107: Chapter 107: The song "Lotus" blew the audience away!

WeChat Moments was flooded with live footage from Workers Stadium.

QQ chat groups were filled with announcements urging everyone to boost engagement on all major platforms.

All social software and traffic pools were drained dry by a person dressed in a pure black performance outfit.

In the center of the stage.

Zhang Yixing held the microphone and took half a step back.

He completely gave up the dead-center position.

The cold white spotlight that was originally shining on him shifted to Su Chen as he moved.

The commotion in the audience gradually subsided as everyone waited for Su Chen to speak or make a move.

The camera zoomed in.

On the massive circular holographic screen, a high-definition close-up of Su Chen's face was cut.

There was no tension in facing the camera.

No cowardice in dodging the fifty billion compensation claim.

Much less the affectation of a long-awaited reunion.

Su Chen stood there, his right hand hanging naturally by his side.

He looked at the 50,000 intertwined white light seas below the stage, looking at the crowd screaming themselves hoarse for him.

He curved the corners of his mouth slightly.

That was a burden-free, relaxed smile.

There was no exaggerated facial arc, just a slight upward curl of the lips.

The moment this close-up was projected onto the fifty-meter-wide giant screen, this simple smile directly pierced the hearts of the 50,000 people present and tens of millions in front of the screen.

All defenses and gloom were instantly shattered by this smile.

He had not been knocked down.

He was still the KING who suppressed everything in the Seoul basement.

On the big screen, the smile on Su Chen's lips slowly faded.

Zhang Yixing held the microphone, stepping back, stepping back further.

He completely hid himself in the shadows at the edge of the stage.

The lights suddenly contracted.

In the massive Beijing Workers Stadium, only a single vertical cold white spotlight remained, shining on Su Chen.

His feet were apart, shoulder-width.

His center of gravity sank slightly.

...

On the third floor of the stadium, the VIP box.

Lee Sang-hyeok pressed his hands firmly against the glass window, turned his head, and roared at the technician: "Start audio capture! AI comparison system at full power! Connect to the venue security internal line!"

The young legal counsel was sweating profusely, his hands hovering over the console.

"President Lee, the system is on standby. As long as his music library or dance movements have a thirty percent overlap with the company's copyright, an alarm will be triggered immediately."

"Keep your eyes glued to it!"

Lee Sang-hyeok bit his back teeth, "As soon as the alarm sounds, immediately notify the venue to cut off the main stage power supply. I want him to lose all face in front of tens of millions of people across the entire internet tonight!"

In the center of the stage.

Su Chen raised his right hand and snapped his fingers crisply in mid-air.

"Dong—"

A muffled sound instantly pierced through the 32 sets of matrix speakers at Workers Stadium, slamming into everyone's eardrums.

There was no bouncing of Western electronic synthesizers.

No distorted mixing from the K-POP industrial assembly line.

That was the heavy strike of a Chinese big drum.

Immediately after, the rapid finger-rolling sound of the pipa tore through the night sky, crashing down with a thick and deep bass heavy low frequency.

Inside the box, the waveform graph on the computer screen oscillated violently.

The comparison system flickered for two seconds and popped up a line of glaring red English letters: "No Match".

Lee Sang-hyeok opened his eyes wide and stared fixedly at the screen.

This was not a lack of a match.

This was another completely unfamiliar cultural system.

On the stage, Su Chen moved.

He did not use any conventional Street Dance vibration groove opening.

His left foot heavily stomped the ground, and his body's center of gravity suddenly leaned forward.

His right arm drew a fierce semi-arc from bottom to top.

His chest instantly completed a high-intensity Pop (muscle vibration).

There were no unnecessary frills.

Crisp, neat, carrying a murderous aura of breaking formations and beheading generals.

He was dancing Xiang Yu.

The Overlord stripping off his armor, surrounded on all sides.

The pipa sound grew increasingly urgent.

Su Chen's movement frequency accelerated accordingly.

His footsteps glided rapidly across the stage, and every time he changed direction and hit a point, his scapulae and latissimus dorsi exhibited astonishing explosive force.

Shen Yun stood in the front row of the audience, her hands gripping the iron guardrail tightly.

As the former principal dancer of the National Team Classical Dance, she saw through Su Chen's core force generation at a glance.

He forcefully crammed the "ti-chen" (lift-sink) and "chong-kao" (rush-lean) of Classical Dance into the shell of Street Dance.

Muscle control that defied physical inertia made every movement filled with the tragic grandeur of being heavily besieged yet never compromising.

Mud wrapped around his body, the Overlord remained unyielding.

This was "Lotus".

The lotus that emerges from the mud unstained.

Inside the livestream room with tens of millions online, the bullet comments ushered in an explosive eruption.

[This music... is not K-POP!]

[Such heavy drumbeats, it blew off my skull!]

[These movements, are they Street Dance? No wait, is it Classical Dance?]

[I understand now, he is dancing Xiang Yu the Overlord!]

[My scalp is tingling, what kind of god-tier control is this!]

[Surrounded on all sides! That section of chest vibration was peerless!]

[Mud wrapped around his body, the Overlord unyielding!]

[...]

The dance rhythm suddenly changed.

The big drum sound ceased.

The stage lighting shifted from cold white to glaring dark red.

The music varied, and the melody of "Jade" seamlessly cut in.

The erhu pulled out a long, sorrowful and plaintive sustained note, accompanied at the bottom by urgent military drums.

Consort Yu's perspective.

Su Chen's body language transformed instantly.

The fierce rigidity receded, and flexibility emerged.

His right arm reached forward, completing an extremely smooth Wave (current wave), transmitting all the way from his fingertips to his shoulder.

But the moment the wave reached his left shoulder, he abruptly folded his wrist, locking his entire body's muscles instantly to deliver a crisp and neat Hit (pause).

Rather be jade broken than tile intact.

Consort Yu's resolute suicide was vividly and thoroughly displayed by this single movement.

Combining rigidity and flexibility, neither begging for mercy nor compromising.

The livestream room bullet comments flooded the screen once again.

[The resolution of Consort Yu's suicide! Shattered jade!]

[The Koreans must be dumbfounded, how can they sue for copyright infringement?]

[It's so tragic and heroic, why did I start crying while watching.]

[True Chinese-style Street Dance, a founding grandmaster!]

[Quickly look at the trending searches, they've all been monopolized!]

[...]

Zhang Yixing stood in the darkness at the corner of the stage.

He looked at the figure bathed in red light ahead.

Tears mixed with sweat smashed onto the wooden floor.

The images from the Seoul basement practice room five years ago overlapped before his eyes.

The senior martial brother who taught him to pick out beats had not been ruined by five years of silence.

Instead, he chewed up the hardships of these five years, breeding an entirely new genre.

...

Workers Stadium third floor box.

Lee Sang-hyeok's legs turned weak, and he took two steps back, bumping against the edge of the sofa.

The AI comparison progress bar on the computer screen reached the end, and the overlap degree still stayed at 0%.

Not a single frame of footage violated the rules, not a single note crossed the boundary.

The Hallyu industrial manufacturing that Lee Sang-hyeok was proud of appeared thin and cheap in front of this new dance genre imbued with the weight of Chinese history.

The cultural barrier was forcefully chipped through.

"President Lee."

The young legal counsel's voice trembled as he pointed outside the window, "Look down below..."

Lee Sang-hyeok turned his head to look.

Inside the massive stadium, the 50,000 spectators had somehow all put down the glow sticks and support boards in their hands.

50,000 pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the center of the stage.

On the stage, the music moved toward the ultimate finishing blow.

The big drum sound, pipa sound, erhu sound, and heavy bass were all pulled to the max simultaneously.

The rhythm was so fast it reached the limit of human auditory recognition.

Su Chen's movement frequency also reached its peak.

Fast sliding backwards with both feet, continuous three-stage chest isolation in the upper body, and the head completing two precise beat locks.

The final huge cymbal sound exploded thunderously.

The lights of the entire Workers Stadium instantly went out in this second.

Leaving only a single cold light right in the center of the stage.

Su Chen kicked the ground fiercely with both feet, his body soaring into the air.

Falling.

A single knee smashed heavily onto the solid wood floor, producing a muffled thud.

His right hand pulled out from his waist, upward over his shoulder, making the posture of the Overlord lifting a tripod, his five fingers suddenly clenching into a locked fist.

His lower jaw lifted slightly.

Sweat dripped down his cold, hard profile.

His gaze pierced through the front-row camera, stabbing straight into the entire venue.

Looking down on everything with disdain.

The music stopped abruptly.

Beijing Workers Stadium fell into a long, dead silence.