102: Chapter 102 I'm currently very hot.

Two o'clock in the morning, by the Xiang River in Star City.

In a private club's top-floor suite, the curtains were drawn tightly, leaving only a single desk lamp on.

Zhang Yihan stood in the corner of the room, still wearing her wine-red gown with her makeup not yet removed; her eyeliner was slightly smudged, making her look somewhat disheveled.

The door was pushed open from the outside.

Qin Wanhao's assistant walked in; he was in his early forties, with a round face and his suit buttons fastened perfectly straight.

He stopped in front of Qin Wanhao, his voice lowered.

"Mr. Qin, it has been confirmed. A portion of the people... have returned the money."

Qin Wanhao's fingers rested on the sofa armrest.

"How many people?"

"The exact number is still being calculated, but the preliminary estimate is... forty or fifty people."

The suite was silent for five or six seconds.

The lights from the Xiang River outside could not penetrate the room; only the desk lamp illuminated half of Qin Wanhao's face, while the other half remained buried in shadow.

"What kind of people are returning the money?"

"They are from various districts, scattered. A few are music conservatory students, and some are office workers. We contacted them to ask, and most gave similar reasons—"

The assistant paused, weighing his words for two seconds.

"They said that after listening to Shen Nian's song, they didn't want to vote anymore."

Qin Wanhao didn't respond, instead picking up the whiskey on the coffee table and pouring himself a glass.

The ice cubes clinked against the glass with a sharp sound.

Two votes.

He had thrown three hundred votes in; the victory was as stable as it could be, yet he lost by two votes.

This result was even more infuriating than losing by fifty votes.

Losing by fifty votes would mean a lack of ability, and he would accept that.

But two votes—that meant the scheme he had set up was originally enough, only to be forcefully countered.

Qin Wanhao downed the drink in one gulp.

The glass slipped from his hand abruptly.

The whiskey glass hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

Shards of glass flew far, with a few landing by Zhang Yihan's feet.

Zhang Yihan shrank back two steps, her high heels grinding against the shards with a harsh sound.

"Mr. Qin—"

"Come here."

Qin Wanhao's voice was not loud, but it left no room for negotiation.

He patted the sofa beside him.

"Sit."

Zhang Yihan glanced at the broken glass on the floor, took a detour, and sat down next to him.

Qin Wanhao turned his head.

The light hit from the side; Zhang Yihan's makeup was ruined, with mascara smudged under the corners of her eyes, and the redness on the tip of her nose had not faded.

"What are you crying for?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Qin, I—"

Qin Wanhao reached out, rubbing his thumb against the corner of her eye to wipe away the smudged mascara.

The movement wasn't rough, but it couldn't be called gentle either.

"The two-vote matter is not your fault."

Zhang Yihan pursed her lips and didn't respond.

"I'll make new arrangements for the next episode." Qin Wanhao's hand moved from her face to her chin, giving it a squeeze with moderate pressure.

"But you also need to step up. Relying solely on stacking votes is useless; you have to make sure no one can find fault with you."

"I know."

"Good that you know."

Qin Wanhao let go, sinking deeper into the sofa.

Zhang Yihan sat beside him, her hands twisted together, her nails digging into her palms.

On paper, it only looked like a difference of two votes.

But she knew better than anyone that some things—could not be bought with money.

"Yihan."

Qin Wanhao's voice pulled her back.

"Hmm?"

Qin Wanhao tugged at his tie and undid the top button.

His gaze swept from top to bottom, scanning Zhang Yihan's neckline.

"I am very angry right now."

Zhang Yihan froze for a second.

Then she lowered her head.

The assistant turned and walked out, his footsteps very light, and the door clicked shut from the outside.

The corridor returned to silence.

The assistant stood at the doorway and took out his phone to check the time.

Two-seventeen in the morning.

He pulled up his contacts, scrolled to a number labeled "K," and composed a message:

[The list for the next episode needs to be re-screened. This batch of people is unreliable.]

After sending it, he deleted the chat history, put his phone back in his pocket, leaned against the wall, and waited expressionlessly.

——

Star City, hotel penthouse suite.

Tang Yingxue came out after a shower, the belt of her bathrobe tied loosely, her neckline wide open.

She opened the trending list on her phone.

#Shen Nian wins two consecutive championships#

#invisible wings#

#The Sound of Nature Zhang Yihan Shen Nian two-vote difference#

She clicked into the third entry.

People were already questioning it in the comments section.

[Zhang Yihan 546, Chen Hao 468, can someone explain this to me?]

[Chen Hao's rock arrangement was one of the most explosive performances tonight; his vote count was seventy-eight less than Zhang Yihan's? On what grounds?]

[Stop with the conspiracy theories, okay? She actually sang quite well tonight.]

[And Shen Nian only won by two votes... The more I look at this data, the more wrong it feels.]

Tang Yingxue placed her phone face down on the counter.

The trend of the "two-vote difference" entry was not right.

Right now, it was just sporadic questioning, but this kind of thing couldn't stand up to scrutiny.

Anyone with a bit of common sense could see something was wrong.

By then, the term "conspiracy theory" would be impossible to suppress.

Qin Wanhao always did things in a grand, reckless manner.

Three hundred votes were scattered out, with at least four or five intermediaries handling them.

If any Audience Jury member who took the money couldn't keep their mouth shut, it could cause trouble.

A year ago, Tang Yingxue wouldn't have thought so much.

Similar things in the industry weren't the first time, nor would they be the last.

Everyone understood this tacitly.

But this year was different.

The speed at which public opinion on the internet fermented was more than ten times faster than before.

If this matter really blew up, Qin Wanhao could use Universal's legal team to weather it, and Zhang Yihan could cry and then issue a statement saying she was unaware.

What about her?

Three Golden Melody Awards and the title of "National Diva"—would that be enough to block a tsunami of public opinion?

She walked back to the bed, picked up her phone, exited the trending page, and opened another app.

Tencent Music.

She typed two characters into the search bar: Jiang Fan.

The page popped up—

"the wind rises" Lyrics/Composition: Jiang Fan

"invisible wings" Lyrics/Composition: Jiang Fan

"Red Bean" Lyrics/Composition: Jiang Fan

"perfume is poisonous" Lyrics/Composition: Jiang Fan

Four songs, four different styles, four different singers.

Each one was precisely tailored to the position that suited the singer best.

Tang Yingxue placed her phone on the nightstand, lay down, and pulled the quilt up to her shoulders.

Before closing her eyes, the last thing that flashed through her mind wasn't Qin Wanhao, nor was it Zhang Yihan.

It was the hand she had held in the corridor tonight.

The sensation of that one second still lingered on her fingertips.

The moment they let go, a tingling sensation shot up from her fingertips, traveling all the way up her arm to her spine.

This reaction made her feel very uncomfortable.

Tang Yingxue was thirty-one years old this year.

Since her debut at twenty-two, the men chasing her could line up from Shanghai to France.

She hadn't taken a fancy to a single one.

Tang Yingxue tucked her hand under the quilt and clenched it.

Forget it.

Now is not the time to think about this.