"A stage?" Gu Ying clenched the cold USB drive in his hand, holding it like a life raft, yet also like a burning iron brand. The madness in his eyes receded slightly, replaced by a deeper confusion and vigilance. "What stage? The Battle of the Heavenly Voice? Impossible... they won't want me."
"They will want you," Ling Zhao's tone held no fluctuations, as if stating an established fact. "The premise is: you are worthy."
He said no more, turning his back, his dark figure melting into the deeper shadows of the back alley, leaving Gu Ying alone, hunched by the dumpster, staring blankly at the USB drive in his palm and the backpack still "tick-tocking" in his arms. Worthy? What worth did he have left?
Ling Zhao paid no attention to Gu Ying's internal struggle. For him, the seed had been sown; the next step was to clear the weeds that might obstruct its growth.
Back at the apartment, the day was fully bright. Ignoring the body's exhaustion, he once again sat before the computer. This time, his targets were clearer—Lin Zhe's underlying capital network and the decision-makers of The Battle of the Heavenly Voice production team.
A deeper infiltration began. The equity structure of Lin Zhe's "Star Glory Entertainment" was complex, involving several gray chains of interest. Ling Zhao's gaze swept over the tedious business data, eventually locking onto a few key figures: Star Glory's actual controller, a Boss Zhao who favored a "clean" image and was wary of scandals; and the chief director of The Battle of the Heavenly Voice, a Ms. Li known for relentlessly pursuing show highlights and viewership traffic.
He carefully curated the preliminary clues on Lin Zhe's tax issues and the few vague private life snippets—enough to fuel speculation—that he had previously collected. Choosing not to disclose them publicly, he anonymously sent them to Boss Zhao and Director Li's private encrypted mailboxes. The accompanying notes were concise and lethal:
* To Boss Zhao: "Your artist Lin Zhe may not be the blessing you expect for your 'Best Composer' title."
* To Director Li: "Beneath the 'genius' persona, a bombshell may be hidden. Proceed with caution on collaboration."
Only after completing this did Ling Zhao truly close his eyes, allowing this body to fall into a brief period of dormancy. Just before his consciousness sank into darkness, he heard the System's cautious prompt:
[Target subject 'Gu Ying's' emotional state is stabilizing. Suicide tendency risk reduced to 30%. Favorability towards Host: -99.]
Only a one-point increase.
In the depths of Ling Zhao's consciousness, there was no ripple of emotion.
...
Hours later, a silent ripple appeared in the online world.
First, a scandalous thread appeared on a prominent gossip forum: [Deep Dive into New 'Genius' Lin Zhe's Tax Evasion Suspicion and Chaotic Private Life!] The post contained no hard images, but used extremely detailed text to describe several suspicious large income sources and ambiguous timelines, pointing towards a relationship with a married producer. Internet trolls attempted to control the narrative, but found the effect far weaker than before, and dissenting voices sprang up like mushrooms after rain.
Next, several influential entertainment news accounts simultaneously received anonymous emails regarding Lin Zhe's suppression of peers, including the long-term smear campaign against former film star Ling Zhao, accompanied by untraceable screenshots of transfer records.
The tide of public opinion was imperceptibly beginning to shift.
The perpetrator of all this, Ling Zhao, was currently sitting in the mentor waiting room arranged by The Battle of the Heavenly Voice production team. He wore the custom suit provided by the show, his makeup light, masking the body's inherent fatigue and giving him an air of cold detachment. The other mentors—a veteran diva, a popular rock band vocalist, and a music producer known for sharp critiques—were exchanging greetings, the atmosphere cordial. Ling Zhao simply sat quietly in the corner, reviewing the contestant profiles, as if the surroundings were irrelevant to him.
Until the waiting room door opened and a staff member, looking troubled, led someone in.
It was Gu Ying.
He had clearly made an effort, having changed into a clean white shirt and black trousers, washing away the distress of the previous night, but the heavy dark circles under his eyes and his overly pale complexion still betrayed his poor state. He kept his head down, his hands nervously clasped in front of him, afraid to meet anyone's gaze.
The chatter in the waiting room ceased abruptly.
The diva and the rock vocalist exchanged surprised glances, and the music producer frowned without reserve.
"Director Li, this is...?" The producer looked at Chief Director Li, who followed them in.
Director Li was a sharp, capable middle-aged woman, her face now bearing a