Chapter Eleven: War of Words (Part Two)

Chapter Eleven: The War of Words (Part Two)

The idol questioning Zhang Le was Li Ming, a current sensation in the entertainment world. He was riding high: a movie of his was in theaters—though the reviews were mediocre, the box office was impressive. A TV drama starring him was airing on major networks—again, the critical reception was lukewarm, but the ratings were strong. He had just released a music album as well, and while the songs were considered nothing special, the sales figures were said to be quite good.

With such momentum, many thought he was a shoo-in for the front page. He believed so as well.

Landing on the front page is a dream for anyone in show business. Yet just as the opportunity appeared within reach, the news of Zhang Le and Yang Xiner’s relationship swept in, leaving his own headlines utterly eclipsed. There wasn't a single mention of him, not even in the corners of the entertainment section.

Li Ming had returned from Korea, and thanks to his heart-stoppingly handsome looks, his career had been smooth sailing these past few years. Of course, his days in Korea had been tough—he’d been treated harshly, which forged a solid psychological resilience. He wasn’t the sort to lose his head over a setback like this.

There is always a reason for things. To be cursed and doubted by netizens is one thing. No matter how loud the accusations or harsh the insults, no matter how heated the uproar, the impact is limited. But when an idol of Li Ming’s standing openly calls you out and questions you by name, the effect is entirely different.

Know yourself and know your enemy, and you need not fear a hundred battles.

When Zhang Le saw the post, he immediately went online to look up Li Ming’s background, a scornful smile curving his lips. Li Ming’s singing was widely criticized; his acting was subject to even more ridicule. Someone like him, relying on his looks to act cool and suave, could never sustain his popularity for long.

In both this life and the last, Zhang Le had seen too many people like Li Ming, and couldn’t help but feel a certain disdain. The reason Li Ming lashed out and questioned him was not just because Zhang Le had stolen his headlines—there was Yang Xiner, too.

Li Ming had risen to fame through his rumored relationship with Yang Xiner. It was said he had pursued her for a long time, to no avail. Zhang Le’s post had clearly struck a nerve.

What is mine is mine, no matter how long you chase after it; it was never yours to begin with.

And what wasn’t mine is mine now. No matter how you try, it’s already out of your reach.

Envy, jealousy, and resentment! These five words perfectly summed up Li Ming’s current state.

Zhang Le didn’t care how the netizens insulted or doubted him. After all, he had snatched away their goddess, shattering their fantasies—it was only natural they couldn’t accept it at once.

Insults and doubts were nothing but a way to vent.

But when Li Ming insulted and questioned him, there was a blatant, malicious intent behind it.

Zhang Le, trained in the martial arts and heir to a traditional art, carried with him a warrior’s spirit in his dealings with others. A martial artist must be magnanimous, able to tolerate others. Otherwise, with their strong blood and quick tempers, they could easily harm others in anger—what would distinguish them from mere brutes?

A true warrior is not a brute!

Yet a martial artist cannot endure endless humiliation—such passivity would erode the very spirit a warrior should possess. Thus, a true martial artist must not accept insult.

Li Ming had clearly crossed the line.

Zhang Le gave a cold laugh and replied: “You’re actually taking a bite at me? My heart aches for your IQ! Mister X, your intelligence credit is running out—please top up in time!”

The internet erupted with laughter at Zhang Le’s post. Many cheered in delight—even those still cursing Zhang Le couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration.

What a masterful insult—no vulgarities, yet far more wounding than cursing someone’s ancestors.

Moreover, everyone knew exactly who Zhang Le was talking about! Especially since he tagged Li Ming directly—it couldn’t have been clearer.

Who bit him? Who else! Plenty of people had insulted Zhang Le before, but he had always ignored them. Now, Li Ming had barely started with his insults and doubts, and Zhang Le struck back immediately. Who could fail to understand?

“My heart aches for your IQ!”

“Your intelligence credit is running out—please top up in time!”

These two lines dazzled the internet, spreading like wildfire and quickly becoming catchphrases, just like Zhang Le’s earlier “envy, jealousy, resentment” and “you bite me.” Every time someone used these phrases or even thought of them, Li Ming’s image would inevitably come to mind.

A broken heart over intelligence—think of Li Ming.

Think of Li Ming—think of insufficient intelligence credit.

Zhang Le’s post made countless people associate Li Ming with low intelligence, a reputation that was far from flattering.

Of course, that was a matter for later.

While Zhang Le hadn’t named names as blatantly as Li Ming, the target was obvious as a louse on a bald man’s head.

Li Ming was immensely popular, with legions of fans—many of whom were blind worshippers. They could not accept their idol being treated this way. So they cursed, cursed, and cursed some more! Yet no matter how vicious or numerous their insults, none matched the impact of Zhang Le’s single post.

Many liked Li Ming, but just as many didn’t. As soon as Zhang Le’s post appeared, his supporters rallied behind him, defending him with reason and eloquence.

After all, Zhang Le hadn’t provoked anyone. Questioning whether Yang Xiner’s four songs were really his was a fair academic debate. But why insult the man? Whether or not he was worthy of Yang Xiner—what business was it of yours? And are you so sure you are?

When someone marries a rich and beautiful woman, he’s called a gold-digger, a freeloader, shameless. Yet you don’t even have what it takes to be shameless. If you’re just envious, jealous, and resentful, so be it—but must you make a fool of yourself by lashing out?

No doubt, those attacking Zhang Le still outnumbered his defenders, but they were clearly losing ground.

Li Ming had gained nothing—he’d lost fans and put himself in an awkward position. Not only was he gradually becoming the poster child for “insufficient intelligence credit,” but his name kept cropping up in every insult, making him wish he could crawl into a hole and disappear.

A: “You bite me, then!”

B: “What, you think I’m Li Ming?”

Perhaps Li Ming’s intelligence credit had finally been replenished, for he stopped harping on Zhang Le and Yang Xiner’s relationship and instead gathered his friends to loudly question the authorship of Yang Xiner’s four new songs.

To many, it seemed Zhang Le had won Yang Xiner’s heart by moving her with those four songs. But if it turned out that Zhang Le hadn’t written them after all… then what?

The chorus of doubters grew louder and more influential. Zhang Le showed no reaction, but Yang Xiner looked increasingly troubled.

She had been questioned about her acting and her singing, but never had she felt such anger as she did now. She could not tolerate anyone questioning Zhang Le, nor the songs he had written for her.

“Heh! Why pay attention to them? Those four songs—I sang them for you, and they belong only to you. There was no need to share them with the world. If you want to silence their doubts, it’s simple. Didn’t you say you wanted me to write the theme song for your new movie?” Zhang Le smiled at Yang Xiner. “Maybe I’ll actually manage to write one they’ll like. But first, you’ll have to tell me about the film.”

“Good things are more joyful when shared,” Yang Xiner replied with a smile, hearing clearly that Zhang Le did not blame her for sharing the four songs.

She had shared “Liking You,” “The Moon Represents My Heart,” “I’m Willing,” and “Love to the Death,” all sung by Zhang Le. Perhaps it was partly to share something beautiful, but more than that, she wanted to prove something—for Zhang Le’s sake, and for her own, to show the world she had chosen well.