Chapter 57: Properly Handled

That night’s incident with the deranged fan was resolved without harm thanks to Zhang Qiyang’s decisive actions and Chen Ke’s timely arrival. Chen Ke pulled strings with senior management at Eastern Entertainment, who in turn contacted the leadership of the Star City Police Bureau, assigning a special investigation to the attack and issuing a strict gag order externally.

The surveillance footage from the hotel parking lot was confiscated, and hotel staff were sworn to secrecy. Aside from a handful of people, Eastern Entertainment managed to keep the matter firmly under wraps, making it unlikely to spread.

As for Zhou Shilin, he was detained by the local precinct; whether he would be sentenced to prison or sent to a psychiatric hospital was no longer their concern. In any case, this lunatic would not be allowed to roam society and harm others again.

The municipal bureau sent specialists to the hotel to collect evidence and take statements, working until nearly eleven o’clock before everything was finally settled.

Originally, Zhang Qiyang and Li Xuan had planned to dine together that evening, but Zhou Shilin’s antics ruined their meal and appetite. In the end, they made do with a late-night takeaway in the living room of Li Xuan’s executive suite.

Chen Ke, sipping her congee with preserved egg and pork, sincerely thanked Zhang Qiyang, “Young Master Yang, it’s all thanks to you tonight. Without you, who knows what might have happened.”

Having helped Zhang Qiyang many times before, Chen Ke was now finally returning the favor—a feeling that welled up unmistakably within her. Li Xuan nodded in agreement; she no longer wore her sky-high heels or oversize sunglasses, and the elegant barriers she once maintained had been shattered considerably by the ordeal.

Now, when she looked at Zhang Qiyang, she no longer felt that intense aversion or distance. Though they still couldn’t be called close—perhaps not even friends—this incident had undeniably brought them nearer, making their interactions much less awkward.

After being grilled by the police nearly to exhaustion, Zhang Qiyang had no appetite left. While Qin Xueyang voraciously replenished herself with fried noodles, he merely picked at a few side dishes, accepting responsibility as he ate, “You don’t need to thank me. I have to shoulder some blame for this, too. If I hadn’t given out the championship trophy, tonight’s trouble wouldn’t have happened.”

Qin Xueyang, mouth full of noodles, echoed the criticism: “Exactly! This was all your doing! I told you giving out that trophy would cause big trouble—see, now it’s happened!”

Zhang Qiyang cast a helpless glance at Qin Xueyang, admonishing her, “Even fried noodles can’t keep your mouth shut. Grown-ups are talking, so hold your tongue.”

Qin Xueyang retorted stubbornly, “I’m just telling the truth. If you hadn’t handed out that trophy, that psycho wouldn’t have targeted Sister Xuan.”

Li Xuan shivered at the word “psycho.”

She came to Zhang Qiyang’s defense: “That’s not fair. If Young Master Yang hadn’t given out the trophy, Zhou Shilin wouldn’t have exposed himself—he’d still be hiding among my fans, and who knows what more extreme acts he might have committed someday. Fans like him are terrifying. Fortunately, Young Master Yang helped subdue him, solving a major hidden danger for me. I truly thank you.”

Li Xuan pressed her palms together in gratitude, her gaze gentle and heartfelt as she thanked Zhang Qiyang.

Zhang Qiyang let out a relieved sigh, “Hearing you say that, I realize I’ve actually done a great deed. I was thinking about not giving out trophies anymore to avoid such trouble, but now I see I should keep doing it and see the good deed through to the end! Tonight’s incident has really fired up my motivation for the championship. Tomorrow’s competition—I’m determined to win!”

“Pfft!” Qin Xueyang sputtered noodles, exclaiming, “Can’t you be a little more modest in front of Sister Xuan?”

Zhang Qiyang fired back, “Can’t you eat without talking?”

Li Xuan was amused by their banter, which seemed more like a pair of bickering friends than a boss and assistant.

Her bright eyes flickered—she no longer wished to discuss Zhou Shilin’s disgusting affair. Seizing the opportunity, Li Xuan probed Zhang Qiyang about his preparations, “I heard from the production team during rehearsal today that you’ve prepared an astonishing Cantonese piece this week?”

“Yes, it’s called ‘Exaggeration.’ It’s about the bittersweet struggle of a small, marginalized figure in the entertainment industry. It’s pretty much my own story.”

“Your own story?” Chen Ke, ever sharp, was intrigued.

“Setting aside my other identities, I’ve spent years in this industry as nothing more than a fringe figure who has to rely on exaggerated antics to gain attention. Nobody truly cares about my efforts; they only care about my tabloid scandals. If I don’t stir up a big commotion, who would notice or pay attention to me?”

Zhang Qiyang spoke with a certain calmness—no sadness, just weaving a tale for the three to hear.

Chen Ke and Li Xuan felt a pang of sympathy for him. He really was someone the public consumed with colored lenses, an object of wild speculation.

Anyone else would have long since buckled under such pressure and quit the industry. Yet this young master shamelessly persisted, making a racket in show business. One had to admit, he was a tenaciously rebellious seed.

Qin Xueyang finally sided with him, “Maybe in the past you relied on exaggeration to grab attention, but now a lot of people genuinely like your music. Take this song ‘Exaggeration’—I guarantee after you perform it this week, tons of people will love it, though it’ll definitely stir up controversy too.”

Li Xuan took the chance to ask, “Did you write ‘Exaggeration’ yourself?”

Zhang Qiyang, utterly calm and unflustered, replied, “Yes, all the songs I sing are written by me. I don’t sing other people’s works—only my own.”

Chen Ke’s brows knitted; she longed to press him further, hoping to uncover more about his creative process and perhaps ferret out the team behind him.

Though Zhang Qiyang insisted all his songs were self-written, Chen Ke found it hard to believe. She’d been in the industry for some time, herself a singer in her youth with excellent musical training. She’d never seen anyone capable of producing so many distinct and outstanding works—it had to be the output of an international team, not one person.

Yet Zhang Qiyang’s next words left her pondering and perplexed.

Li Xuan asked, “Did you just write this song this week?”

“The lyrics, yes. The melody, no. I wrote the music for this song a long time ago, when someone very important to me left. I was heartbroken, with nowhere to vent. In the end, I could only pour my feelings into music, so I composed this melody. You’ll hear it tomorrow—the music is gloomy, grief-stricken, and by the end it feels like madness. That was exactly how I felt then.”

His words resonated with the three women.

They all knew Zhang Qiyang had become rebellious and eccentric after his mother’s sudden passing.

Could it be that this melody was composed during that time?

Chen Ke had always doubted his originality, but hearing him say he wrote it at his most anguished moment—could it really be his own work?

Chen Ke’s curiosity about his creative abilities only grew, as did her urge to dig deeper into his musical roots.