Chapter 144: Fragments
Yu Xin: “Watch your wording. Don’t play the victim—maintain your image. State your points clearly, no long-winded posts or petty complaints. If something’s offensive, report it immediately!”
Gu Qinghuan: “If you’re unsure about your comment, post it in the group. I’ll review it.”
Qin Yue: “Bao Qingsong, borrow a secondary account. I’ll handle the ones that slipped through.”
Xu Xinghe: “Count me in for cursing!”
Yao Shali: “I’ll keep an eye out for professional troll accounts.”
After everyone busied themselves for a while, the trend of negative comments was gradually controlled. Some people, after hearing explanations, even voluntarily helped spread positive messages, giving everyone a sigh of relief.
Song Yi: “Suddenly I understand the firefighter’s work.”
Zhan Chuchen: “I’m not good at commenting, just slowly reported about thirty people, I guess.”
Yao Shali: “Haha, I infiltrated a Lou Cheng fan group, and those fans were wondering why it felt like they ran into trolls.”
Ai Ning: “Trolls can’t compare to us.”
Jiang Chuchu was momentarily speechless. Twenty-two people, with clear objectives and responsibilities, reasoned and organized, even though they were only active on a few main platforms—it was accurate and effective. Far better than those chaotic troll groups.
Of course, this was also because the initial spark of criticism was immediately suppressed. If the discussions had fermented for a while before intervening, even Class 3 wouldn’t have been able to control it.
Ming Xiaolan: “By the way, after Lou Cheng said goodbye to Su Lin, she went to find the top second-year student—it’s none other than Zuo Hanshan!”
Xie Xiangxue: “The key point is that Zuo Hanshan actually agreed.”
Lian Fenghe: “Lou Cheng and Zuo Hanshan are going to perform a duet recitation, the piece is ‘Our Youth.’”
Gu Qinghuan, who had been busy instructing everyone on how to comment, found typing too slow and had sent voice messages. Now her mouth was dry, so she went to get hot water.
Seeing Lian Fenghe’s comment, she searched for “Our Youth” recitation and found it very impressive, though she didn’t know how the two would perform together.
Meanwhile, the audience discussion had shifted from Su Lin to Zuo Hanshan—Su Lin was essentially passed over.
Gu Qinghuan thought for a moment and sent Zuo Hanshan a message: “Senior Zuo, are you also participating in this New Year’s performance?”
Zuo Hanshan replied with a few words: “It’s my sister’s arrangement.”
Clear now—Zuo Qingyin, who had been the middleman between Lou Cheng and the official side, had been replaced by Zuo Hanshan.
Yet, from these few words, Gu Qinghuan felt a strong sense of quiet resentment.
She shook her head, pushed the image of a “resentful Zuo Hanshan” out of her mind, and continued watching the show.
Lou Cheng and Zuo Hanshan’s pairing was quite interesting—both were photogenic, and the visuals alone were pleasant.
The bullet comments and reviews were also friendly; it was clear that people naturally appreciate beauty.
More importantly, Bao Qingsong soon sent new news—a statement from Lou Cheng.
Calling it a “statement” sounded formal, but it was basically a brief note asking for audience support, praising both students she had invited as outstanding regardless of whether they agreed, and ending with a promise to perform well in the upcoming recitation, along with a photo of the script.
Ming Xiaolan: “This reaction speed is really impressive.”
Qin Yue: “If Ye Weiyu had half her emotional intelligence, I’d go easier on her.”
Jiang Chuchu: “What do you mean by ‘go easier’?”
Qin Yue: “The difference between stepping ten times and nine times.”
Gu Qinghuan glanced at fan replies below. Although the usual fan frenzy was visible, the attitude of the artist was important—at least the overall behavior seemed decent.
Finally, it was Zuo Qingyin’s moment—unexpectedly impressive.
She started by chatting with the PD, explaining that she had also found a collaborator, then shared her program concept.
She planned a singing program. She wouldn’t perform; her teammate would, while she provided songs and guidance.
The songs weren’t ordinary—they were narrative pieces with multiple roles.
She had prepared the music and lyrics long ago but couldn’t perform them herself, so they had been shelved. This was the perfect opportunity to use them.
Even just “a new song by Bai Qingyin” was enough as a hook, instantly boosting the show’s attention.
Bai Qingyin, with the cameraman and PD, went to the empty classroom she had reserved.
Even in the corridor, she could hear people singing one by one—male or female, childish or youthful, steady or world-weary.
The PD couldn’t help but interject: “Teacher Bai, our show requires that team members be students, not faculty.”
“No, I only invited students,” Bai Qingyin said, opening the classroom door. On the podium stood only one person.
She walked to Ning Fu’s side and formally introduced her to the camera.
“My only teammate, Ning Fu.”
In appearance, she was the Ning Fu Gu Qinghuan knew, yet her aura had completely changed.
It was confidence in her own field—proud but not arrogant, bold but not overbearing—like a finely crafted gem, radiating brilliance.
With a “clang,” a mug fell, shattering into useless fragments.
Ye Weiyu, hearing the noise, came out. Satisfied with his own performance, he casually checked his personal page’s comment section, enjoying the fan praise.
He left Tang Huocai to continue watching the rest of the show, extracting key points to understand other contestants and prepare strategies.
Though slightly annoyed by the noise, Ye Weiyu restrained his temper, thinking of Tang Huocai’s influence.
However, Tang Huocai, who usually noticed him immediately, now stared intently at the girl on the screen, her gaze intense and obsessed—like when she first appeared before him.
Ye Weiyu’s heart tightened inexplicably, as if he might lose something.
He instinctively stepped in front of the TV to block her view. “Huocai, you broke the cup—if you get hurt, then…”
His words were interrupted as Tang Huocai brushed his hand aside. “Don’t block me.”
Ye Weiyu was stunned, almost questioning his own hearing. “What did you say?”
The camera moved away from Ning Fu. Only then did Tang Huocai reluctantly shift her gaze to him. “Ye Weiyu, what are you doing here?”
Ye Weiyu sharply noticed she called him “Ye Weiyu,” not just “Weiyu.”
He forced a dry smile. “I heard you broke the cup…”
Tang Huocai looked down and noticed the shards at her feet—but she didn’t have time to focus on them.
She quickly packed her things, put on her coat, grabbed her bag, and left. “I’m going out briefly. Stay in the room—I’ll have the front desk send someone to clean this up.”
“Wait!” Ye Weiyu tried to grab her arm. “It’s so late, where are you going?”
Tang Huocai’s mind was full of the earlier scene; her long-dry inspiration had exploded. She was eager to go to the studio and work on design drafts.
That series… no, only the “Yao” series would do.
Ye Weiyu’s attempt to stop her was utterly annoying to inspiration-struck Tang Huocai. “I have my own work to do. Don’t distract me.”
She then grabbed his wrist with her other hand, pressing a pressure point. Ye Weiyu felt his arm go weak and instantly lost strength.
Tang Huocai withdrew her arm, opened the door, and dashed out.
Ye Weiyu froze. He unconsciously stepped forward, trod on a shard of the mug, and stumbled—fortunately not onto the fragments themselves.
One shard lay right in front of him. He recognized it—it was the mug he had casually given Tang Huocai shortly after she joined.
A cup she had once treasured.
Now it lay shattered on the floor with the coffee inside, dirty and messy.
