Chapter Eighty-Five: Divine Prophecy [Second Update]

Since there were people criticizing Ren Qian, naturally there would be those who defended him as well. Jiangnan Television wasn’t about to stand by and watch public opinion sway entirely against them. Director Hong Tao didn’t hesitate to spend two hundred thousand to hire online trolls.

An army of these hired posters flooded Weibo, fighting back under posts attacking Jiangnan Television and "I Am a Singer." Of course, their tactics were crude—they would dig up people’s backgrounds and insult them from top to bottom. The big influencers were disorganized and undisciplined, while the hired trolls were like a demolition crew with excavators—there was simply no comparison.

Wherever this demolition squad went, they crushed all opposition. Jiangnan Television managed to regain some ground, steering public opinion back in their favor. Many bystanders, unaware of the truth, gradually became brainwashed. Of course, Jiangnan Television had the capital to sway minds—after all, their achievements were plain for all to see, and that was the foundation of their invincibility.

...

"The concept behind 'I Am a Singer' is ahead of its time, and it's fundamentally different from any other domestic show. Ren Qian introduced a new selling point into the program—one that is bound to become mainstream in the future: the entertainment-ization of celebrities. He stripped away their idol facade, exposed their private lives, and satisfied the audience’s appetite for gossip and voyeurism. This is precisely what we should learn from Ren Qian."

At an emergency meeting at Jiangnan Television, Hong Tao, the newly favored director, stood up and spoke, drawing a round of enthusiastic applause. His words, though simple, were undeniably to the point. The show’s ratings had surged, especially during segments that showcased the singers' private lives. These clips included Ren Qian scolding the singers, the artists breaking down in tears after grueling rehearsals, and montages of them discussing songs together.

Through these collections of scenes, viewers saw singers in a new light—they saw ordinary people with their own shining moments. For instance, before Murong Xue’s performance, the show aired footage of her being forced by Ren Qian to rehearse again and again, until she finally took the stage in tears, exhausted to the point of vomiting after countless repetitions. That particular storyline boosted ratings by a full percentage point.

"Excellent—Hong Tao’s summary is sharp, and his predictions seem spot on. There’s never been a show like this in the country. Since Ren Qian has broken new ground, we should dig deeper into its strengths and create a second or even a third 'I Am a Singer'!"

The station chief of Jiangnan Television, his belly round as a drum, could not praise Hong Tao enough—not only had he brought in a blockbuster show, but he’d also pointed the way forward for future programming.

"Don’t hold back—if your ideas are good enough, ask for whatever resources you need, just like when Hong Tao requested a quarter of the ad time. No one will stand in your way!"

Nothing is more motivating to employees than a leader granting free rein. Hearing the station chief’s words, everyone’s eyes sparkled as they tossed out a myriad of ideas. Hong Tao, however, remained silent.

"Oh, right, Hong Tao—can you get Ren Qian to sign with us? If we can tie him down with generous pay, he’ll surely come up with more golden ideas. Then Jiangnan Television will truly leave the competition in the dust!"

"That would be difficult... But if the station supports him when he needs it, I believe he won’t be stingy with his talents."

Hong Tao deftly shifted the topic, making sure to highlight Ren Qian’s value—a small way of repaying a debt of gratitude. After all, his own meteoric rise in the industry was largely thanks to Ren Qian. Now, when he had the chance to help him, how could he not seize it?

Sure enough, station chief Liu Haoguo agreed without hesitation: "From now on, if Ren Qian wants ad slots on Jiangnan Television, he gets priority. If he wants to hold a concert, we’ll broadcast it live. If he releases an album, we’ll promote it every day!"

He had no choice but to be generous—16.84% in ratings could bring in at least five billion in revenue. For the foreseeable future, Jiangnan Television’s late-night ad slots would fetch prices far higher than prime time!

There were also countless intangible benefits—such as sponsors lining up to throw money at any future program. With this one hit show, Ren Qian had become a veritable god of wealth—everyone wanted to bring him into their fold.

...

Meanwhile, on Ren Qian’s long-dormant Weibo, a new post finally appeared. He shared a post from another user, whose original text read: "After days of painstaking research by me, Di Renjie the thirty-third, I have finally deciphered Qian-shen’s Weibo post. On the surface, it appears to praise the Expression Emperor as a good man. But knowing Qian-shen’s style, there’s no way he’d ever compliment the Expression Emperor.

The hidden meaning—let me explain. First, the Expression Emperor returns home late at night. That’s a clue. Working late, his lovely wife waits alone in an empty room—what happens then? Of course, she gets lonely. As the saying goes, a woman at forty is as fierce as a wolf or a tiger...

So, the Expression Emperor is wearing a perfect green hat. Then, as he gets home, his wife is busy relieving her loneliness with another man. What if she’s about to get caught? That’s why she sticks her head out, hair disheveled, and asks the Expression Emperor to take out the trash. In the time it takes him to do so, the other man slips away, and she tidies herself up. No trace, no clue. Truly, one must admire the heroine’s wisdom."

Comments exploded beneath the post.

"Same hotel, same room—Qian, I’m waiting for you..."

"Qian, my boyfriend and I did the deed, and now I’m finally pregnant with your child. Please marry me."

"What the hell, Qian-shen—how could you... Wait, no, damn! My worldview is shattered. If it weren’t for this netizen’s detective work, I’d still be in the dark."

"Qian-shen, that’s savage!"

"This is the first time I’ve ever heard someone describe being cuckolded as a suspense story. I bow to Qian-shen."

"I thought you’d stick to songwriting, but you started photoshopping. I thought you’d stick to photoshopping, but you started hosting shows. I thought you’d be a proper host, but now you’re playing with dirty jokes!"

"I just want to know—how did Ren Qian come up with this? Is it based on a true story?"

The moment Ren Qian posted on Weibo, Wan Feng the King received a notification—he’d secretly set Ren Qian as a favorite. Yes, you heard that right—hatred so deep had become obsession. Wan Feng had become utterly fanatical in his campaign to troll Ren Qian.

But when he opened Weibo and read the post, he was stunned. Wasn’t this exactly what happened in his own home every night? How heartwarming, how it showcased his strengths as a man.

Yet, according to that netizen’s logic, did that mean... he really was wearing a world-exclusive green hat?

"Wife, open the door!"

"Oh, take the trash downstairs for me, would you?"

"Sure thing~"

Wan Feng grabbed the trash bag and dashed down the stairs, making a big show of it with a loud clatter, but after a few steps, he sneaked back quietly. That show of enthusiasm was just a ruse—he pressed his ear to the door, listening intently.

From the half-ajar door came a wanton, flirtatious laugh: "You rascal, haven’t had enough yet? You’ve worn me out tonight. Go on, shoo, my dumb husband’s almost back!"