At two in the afternoon, the trial resumed.
The judge looked at Li Meng. “Witness, please take the stand to testify.”
Li Meng stood up and took a deep breath.
As she walked past the plaintiff’s table, the man with the gold-rimmed glasses turned deathly pale.
She stepped into the witness stand and raised her right hand. “I swear that everything I say is the truth.”
Li Meng’s testimony continued.
Every word she spoke was like a knife, stabbing into the people at the plaintiff’s table.
“In March 2019, the company arranged for me to have dinner with an advertiser. After the meal, they wanted me to go to a KTV. At the KTV, they pressured me to drink. After drinking…”
She paused, her voice trembling. “After drinking, I don’t remember anything. The next day, I woke up in a hotel room, lying next to that advertiser.”
The courtroom fell dead silent.
In the public gallery, some people began wiping away tears.
Reporters’ hands shook as they continued taking notes.
In the live stream chat, no one was typing “hahaha” anymore. The screen was filled with: “Beasts, scum, may Starlight Media die a horrible death, who is that advertiser?”
The judge struck his gavel. “Order!”
He looked at Li Meng, his expression complex. “Witness, do you have any evidence?”
Li Meng nodded and took a piece of paper from her bag. “This is the medical examination report I got from the hospital the next day, and also…”
She took out another piece of paper. “This is the transfer record of the ‘hush money’ the company later gave me—five thousand yuan. They wanted to buy my silence for five thousand yuan.”
The bailiff took the evidence and handed it to the judge.
The judge looked at the papers and remained silent for a long time. Then, he turned to the plaintiff’s table. “Plaintiff, do you have anything to say?”
The plaintiff’s lawyer opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses—the legal director—was deathly pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
Just then, the door opened, and a man walked in.
He was in his forties, wearing glasses and an ordinary jacket, carrying a canvas bag.
He looked like an ordinary middle-aged office worker.
But everyone’s eyes were drawn to him.
Because he walked slowly, each step heavy, as if carrying a thousand-pound burden.
He walked up to the judge and bowed deeply. “Your Honor, I have come to turn myself in.”
The courtroom erupted in murmurs.
The judge frowned. “Turn yourself in? Who are you?”
The man raised his head, looking at the legal director at the plaintiff’s table, enunciating each word clearly. “My name is Zhang Wei. Former financial director of Starlight Media.”
At the plaintiff’s table, the legal director’s face instantly drained of color.
The judge signaled the bailiffs to be on alert, then asked, “What is this about?”
Zhang Wei took out a thick stack of documents from his canvas bag. “Your Honor, I’ve brought some things. These things have been weighing on my conscience for three years.”
He looked at Lin Wanwan, his eyes reddening. “Miss Lin, I’m sorry.”
Lin Wanwan was stunned.
Zhang Wei continued, “I was Starlight’s financial director for eight years. In those eight years, the accounts I handled… I didn’t even dare look at them myself. Artists generated millions, tens of millions in revenue, but what ended up in their hands was zero. How did the company do it? Various pretexts: training fees, styling fees, accommodation fees, promotion fees, breach of contract penalties… anything written in the contract was deducted from the artists’ earnings. In the end, not only did they get no money, they even ended up owing the company.”
He raised the documents in his hand: “These are Lin Wanwan’s accounts. Over the past three years, the revenue she generated for the company…”
He flipped to a specific page, showing it to the judge and everyone present: “Eight million two hundred thirty thousand.”
The entire courtroom gasped.
Zhang Wei continued:
“This is Lin Wanwan’s personal income: zero.”
The room fell silent, and then the reporters went wild, the sound of camera shutters erupting like a storm.
In the gallery, some stood up, some cried out, and some broke down in tears.
The live stream chat went completely out of control:
“Eight million two hundred thirty thousand! Zero!”
“Three years! Not a single cent!”
“How did she survive?!”
“Sleeping on the office floor! Eating company boxed meals! Doing the company’s work! Where’s the money?!”
“The company took it all!”
“This isn’t an artist! This is a slave!”
“Starlight Media is a slave owner!”
The judge slammed the gavel forcefully: “Order! Or…der!”
But it was useless. Anger surged like a tide, unstoppable.
Zhang Wei presented the evidence one document at a time: “This is the commercial performance contract from 2019. Lin Wanwan’s appearance fee was thirty thousand per show, but the company reported it to her as two thousand.”
“This is the endorsement contract from 2020. The brand paid five hundred thousand, but the company told her they only negotiated twenty thousand.”
“This is the variety show invitation from 2021. ‘Youth Trainee’ wanted to invite her at the time, offering eight hundred thousand. The company rejected it without telling her.”
“This is the breakdown of the one million she ‘owes’ the company—accommodation fees (storage room) three thousand per month, one hundred thousand over three years; training fees (never received any training) fifty thousand per year, one hundred fifty thousand over three years; styling fees (clothes she bought herself) twenty thousand per year, sixty thousand over three years; promotion fees (never promoted) one hundred thousand per year, three hundred thousand over three years; plus breach of contract fees, management fees, miscellaneous expenses… adding up to exactly one million.”
He looked up at the judge: “Your Honor, this is the so-called ‘debt.’ Using the money she earned, they calculated it as debt she owes, making it impossible for her to repay in a lifetime, trapping her forever.”
The entire courtroom fell silent, so quiet you could hear breathing.
Then, Lin Wanwan stood there, motionless. She didn’t cry, didn’t smile, showed no expression at all. She just stared at those account books, at those numbers.
Suddenly, she remembered her past life.
In her past life, it was the same kind of company, the same kind of account books, the same kind of numbers. In the end, she died on stage, and even the name in her obituary was wrong.
The legal director finally couldn’t hold back. He stood up, pointing at Zhang Wei: “You! You betrayed the company! This is a breach of confidentiality! You’ll go to jail for this!”
Zhang Wei looked at him calmly and said: “Mr. Wang, I’m forty-five this year.”
“In my life, I haven’t done anything particularly bad. I’ve just been helping you all with the accounts, calculating those heartless numbers.”
“Every night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with those numbers, the looks those artists gave me. I can’t forget them.”
“They asked me: ‘Accountant Zhang, do I have any income this month?'”
“I said: ‘Just wait a little longer.'”
“And they waited for three years.”
He looked at the legal director, his eyes reddening: “Mr. Wang, do you know? Every time Lin Wanwan saw me, she smiled at me.”
“She owed the company one million, slept on the floor, and still smiled at me.”
“She said: ‘Accountant Zhang, thank you for your hard work.'”
“I…”
His voice choked, unable to continue.
In the gallery, sobs filled the air.
The judge took a deep breath and rapped the gavel. “The evidence provided by witness Zhang Wei will be reviewed by the court in accordance with the law.”
“The court is now adjourned and will reconvene tomorrow.”
The gavel fell.
But he did not leave immediately. Instead, he looked toward the plaintiff’s bench, then at Lin Wanwan.
That gaze was complex.
The reporters went wild.
As soon as Lin Wanwan stepped out, she was surrounded, completely hemmed in.
Microphones were shoved in her face, questions firing at her like bullets: “Ms. Lin, how do you feel right now?”
“You didn’t get a single cent of over eight million. Do you hate them?”
“Will you continue with the lawsuit?”
Lin Wanwan stood there, encircled by hundreds of reporters.
She didn’t hide, didn’t speak, just remained silent. Then, she spotted a person in the crowd.
Zhang Wei. He stood in the distance, watching her.
Their eyes met, and Lin Wanwan suddenly smiled.
She said to the reporters, “Step aside.”
The reporters were stunned, instinctively parting to make a path.
Lin Wanwan walked toward Zhang Wei, stopped in front of him, and stood still.
Zhang Wei hung his head, not daring to look at her. “Ms. Lin, I… I was too late.”
“All those years, I should have stepped forward sooner.”
Lin Wanwan looked at him and said one sentence: “Accountant Zhang, you’ve worked hard.”
Zhang Wei lifted his head, tears streaming down his face.
Hot searches exploded completely:
#Lin Wanwan: 8.23 Million# (Explosive)
#Zero-Income Artist# (Explosive)
#Starlight Media Slave Contract# (Explosive)
#Zhang Wei: I’m Sorry# (Hot)
#Lin Wanwan: You’ve Worked Hard# (Hot)
Topic views surpassed five billion within half an hour.
The entire internet was discussing one thing:
“8.23 million in revenue, zero income, yet she owes a million! What kind of operation is this?”
“This is even darker than a black coal mine!”
“Does Starlight Media have any humanity left?”
“That legal director looks like scum!”
“Zhang Wei is a good person. How many artists has he saved!”
Meanwhile, Starlight Media’s official Weibo account was completely overrun.
Under their latest post, three million comments, all saying:
“Pay back the money”
“Apologize”
“Get out of the entertainment industry”
“Spit out Lin Wanwan’s eight million”
As soon as Lin Wanwan returned to her dorm, her phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number. She answered.
On the other end was a man’s voice—old, hoarse, tinged with amusement. “Lin Wanwan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Lin Wanwan was silent for a second, then said, “Yes. Starlight Media’s boss, Li Jianguo.”
The person on the phone laughed. “Smart. A smart person should know how to choose.”
Lin Wanwan said nothing.
Li Jianguo continued, “You won a round today. But you should know, this is only the first round.”
“I have plenty of money, plenty of lawyers, plenty of time.”
“And you? Do you have money? Do you have lawyers? Do you have time?”
“Can you afford to drag this out?”
Lin Wanwan listened quietly.
Li Jianguo finally said, “I’ll give you a chance. Withdraw the lawsuit, settle, and I can give you five hundred thousand.”
“If you don’t withdraw… I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life fighting this case.”
With that, the call ended.
Lin Wanwan started a live stream. Without any introduction or preamble, she directly placed her phone on the table, faced the camera, and played the recording of that call.
From “Do you know who I am?” to “I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life fighting this case”—every word, without omission.
The playback finished.
She smiled at the camera and said, “Mr. Li, you just said you have plenty of money, plenty of lawyers, and plenty of time.”
“I want to ask you one thing…”
She paused. “Do you have a conscience?”
The livestream exploded once again!
This broadcast was being frantically shared.
In three minutes, shares surpassed one million; in ten minutes, shares exceeded five million; in twenty minutes, the recording was everywhere across all platforms online.
Updated trending topics:
#Li Jianguo: I Have Plenty of Money# (Explosive)
#Lin Wanwan: Do You Have a Conscience?# (Explosive)
#Recording of Xingyao Media’s Boss Exposed# (Explosive)
Half an hour later, Xingyao Media’s stock began to plummet: from an opening price of 23.5 yuan, it plunged all the way to 16.8 yuan at closing, wiping out four billion in market value in a single day.
Li Jianguo’s mansion.
Li Jianguo watched the news on TV, his face ashen.
Just then, his phone rang. He answered, and the voice on the other end was the company’s public relations director: “Mr. Li, it’s bad—many artists are issuing statements to terminate their contracts…”
“Mr. Li, the media are all blocking the entrance…”
“Mr. Li, shareholders are calling to curse…”
Li Jianguo slammed his phone down.
He stared out the window, gritting his teeth. “Lin Wanwan…”
“Do you think this is over?”
“Let me tell you…”
“This is just the beginning.”
[8:00 PM · Dormitory]
Lin Wanwan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, her phone lit up with a private message.
She opened it and read: “Lin Wanwan, thank you. I’m an artist who was cheated by Xingyao three years ago. Back then, no one helped me. I endured it alone. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I left the industry. Now, seeing you, seeing Zhang Wei, seeing Li Meng, and seeing so many people stepping forward… I suddenly feel like there might still be hope in this world. Thank you.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the message for a long time in silence. Then, she replied, “This isn’t my achievement alone—it belongs to all of us.”