Chapter 11: "Trying to Steal a Chicken, Only to Lose the Rice"
By eight o’clock in the evening, the May sky was already growing dark. Yet inside the Mango Broadcasting Building, every floor was still ablaze with light.
Inside Ning Wei’s office—
“Well? How did it go? Give me your report!” Ning Wei spun a pen between his fingers as he questioned his assistant, Li Wei.
“We’ve pretty much uncovered everything. It all started with Amu stirring things up, then our rival, Tomato TV, picked up the thread and poured fuel on the fire. Honestly, it wasn’t easy to get to the bottom of it, but Amu, that fool, went straight to the studio we always use for such things and exposed himself. Quite the character.”
There were only a handful of major PR studios in the industry, and Mango was an old client—they knew the business well. When the studio realized Amu’s order couldn’t compare to a TV station’s volume, they simply sold him out, making a favor out of it in the process.
As Li Wei spoke, he pulled out his phone to show the chat screenshots from the studio. Ning Wei burst out laughing when he saw them. “That Amu really isn’t very bright! He can’t even hire trolls properly. Since he wants to play, let’s join him.”
“Go back to the studio and keep placing orders. I want the buzz to get even bigger—if we’re going to play, let’s play all the way.”
Ning Wei had already planned to use online hype to promote the show. Amu’s move simply made it easier.
Ning Wei was confident in Zhou Ran’s song. With his years of experience in the industry, he knew this was a solid piece.
Meanwhile, the instigator Amu was at home, grinning foolishly as he watched the show’s popularity soar on Weibo. He thought he’d single-handedly boosted the show’s heat and hyped up Zhou Ran, raising everyone’s expectations to the max. All Zhou Ran had to do was falter once, and he’d be mercilessly criticized. Amu didn’t believe Zhou Ran could turn out a masterpiece every time.
This time, Amu wasn’t hiding his intentions; he was deliberately setting Zhou Ran up for a fall, hoping to make the supposed “praise” backfire.
But what he hadn’t counted on was that Zhou Ran was no ordinary man—he was practically cheating at the game. In the end, Amu had gifted Zhou Ran a wave of popularity for nothing.
Three hours remained until the second episode aired.
On Weibo, “Who Is the King of Song” had already climbed to number one on the trending list, with “Original Singer Zhou Ran” right behind at number two. This wave of publicity sent the show’s popularity through the roof, introducing it to countless people who hadn’t watched before and putting Zhou Ran squarely in the spotlight, with expectations at an all-time high.
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Ear Emperor was a Weibo influencer with over a million followers, respected for his music critiques and a frequent judge on singing shows. His fame stemmed from his biting, honest reviews—most famously, he’d once roasted a pop idol so thoroughly that the star’s fans spent over a month bombarding his comment section. Ear Emperor, undeterred, continued reviewing their idol’s songs with the same candor.
His reviews were always brutally genuine.
Today, someone had paid him to review Zhou Ran’s song. Even so, he played fair: if the performance was good, he’d praise it, regardless of the singer’s fame; if not, he’d call it out.
He’d listened to Zhou Ran’s “Sunny Day” before and found it decent, though he felt the lyrics fell short of the melody and dismissed it as a fleeting success.
Punctually, Ear Emperor tuned in to Mango TV. He endured a barrage of advertisements, his patience wearing thin as he waited to begin his evaluation.
But the performance that followed left him stunned.
Zhou Ran took the stage.
The singing began. Although Zhou Ran’s technique had improved, Ear Emperor still found it lacking—until his opinion suddenly shifted. As he listened, he began to feel the sorrow Zhou Ran wished to convey, a meditation on life and death.
The song was rich with emotion. While the technique was imperfect, the feelings more than compensated. Music is meant to express emotion—just like “Father” by Old Boy, a song that once sparked homesickness in countless listeners.
Zhou Ran’s voice added a youthful quality to the performance, bringing out a sense of premature maturity, sensitivity, and the fragile melancholy of adolescence.
Ear Emperor suddenly realized the secret embedded in this song: “Eight Cups of Wine” subtly portrayed four stages of life—two cups for youthful courage and innocence, two for leaving home and growing up, two more for the hardships and sorrow of middle age, and the last two for the loneliness and partings of old age.
This song was not suited to a climactic, explosive ending. The final line—“The sober are the most absurd”—was filled with resignation, self-mockery, and loss.
When the song ended, Ear Emperor sat there, stunned, his mind blank.
“Did Zhou Ran, a newcomer, really write these lyrics?”
“Though his technique is lacking and some parts could be better handled, those very flaws give the song a sense of beautiful regret. Coupled with Zhou Ran’s unique youthful touch, it achieves a perfect balance.”
It took a long while for Ear Emperor to regain his composure. He had only one thought: he must seize the moment and write a serious review on Weibo right away. A song this good deserved to be heard!
He didn’t even bother watching the rest of the show and began typing his review.
For a critic as sharp-tongued as Ear Emperor to be so impressed, the song was destined to explode in popularity. It was like setting off a ton of dynamite by a small pond—the entire scene was blown wide open.
Even before the show ended, as soon as Zhou Ran’s performance finished, people started sharing their recommendations in their friend circles, and Weibo was soon flooded with posts.
Social media feeds were soon awash with lyrics from Zhou Ran’s “Dissolving Sorrow.”
“A cup to freedom, a cup to death”—this line became a motto, sweeping through friend circles as countless people organically promoted Zhou Ran.
On Weibo, “Original Singer Zhou Ran” shot straight to the top of the trending list.
Watching the show, Amu was left dumbfounded. What was going on? Why wasn’t this playing out according to plan? It felt as if things were about to go terribly wrong.