On the path of moral high ground judgment, Si Chang truly had no equal.
Firmly grasping the rhetoric, he pinned Gu Nanci firmly to the royal status recognized by the public. With the inertia of thought leading to analogies, it naturally followed that the previous rumors were indeed true.
As expected, once Si Chang’s statement was released, the comment section became even more tumultuous.
Chang fans, former group fans, fans of the bullying incident “victim” Chang Qian, and the massive tens of millions of anti-Gu Nanci netizens across the entire internet directly held a grand gathering under Gu Nanci’s hashtag.
The whole internet watched with cold, critical eyes.
Everyone sat waiting to see how the useless Gu would embarrass himself.
What no one expected was that the person involved had long since logged out of her account and clicked into another website.
In the dormitory.
Gu Nanci yawned, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the upload progress on the webpage.
Though it pained her greatly, she still clicked send.
Ah, there was no other way—she was short on money!
That one-week deadline was more for her than for Si Chang! Otherwise, to sue Si Chang, with her measly 250 balance, how could she afford a damn lawyer!
Thus, after some simple market research, Gu Nanci chose the fastest money-making method suitable for herself—selling songs!
Actually, back when she was an artist, she was busy every day with singing, dancing, and performing on stage, leaving very little time to truly settle down and focus on creation.
It was only after she completely left the front lines to be hospitalized and treated that she finally had the leisure to concentrate on creation. From composing to writing lyrics and arranging music, although semi-retired, the music she independently produced for friends in the industry repeatedly swept world awards.
But in the later stages, even her moments of lucidity became few and far between…
She had once instructed that if she ever truly passed away, her manager should set up scheduled releases—one song per year—as a keepsake for her fans.
After all, in this lifetime, the people she felt most sorry for were those fervent and sincere fans who had loved her.
Thinking of the past, Gu Nanci let out a heavy sigh.
If… if the “Gu Nanci” of this world could have encountered even one person who affirmed and supported her like her former fans did, perhaps she wouldn’t have died in such despair and loneliness…
On the screen, the upload progress slowly crawled until it reached one hundred percent.
[Dear Yuecai Original User @ccc:
Your work “hate me, love you” has been successfully uploaded. Please keep your communication channels open. Interested buyers will contact you later.]
Yuecai, the largest music producer website on the Hongluan Continent, where almost all industry sales took place.
Gu Nanci had no doubt about her own abilities, and she had even included production guidance from a top-tier arranger in the demo. It could be said that anyone with experience could see the value of this piece at first glance!
Thinking of this, Gu Nanci sighed softly. Ah, every work was a child she had poured her heart into. If it weren’t for the desperate need for money, she really wouldn’t want to sell it!
But if things went smoothly, she could sign the contract and receive the payment this week, which would also be around the time the First Public Performance began.
When the only criticized issue of ability no longer existed, let’s see what other faults those people could dig up!
Luanguo, L-DIK Branch.
“What is all this crap! I could write better stuff with my feet!” Jiang Xihe’s arrogant voice was filled with barely suppressed irritation.
“Then why don’t you write one yourself?” Beside him, the cool teammate Shen Yanyu deadpanned expressionlessly.
“I—I only know how to write lyrics, not compose music yet!” Jiang Xihe stiffened, retorting with righteous indignation, “Forget about those messy tunes, just the lyrics alone are pure garbage!”
“…No choice. There’s not enough time now; we can only buy from the Yuecai resource library.” A calmer voice spoke up—likely the oldest of the three and their leader, Shang Shixu:
“Next month, the Headquarters Selection begins. We must have our Team Track ready before then. This is just how the music industry is now—good musicians are all booked through Internal Song Invitations, and if you can’t create, you have to buy. And—”
Shang Shixu paused, clearly also frustrated: “They even look down on selling to us idols, unwilling to offer more.”
“Damn it! Their own cheesy, crappy songs, and they have the nerve to look down on us?” Jiang Xihe grew even more agitated.
But helplessly, that was the reality.
In the entertainment industry, idols were inherently seen as inferior, even if their efforts were no less than others’.
Moreover, most idols, after gaining fame, often switched to easier careers like acting or singing, perpetuating the cycle and cementing their status as a low-level stepping stone.
Those inside the circle wanted out; those outside looked down on it.
“…Let’s keep looking. If there’s really no other way, we’ll have to pick the best of a bad lot, choose one quickly, and focus our efforts on singing and dancing to make up for the music,” leader Shang Shixu said solemnly.
“I’m really fed up. The Lai Nation directly holds internal selections, and the Hong Kingdom goes even further—they even run a Debut Battle! But here in Luanguo, they talk all high and mighty about how if you don’t even have a song with 100,000 listens, there’s no need to invest in a debut… Clearly, they just want to use us to quickly axe the idol department!” Jiang Xihe angrily slammed the table.
Long investment cycles with uncertain returns, and even those who succeed often switch careers soon after, coupled with society’s increasingly contemptuous attitude toward idols—in Luanguo, where chaebols hold power and prioritize commerce and profit, cutting the idol division was hardly surprising.
Only, for those children who truly loved singing and dancing and devoted themselves to the stage, the last path to their dreams would vanish…
The mood gradually grew somber.
Suddenly, Shen Yanyu froze, pausing the page in disbelief, and muttered dazedly:
“You guys… look at this! This melody is kind of interesting…”
“ccc… never seen this name before—is it a newcomer? Holy crap! This is a Celestial Tune, a real Celestial Tune!” Jiang Xihe’s eyes nearly popped out.
Listening to the demo released by ccc, the melody was captivating, the intro especially catchy, building energy from the verse onward, and the chorus—blending cello and drums—elevated the atmosphere to its peak.
Even after it ended, the feeling lingered.
“Buy it! This is the one! No matter the cost, we have to get it!!” Jiang Xihe exclaimed excitedly, snatching the computer and frantically trying to contact ccc.