The beat dropped.
It wasn't a complex rhythm—just a steady, driving thump that synced with the heart. But in a world used to the drifting, ethereal melodies of zithers and flutes, it was a sledgehammer.
Yue Xiaochan owned the stage. She wasn't performing for them; she was performing with them.
"Left side! Let me hear you!" she screamed, punching the air.
A roar erupted from the noble boxes. Young masters, usually restrained by etiquette, were standing on their chairs, waving their fans like glow sticks.
"Right side! Are you asleep?"
"NO!" screamed the martial artists, banging their scabbards against the benches.
Xue Mu watched from the shadows, a victorious grin plastered on his face. Hook, line, and sinker.
This was the power of the "Call and Response." It was psychological warfare. By forcing them to participate, he made them accomplices. They weren't just watching a show anymore; they were part of the event. Their blood was pumping, their adrenaline spiking. In this state, they would buy anything.
On stage, Yue Xiaochan launched into the final chorus. She spun, her red dress flaring out like a blooming peony, and ended in a pose that was equal parts cute and arrogant—one finger pressed to her lips, winking at the entire stadium.
Boom.
The silence lasted a split second, then the Red Sleeves Stadium exploded.
It wasn't the polite applause Liu Qingyan had received. It was a riot. It was a chaotic, deafening roar of raw excitement. People weren't just clapping; they were stomping, whistling, and screaming her name.
"Xiaochan! Xiaochan!"
The chant started in the cheap seats and spread like wildfire.
Then came the flowers.
If Liu Qingyan's flowers had been a gentle rain, Yue Xiaochan's were a hailstorm. Baskets of expensive blooms were hurled onto the stage. Silver taels wrapped in silk were thrown like confetti.
The scorekeeper frantically moved the abacus beads. The numbers for the Star-Moon Sect skyrocketed, surpassing the House of Joy, surpassing the Pavilion of Drunken Dreams... and creeping dangerously close to the Dream Cloud Pavilion.
Backstage, Meng Lan was trembling. "We... we're catching up to the Fairy."
"We won't beat her," Xue Mu said calmly, watching the tally. "Not tonight. Liu Qingyan has years of reputation. We have five minutes of hype. Tradition is a heavy wall to break."
Indeed, the flurry of flowers slowed down just short of the top spot. Liu Qingyan remained number one. Yue Xiaochan was a close, terrifying second.
But the atmosphere had shifted. When the host announced Liu Qingyan as the winner, the applause was respectful but subdued. The energy was gone. The crowd was looking at the girl in red, whispering, wanting more.
Yue Xiaochan walked off stage, her chest heaving, sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked at Xue Mu, her eyes wide with shock.
"Did you hear them?" she gasped, grabbing his arm. "They were screaming my name. Thousands of them."
"I heard," Xue Mu handed her a towel. "Welcome to stardom, kid. How does it feel?"
She wiped her face, then looked back at the roaring crowd. A grin broke out on her face—predatory, dazzling, and utterly hooked.
"It feels," she whispered, "like power."