading the full version of ‘Melancholy’ weren’t He Luoluo’s fans—they were his haters.

They paid to download it solely because of the song ‘Melancholy,’ not because of its performer, He Luoluo.

After suffering through the chopped-up version of ‘Melancholy’ for more than ten days, the netizens’ anger was quick to ignite.

When the full version was finally released.

They cursed He Luoluo while listening to the completed ‘Melancholy.’

Such joy.

Then, at that moment, a sudden comment appeared slandering ‘Melancholy.’

The netizens erupted.

The anger that had subsided surged back, all aimed at the hateful post.

If you criticize He Luoluo, I’ll give you a thumbs up and reply.

But if you slander ‘Melancholy,’ you’re disregarding us thousands of netizens.

This wave of troll attacks achieved nothing but propelling He Luoluo into the New Talent Chart’s top ten.

...

Lazy Culture.

Dance rehearsal studio.

Eighteen-year-old Lan Lingling faced the mirror, practicing dance moves, her fragrant sweat flying, her tight clothes soaked through.

Her short hair clung to her flushed cheeks, beads of sweat dripped from her pointed chin, sliding along her collarbone.

Just then, the studio door was pushed open from outside and a slightly chubby girl rushed in, screaming, “Lingling! Lingling! Big news, big news!”

Lan Lingling, glistening with sweat, didn’t pause, panting, “What is it?”

“An Chuxia’s top spot on the April New Talent Chart is in jeopardy,” her assistant said with a grin.

“Oh?”

Lan Lingling halted, grabbed a towel and wiped her sweat as she spoke, “The April New Talent Chart is dominated by An Chuxia from Brilliant Entertainment. It’s a prearranged deal among all the companies—how could it be at risk?”

Mentioning the April New Talent Chart, her expression dimmed, full of unwillingness.

Lan Lingling also debuted in April, but only as An Chuxia’s supporting cast, per the unwritten rules of every entertainment company.

The prime recommendation resources for the April New Talent Chart belonged to Brilliant Entertainment; other companies wouldn’t purposely compete.

Of course, if Brilliant’s candidate was truly subpar and someone from another company overtook them, it couldn’t be helped.

The companies’ tacit understanding was only about recommendation resources.

Resources were limited, and no company would maliciously compete with Brilliant for top ad spots in April.

It was a rule for mutual benefit.

Her assistant hugged a tablet: “He Luoluo released the full version of ‘Melancholy.’ In just one day, he entered the top ten of the New Talent Chart.”

Lan Lingling froze: “Which company is He Luoluo with?”

She had heard of He Luoluo’s infamy, and had spent sleepless nights because of him.

“He’s an independent musician—no label, no recommendation resources,” the assistant said, still shocked by the feat.

Without any recommendation, to break into the top ten in a single day was terrifying.

After a long pause.

Lan Lingling digested the news, her furrowed brow relaxing as her beautiful lips curved upward.

“Tell the fan club to subtly direct traffic toward He Luoluo, but don’t give Brilliant Entertainment any leverage,” Lan Lingling said calmly, her words nearly causing her assistant to drop the tablet.

Since she couldn’t get first place, An Chuxia shouldn’t get it either. Better to let someone else reap the benefit... Lan Lingling’s repressed emotions found release.

Her company had scheduled her debut for April; Lan Lingling had no choice.

But now, with a chance to undermine An Chuxia, she was more than willing.

“Lingling, what about Sister Yue?” her assistant asked nervously.

She was just a junior, unable to offend anyone.

Lan Lingling replied, “I’ll talk to Sister Yue. Just do as I say. Remember, don’t let Brilliant Entertainment get any leverage.”

A few covert maneuvers were fine, but if it was caught and made public, neither company would look good.

Lan Lingling wasn’t alone in wanting to sabotage An Chuxia; many sacrificial lambs on the April New Talent Chart had similar thoughts.

They were pushed by their companies as filler; if they got popular, it was luck, and if not, it was expected.

One new top artist per month—twelve a year.

With so many newcomers each year, even the chart toppers might not be remembered by the public, let alone the rest.

But only Lan Lingling took action; the others watched.

Once someone made the first move, they wouldn’t hesitate to follow.

Though secretly helping He Luoluo brought them no benefit, as long as it knocked An Chuxia down, it was satisfying.

Even if it wasn’t their name at the top, they’d contributed.

It brought a sense of participation.

When An Chuxia received the news, her exquisite face was clouded, cursing those people for their shamelessness.

“They deserve not to succeed, acting so petty,” her assistant said, swinging her fist indignantly on An Chuxia’s behalf.

“What did Sister Li say?” An Chuxia asked angrily.

She trusted the company would intervene.

Her assistant reassured her, “Sister Li said not to worry, the company will handle everything.”

“Those abandoned by their companies aren’t popular anyway, with just a handful of fans, yet they want to channel traffic to others—ridiculous.” The little fox conveyed her agent Xu Li’s exact words, assuring An Chuxia that the top spot would be hers.

An Chuxia sat fuming on the sofa, feeling wronged.

Those people were pushed out as cannon fodder by their own companies, not by her.

Lacking ability and envying others—so hateful.

Her assistant glanced at the time and hurried, “Chuxia, it’s time to go.”

“Which event?” An Chuxia asked wearily, troubled by those stabbing her in the back.

She’d already rushed to two events today, both for her new song’s promotion.

Her assistant replied, “The ‘Happy Theater’ show on Xiang TV.”

Meanwhile, subtle changes were brewing on the official music New Talent Chart...