The courthouse entrance was packed with a sea of people.
The crowd stretched from the courthouse doors all the way to the street corner, a dense black mass, with even the opposite overpass filled with onlookers. Traffic police had temporarily blocked off half the road, but no one complained—everyone was waiting for news.
Not because of Lin Wanwan, but because at four o’clock that morning, a piece of news had spread like wildfire across the internet: Li Jianguo had been taken away by the Jiangcheng Tax Bureau.
At two in the morning, someone had captured a photo of Li Jianguo being escorted out of his mansion by two uniformed officers, his hands held in front of him. Though there were no handcuffs, his bowed head said it all.
Though the photo was blurry, it was clear enough to identify him. Within three minutes of the photo surfacing, #LiJianguoTakenAway topped the trending charts, with views surpassing one hundred million in just ten minutes.
Now, outside the courthouse, there were not only fans, reporters, and legal bloggers but also countless ordinary citizens who had come of their own accord.
“Investigate Star Glory Media thoroughly!”
“Justice for Lin Wanwan!”
“A ninety-ten split? That’s daylight robbery!”
“The slave contracts must be abolished!”
“Li Jianguo, get out of the entertainment industry!”
Reporters pushed through the crowd with cameras, thrusting microphones toward anyone willing to speak. Live streams from various platforms were simultaneously broadcasting, with viewer counts in the top right corner skyrocketing: fifty million, fifty-five million, sixty million.
The barrage of comments was too fast to read.
“Was Li Jianguo really arrested? Is this fake news?”
“The Jiangcheng Tax Bureau was involved—it can’t be fake!”
“I heard the amount involved is over a hundred million?”
“More than that—some say it’s several hundred million.”
“Serves him right! Let him be greedy!”
“Is Lin Wanwan appearing in court today?”
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere was entirely different.
On the plaintiff’s side, Li Jianguo’s seat was empty, leaving only the legal director and the company’s lawyer. Both looked pale and wilted, like frostbitten eggplants. The legal director kept wiping sweat from his brow; despite the air conditioning in the courtroom, the back of his shirt was already soaked through.
On the defendant’s side, Lin Wanwan wore the same white shirt and jeans, her face free of makeup. But today, she was accompanied by Lawyer Zhou Mingyuan.
The old man wore a dark gray suit, his hair meticulously combed. In front of him lay a kraft paper file folder, his demeanor calm and composed.
The public gallery was packed to capacity.
In the first row sat several people in plain clothes, their demeanor steady and expressions serious—clearly not ordinary individuals. Someone quietly snapped a photo and posted it online, and the comments section exploded instantly: “Holy crap, that’s a reporter from the Jiangcheng Legal Daily!”
“And next to them is someone from the Jiangcheng People’s Daily!”
“Even official media are here?!”
From the second row onward were fan representatives, self-media bloggers, and legal professionals. In a corner sat several artists from Star Glory Media, wearing masks but keeping their eyes fixed on the defendant’s side.
The judge entered, and everyone rose.
At 9:40 a.m., the trial began.
Zhou Mingyuan stood up, holding a USB drive in his hand. His voice was not loud, but every word was clear and forceful: “Your Honor, this is new evidence submitted by the defense. This evidence shows that, over the past three years, Star Glory Media has engaged in systematic tax evasion, fraudulent contracts, falsified accounts, and other illegal activities. The specific details have been compiled into a report, and we request to submit it to the court.”
On the plaintiff’s side, the legal director abruptly stood up: “Objection! The source of this evidence is unclear and cannot be admitted!”
Zhou Mingyuan didn’t even turn his head, speaking calmly, “Source unclear? Then let the Jiangcheng Tax Bureau explain to you whether it’s clear or not.”
As soon as his words fell, the courtroom door was suddenly pushed open.
Several people walked in, dressed in uniforms, their steps steady. The leader was a middle-aged man with a square face, sharp eyes, and a kraft paper envelope in his hand. He walked up to the judge’s bench and presented his credentials: “We are from the Jiangcheng Tax Bureau. Mr. Li Jianguo is suspected of massive tax evasion and was taken away for investigation early this morning. These are the relevant legal documents.”
The courtroom fell into a deathly silence, then erupted with a roar.
Reporters frantically clicked their shutters, people in the gallery stood up one after another, and bailiffs had to maintain order. The live stream chat exploded, the screen flooded with white text:
“Holy shit!! They really took him away!!”
“The tax inspection bureau is here!!”
“It’s not a rumor! It’s true!”
“Li Jianguo is finished!!”
“Serves him right! Let him be so heartless!”
“Lin Wanwan is amazing!!”
The judge took the documents, read them once, then read them again. He then tapped his gavel three times: “Order! Please maintain order!”
Once the noise subsided slightly, he looked toward the plaintiff’s bench, then at the uniformed individuals in the gallery, pondering for a few seconds: “Given that Mr. Li Jianguo has been taken away for investigation, the evidence in this case requires re-examination. The court is now adjourned and will reconvene at a later date. The specific time will be announced separately.”
The gavel fell.
Bang.
Lin Wanwan walked out through the side door of the courthouse, but the crowd had already blocked all exits. The moment she appeared, she was surrounded by reporters. Microphones, phones, and voice recorders were thrust toward her like a forest. Camera flashes made it hard to keep her eyes open.
Questions shot at her like bullets:
“Ms. Lin, what do you think about Li Jianguo being taken away?”
“Do you know who reported him?”
“Do you think he’ll be sentenced?”
“Some say you have powerful backing. Is that true?”
Lin Wanwan stood in the middle of the crowd, swaying slightly from the pushing. She suddenly raised her hand and gestured for quiet.
To everyone’s surprise, the crowd actually quieted down a little.
She looked at the microphones and remained silent for a few seconds.
In the sunlight, her face was calm—no smile, no smugness. Just calm.
Then she said, “I don’t know who reported him.”
“But I know…”
She paused, looking directly into the camera with a serious expression: “Justice may be delayed, but it will not be absent.”
“Though the delay is truly disgusting.”
The crowd fell silent for a second.
Then, someone laughed.
Soon after, applause broke out, spreading from a few people to dozens, then hundreds, like a rising tide.
Some whistled, some shouted “Well said!” while others held up their phones, recording nonstop.
The live stream chat went wild:
“Hahahaha! That last line is perfect!”
“Though the delay is truly disgusting! What a quote!”
“Lin Wanwan, you really know how to speak!”
“I’m writing this down!”
“Justice being delayed is truly disgusting, but at least it didn’t fail to show up!”
Trending topics exploded:
#Li Jianguo Taken Away# (Explosive, 870 million views)
#Lin Wanwan Justice May Be Delayed# (Explosive, 720 million views)
#Though the Delay Is Truly Disgusting# (Hot, 530 million views)
#Star Glory Media Tax Evasion# (Hot, 480 million views)
#Abolish Slave Contracts# (Hot, 410 million views)
The topic’s read count broke three billion in an hour. Across all platforms online, Lin Wanwan alone occupied seven of the top ten trending searches.
The comment section was completely out of control:
“Is Li Jianguo going down this time?”
“Tax evasion on such a massive scale—at least ten years minimum.”
“Starlight Media is finished. Those artists can finally terminate their contracts.”
“That line from Lin Wanwan was absolutely savage! ‘Being late is really disgusting’—I burst out laughing.”
“How does she manage to be both serious and hilarious?”
“This is true clarity—no affectation, no sentimentality, just speaking the truth.”
But amid the online frenzy, someone noticed something strange.
A netizen named “Melon-Eating Xiao Wang” posted:
“Has anyone noticed that the trending searches about Lin Wanwan have never been taken down?”
The post instantly shot to the top of the hot list.
The comment section exploded:
“Right! Starlight is so rich—why aren’t they removing the searches?”
“They definitely tried, but they couldn’t get them taken down!”
“Couldn’t get them taken down? Why?”
“Is someone higher up protecting her?”
“Who? Who has that kind of power?”
“No idea, but it’s definitely not an ordinary person.”
“Could it be state media? Even Jiangcheng Legal Daily showed up today.”
“State media wouldn’t protect just one person unless…”
“Unless this is no longer just about Lin Wanwan.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means Lin Wanwan is just the catalyst. What the higher-ups want to investigate is the entire industry.”
This comment received three hundred thousand likes.
The hashtag #WhoIsProtectingLinWanwan# surged to seventh place on the trending list.
No one knew the answer. But everyone was guessing.
Just as the entire internet was speculating, a bombshell piece of news suddenly appeared.
The official Weibo account of Jiangcheng Legal Daily published an article:
“Looking at the ‘Slave Contracts’ in the Entertainment Industry Through the Lin Wanwan Case”
The article wasn’t long—just over two thousand words—but every sentence hit like a nail.
“The Lin Wanwan case is not an isolated incident.”
“Ninety-ten splits, predatory clauses, artists forced to attend drinking parties, chaotic company accounts—these are common phenomena in the entertainment industry. They’re not secrets, but they’ve never been truly addressed.”
“Why? Because the cost of breaking the law is too low, because oversight is lacking, because artists are afraid to speak up. Silence has become the rule of this industry.”
“But Lin Wanwan spoke up.”
“She wasn’t the first artist to suffer, but she was the first to dare to expose her scars for everyone to see. Her courage deserves reflection from all of us. Are such contracts truly legal? Is such an industry truly normal?”
“In a society governed by the rule of law, no form of ‘slave contract’ is allowed to exist—whether in writing or as an unwritten rule.”
As soon as this Weibo post went live, it was like lighting a fuse.
In three minutes, reposts exceeded one million.
In ten minutes, reposts exceeded five million.
In twenty minutes, screenshots and links to the article flooded every platform online.
State media collectively reposted it:
Jiangcheng People’s Daily reposted:
“【Focus】The Lin Wanwan case sparks heated discussion—when will the chaos in entertainment industry contracts end?”
Jiangcheng New Edge reposted:
“【Sharp Commentary】’Slave contracts’ are not a product of a society governed by the rule of law. Workers’ rights must not be violated.”
Jiangcheng News reposted:
“【Tonight’s Focus】The industry’s pain behind the Lin Wanwan case. In-depth dialogue at 21:30 tonight.”
Jiangcheng Daily reposted:
**[Jiangcheng Times Review] Artists are also laborers. Exploitation in any form should not be tolerated.”
Jiangcheng Youth Daily reposted:
“[Youth Focus] Lin Wanwan: The courage of a young actress tears open the industry’s fig leaf.”
All official media outlets collectively entered the fray.
The trending searches exploded completely.
#OfficialMediaCollectivelySpeaksOut# (Explosive, 1.2 billion reads)
#SlaveContractsAreNotTheProductOfARuleOfLawSociety# (Explosive, 980 million reads)
#TheIndustryPainBehindTheLinWanwanCase# (Hot, 720 million reads)
The total read count for the topics surpassed five billion.
A netizen posted a screenshot on Weibo: “Lived for thirty years, this is the first time I’ve seen so many official media outlets speaking about the same thing. Lin Wanwan, you’re truly something.”
Comment section: “It’s not that Lin Wanwan is something, it’s that this matter has finally been seen.”
Zhang Zhiming, the PR director of Star Glory Media, slumped in his office chair, his hands trembling uncontrollably.
On the computer screen before him was the trending topic #OfficialMediaCollectivelySpeaksOut#. His phone beside him rang incessantly, all calls from various channels. He answered them one by one, his voice growing lower and lower.
“Mr. Wang, please, help us get this trending search taken down! The price is negotiable, anything you want!”
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then a voice said, “Zhiming, it’s not about the money. It can’t be taken down.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. But it just can’t. We’ve tried, every possible avenue, it’s completely immovable.”
“Who’s suppressing it?”
“I don’t know. But whoever you’ve offended has serious backing. Zhiming, let me give you some advice: don’t get involved in this anymore. Save yourself.”
The call ended.
Zhang Zhiming made over a dozen more calls. Mr. Li from the real estate company, Mr. Zhang from the video platform, colleagues in the PR circle, even “leaders” he had helped in the past—all the replies were the same: “Can’t be taken down, don’t know who’s suppressing it.”
“Whoever you’ve offended has serious backing.”
After the last call, Zhang Zhiming threw his phone onto the desk and looked up at the ceiling.
“It’s over. This time it’s completely over.”
He remembered three months ago, when Li Jianguo had slammed the table in the meeting room and said, “What waves can a bottom-tier actress make? Money can settle anything.”
He had laughed in agreement back then. Now, he couldn’t laugh.
At that moment, Li Jianguo sat in the interrogation room, his face ashen. He hadn’t slept all night, his eye sockets sunken, a stubble of blue-black beard on his chin. The investigators opposite him had changed shifts, and a thick stack of documents lay piled on the table.
“Mr. Li Jianguo, you are suspected of massive tax evasion. This is the preliminary verified portion of the accounts. Please see if there are any issues.”
Li Jianguo didn’t look. He stared at the person opposite him, remained silent for a long time, then asked, “Who reported me?”
The Jiangcheng Tax Bureau official glanced at him, his tone flat. “That, I cannot say.”
“Was it Lin Wanwan?”
“…”
“Was it her?!”
The Jiangcheng Tax Bureau official closed the file and stood up. “Mr. Li Jianguo, the issue now is whether you can clearly account for your own problems, not who reported you. Think carefully before you speak.”
He pushed the door open and left.
Li Jianguo sat alone in the interrogation room, staring at the stark white wall, and suddenly laughed. It was a light laugh, chilling.
“Good, good, good.”
“You think this can finish me?”
He lowered his head, his eyes turning wild.
“The game has only just begun.”
At five in the afternoon, Lin Wanwan lay on her apartment bed, staring at her phone.
The trending searches were still there, the topics were still there, the discussions were still there—everything was moving in a positive direction.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
This whole situation had gone too smoothly, unnaturally so.
From the appearance of the mysterious figure “Capital Bane,” to Wang Fang handing over the USB drive, to Li Jianguo being taken away, to the official media stepping in—every step felt as if she was being pushed forward. Who was pushing her? Why were they pushing her? What was their goal?
She didn’t know.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated with a text message.
It was from an unknown number, with the location displayed as “unknown.” The message contained only one sentence: “The game has just begun. Don’t die too soon.”
Lin Wanwan’s pupils contracted sharply.
She stared at those words, her fingers turning cold. Even though it was broad daylight, a chill crept up her spine.
She activated the Eye of Truth.
But the number was a dead end—she couldn’t see anything.
Wanbi pushed the door open, holding two cups of milk tea. “I brought you—”
Seeing Lin Wanwan’s expression, she paused. “What’s wrong?”
Lin Wanwan handed her the phone.
Wanbi took it, and her face instantly paled. “Is this… a threat?”
Lin Wanwan didn’t respond.
She remembered the look Li Jianguo had given the camera before he was taken away.
It wasn’t despair—it was madness, like a wild beast trapped in a cage, ready to bite at any moment.
Wanbi grabbed her hand. “Call the police! Call them now!”
Lin Wanwan shook her head. “It’s no use. A number like this can’t be traced.”
“Then what do we do?”
Lin Wanwan gazed out the window, silent for a long time. Then she picked up her phone and started a live stream.
This time, she wasn’t lying down or sitting. Instead, she stood by the window, with the gradually darkening sky behind her.
Wanbi stood beside her, holding the phone, the camera pointed at her.
The live stream instantly drew in ten million viewers.
Comments flooded the screen:
“Big sis is here!”
“Why are you standing today?”
“Li Jianguo got arrested. Are you happy?”
“The official media stepped in. You won!”
Lin Wanwan watched the comments for a few seconds before speaking. “Today, I need to say something.”
The comments slowly quieted down.
She held up her phone, showing the text message to everyone.
“The game has just begun. Don’t die too soon.”
The entire audience erupted, and the comments exploded instantly:
“What is this?!”
“A threat! A blatant threat!”
“Who sent it?!”
“It must be someone from Li Jianguo’s side!”
“He’s already in custody, and he still dares to threaten?!”
“There are people behind him!”
“Call the police! Call them now!”
“Lin Wanwan can’t be harmed!”
Lin Wanwan waited for the comments to settle slightly before continuing. “I don’t know who sent this.”
“But I know…”
She paused, looking directly into the camera. The last ray of light from outside fell on her face, illuminating the calmness in her eyes.
“They want me to be afraid.”
“They want me to stay silent.”
“They want me to back down.”
“So, I won’t.”
She put down her phone, sat back on the bed, pulled the blanket over herself as usual, and adjusted her position.
“From today onward, I will stream every day.”
“Not because I want to be famous.”
“But because…”
She looked into the camera, enunciating each word clearly. “As long as I’m alive, they won’t have peace.”
“Good night.”
After the live stream ended, the trending searches exploded once again:
#Lin Wanwan Receives Threat# (Explosive Read Count: 630 Million)
#Don’t Die Too Early, The Game Has Just Begun# (Explosive Read Count: 580 Million)
#As Long As I’m Alive, They Won’t Have Peace# (Hot Read Count: 420 Million)
Beneath the topics, fans’ anger and worry flooded the comments:
“Is this a warning?!”
“Li Jianguo’s already been arrested, and they still dare to threaten?!”
“There are still people behind him!”
“Lin Wanwan must not be harmed!”
“Sisters, keep a 24-hour watch on the livestream. If anything seems off, call the police immediately!”
“Suggest the police provide 24-hour protection!”
Just then, an unexpected account reposted this trending topic.
@Jiangcheng Police Online:
“We have taken note of the relevant situation and are currently investigating. Ms. Lin Wanwan, if needed, please contact us at any time. Netizens, if you have any leads, please provide them promptly.”
This Weibo post was wildly liked and reposted.
Within ten minutes, likes surpassed six million.
The comment section was filled with cheers:
“The police have finally stepped in!”
“Now she’s safe!”
“Hope they catch the culprit soon!”
“Stay strong, Lin Wanwan!”
At that moment, Lin Wanwan lay in bed, staring at the police’s Weibo post. Wanbi sat beside her, holding a long-cold milk tea, sipping it slowly.
After a long silence, Wanbi asked, “Are you scared?”
Lin Wanwan thought for a moment and said, “Yes.”
“But what’s the use of being scared?”
She turned over, gazing at the ceiling. “They want me to be scared, but I refuse. The more scared I am, the more they’ll gloat.”
Wanbi looked at her and smiled. “You’re still the same you.”
Lin Wanwan smiled back. “So are you.”
Outside the window, moonlight flowed like water.
But in the darkness, something was stirring.
Lin Wanwan knew this was only the beginning.
Li Jianguo had fallen, but the people behind him were still standing.
That text message was just the first shot fired.
But she had no regrets. From the moment she said in court, “Let me sleep on the company floor,” there was no turning back.
Her phone screen lit up again—another unknown number, with just three words:
“Just you wait.”
Lin Wanwan stared at those three words, her fingers clenching tightly before slowly relaxing.
She didn’t reply, nor did she tell Wanbi. She simply placed the phone beside her pillow and closed her eyes.
Moonlight seeped through the gap in the curtains, falling on her face.
Lin Wanwan whispered to herself, “Goodnight.”