Chapter Seventy-Seven: What If Something Happened to Lin Ze...

June 1st, midnight.

Zhang Yang’s new song, “Star and Moon Lovers,” was released.

Countless fans had been waiting for this day, poised to purchase the song the moment it went live. One purchase wasn’t enough—they switched accounts, bought it two, three times. Some underage fans even spent their meal and living money to boost Zhang Yang’s rankings. As for the song itself, that didn’t matter; as long as they bought it for their idol!

Many others were also waiting for the release, curious to see what kind of song had been promoted for so long.

A smooth, intricate prelude played, then Zhang Yang’s voice emerged.

“Like the moon chasing the earth, we pursue each other…”

Both lyrics and melody were exquisite.

Beneath the stars and the moon, the imagery described was indeed beautiful.

This song already possessed the caliber to go head-to-head with Lin Ze.

Fans went wild, sharing it furiously.

“My idol’s new song is incredible! Unbelievably good!”

“As soon as ‘Star and Moon’ is out, who can compete?”

“The greatest love song of the century was released today!”

He had reinvented himself, and this transition was an overwhelming success.

The path of playing cute and handsome could never last forever; this time, the transformation not only kept his existing fans, but attracted a new wave.

While the internet was singing the song’s praises, the wider community of musicians began to notice something amiss. The breathing transitions, the various vocal inflections—something was off, almost bizarre.

This singing style was reminiscent of a certain blue-haired girl holding a leek who had once made an appearance before—a girl who was, in fact, only a collection of vocal samples, a robot used by musicians as a singing voice bank.

Yet today, they heard something similar in Zhang Yang’s song?

This wasn’t even a rap, just a ballad—why did it sound so strange?

Some independent media bloggers dissected the song and found the same issue.

Everyone knew what caused this: excessive autotune and post-production.

A song like this? And they dared call it the greatest of the century?

Chart boosting was one thing, but wasn’t this a bit too disrespectful to others?

To use a song so heavily processed it was almost nauseating?

Overnight, people posted detailed analyses of the song’s obvious signs of audio manipulation.

Perhaps only half a line of the entire song was untouched. The rest…

Calling it computer-generated wouldn’t be far off.

“Does a song like this deserve to be called the best of the century?”

“What is this even supposed to be?”

“To be honest, it just doesn’t move me at all. At best, it’s okay.”

A slew of candid comments appeared in the comment section.

The internet was ablaze with debate.

The very next morning, Zhang Yang’s account suddenly posted on Weibo.

He had shared a fan’s post:

“Zhang Yang, you are the eternal god of Chinese pop!”

Not only did Zhang Yang repost it, he added his own caption:

“What else could I be?”

As this message made its rounds, the singers in the Chinese music scene still hadn’t recovered from the shock of hearing a song where almost every line was heavily processed. Now, they were thrown into another wave of confusion.

“This guy… no, is he being sarcastic or…?”

Wasn’t he supposed to be reinventing himself as a comedian?

That had to be it…

…

“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

In his office, Zhang Huai was already roaring, a stack of folders in hand that he flung straight at Zhang Yang’s face.

“I told you to let your manager handle your social media, but you refused and insisted on speaking for yourself—said it would keep you close to your fans!”

“But have you looked at what you’ve been posting these past few days? You’re a public figure—can’t you think about the impact before posting that garbage?”

“The internet isn’t just your fan base. This is your first song after rebranding, and you post something like this? What do you think the seasoned artists will think of you?”

Zhang Yang stood with his head lowered, aggrieved. “I just wanted to respond to my fans.”

“Respond, huh…”

Veins bulged on Zhang Huai’s forehead. He grabbed another pile of things from the desk and threw them at Zhang Yang.

“I was wrong! Dad! I’ll delete it right now!”

Zhang Huai glared at him, chest heaving.

“It’s already out there—what’s the point of deleting it now?”

“All we can do is pray… No, Lin Ze absolutely can’t come up with something better. Anyone else, fine, as long as it’s not Lin Ze…”

If it had been anyone else behaving so recklessly, Zhang Huai would have blacklisted them long ago.

But this was his own son.

No matter how many mistakes his son made, he was still his son.

There was nothing more Zhang Yang could do now, but as for Lin Ze…

Zhang Huai frowned in thought. Maybe… it was time to use some methods.

Lin Ze and his team were filming at an inn right now—who knew who else was staying there?

If something small were to happen to him at this critical moment, wouldn’t that solve everything…?

Thinking this, Zhang Huai glanced at Zhang Yang.

“Get out! Go home and stay there. You’re not allowed to leave the house for a week. Reflect on yourself.”

A week?

Zhang Yang panicked. “No way, I have plans tonight with—”

“Get out! I’ll have your manager keep an eye on you. If you dare set foot outside, I’ll break your legs myself!”

After another tongue-lashing, Zhang Yang shrank away and left the office.

Zhang Huai then picked up his phone and called a minor starlet—her name was Zhang Ya.

Zhang Ya had been at Donghuang for quite a while but had never really made it big. Thanks to her figure, she was often invited by various crews as a body double for nude scenes.

But as the years went by, she was getting anxious.

Now seemed like the perfect time to reach out.

The call was quickly answered by a coquettish voice.

“Director Zhang~ What an honor to have you call me personally. Is there something I can do for you?”

Her voice made Zhang Huai’s bones go soft, his breath quickening.

“You’ve been home these past few days, right?”

“Yes, Director Zhang, are you coming over?”

“Ahem, come to my office. I have something important to discuss with you,” Zhang Huai said immediately.

“Of course, Director Zhang. Wait for me—I’ll be there soon~”

He hung up, composed himself, and not long after, Zhang Ya arrived at his office.

“Director Zhang~”

“Mm.”

Zhang Huai didn’t speak right away, but walked to her side. “Sorry, what I’m about to say is important. I need to search you myself to feel at ease.”

Zhang Ya did not resist. After a sweet reply, she stood still, letting him frisk her, occasionally breathing softly, stirring desire in his heart.

After searching her, confirming she carried no recording devices, Zhang Huai spoke.

“The company has always noticed your talents, and we’re considering helping you rebrand. Right now, there’s a small task I need you to do—to prove your abilities.”