Chapter 23: The Bomb Contract

That night, Zhang Qiyang left a simple message on Weibo: “See you at eight o’clock on Saturday night!” He no longer bothered to spar with the crowd of netizens whose intelligence had seemingly dropped to zero. He logged off and went to rest.

The wave of condemnation against Zhang Qiyang for allegedly manipulating data showed no signs of abating. The team of haters, masterminded by Wang Dazhong, intensified their efforts to smear Zhang Qiyang’s reputation, pushing public opinion decisively to the opposing side. The team at East Entertainment tasked with cleaning up Zhang Qiyang’s mess found themselves utterly exasperated. What had started as a promising situation—a well-sung song, a historic debut single—should have been a roaring success. Yet, with public sentiment turned so sharply against him, Zhang Qiyang’s image suffered further, making damage control even more difficult.

Ironically, this frenzy expanded the reach of “Night Star.” Many who had never heard Zhang Qiyang sing, upon hearing that the tycoon’s son had allegedly faked his way to such a song, visited Eastern Music Network out of curiosity to listen. That night, the site’s traffic skyrocketed to a hundred times its usual volume. Many users, previously unaware of Eastern Music Network’s existence, discovered this licensed music website thanks to their interest in Zhang Qiyang. He became, in effect, the face of Eastern Music Network, educating a swath of netizens unfamiliar with legal music purchases on how to buy singles.

Throughout the night, “Night Star” didn’t see an explosive surge in paid downloads—it hadn’t even cracked ten thousand—but the exposure, attention, and influx of new registered users brought immense benefit to Eastern Music Network. From the company’s perspective, this publicity stunt was a resounding success. Even if Zhang Qiyang’s reputation was battered, their gains were substantial. Such advertising effects would have cost millions to achieve under ordinary circumstances.

Two years ago, when they signed a bombshell contract with Zhang Qiyang, no one could have predicted he would bring such high returns. For licensed music sites like Eastern Music Network, securing exclusive online sales rights to a singer’s single requires paying an advance royalty to the artist and their label. For instance, East Network spent ten million to sign Diva Li Xuan for ten years of exclusive digital single sales—a record-setting contract that, even today, remains the highest in online sales, staggering in its expense.

Yet, this investment was well worth it, even exceeding expectations. Li Xuan brings East Network over two million in pure profits each year. The ten million signing fee is quickly recouped.

Moreover, Li Xuan’s popularity boosts site traffic, yielding a double benefit. Compared to Li Xuan’s lucrative contract, the exclusive online sales deal with Zhang Qiyang was a veritable black hole. At the time, East Entertainment’s upper management pressured East Network to secure Zhang Qiyang’s exclusive online rights at any cost; they couldn’t allow the Eastern Prince to sell singles on a competitor’s site, lest rivals easily slander him. No matter the price, East Entertainment had to obtain Zhang Qiyang’s release rights.

Zhang Qiyang, however, had no interest in selling his music online and was reluctant to sign with East Network. The site, desperate, threw itself into persuading Qin Xueyang, who, unwilling to let go of such a lucrative opportunity, nagged Zhang Qiyang incessantly, nearly wearing calluses in his ears. Fed up, Zhang Qiyang finally named an outrageous price: five million for a five-year star contract—take it or leave it!

Aside from the ten-million deal with Li Xuan, East Network had never offered another singer even half a million in signing fees. One hundred thousand contracts were rare, since the current music market only allowed a handful of top artists to profit from single sales; for most, online singles barely covered costs.

Zhang Qiyang demanded a hundred thousand per year, on par with Li Xuan, and wanted a five-year deal—absurd! East Network’s management reported this to the parent group, whose response was unequivocal: sign him at this price, even if he asked for ten million!

With no choice, East Network let Zhang Qiyang fleece them, signing a loss-making bombshell contract. Thanks to this deal, the sales department harbored deep resentment. Zhang Qiyang’s contract carved a gaping hole in their budget—they faced a new annual target of one million to fill this pit. Failure meant no bonuses.

Two years into the contract, the sales team toiled day and night promoting other singers’ singles to cover for Zhang Qiyang. Fortunately, Li Xuan’s meteoric rise eased their burden, helping them barely meet targets and earn bonuses. Had they not signed Zhang Qiyang’s disastrous contract, their bonuses would have been far higher. Their dislike for Zhang Qiyang was intense.

Sales Director Ma Ru, in particular, had cursed Zhang Qiyang countless times behind his back. Thanks to the tycoon’s outrageous demands, her income had dropped by at least three hundred thousand over two years, making her hatred deeper than any other in the department. Yet, as a director, she was always two-faced. She discarded loss-making artists like worn shoes, but if an artist suddenly made money for the company, she’d instantly fawn over them as if worshipping a god of wealth.

This night, seeing Zhang Qiyang bring unprecedented benefit to East Network, Ma Ru’s attitude shifted dramatically. She now adored the tycoon’s son. She hoped the public would continue to vilify Zhang Qiyang, “Night Star,” even accuse their company of data fraud—so long as it attracted attention and brought in swathes of new users, any price was worth paying.

Throughout the night, Zhang Qiyang monopolized Weibo’s trending topics, with haters dredging up his scandals for another round of flogging. By the following morning, “Tycoon’s Son Fakes Original Work” still held the number one spot.

Zhang Qiyang slept until he woke naturally that morning. After a quick wash, he entered the living room of the hotel’s executive suite, intending to find something to eat, only to see Qin Xueyang hunched over a laptop, fiercely typing away with a fried dough stick in his mouth.

“What are you up to? Still fighting online?” Zhang Qiyang guessed from Qin Xueyang’s furious expression that he was locked in battle with the haters.

Qin Xueyang bit off a chunk of fried dough, chewing angrily as he spoke: “These haters are out of control! They’re trying to destroy you! Public opinion is being skewed!”

“How is it being skewed?” Zhang Qiyang asked.

“The haters are setting the pace. Everyone says you’re a fraud! They want to ban you from performing on ‘My Song.’ Some, even more malicious, are calling for you to sing only your old songs on the show—anything else and they’ll say you’re faking! It’s absurd logic! Other singers cover classics on ‘My Song,’ so why can’t you? Why must you stick to your old style? Even changing genres is forbidden! Now everyone is forcing you to sing your previous songs!”

“My old songs are crap, and they want to hear them?” Zhang Qiyang scoffed.

“They want to force you into embarrassment! If you sing something good, they won’t allow it; they insist you sing garbage! They’re trying to ruin you! These bastards are internet hooligans! The netizens are blindly joining the frenzy, giving the haters momentum—infuriating!”

“They want crap? Fine! I’ll serve them a fresh platter!” Zhang Qiyang declared. “They want my old style? I’ll give it to them.”

In the face of the shifting situation, Zhang Qiyang decided that this week he wouldn’t perform “Outlier.” Its rap-rock style differed from his earlier gothic industrial metal, only inviting more provocation from the haters.

They wanted filth? He’d serve them fresh filth.

He would perform Marilyn Manson’s infamous, raunchy, explosive “This Is The New Shit.”