49: Chapter 49 Multi-pronged Approach

Ten days after the release of "Neon Pulse," its Spotify streams surpassed 300,000, stabilizing at around 150th on the US daily charts.

This performance was nothing for a major label, but for an independent release, it was phenomenal. Marcus brought even more important news: the song had entered Spotify's official "Fresh Finds" playlist at position 38—low, but it meant the platform's algorithm was starting to actively recommend it.

"The conversion rate is very healthy," Marcus showed data during a video conference. "Listeners coming from the playlist have a 35% save rate, which is higher than average. This indicates your musical style has a clear audience profile."

Alex looked at the data panel. The audience demographics showed: 18-24 year olds accounted for the highest proportion (42%), followed by 25-34 year olds (31%). Geographically, concentration was high in major cities like Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and Seattle. The gender ratio was balanced (52% female, 48% male).

"Urban youth," he summarized. "Exactly my target group."

"More than that." Marcus pulled up another chart. "Crucially, you've attracted 'crossover listeners'—people who originally listened to indie rock, electronic music, and even classical have a certain percentage flowing to your song. This potential to break out of the niche is very precious."

As they were speaking, Taylor joined the video conference. She had just returned from New York, her face carrying both the exhaustion and excitement of travel.

"I met a few friends," she said, getting straight to the point. "An A&R Vice President at Universal Music wants to chat with you. Not to sign you, just to 'get to know you.'"

Marcus immediately sat up straight. "Which Vice President?"

"James Walter. He's in charge of the Alternative and Indie department," Taylor said. "He listened to 'Neon Pulse' and said, 'This kind of production precision doesn't look like an independent work.' He wants to know who is behind you."

Alex's heart tightened. This was a good thing, but also a risk. Attention from a major label could bring resources, but it would also bring more rigorous scrutiny.

"How did you respond?"

"I said you're an independent creator with no team, but you have 'extraordinary focus and learning ability,'" Taylor looked at him. "Alex, you need to prepare. If James is truly interested, he might dig very deep."

"How deep?"

"The creative process, sources of inspiration, technical learning paths... everything," Taylor said seriously. "People at major labels have seen plenty of geniuses, but they've also seen plenty of frauds. They'll use various ways to verify your authenticity."

Alex nodded. He had long expected this day would come. The existence of the exchange system had to remain hidden forever, but his persona as a "genius creator" needed to be infallible.

After the meeting ended, he began organizing his "creative archives." Not just for "Neon Pulse," but for all his works starting from the earliest "dancing sculpture": original materials, storyboard sketches, editing timelines, and revision logs. Every file was organized chronologically with detailed annotations.

This task took two full days. Once finished, he called up the system to check his popularity: 820,000.

The growth brought by "Neon Pulse" was slowing down, but it continued. The exchange for the novel line had consumed 750,000, but he had now saved it back up.

He needed to decide on the next exchange target. While browsing the list, an ability he had previously ignored caught his attention:

[Physical Limit Breakthrough (Temporary)]: In states of extreme crisis, temporarily enhances physical functions to their limit for 30-60 seconds. Exchange requires 850,000 popularity; requires a 72-hour cooldown after use.

The description was tempting—not a permanent enhancement, but a burst for critical moments. The price was right on the edge of his current capacity.

But he hesitated. 850,000 was almost his entire current reserve; after the exchange, he'd only have a few tens of thousands left. And he still needed to set aside 1.1 million for the second single, "We Are Young," to leave room for subsequent development.

"Wait for now," he decided. "Let's see what Winston's side is up to."

---

Winston's move came quickly, and it was more direct than expected.

On Wednesday morning, Alex received a call from the Nashville Police Department, saying they needed him to "cooperate with an investigation into an intellectual property dispute." The other party's tone was official but the phrasing was vague, only saying "there has been a report that you may be involved in the improper use of someone else's creative materials."

Alex immediately contacted Attorney Li Zhiming.

"This is a typical pressure tactic," Attorney Li Zhiming analyzed over the phone. "The police have no right to summon you directly regarding a civil intellectual property dispute, but they can invite you over under the guise of 'cooperating with an investigation.' Once you go, regardless of the outcome, the news could leak, creating public pressure."

"Should I go?"

"You have to go, but you must be accompanied by a lawyer, and the entire process must be recorded," Attorney Li Zhiming said. "More importantly—we need to know who the informant is and what the content of the report is. This might be a test from the other side."

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Alex and Attorney Li Zhiming appeared together at the Nashville Police Department. They were received by a middle-aged detective whose attitude was polite but distant.

"Mr. Su, we received an anonymous report letter," the detective handed over a photocopy. "The informant claims your 'Neon Pulse' used a melody he created in 2018. This is the 'evidence' provided by the informant."

Alex looked at the "evidence"—it was a photo of a handwritten musical score, and there was indeed a melody on it that bore similarities to the chorus of "Neon Pulse." But a careful look revealed the flaws: the paper of the score was too new, the ink color was uniform, and there were no natural traces of writing.

More importantly—2018? It was currently 2010.

"Detective, is this date wrong?" Attorney Li Zhiming pointed out directly. "The informant said this is a work he created in 2018, but it's only 2010 now."

The detective froze for a moment, looked at the document again, and his expression was a bit embarrassed. "Uh... it might be a slip of the pen. But the core of the report is the melodic similarity..."

"Melodic similarity is very common in music creation," Attorney Li Zhiming interrupted him. "Furthermore, my client has a complete record of the creative process. All drafts, modifications, and recording processes since March of this year can be provided. If the informant has an objection, it should be resolved through civil court rather than occupying police resources."

The detective clearly also realized there was a problem with this report, and his attitude softened. "We are just investigating according to procedure. Since you have a complete creative record, there shouldn't be a problem. However... the report letter was sent through formal channels, so we have to handle it."

When they left the police station, Attorney Li Zhiming's face was grim. "This is a warning. The other side is showing what level of resources they can mobilize—even the police can be used to harass you."

"But they left a flaw this time," Alex said. "The 2018 error is too obvious."

"It might be intentional," Attorney Li Zhiming analyzed. "To let you know it's them, but without leaving direct evidence. A kind of psychological tactic."

Alex nodded. Indeed, this crude yet arrogant method was very much the style of someone like Derek—not smart enough, but annoying enough.

---

That night, Hank brought even more unsettling news.

"The source of that report letter has been found." Hank placed a report on the table. "It was forwarded through a non-governmental organization called the 'Southern Creators' Rights Protection Association.' One of the directors of this association is... Senator Winston's legal advisor."

"So they have formal channels," Alex said. "Next time they might use more professional means."

"More than that." Hank pulled up surveillance footage. "This afternoon, an unmarked vehicle stayed near your safe house for a long time. The people in the car used professional eavesdropping equipment—our anti-eavesdropping system detected the signal."

In the footage, a gray sedan was parked two blocks away, its antenna faintly visible.

"What do they want to listen to?"

"It could be your communications, or the conversations inside the house," Hank said. "The good news is, the safe house has complete electromagnetic shielding, so their equipment's effectiveness is limited. The bad news is... this means their methods have upgraded from surveillance to intelligence gathering."

Alex's Crisis Prediction sent a continuous stinging sensation. The threat priority assessment was re-evaluated: offline intelligence gathering rose to the highest priority.

"We need to fight back," he said.

"How?"

"If they want to listen, let them hear what they want to hear." Alex had an idea. "Prepare some 'conversation content' and put it out through the safe house's external communication channels."

Hank's eyes lit up. "False intelligence?"

"Yes," Alex said. "For example... that I'm facing a creative bottleneck due to too much pressure and am considering pausing my music career. Or... that Taylor and I have differences in creative philosophy, and our collaboration might break down."

"To make them misjudge the situation?"

"Let them think the pressure is working," Alex nodded. "Then we suddenly accelerate—release the second single early, officially launch the novel project, and catch them off guard."

The plan was set. Hank was responsible for technical implementation, and Alex was responsible for content design.

---

The next day, Alex turned his energy toward the novel.

The framework for "Before I Fall" was already in his head, and he needed to begin the actual writing. Not word for word—that would take too much time—but rather completing a detailed outline and key scenes first.

He created a new document titled "Working Draft of 'before i fall'" (he decided to change it to a more direct title). He began writing:

"Samantha Miller has died six times. Every time on the same Tuesday, at the same moment, on the same street corner. As the seventh loop begins, she decides to do two things: find out who killed her, and... learn how to truly live."

The story structure was clear: seven chapters, one loop per chapter. Each loop would reveal new clues, and the protagonist's character would gradually transform from a selfish, arrogant high school girl to an awakened soul who understands others and seeks redemption.

He spent three days perfecting the outline and designing every key turning point. When he reached Chapter Four—where the protagonist discovers her death might be related to a classmate who has been bullied for a long time—he paused.

This theme was too heavy. School bullying, implicit discrimination, silent bystanders... this wasn't just a suspense story; it was a social allegory.

He hesitated over whether to write such dark content. But ultimately, he decided: he would. Because it was real, and because it was necessary.

Another layer of meaning for the novel began to emerge—it wasn't just a commercial product, but an expression. In this parallel world's 2010, school bullying was still an underestimated issue. If this book could spark a discussion, even just a little bit, it would be worth it.

On Friday night, Taylor happened to see his writing interface.

"Are you writing something?" she asked curiously.

"A novel," Alex explained simply. "A story about a time loop and redemption."

Taylor read the first few paragraphs and remained silent for a long time.

"This is... heavy," she said finally. "But it's also very powerful. Where did you get this idea?"

"Observation," Alex said. "There are many invisible stories in the schools of Los Angeles."

Taylor looked at him with a complex expression. "Sometimes I feel like there's an old soul living inside your body. You see things that an eighteen-year-old shouldn't see."

Alex didn't respond. Those words were too close to the truth.

"Need any help?" Taylor changed the subject. "I know a few people in the publishing world."

"Wait until I finish the first draft," Alex said. "It's still too early now."

"Alright," Taylor nodded. "But promise me—don't let yourself get too immersed in the darkness. Creation requires distance."

---

Over the weekend, "Neon Pulse" received its first industry recognition: it was nominated for "Best Indie Pop Single" at the Independent Music Awards.

Although it was just a small award, the nomination itself was symbolic. Marcus specifically organized a small celebratory conference call.

"A nomination is industry recognition of your quality," he said. "More importantly, the awards ceremony is next month, and you'll be invited. It's a great opportunity for networking."

Alex checked his schedule. The ceremony was in Los Angeles in mid-September. He should be preparing his second single then, so the timing was perfect.

"I'll go," he said.

"There's one more thing." Marcus's tone became cautious. "That James Walter from Universal contacted me again. He said if you're willing, he can arrange an informal 'creative exchange'—just going to his studio to chat and play some music, no pressure."

This was an important invitation. Informal meant no contractual pressure, but it was also a deep assessment.

"When?"

"Anytime next week, you decide."

Alex thought for a moment. "Next Thursday afternoon. But I need Taylor to be there too."

"Why?"

"A buffer," Alex said. "It also shows my stance—my collaboration with Taylor is the priority."

Marcus understood. "Smart. It shows openness while maintaining independence. I'll arrange it."

---

On Sunday night, the disinformation operation at the safe house began to show results.

Hank monitored that the activity frequency of the other party's listening devices increased significantly during specific periods—exactly when Alex "unintentionally" revealed he was "hitting a creative bottleneck."

"They took the bait," Hank said. "From the monitoring patterns, they focused on recording the parts where you said you 'might pause your music career' and were 'under too much pressure.'"

"Good," Alex said. "Next week we'll release the second round of disinformation—that Taylor and I are 'having conflicts due to artistic differences.'"

"Will this affect your actual relationship with Taylor?"

"I'll communicate with her in advance," Alex said. "And... in a way, it might be true."

Hank raised an eyebrow.

"Creative collaborations can't always be harmonious," Alex explained. "Disagreements are normal. We're just 'performing' what might actually happen ahead of time."

---

It was late at night. Alex finished his day's writing and closed his laptop.

The system interface showed his popularity had reached 880,000—only 30,000 away from redeeming [Physical Limit Break (Temporary)].

He hesitated over whether to redeem it. This ability was like insurance; he hoped he would never need it, but it might be necessary at a critical moment.

Ultimately, he decided: wait a bit longer. Wait until the plan for the second single was clearer, until the first chapter of the novel was finished, and until the results of the meeting with James.

The fatigue of multi-track progression was beginning to show. Music, the novel, security defense, industry maneuvering... every line required energy. Deep Focus could help him work efficiently, but it couldn't eliminate the mental drain.

He walked to the window and looked at the Nashville night sky. The city lights stretched out in the distance like an inverted galaxy.

Sometimes he would think of his past life, that much simpler world: illness, treatment, waiting for death. Painful, but simple.

The current world was much more complex: creative success, potential threats, multiple identities, endless gamesmanship.

But he didn't regret it. Complexity meant possibility, it meant choice, it meant being alive.

His phone vibrated; it was a message from Sara: "The cactus bloomed another flower, a white one. It's as if it knows you need a little light."

In the attached photo, at the top of that resilient cactus, a small white flower bloomed in the night.

Alex looked at it for a long time and saved the image.

He replied: "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Turning off his phone, he went back to his workstation and opened the "before i fall" document.

The cursor blinked at the beginning of Chapter Four. In this chapter, the protagonist had to face her past ignorance and indifference and begin a true transformation.

He wrote:

"In the fourth loop, Samantha didn't rush to stop her death. She sat on a corner bench, watching everyone who passed by. The girl who always ate lunch alone, the boy who was mocked for his accent, the teacher hiding behind a tree crying... For the first time, she realized that this town where she had lived for seventeen years actually held so much pain she had never seen."

The words flowed out. Creation was exhausting, but it was also healing. Dealing with real pain in a fictional story, finding a way out of reality within an imagined loop.

He stopped when he had written until one in the morning.

The popularity number on the system interface jumped: 890,000.

Still 10,000 short. Perhaps tomorrow, as the streams for "Neon Pulse" rose a bit more, or with the implicit growth from finishing the novel outline, he would reach it.

He turned off the computer but didn't rest immediately. Instead, he opened his nightstand, took out the Glock 19, and did a simple maintenance check.

The cold touch of the metal cleared his mind. In this complex world, he needed to master both the pen and the gun, the melody and the bullet, the story and the truth.

As he lay down, the stinging sensation of Crisis Prediction still existed, but the threat priority assessment gave a new ranking: Creative Pressure (High), Security Threat (Medium), Industry Gamesmanship (Medium).

The highest priority threat came from creation itself—the pressure to maintain high-quality output, the burden of sustaining the "genius" persona, and the challenge of balancing energy across multiple fronts.

But this was the battlefield he had chosen for himself.

Before closing his eyes, he silently planned the next week:

Monday: Perfect the novel outline, start writing Chapter One.

Tuesday: Prepare for the 'creative exchange' with James.

Wednesday: Arrangement experiments for the second single.

Thursday: The meeting, then adjust strategies based on the results.

Friday: Security intelligence analysis, formulate the next phase of the response plan.

Every day was filled.

But being occupied was better than being empty.

In the blurred consciousness before falling asleep, he remembered a lyric from "Neon Pulse":

"Find our own wavelength amidst the noise."

He was looking for that wavelength now—finding his own frequency amidst the noise of creation, the noise of threats, and the noise of the world.

And he knew that as long as he was still searching, he was still alive.

The night was deep.

On the chessboard of multi-track progression, another piece quietly fell into place.

The game continues.