For Chu Zhi, the past week had been a quiet wait before dawn. For the entertainment industry, those seven days were but a drop in the ocean—no major waves, just the usual ebb and flow of celebrity gossip on the trending charts.
The show's director, Meng Fan, kept his word. Quietly, Mango TV launched a poll: "Vote for your favorite performance from all four seasons of I Am a Singer." The groundwork for a "Hall of Fame" was being laid.
Shanghai. An ordinary Friday. An ordinary law firm.
It was rush hour again, the streets clogged with traffic. Big cities had their perks—like crowds so dense they made you want to flee.
"No, no, I can't cover for you today. I only got three or four hours of sleep last night. Ask Yuanyuan," Jiang Wan brushed off her coworker's request and bolted for the exit.
"Your emergency isn't my problem."
Even if her colleague were a wooden club, she wouldn't lift a finger. That was Jiang Wan's philosophy.
At 27, Jiang Wan was at the age where parental pressure to marry was relentless. She disliked socializing, content with two or three childhood friends. Making new ones held no appeal. Her daily commute—subway to bus—took over 80 minutes to reach her rented apartment. She'd have loved to live closer, but the prices near the firm were outrageous.
Thus, she'd honed two skills:
"Unshakable Mountain" (Active Skill): The ability to ride the subway without holding onto rails or straps, even in high heels, while scrolling through short videos. Seats were a rarity.
One-handed phone typing: Her small, plump fingers were surprisingly agile.
Jiang Wan wasn't explosive at work, but online, she morphed into a self-appointed judge. The only difference between her and a troll was her lesser toxicity and heavier pessimism.
Near her apartment was a wet market where stray cats congregated. Occasionally, young women or couples would stop to feed them. Jiang Wan sneered at the sight. "Charity to flaunt superiority. If they really cared, they'd adopt them."
She'd never do it herself, of course. But since she wasn't taking any cats home either, she kept her mouth shut—sometimes even offering a perfunctory "Keep it up!"
"Meow—" A kitten with a slightly lame hind leg blocked her path.
Pity didn't cross her mind. Instead, irritation flared. For a split second, she wanted to kick it—but morality and common sense reined her in.
"Ugly. No one wants you. If you were pretty, you wouldn't be abandoned," Jiang Wan muttered, unable to muster even fake kindness.
She'd ordered takeout in advance. By the time she reached her door, the food hung from the handle, labeled "Mr. Jiang."
Living alone in the city demanded precautions. Jiang Wan's safety measures included: Occasionally hanging a man's shirt (her father's) on the balcony; Scattering cigarette butts (collected from the office smoking area) near her doorstep; Avoiding secluded routes.
Hungry, she skipped makeup removal and pajamas, only neatly hanging her coat before blasting the AC and digging into her lukewarm braised pork rice.
The TV flickered to life. Off work at 6 PM, she'd timed it perfectly for I Am a Singer's live broadcast. Her expression remained blank. She was a Li Xingwei fan.
The only reason she tuned in? Her idol was a challenger this round.
Perhaps the delivery had been too fast—the pork rice was cold. Jiang Wan shoveled it in indifferently. "Why's this guy getting more screen time? Last episode barely showed him."
Disgust laced her voice. This guy meant Chu Zhi.
Notably, Jiang Wan's former Weibo handle was [Orange Soda~Sweet], a dead giveaway—she'd once been his fan. When the scandals broke, her reaction was the most extreme. As the admin of a Chu Zhi fan group, she'd disbanded it herself. It wasn't about loyalty; it was her nature.
In middle school, her rural accent and looks made her a target. After confiding in her parents, her mother's advice was: "Let it go. Can't avoid trouble? Then evade it."
But evasion failed. Kids could be terrifyingly cruel. Teachers turned a blind eye. Three years of bullying followed.
Miraculously, she didn't hate school. Instead, she studied harder—grades were her only weapon against her tormentors.
Those years shaped her adulthood into a cauldron of negativity. Whether she had undiagnosed mental issues, she didn't know or care. She told herself she'd moved on, even forgotten the bullies. But a undercurrent of rage remained, lashing out at others' flaws. That stray kitten had merely been a lightning rod.
"At least he's performing last," Jiang Wan grumbled, planning to do laundry after her idol's song and return for the results.
Live broadcast commentary:
"Lin Xia's vocals are good, but not quite Li Xingwei's level."
"Uncle Cidian's high notes—goosebumps everywhere."
"Never 'got' Koguchi's appeal until today. Even without anime nostalgia, it's hype."
"Judges know their stuff. Li Xingwei's talent is just built different."
Had she seen the barrage of real-time comments, she'd have known Li Xingwei and Lin Xia dominated the chatter.
Once the judges finished praising Li Xingwei, Jiang Wan stood to toss her takeout box, barely glancing at the screen.
Then—silence.
After host Gu Nanxi's introduction, the stage fell mute, as if someone had hit mute. Jiang Wan's eyes flicked back.
Chu Zhi stood alone under the spotlight. The audience was a still, dark ocean.
"??"
A technical glitch? But when the silence stretched past a minute—no cheers, no glow sticks, no fan signs—Jiang Wan realized: "This was a boycott."
"Good. This is what he deserves." Her first reaction was vindication. Her philosophy had always been: "If you're doing well, how dare you?"
Pleasure delayed her laundry plans. She'd watch his humiliation play out.
Two full minutes later, Chu Zhi announced his song title. Jiang Wan caught the tremor in his voice.
And then—he began to sing. Into the void.