Chapter 25: Little Devils Are Hard to Handle

The controversy surrounding Zhang Qiyang's performance on "My Song" had been raging for a week without respite. At last, Saturday arrived, heralding the fourth round of competition on "My Song." The detractors entered a new wave of anti-Zhang fervor.

From six o'clock that evening, the forum for "My Song" exploded. Countless netizens, swayed by trolls and paid agitators, rallied together to boycott Zhang Qiyang:

"Boycott 'My Song' tonight! Like if you support!"
"As long as Zhang the Blaster is still on 'My Song,' I'll boycott the show!"
"Trash Zhang the Blaster, get out of 'My Song'!"
"If Zhang the Blaster doesn’t come last tonight, just cancel 'My Song.' It's garbage!"
"Place your bets! Will Blaster Zhang take first place again tonight? Reply to join!"
"I'm opening a betting pool too: will Zhang the Blaster sing another fake song tonight?"
"Blaster Zhang, can’t you show some backbone? Stop faking! Go back to singing your own songs—even if they’re trash, we cannon fodder will support you to the end! But we want to see your guts, your fierce spirit!"
"I bet Zhang the Blaster won’t dare sing his own songs anymore. He already knows they're garbage. Heh."
"Anyone who votes for Zhang the Blaster tonight is aiding evil!"
"Vote for him? How about we all boycott 'My Song' tonight! Have some dignity—this show disgusts us and we still shamelessly watch it, for what?"
"I’ll only watch 'My Song' again when Zhang the Blaster is gone! Like if you support!"
"Everyone, unite! Let this episode of 'My Song' crash in ratings! Boycott it!"
"Blaster Zhang, keep going! Ignore the haters! We cannon fodder will always support your musical dreams! But honestly, you should stick to your old off-key singing style. When you sing on-key, it’s boring. We liked your old music—it loosened our muscles and invigorated us, made us feel great!"
"You’re all idiots! Why not give Blaster Zhang a chance to change? Fine, I won’t either. Blaster Zhang, keep charging forward—let’s see how you crash and burn."
…

Reading these posts, Qin Xueyang felt waves of suppressed anger. In the TV station's lounge, she kept eating, but it did little to ease her frustration.

Meanwhile, Zhang Qiyang sat on the toilet in the station's public restroom, scrolling through these posts on his phone. He wasn't particularly agitated, but his face was grim; clearly, his mood was sour.

At such a critical moment, Zhang Qiyang should have avoided these posts. Yet, as is often the case, people can't help themselves—they crave to know what others think of them.

And what he saw made him sick to his stomach.

He wasn't sure if all the posts were from trolls, but the malicious tone was infuriating.

Pressing his anger, Zhang Qiyang strained, as if hoping to flush the bitterness out along with everything else.

Just then, two staff members entered the restroom.

By coincidence, these were the same two who had spoken ill of him outside the stalls the previous week. During yesterday's rehearsal, Zhang Qiyang had recognized their voices. They both worked in the lighting crew.

The one with the effeminate voice was the lighting team leader, Bao Zicheng—a burly man with a full beard, masculine in appearance, but his voice was oddly high-pitched. Just hearing him speak, you’d never imagine he looked so rugged.

The other, a young assistant, was Ma Chao.

During yesterday's rehearsal, Zhang Qiyang had deliberately communicated with them, hoping they would make the lighting for his performance rhythmic. For the initial buildup, he wanted cold, dark, gothic lighting; when the wild heavy metal melody kicked in, he wanted explosive effects to deliver a powerful audiovisual impact alongside his music.

Having studied directing, Zhang Qiyang was knowledgeable about lighting, so his requests to the lighting crew were direct and detailed, itemizing exactly how he wanted the lights. He "instructed" the crew on every aspect.

This approach annoyed the lighting crew. It felt as if they were his subordinates. No singer had ever "coached" them like this—even the biggest stars wouldn’t meddle in their affairs. On this stage, singers just sang; lighting and stage design were handled by professionals, and performers didn’t need to worry.

But Zhang Qiyang wasn’t a professional singer; he knew a lot and wanted his performance to be perfect, so he interfered with lighting and stage design. This made the crew especially resentful. They already disliked his status as the son of a tycoon, and now he was bossing them around—why should they listen?

While relieving themselves, seeing the restroom empty, Ma Chao asked Bao Zicheng, "Bao, are we really going to cut the lights on that dumb rich kid later?"

Bao Zicheng thought for a moment and replied, "Cut four—all the main lights."

"What?" Ma Chao was startled, guessing Bao's intent. "You mean you want his face in total darkness?"

"Heh, you catch on quick," Bao replied with a sly grin. "That idiot wants us to give him rhythmic lighting—I'll give him rhythm on his face, see if he likes it!"

"You’re the best, Bao. That idiot shouldn't even be on our stage, acting like a busybody, meddling in everything. He doesn’t realize he’ll be gone after two more songs—what’s he so eager about? The music team should mess with him too, get him out faster."

"Yeah, he won’t last long anyway."

With their snide remarks finished, the two left.

Inside the stall, Zhang Qiyang’s scalp tingled with rage.

As the saying goes, it’s easy to meet the king—hard to deal with his underlings. Reality proves it. When these petty characters turn nasty, they’re a real headache!

Earlier, Zhang Qiyang had considered performing his adapted version of "This Is the New Shit" for the competition tonight. Though not a direct retort to the countless troublemakers, it revealed his own journey, resonating with listeners and helping them understand his current predicament.

During yesterday's rehearsal, the production team had treated him very well. He sensed that Director Luo and the others pinned high hopes on him, wishing he could bring more highlights to "My Song."

With their kindness, if he sang the original version of "This Is the New Shit," he’d surely cause trouble for the station. The original lyrics were too explicit and vulgar; if he performed them live, the station would receive a fine from the broadcasting authority, and he might even be banned.

Yet, deep down, Zhang Qiyang wanted to sing the original. He still carried the fire of his predecessor—who didn’t care about bans; if a thousand trolls taunted him, he’d confront them all!

Zhang Qiyang wanted to do the same, but he was more rational and restrained, so there was room for compromise.

But now, with the station’s minions plotting against him—damn it, why should he endure this?

He would sing the original version, confront everyone head-on!

He’d put those idiots in the production team in their place, too!

Anyone who messed with him would find themselves in bigger trouble.

At worst, he’d be banned from the show.

He didn’t even care for this lousy program!

He was the son of the richest man!

Moreover, a master from another world!

If the show dared to ban him, he’d have Dongyu produce a brand-new, never-before-seen "China’s Got Talent" in this dimension and crush this show!

He’d see who laughed last!

It was as if his predecessor’s soul had returned.

Leaving the restroom with a stony expression, Zhang Qiyang had made up his mind: if those two idiot lighting technicians dared to keep his face in darkness tonight, he would turn the entire show upside down!