Chapter Nineteen: The Wei Prefecture’s Counterattack—The Rising Tide of the Yangtze

The internet was abuzz this week, tumultuous and lively, with one wave barely subsiding before another rose. First, Ren Qian’s song “Boundless Sea and Sky” soared to the top of the charts; then, the superstar Wan Feng publicly berated Ren Qian in anger. Wan Feng’s fans, even more aggressive, ignited a fierce online battle under the banner of “preserving musical purity and expelling musical traitors.” Soon after, a segment from Jiangnan University’s New Year’s Eve gala circulated on Weibo, sparking fresh debate. Songs like “Guardian of Flowers,” “Lingering Regret,” and “Farewell to Ideals” were widely downloaded and discussed.

At the heart of this whirlwind was Ren Qian, now lounging with one leg crossed, looking utterly relaxed. He wasn’t truly idle, though; he was busy crafting his response, preparing to counter Wan Feng’s escalating attacks.

He remembered clearly: after waking up in the hospital, it took him ten days to fully grasp his predicament. If he hadn’t traveled through time, he would have faced a hopeless abyss—despair even for a so-called “musical genius” who only dabbled in music during his spare time. It was hard to imagine the maliciousness behind his three teammates, who not only burned the bridge after crossing it but also slandered him for plagiarism.

No entertainment company would have signed him then—a man burdened with accusations of plagiarism and devoid of any value. Even third-rate agencies wouldn’t touch him. Isolated and without allies, only the foundation he brought from China could help him escape this ordeal. His only path to fame was to build popularity and stir controversy online.

Controversy needed material; he had no shortage of provocative songs. What he lacked was an opponent—someone who could spark real conflict. Boy’z wasn’t enough to make him famous. So, Ren Qian planned to release his music first and establish some renown.

He never expected, in all his calculations, that his straightforward approach would attract such a big fish. Still active in the public eye, the superstar Wan Feng came after him, launching a public attack on Weibo. The post read:

“Young people nowadays crave attention, creating bizarre songs just to stand out. As a senior, I have six words of advice for this junior: Don’t forget your roots!

Our ancestral culture is vast and profound; don’t discard the watermelon for the sesame seed. Alas, I must lament that today’s youth are mostly frivolous and impatient. Learn from Yang Chen, Wang Si, and Qi Fei—three young men who work diligently. If you refuse to lay a solid foundation, I urge you to leave this circle. Please, don’t lower our standards.”

Hundreds of words poured forth, reducing Ren Qian to nothing. Wan Feng portrayed himself as a devoted guardian of the music world, while highlighting the excellence of boy’z, the newly launched group. As soon as Wan Feng’s post appeared, his fans launched a barrage of attacks. Yesterday, negative comments about Ren Qian were everywhere online, tarnishing his reputation.

Yet Wan Feng soon realized that his usual tactics hadn’t achieved the expected results. Public opinion, which should have been entirely guided by him and his team, began to deviate. Voices of opposition grew louder and eventually stood toe-to-toe with him.

But how could Wan Feng accept this? He was a king of entertainment. Could he not even suppress a mere upstart? Enraged, Wan Feng mobilized all his contacts—spread throughout the entertainment industry: singers, actors, directors, producers. The lineup was formidable.

With these allies, Wan Feng felt reassured. With such a force arrayed against him, Ren Qian wouldn’t last in the entertainment world. At most, he could bounce around online for a few years before fading into obscurity and disappearing from public view.

To deal with an enemy, one must strike swiftly. Wan Feng, cunning as he was, understood this well. That morning, riding the momentum of his previous attack, he posted again on Weibo to criticize Ren Qian:

“I am truly heartbroken. Why are young people today so stubborn? Abandoning five thousand years of cultural essence to chase vulgarity, and yet topping Weibo’s trending charts? Songs with real depth are ignored, while shoddy, vulgar works are celebrated. This is a tragedy for the music world—a reflection of youth’s eagerness for quick success. I hope certain people will focus on honing their basic skills, and stop being so obstinate. Master what our ancestors left us before flaunting your talents.”

...

Surviving in the entertainment industry isn’t easy; it’s like walking on thin ice, always cautious. Actors vie for roles by gifting and taking backdoor routes—female stars often leave their doors open at night. For singers, serving their seniors is essential—coming when called, leaving when dismissed, never daring to complain.

These circles have many unwritten rules. For some oblivious newcomers, the big shots need only utter a single sentence to ruin their prospects. Take Zhou Jie, who played Er Kang in “Princess Pearl.” He was talented and good-looking, but while the show made Jin Suo, Xiao Yanzi, and Ziwei household names, Zhou Jie faded into obscurity. Why? Because during filming, he offended Chen Daoming—a titan of the industry. One word from Chen, and Zhou Jie remained sidelined for over a decade.

Wan Feng’s position in the entertainment world was on par with Chen Daoming, perhaps even higher, thanks to his legendary sales—an average of seven million albums per release, and a record thirty-four million for his best-selling one.

Clearly, Ren Qian faced a perilous situation. Even if Wan Feng dominated the industry, retreat was not an option for Ren Qian. Wan Feng’s goal from the start was to drive him out, so their conflict could only escalate.

Since that was the case...

Ren Qian’s slender fingers danced across the screen.

“I understand that King Wan Feng is determined to suppress this newcomer. Very well, today I’ll be candid. What does it mean to forget the essence of our ancestors? What does it mean to turn your back on your roots? Is your ancestral wisdom simply stagnation? Is your loyalty to tradition an unwillingness to absorb the brilliance of others?

As far as I know, the genre of ancient-style songs was formally established fifty years ago by Song God Zhou Qujie, who first introduced European instruments like the guitar and piano and adopted the five-line staff notation. He drew upon many influences and blended them with Chinese classical flavor to create the ancient-style genre!

So, who’s really betraying tradition here? Our predecessors taught us to learn broadly from others, yet you stubbornly cling to your ways with pride. Do you even know what our ancestors left us?

The Book of Songs says: ‘The stones from other mountains can polish jade.’ To borrow from and blend the essence of other cultures, yet you slander it as polluting the purity of music. Does this make the Song God a musical traitor in your eyes?

Emperor Taizong is certainly an ancestor. He revered the principle of ‘the ruler is the boat, the people are the water.’ Singing is meant to enrich people’s spiritual lives. If the people tire of something, it will inevitably be cast aside. Do you understand ‘the ruler is the boat, the people are the water’? That’s ancestral wisdom.

So, you’d best read more before playing again. If someone is lacking, they should study harder.

Finally, I’ll remind King Wan Feng: past glory is not your ticket to show off. The waves of the Yangtze River push forward—new waves surpass the old, and the old are left on the sand.”

With the final punctuation tapped out, Ren Qian pressed send. The deed was done; now all that remained was to watch the storm gather.