Chapter 21: The Onslaught of the Black Wind
Little Frog was also deeply impressed by Zhang Qiyang’s performance of this song and praised, “Let’s not even get into whether this song is the work of a master or not—Young Master Zhang’s singing is simply flawless. Beautiful Xuan, you’ve got another formidable rival on ‘My Song.’ If Young Master Yang’s team can rein him in, keep him from singing those random, trashy songs, and maintain this high standard, he might just make it to the end.”
“Are you joking?” Li Xuan replied with a flippant smile, clearly dismissing Little Frog’s prediction as nonsense.
In her eyes, Zhang Qiyang didn’t even qualify as an opponent.
A formidable rival? What a farce!
But Little Frog insisted, “I’m not joking with you. Whatever else you say, Young Master Yang’s voice is truly beyond reproach. If I had pipes like his, I’d have debuted ages ago.”
Lin Longjiang agreed, “Young Master Yang’s voice is highly recognizable, and what’s even rarer, his timbre sparks the listener’s imagination—he’s truly outstanding.”
Little Frog added, “The mysterious team behind him must be something else, too. To polish him up like this—it’s no exaggeration to call it a transformation from the mundane to the magical.”
“Oh, please. With that young master’s temperament, who could possibly tame him?” Li Xuan revealed, “I heard from Coco that both the show’s producers and Coco herself suggested Zhang Qiyang redo his performance of ‘Night Star’ this week, but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently, this week he’s doing a rap-rock number full of violent aesthetics.”
Lin Longjiang was taken aback. “Rap-rock?”
Little Frog was surprised too. “Violent aesthetics?”
Li Xuan laughed, “Who knows? Anyway, I figure he’s about to fall back into his old ways. Give it two weeks—he’ll be eliminated for sure.”
As Li Xuan and her companions discussed Zhang Qiyang, in the executive suite of the Star City Grand Hotel, Zhang Qiyang was locked in a battle of wits and banter with his followers on Weibo.
Unlike the paid music reviews from Dongnet subscribers, once he posted his self-promotional Weibo, the comment section exploded into chaos—every kind of voice erupted there.
Some were positive, others negative; there was praise, but even more insults and people making jokes at his expense. Many ill-intentioned trolls also chimed in, leaving comments like these—
“Cannon Master, did you really write ‘Night Star’ yourself? This song is so tacky! Way worse than your past work! Any random person could write a song like this. This isn’t your style at all!”
“I agree, Cannon Master, this song is just basic. Go back to your dark style, or at least industrial metal—that’s your real music!”
“A song like ‘Night Star’ can be dashed off just like that? Easy for you to say! I bet Cannon Master spent half his life squeezing this one out.”
“Trolls get lost! Cannon Master’s song is flawless! He must be blessed by God. Only someone blessed by God could create a song like this!”
“Blessed by God, my ass. Cannon Master must’ve been kicked in the head by a donkey to write something like this. Boring as hell, and so cliché! He’s lost his style and is about to fade into obscurity. Sigh!”
“No one wants to hear you sing, Cannon Master. Just go back to setting off fireworks. And about that National Husband getting cheated on—don’t leave us hanging! Was he really cheated on? Spill some juicy gossip!”
“Cannon Master, did you really post this Weibo yourself? It doesn’t sound like you at all. Did you hire a ghostwriter?”
“Honestly, Cannon Master, you disgust me now. Are you still the same guy we once admired—the one who could defy the heavens?”
“Cannon Master has been acting so weird lately, actually hawking his songs on Weibo. Damn it, you’re the son of the richest man! Where’s your pride? Where’s your bottom line? Marketing on Weibo—what a disappointment!”
“Everyone, don’t buy that loser Zhang the Cannon’s song! He’s so rich already and still wants to cheat us out of our money. Get out of showbiz! Like this if you agree!”
“I also think it’s over the top for Cannon Master to market his songs on Weibo. You’re already loaded—why work so hard?”
—The latest comment caught Zhang Qiyang’s eye. He reposted it with his own response: “Bro, you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m really not that rich. Right now, I’m not spending my family’s money, only what I earn myself. So I have to work hard! For those who support me, and even for my haters, I have to keep singing—otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to go home and be a super-rich second-generation. And for those trolls who hate me, you should spend money to support my dream, because if my dream dies, I’ll just go home and live that outrageously wealthy life you all love to hate.”
Qin Xueyang read Zhang Qiyang’s comment and laughed, “Stop fanning the flames.”
“Who’s fanning the flames? I’m just being honest. If my road in the entertainment industry is blocked, I’ll have to go home and be a super-rich second gen.”
Giving Qin Xueyang’s plump, pale shoulder a playful pat where it poked out from her sleeveless T-shirt, Zhang Qiyang teased her, “But don’t worry—even if I have to go home and beg for food, you’ll be coming with me.”
Qin Xueyang laughed, “Then I’d rather you go home and beg already. Stop living this war-torn ‘star’ life.”
“This life is so exciting, though!”
To be watched by tens of millions of fans, able to speak freely without fear—such a “star” life was truly exhilarating for Zhang Qiyang.
Ignoring the slowly climbing paid download numbers for “Night Star” on Dongnet, Zhang Qiyang happily bantered and sparred with all kinds of fans on Weibo.
This kind of intimate interaction was far more effective for his song’s sales than mindless advertising.
Through this “smart” engagement, he wanted to subtly show his cannon-fodder fans—and those casual haters—that the Cannon Master had leveled up. He was no longer just the brainless, trash-talking troublemaker they remembered.
Wang Dazhong had been glued to Zhang Qiyang’s Weibo for nearly an hour, watching as Zhang Qiyang deftly parried and countered, blending in seamlessly with fans. The sight made him furious.
He’d expected the barrage of trolls to provoke Zhang Qiyang into another low-EQ meltdown.
But he waited and waited, and it never happened.
Instead, Zhang Qiyang only got more animated chatting with his fans, and his counterattacks against the trolls grew ever more skillful—there was no sign of him taking the bait.
Wang Dazhong even started to suspect that it wasn’t really Zhang Qiyang posting on Weibo—maybe his public image was being managed by a team?
He couldn’t let this trend continue.
Acting quickly, he ordered his staff into action and contacted several influential Weibo celebrities with tens of millions of followers, urging them to seize on Zhang Qiyang’s fatal weakness and paint his debut single as a clumsy publicity stunt.
The first wave of criticism came from a big account belonging to an entertainment company hostile to Dongyu.
That account posted the numbers for “Night Star”: “Four and a half million plays in an hour, but under five thousand paid downloads? This is laughable. Come on, Dongnet techs—if you’re going to fake stats for your young boss, at least try harder!”
From that first post, a flood of professional takedowns and skeptical posts about “Night Star’s” miraculous numbers began to sweep through the trending topics on Weibo.
Many other major accounts even accused “Night Star” of not being Zhang Qiyang’s original work at all.
The song’s style and content had nothing in common with his previous work, they argued. It was like asking a stuffy essayist to write a bawdy limerick—what a joke!
Some meticulous musicians even mixed “Night Star” with Zhang Qiyang’s old songs, inviting fans to spot the differences, all to prove that this couldn’t possibly be his original work.
Throughout this fierce backlash, Wang Dazhong never dared to attack Zhang Qiyang directly—after being publicly humiliated by him a few days ago, he was honestly intimidated and didn’t dare to risk Zhang Qiyang’s wrath again.
But behind the scenes, Wang Dazhong was relentless.
He kept calling up influential friends to join in the attack on Zhang Qiyang.
Among them was Meng Wei, known as “the entertainment industry’s top paparazzo,” with thirty-three million active followers on Weibo. Egged on by Wang Dazhong, he posted a summary mocking Zhang Qiyang: “Vote-rigging on shows, faking numbers on song sales, and now it turns out even the ‘original’ work isn’t his own—this publicity stunt is a total flop! Maybe he even used a ghost singer for this song? What a juicy scandal. Worth digging into, I’d say.”