Life countdown begins, ice queen bursts into security room

Two o'clock in the morning, on the banks of the Xiangjiang River in Changsha.

The curtains in the private room on the top floor of that private club were drawn tightly shut, with only a table lamp on.

Zhang Yihan stood in the corner of the room, still wearing her burgundy dress and makeup, her eyeliner slightly smudged, looking somewhat disheveled.

The door was pushed open from the outside.

Qin Wanhao's assistant walked in. He was in his early forties, with a round face, and his suit jacket was buttoned up neatly.

He stopped in front of Qin Wanhao, his voice very low.

"Mr. Qin, it's been confirmed. Some people... have received their refunds."

Qin Wanhao's fingers stopped on the sofa armrest.

How many people?

"The exact number is still being tallied, but the preliminary estimate is... forty or fifty people."

The private room was silent for five or six seconds.

The lights of the Xiangjiang River outside the window couldn't penetrate; only the table lamp illuminated half of Qin Wanhao's face, while the other half remained in shadow.

"Who are these people who are asking for refunds?"

"They're scattered throughout various districts. Some are music students, others are working professionals. Our contact person asked around, and most of them gave similar reasons—"

The assistant paused, carefully considering his words for two seconds.

"They said they didn't want to vote after listening to Shen Nian's song."

Qin Wanhao didn't reply, but picked up the whiskey on the coffee table and poured himself a glass.

The ice cubes hit the side of the glass with a clinking sound.

Two votes.

With 300 votes cast, the odds of winning couldn't be higher, but they ended up losing by two votes.

This result is even more frustrating than losing by fifty votes.

Fifty votes means we're not strong enough, I admit it.

Two votes—that means his plan was originally enough, but he was ultimately defeated by someone else.

Qin Wanhao downed the drink in his glass in one gulp.

The cup slipped from my hand.

The whiskey glass smashed on the floor and shattered.

The glass shards bounced far away, with a few landing near Zhang Yihan's feet.

Zhang Yihan took two steps back, her high heels screeching on the shards.

"President Qin—"

"come over."

Qin Wanhao's voice was not loud, and he showed no intention of discussing it.

He patted the sofa next to him.

"sit."

Zhang Yihan glanced at the broken glass on the ground, walked around a corner, and sat down next to him.

Qin Wanhao turned his head away.

The light shone from the side, and Zhang Yihan's makeup was smudged; her mascara had smudged under her eyes, and the redness on the tip of her nose hadn't faded.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Qin, I—"

Qin Wanhao reached out and rubbed his thumb against the corner of her eye, wiping away the smudged mascara.

The actions weren't particularly rough, but they weren't exactly gentle either.

"It's not your fault about the two votes."

Zhang Yihan pursed her lips and didn't reply.

"I'll rearrange things for the next session." Qin Wanhao moved his hand from her face to her chin and pinched it, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy.

"But you also have to prove yourself. Simply piling up votes won't work; you have to be impeccable."

"I know."

"Good to know."

Qin Wanhao released his grip and sank deeper into the sofa.

Zhang Yihan sat next to her, her hands clasped together, her nails digging into her palms.

The numbers show that they are only two votes apart.

But she knew better than anyone that some things—could not be bought with money.

"Yihan".

Qin Wanhao's voice brought her back to reality.

"Um?"

Qin Wanhao tugged at his tie and loosened the first button.

His gaze swept down over Zhang Yihan's neckline.

"I'm very angry right now."

Zhang Yihan paused for a second.

Then he lowered his head.

The assistant turned and walked out, his footsteps very light, and the door closed from the outside with a click.

The corridor returned to silence.

The assistant stood at the door, took out his phone, and glanced at the time.

2:17 a.m.

He pulled up his contacts, found a number with the nickname "K", and typed a message:

"The next list needs to be re-screened. This group of people is unreliable."

After sending the message, I deleted the chat history, put my phone back in my pocket, leaned against the wall, and waited expressionlessly.

-

Star City, penthouse suite at the hotel.

When Tang Yingxue came out of the bath, the belt of her bathrobe was tied loosely and the neckline was wide open.

She opened the trending topics list on her phone.

#Shen Nian wins two consecutive championships#

#InvisibleWings#

#Zhang Yihan and Shen Nian's two-vote difference in "The Voice of China"#

She clicked on the third entry.

Some people in the comments section have already raised questions.

"Zhang Yihan 546, Chen Hao 468, can someone explain this to me?"

"Chen Hao's rock cover was one of the most explosive performances tonight, yet he got 78 fewer votes than Zhang Yihan? Why?"

"Stop with the conspiracy theories, okay? She really sang well tonight."

"And Shen Nian only won by two votes... the more I look at the data, the more wrong it seems."

Tang Yingxue placed her phone face down on the table.

The term "two votes' difference" is not going in the right direction.

There are only a few scattered doubts at the moment, but this kind of thing can't stand the test of time.

Anyone with a modicum of common sense could see that something was wrong.

By then, the term "conspiracy theory" will become uncontrollable.

Qin Wanhao has always been known for his bold and decisive approach to things.

With 300 tickets distributed, there are at least four or five middlemen involved.

Any jury member who has been paid could cause problems if they don't keep their mouth shut.

A year ago, Tang Yingxue wouldn't have thought about these things.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened in the industry, and it won't be the last.

Everyone is tacit.

But this year is different.

The speed at which online public opinion ferments is more than ten times faster than before.

If this matter really blows up, Qin Wanhao can use Global's legal team to cover it up, and Zhang Yihan can have a good cry and then issue a statement saying that she was unaware of it.

What about her?

Three Golden Melody Awards and the title of "National Queen of Pop"—is that enough to fend off a media storm?

She walked back to the bedside, picked up her phone, exited the trending topics page, and opened another app.

Penguin Music.

Enter two words in the search bar: Jiang Fan.

The page pops up—

"The Wind Rises" Lyrics and Music: Jiang Fan

Lyrics and music for "Invisible Wings" by Jiang Fan

Lyrics and music for "Red Bean" by Jiang Fan

"Poisonous Perfume" Lyrics and Music: Jiang Fan

Four songs, four different styles, four different singers.

Each song was precisely timed to the singer's most suitable position.

Tang Yingxue put her phone on the bedside table, lay down, and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders.

Before I closed my eyes, the last thing that flashed through my mind was neither Qin Wanhao nor Zhang Yihan.

It was the hand I shook in the hallway tonight.

The sensation of that one second still lingers on my fingertips.

The moment I loosened my grip, a tingling sensation shot up from my fingertips, traveling down my arm and down my spine.

This reaction made her very uncomfortable.

Tang Yingxue is thirty-one years old this year.

Since her debut at the age of 22, the men who have pursued her could stretch from Shanghai to France.

She didn't like any of them.

Tang Yingxue pulled her hands under the covers and clenched them tightly.

Forget it.

Now is not the time to think about this.