The moment Lin Wanwan pushed open the door, she froze in place.
A bouquet of flowers lay at the entrance. Not the kind of pink, fragrant roses or lilies, but white chrysanthemums—the type used for mourning, with dewdrops still clinging to the petals as if freshly plucked from a wreath.
A note was tucked among the flowers, white, its edges slightly dampened by the dew.
Only two words were written on it, handwritten with such force that the strokes nearly tore through the paper: “Countdown.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the two words, silent for three seconds.
The morning breeze blew in through the hallway window, gently rustling the white chrysanthemums. The neighbor’s door across the hall was tightly shut, and the corridor was empty.
Then, she took out her phone and started a live stream.
The camera focused on the bouquet, the note, and the two words: “Countdown.”
Three million viewers flooded into the live stream instantly. At this hour, many had just woken up, opened their phones, and were jolted awake by the live stream notification.
Comments surged like a flood:
“Holy shit holy shit holy shit!! What is this?!”
“White chrysanthemums?! Is this a death curse?!”
“Countdown?! A murder warning?!”
“Who sent it?! Any leads?!”
Lin Wanwan waited for the comments to settle slightly before speaking.
Her voice was calm, so calm it sent chills down one’s spine: “They sent me a bouquet of flowers.”
She paused, glanced at the white chrysanthemums, and tugged at the corner of her mouth—whether it counted as a smile was unclear.
“I want to return a song to them.”
She turned and walked back into the room, propping her phone on the table with the camera facing her. Then, she sat by the window and picked up the worn-out guitar she had bought from a secondhand market. The guitar’s body had a crack, which she had patched with transparent tape, never having the heart to replace it.
“The song is called…”
She lowered her head, her fingers resting on the strings.
“I’m Not Dead Yet.”
The intro began, a simple sequence of chords, slightly out of tune but strangely pleasant.
She started singing right away, her voice lazy, as if chatting:
“The flowers you sent are so beautifully white
Too bad I’m not dead yet, must be a disappointment, right?
How many times did you write ‘countdown’? I counted
From the start till now, I’m still standing here…”
She sang for only thirty seconds.
After finishing, she set the guitar aside and smiled at the camera. The smile was faint, but there was no fear in her eyes—only a kind of arrogance that said, “What can you do about it?”
“Alright, that’s it for today.”
She stood up and patted her clothes. “I need to go have breakfast.”
The live stream ended, and the trending topics exploded again:
“Lin Wanwan: I’m Not Dead Yet” (Explosive Views: 780 million)
“White Chrysanthemum Countdown!” (Explosive Views: 650 million)
“She Actually Dared to Sing It!” (Hot Views: 420 million)
Under the topics, fans went completely wild.
“This girl is too bold! Writing a song about mourning flowers—how did she even come up with that?!”
“I listened to those thirty seconds ten times, and I got chills every single time!”
“‘Too bad I’m not dead yet, must be a disappointment, right?’—I’ll remember this line for the rest of my life!”
“Whoever threatens someone like this must have a death wish!”
Meanwhile, @Jiangcheng Police Online spoke up again:
“We have taken note of the situation and are currently investigating. Ms. Lin Wanwan, please protect yourself and contact us immediately if anything arises. Netizens, if you have any leads, please provide them promptly.”
The comment section was filled with praise, but some attentive netizens noticed a problem:
“The person who sent the flowers definitely can’t be traced. These delivery orders all use virtual numbers.”
“Even if we can’t trace them, we still have to try! We can’t let these people get away with it!”
“Lin Wanwan is in too much danger right now. I suggest 24-hour protection.”
Though it was called a studio, it was actually just a small temporary office Su Man had rented—twenty square meters, two desks, one computer, and walls plastered with case materials.
Lin Wanwan sat in a chair, sipping soy milk as she listened to Su Man on the phone.
Su Man hung up, her brow furrowed. “We found out. The flowers were delivered by a courier guy, ordered through a platform with a virtual number. The registration info is fake. The courier said the person only gave an address and money, didn’t even meet face-to-face.”
Lin Wanwan nodded and continued drinking her soy milk. “Figured as much.”
Su Man looked at her, her expression complicated. “Aren’t you scared?”
Lin Wanwan laughed, carefree and unbothered. “What good would being scared do?”
She set down her soy milk and looked out the window. “The more they act like this, the more it shows they’re desperate. When they’re desperate, they make mistakes. When they make mistakes, they slip up.”
Su Man was taken aback for a moment, then laughed too. “You really are…”
Before she could finish, Lin Wanwan’s phone started vibrating wildly.
It was the notification sound for private messages on Weibo, one after another, like machine gun fire.
She opened it to see 999+ unread messages, and the number was still climbing.
All from fans:
“Wanwan, please hold a meet-and-greet! We want to see you!”
“Where are you? We’ll come find you!”
“Please, just once! We just want to see you in person!”
“Don’t be afraid if you’re being threatened. We’ll protect you!”
“Hold a meet-and-greet! We’ll back you up!”
Lin Wanwan looked at these messages and blinked.
She activated the Eye of Truth and scanned them—they were all genuine fans. Their emotions held no malice, only worry and concern, along with a strong urge to “meet in person.”
After a moment’s thought, she started a livestream.
Two million people flooded into the livestream instantly. At this hour, office workers had just settled at their desks, students had just pulled out their phones—all drawn in by her.
The comments scrolled nonstop:
“Big sis is live again!”
“Meet-and-greet! Meet-and-greet! Meet-and-greet!”
“Please, just once!”
“We want to see you in person!”
Lin Wanwan watched the comments, leisurely taking a sip of soy milk. After finishing, she smacked her lips and finally spoke. “You want a meet-and-greet?”
The comments went wild:
“Yes!!”
“We’ve been dreaming of it!!”
“You want the big kind? Renting a venue? With a stage?”
The comments grew even crazier:
“Yes, yes, yes!!”
“Preferably one that can hold ten thousand people!!”
She nodded, her expression serious. Then she asked:
“Do you know how much it costs to rent a venue?”
The comments went quiet for a second.
She continued, her tone matter-of-fact, as if calculating expenses. “I asked. The cheapest is five thousand a day. A dump like that doesn’t even have air conditioning.”
“Add in sound equipment, lighting, security, staff, and all sorts of miscellaneous fees…”
She counted them off on her fingers, then looked up at the camera.
“At least thirty thousand.”
She took another sip of soy milk, her expression innocent.
“I don’t have the money.”
The comments erupted in laughter:
“Hahahahaha, I’m dying!”
“She’s so honest, doesn’t even pretend.”
“Big sis, you’re a celebrity. How did you end up like this?”
“A celebrity? The kind who owes a million in debt?”
“LMAO, other celebrities have sponsors covering their meet-and-greet costs, but she’s here doing the math.”
Lin Wanwan looked at the barrage comments, then suddenly her eyes sparkled with a sly smile:
“How about…”
She deliberately drew out her words.
“You each chip in fifty?”
The entire venue fell silent.
The barrage seemed to hit pause—a full second of blankness.
Then, the screen exploded again:
“????????”
“Crowdfunding??”
“She’s asking fans to crowdfund??”
“What kind of move is this??”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
“Fifty bucks? I’m in!”
“Me too! It’s just fifty bucks!”
“Sisters, let’s go! Fifty each, let’s raise thirty thousand!”
“I’ll give a hundred! Keep the change!”
“I’ll give two hundred! Consider it treating her to a meal!”
The livestream was instantly flooded with “I’m in!”
Just as fans were frantically spamming the chat, someone took a screenshot and posted it on Weibo.
The caption read:
“Lin Wanwan is asking fans to crowdfund fifty bucks for a meet-and-greet—isn’t this just begging? Never seen a celebrity this low. Switching from fan to hater.”
This Weibo post was instantly reposted and spread by anti-fans.
The comments section was flooded with mockery:
“So low, never seen a celebrity sink to this level.”
“If you can’t afford a meet-and-greet, don’t act all high and mighty.”
“She actually had the nerve to ask fans to crowdfund.”
“Switching from fan to hater. How did someone like this even get famous?”
“Small-town origins really show—her mindset is just like that.”
The hashtag #LinWanwanBegging shot up to seventeenth on the trending list.
The barrage started filling with comments like “Anti-fans took screenshots,” “It’s trending,” “People are calling you low.”
Lin Wanwan picked up her phone, clicked into the trending topic, and scrolled down, reading post after post. After a few, the corners of her mouth slowly curved upward.
Not a bitter smile, but one that said, “Interesting.”
She looked up at the camera and said, “Someone said I’m begging?”
The barrage fell silent. Everyone was waiting.
She nodded, her expression calm:
“Yeah, they’re right.”
“I am begging.”
The entire venue erupted in shock.
The barrage exploded instantly:
“????”
“She admitted it?!”
“WTF is this move?!”
“Anti-fans must be speechless, right?”
She continued, her tone casual as if chatting about everyday things:
“I owe a million, sleep on the company floor, and haven’t earned a penny in three years.”
“I’ve been begging all along.”
“You’re only finding out now?”
The barrage went completely wild:
“HAHAHAHAHA SHE ADMITTED IT! SHE JUST ADMITTED IT!”
“This girl really says whatever she wants, no pretense at all!”
“LMAO, anti-fans must be fuming. They wanted to insult her, but she just owned it.”
“What’s wrong with begging? At least she’s not stealing!”
“Isn’t Starlight Media just stealing? And they act all righteous about it.”
Watching the barrage, she added lazily:
“Besides…”
“I’m begging from my fans.”
“Not from anti-fans.”
“Even if anti-fans wanted to give, I wouldn’t take it.”
Then, the trending topics flipped:
“Lin Wanwan Admits to Begging” (5th place, 480 million views)
“I’m Begging from My Fans” (3rd place, 570 million views)
“I Wouldn’t Take Anti-Fans’ Money Even If They Offered” (4th place, 520 million views)
Under the hashtags, fans went into a frenzy:
“She’s so real! Other celebrities pretend to be noble, but she just owns it. I love her even more now!”
“What’s wrong with begging? She’s worth it!”
“Sisters, where’s the crowdfunding link? I’ll chip in five hundred!”
“I’ll chip in a thousand! Consider it treating her to a nice meal!”
“Where’s the crowdfunding platform? Hurry up and set it up! I want to be the first to invest!”
Meanwhile, the comment section under the anti-fan’s Weibo post had completely shifted in tone:
“You say she’s low? She’s way more genuine than you. Do you dare admit what kind of person you are?”
“You spend all day online as a keyboard warrior, earning traffic by insulting others. Isn’t that the real ‘begging’?”
“At least she dares to speak her mind and own up to it. Do you? Do you dare show your face?”
The blogger of that post eventually couldn’t withstand the criticism, deleted the post, and deactivated their account.
Lin Wanwan was chatting with her fans when a voice suddenly echoed in her mind:
[Ding!]
[Host has completed “Reverse Operation” detected]
[Operation content: Having fans crowdfund a meet-and-greet, being called out by anti-fans for “begging for money,” directly admitting it, and countering with a golden line]
[Emotional Fluctuation Value: 14.63 million]
[Reward distributed: “Song of Giving Up” full version snippet (original song)]
[Item description: An essence snippet of the complete song, can be performed for 30 seconds. After performance, audience emotional fluctuation +350%, fan loyalty +60%, passerby-to-fan conversion rate +40%]
Lin Wanwan was momentarily stunned.
Song of Giving Up?
She recalled the song she had just sung, “I’m Not Dead Yet,” which was just an impromptu, off-the-cuff performance. She hadn’t expected the System to actually give her a proper song.
With a thought, she opened her inventory. Inside, a glowing musical note icon had appeared, slowly rotating.
[Use?]
After a moment’s consideration, she tapped [Yes].
A guitar materialized in her hands.
In the livestream, fans were still enthusiastically discussing the crowdfunding when they suddenly heard the sound of a guitar.
On camera, Lin Wanwan held the worn-out guitar, head bowed, fingers gently plucking the strings.
The intro was slow, soft, slightly off-key, yet inexplicably pleasing to the ear. It was like someone unable to sleep late at night, sitting alone by the window, staring outside, humming to themselves.
She began singing, her voice lazy and slightly raspy:
“They say I don’t work hard, say all I know is to lie down
But I’ve been lying down for three years, haven’t seen them lend me a single cent
They say I’m desperate for fame, crazy for money
I say yes, I want fame, I want money
I want fame so badly it keeps you up at night
I want money until the day my debts are paid
And then?
Then I’ll keep lying down.”
Thirty seconds! This time, it was another thirty-second acapella performance.
After finishing, she set the guitar down, took a sip of soy milk, her expression as calm as if nothing had happened.
The livestream fell silent for three seconds.
Three seconds later, the comments exploded:
“Holy cow!!”
“What song is this?!”
“The lyrics are so real!!”
“‘I want fame so badly it keeps you up at night’—this line is epic!!”
“‘Then I’ll keep lying down’ hahahahaha!”
“How does she manage to be both demotivated and inspiring?!”
“When is the full version of this song coming out?!”
“I want to download it! I’ll loop it ten thousand times!”
“Sis, start a crowdfunding! I’ll pay for you to record the song! Release an album!”
Livestream viewer count: 1.27 million → 2.03 million → 3.78 million → 5.12 million → 6.78 million
In three minutes, it had surged by over five million.
Trending topics continued to dominate the charts:
“Song of Giving Up” (explosive, 930 million reads)
“I want fame so badly it keeps you up at night” (explosive, 870 million reads)
“Then I’ll keep lying down” (hot, 620 million reads)
“Lin Wanwan impromptu performance” (hot, 580 million reads)
The topic’s read count broke two billion in ten minutes.
Countless people flooded into her Weibo, begging for the full version, the studio version, and a paid download.
The comment section was completely out of control:
“When is this song coming out? I’ll buy it like crazy!”
“I’ve looped it fifty times! The more I listen, the more addicted I get!”
“Please release the full version! The studio version! A paid version! I’ll pay any price!”
“Start a music crowdfunding campaign, I’ll be the first to invest! I’ll put in a thousand!”
“This song should be on the Spring Festival Gala! On New Year’s Eve!”
“Lin Wanwan, you’re amazing. I’m convinced, completely convinced!”
Lin Wanwan was staring at her phone, grinning so wide her mouth almost reached her ears, when she suddenly heard a knock at the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocks were light and slow, just three of them.
She paused, put down her phone, and walked to the door.
Through the peephole, she saw a woman.
The woman was in her thirties, with short hair, wearing a mask and an ordinary black trench coat, standing in the hallway. The corridor light was a bit dim, making it hard to see her face clearly. But her eyes were very bright.
Lin Wanwan hesitated for a second, then opened the door.
As she pulled open the security door, she braced herself for all sorts of possibilities: reporters, fans, haters, or even another flower delivery. But the woman outside did nothing. She just looked at her, silent for a few seconds.
Then, the woman spoke: “I’m a talent scout.”
Lin Wanwan blinked.
The woman continued, her tone calm: “But I don’t represent any company.”
Lin Wanwan didn’t speak, waiting.
The woman pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to her. Her movements were slow, as if giving her time to decide whether to take it.
Lin Wanwan took the card and glanced down at it.
The card was simple, white with black text, no flashy logo, just one line: Independent Producer Xu Jia, followed by a phone number.
Lin Wanwan looked up at the woman.
【Eye of Truth】activated.
Lines of information appeared before her eyes:
【Emotion: Calm 71%】, 【Anticipation 83%】, 【Sincerity 92%】, Inner Thoughts: “She’s the one I’m looking for. I hope she’s willing to hear me out.”
【Identity: Xu Jia, former top-tier talent agent, mentored three A-list celebrities, blacklisted for three years after refusing to arrange for artists to accompany clients to drinks, now an independent producer】
After reading, Lin Wanwan looked up and asked, “Why me?”
The woman looked at her, a light in her eyes. It wasn’t the light of seeing a cash cow, but the light of seeing a kindred spirit.
“Because of the song you just sang.”
She paused, her voice soft but every word clear:
“Thirty seconds, and I felt like I’d lived thirty years.”