Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

Two years later, Lin Yuan returned to Tianxing Entertainment.

The midday sun slanted into the room, illuminating the nearly half-meter-high stack of industry reports, contract termination documents, and due diligence reports from various investors piled on the desk. A faint aroma of roasted coffee and lingering scents of mint and tobacco floated in the air, silently telling the story of the intense battle the room's occupant had endured over the past seven hundred days and nights.

Lin Yuan sat on the sofa, took the warm water handed to him by his secretary, and looked up at Fei Zhao across from him.

The woman before me was still dressed in a sharp, cool gray suit, her hair neatly combed, but the faint bluish-black in her eyes betrayed the toil she had endured over the past two years.

Lin Yuan composed himself and spoke solemnly, "Sister Fei, these past two years... you've had a tough time."

This sincere thank you made Fei Zhao pause for a moment.

The next second, she crossed her arms, raised the corners of her eyes, and her signature cold and sarcastic tone appeared on cue: "Oh, so the big director knows how hard I've been working? I thought you were taking the beautiful Gu skiing in the Alps and boating in Venice, and had long forgotten about this mess back home. So you two were taking care of the peaceful life while I was the wartime firefighter for twenty-four months, and even my time for cosmetic surgery was ruined by those bastards at Xingtu."

Lin Yuan chuckled and shook his head: "Consider it a big favor I owe you. I'll have Gu Zhiwan pick out a set of high-end jewelry made by an old Sicilian craftsman for you later."

"Don't try to bribe me with jewelry; I want cash instead."

Fei Zhao gave a soft hum, but the curve of her lips softened. She pushed a dark blue folder in front of Lin Yuan, her expression quickly switching back to that of a decisive and iron-fisted CEO:

"Joking aside, let's get back to the point. You've already seen how ugly Xingtu has been these past two years, thanks to Bolaikun. They poached two of our up-and-coming director teams and snatched the rights to host three Sino-European cultural exchange projects. The most disgusting thing is that they've been spreading the idea that 'Tianxing relies solely on Lin Yuan, and once he leaves, the company is forgotten,' which has shaken their valuation."

Fei Zhao tapped the table, his gaze sharp: "Everyone's watching now. Starway is betting that you've disappeared for two years, that your creative state has been worn down by romance and poetry, and that you can't produce a work that can captivate the aesthetics of the new generation. The PR department has prepared three contingency plans for countering public opinion. If you want to start a war of words, I can get all the marketing accounts on the internet to turn their guns on you tonight."

"It's beneath you to engage in a war of words with online trolls."

Lin Yuan remained calm as he took out a silver-gray metal USB drive from the inside pocket of his coat and gently placed it on the blue folder.

"What is this?" Fei Zhao's gaze sharpened.

"I wrote this on the road over the past two years, capturing snow-capped mountains, canals, black sand beaches, and Mediterranean sunsets." Lin Yuan spoke casually, as if discussing the weather. "It's a complete set of demos and scores pieced together from bits and pieces. There are no old drafts; it's all new."

Fei Zhao's breath hitched almost imperceptibly for half a second. Her fingertips hovered over the USB drive as she looked up at him: "How do you plan to release it? A digital single as a surprise release, or a physical concept album?"

"There's no rush to release it online." Lin Yuan leaned back on the sofa, his hands folded on his knees. "Let's hold a solo concert tour. The first stop will be the Shanghai Stadium, which can hold 80,000 people. It's a way to give back to the fans who have waited for two years, and also a warm-up for the global premiere of my first original solo album."

He slightly raised his eyes, a hidden sharpness flashing in them: "Didn't Xingtu think that the era of two years ago was over? Then let's set up the stage and let them see who has fallen from grace."

Fei Zhao stared at Lin Yuan for a full three seconds, then suddenly clapped his hands and chuckled softly. His long-dormant eyes suddenly flashed with a hunter's excited light.

"Fine. Shanghai Stadium, I'll personally get the permit. Within two weeks, I'll make the entire industry make way for this performance!"

……

The week after returning to China, the entertainment industry seemed calm on the surface, but undercurrents were surging beneath.

Online discussions about Lin Yuan's return to China remain heated, with Bolaikun's die-hard fans and Xingtu's paid commentators tirelessly publishing articles on various platforms about "the changing times" and "a washed-up legend." Countless media paparazzi staked out outside the Tianxing Building, trying to catch a glimpse of Lin Yuan, but to no avail.

Traffic peaked at 8 p.m. on Friday.

The long-dormant official Weibo account of Tianxing Entertainment and Lin Yuan's verified personal account suddenly displayed a minimalist, all-black poster.

The poster features only one line of stark, gold-embossed text and release date information in the center:

[Lin Yuan's Solo Concert Tour - Shanghai First Stop]

Date: October 28th. Location: Shanghai Stadium.

[Global preview of my first solo album. Two years later, I'm back as promised.]

Soon after, discussions broke out on major social media platforms and music forums.

The atmosphere in Lin Yuan's super topic was bustling with excitement.

[Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! This isn't a novel! It's not a movie! It's a solo concert plus a brand new original album!!!]

[After waiting for over 700 days, Lin Yuan, you've finally spoken! I'll sell everything I own to get a front-row seat in an 80,000-seat stadium!]

But amidst the overwhelming jubilation, skepticism and cynicism also arrived as expected. Many neutral music critics adopted a wait-and-see attitude: "Having been away from the industry for two years, the aesthetics of streaming media today are vastly different from what they were two years ago. To perform a blind concert in a stadium with tens of thousands of people without even releasing a new song—is this the ultimate confidence in the live performance, or a risky gamble?"

Bolaikun's fan base launched a massive mockery campaign in the supertopic:

[Hilarious! Two years without inspiration, now they're rushing to hold a concert to fleece their old fans?]

[Could it be that they spent all their money on travel and came back to cash in? If they're so capable, they should just release a studio single and chart on streaming platforms. Why bother with a live premiere? Are they just making excuses to avoid a flop?]

[This is the era of avant-garde electronic music and new wave; let's leave those old-fashioned sentimental ballads for retirement homes.]

All the online mockery and pessimism were slapped hard in the face by reality the moment the tickets went on sale.

At 10:00 AM on Monday, the three major ticketing platforms simultaneously opened their ticket-grabbing channels.

The number of reservations surged past an astonishing three million five minutes before tickets went on sale, prompting the server to issue a red alert.

When the countdown reached zero at 10 o'clock, millions of netizens frantically tapped the screen—after the page spun for half a second, the gray "out of stock" text for all price ranges was poured over them like a bucket of ice water.

80,000 tickets sold out in one second!

The hashtag #LinYuanConcertSoldOutInOneSecond# quickly rose to the top of the trending searches. On secondhand platforms, front-row tickets originally priced at 1,800 yuan were instantly resold by scalpers for 28,000 yuan, and cries of despair and despair for those unable to get tickets could be seen everywhere online.

Tianxing Entertainment's legal department swiftly issued a formal statement, fully implementing a mandatory real-name registration system for entry and ticket refunds, and promised to add more shows nationwide as soon as possible, which barely managed to calm the frenzied ticket-buying frenzy.

……

At the same time, in the top-floor conference room of Starway Entertainment.

The ticketing platform's sell-out report flashed coldly on the projection screen, while the executives on both sides of the conference table had grim faces.

"Eighty thousand people... gone in a second." A PR director's throat was dry. "The premium rates on major scalper channels have broken industry records for the past five years. Several press releases we prepared to suppress public opinion have all been thrown into disarray."

"What's the panic?!" The vice president slammed his hand on the table, his eyes turning sinister. "No matter how impressive the ticket sales figures are, they're still damaging his past reputation! He boasted that he'd premiere most of his new album live, and that's his biggest weakness! A live, live premiere of unreleased songs—if the melodies are mediocre or there are any flaws in the performance, it'll be a dead end with the entire internet turning against him!"

He turned to the PR manager: "Have the online trolls and marketing accounts on standby 24/7. Don't embellish the ticket sales; wait until the concert night! If any new song receives a lukewarm response, or if he falters even slightly on a high note, immediately push the hashtags 'Lin Yuan's singing has deteriorated' and 'His talent has run dry' to the top of the trending topics! Also, expedite the preparations for Bo Laikun's special online new song release event, scheduled for the same night. We need to divert his attention!"

Several veteran producers hesitated to speak, but seeing the fervor of the radical executives, they ultimately swallowed their advice.

Starway Personal Soundproof Practice Room.

Berlekun sat cross-legged on the floor alone, holding a wooden guitar in his arms. His phone screen was on the minimalist poster of Lin Yuan's concert, and the screen's dim light illuminated his ever-changing profile.

80,000 units sold out in seconds.

This number felt like a heavy, dull punch, landing squarely on his heart.

In the past two years, he has traveled to major music festivals, won numerous trophies obtained through capital operations, and enjoyed the praise and applause of being surrounded by admirers. But deep down, he knows better than anyone that his tours with tens of thousands of people are a false prosperity supported by the company locking in tickets in advance and his big fans desperately raising funds.

Faced with Lin Yuan's absolute appeal, which was entirely built on his popularity among the general public, he felt a suffocating sense of oppression.

The fingertips brushed heavily across the strings, and the violin body emitted a muffled tremor.

He envied the figure who could still captivate the entire internet even after disappearing for two years, yet in the deepest corner of his heart, as a pure music creator, he desperately wanted to know—what kind of melody had that man who had traveled to the snow-capped mountains and the seaside written?

The practice room door was pushed open, and the manager rushed in, his tone urgent: "Ah Kun, stop spacing out! Quickly re-record the chorus of the new song. The company has scheduled your special stage performance for October 28th, and we must suppress his popularity!"

Berlekun's fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the violin, his knuckles turning white. After a long while, he simply responded softly, "Understood."

……

Tianxing Entertainment, Rehearsal Hall No. 1.

In front of a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror, dozens of top musicians were calibrating equipment, and the sound of the symphony orchestra's strings and the low frequencies of the synthesizers intertwined and roared in the empty hall.

Fei Zhao pushed open the door and walked in, holding the finalized stage engineering plan in his hand. He walked to Lin Yuan's side, who was leaning against the mixing console looking at the sheet music.

"The stage design, sound system, and lighting are all top-of-the-line, and the symphony orchestra is the principal team from the National Centre for the Performing Arts." Fei Zhao lowered his voice, his expression more solemn than ever before. "Lin Yuan, right now the entire industry, including Xingtu and the fans, millions of eyes are focused on this show in Shanghai. Whether you rise to fame or fall in the past two years depends entirely on these two and a half hours."

Lin Yuan closed the sheet music in his hand and looked up at himself in the mirror.

Two years of exposure to mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas washed away his restlessness, and his eyes were as calm as a bottomless, icy pool.

"Music is never a bargaining chip to risk your life against others, Sister Fei."

Lin Yuan casually handed the sheet music to the music director beside him, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips, and calmly turned to walk towards the standing microphone in the center of the stage:

"The song is written, and the band is ready. When the time comes, I'll sing it for those who really want to hear it, and that's enough."