Chapter Twenty-Five: The Final Curtain

Qin Lulu’s exclusive interview caused a tremendous stir. First to react were her fans, who declared that since she had given an explanation, they would support her unconditionally, no matter what decisions she made. All they wished was for her to take good care of herself and not let her health suffer.

Afterwards, the website published an article based on the journalist’s interview: This controversy, as Qin Lulu herself said, is not about who is right or wrong. Nothing violates the contract; the dispute is simply about whether or not to renew. Qin Lulu’s answer was unequivocal: her aim was not to renew, to become free—it was a personal decision, not a matter of right or wrong, nor of morality. The company invested in her, and during the years she fulfilled her contract, she repaid them amply. Perhaps many believe she should continue with the company, as is customary, but why would she go against the norm and make a different choice? Perhaps this is worth our reflection. Looking at Huayi in recent years, the loss of talent has not been unusual. Nearly every year, talented artists leave for various reasons, switching companies or departing altogether. Take Lin Qihua, for example, from the group Tianyin, who debuted only a year ago and was let go by the company just two months prior—his whereabouts now unknown. Though not well-known to the public, my investigation revealed that Lin Qihua was the most outstanding trainee of his class. Even if his performance in the group was not particularly remarkable, he was undoubtedly talented with limitless potential. So, what led to his abrupt dismissal? Now, with Qin Lulu choosing to leave for reasons unknown, perhaps instead of criticizing her, we should consider what unspoken secrets are causing these gifted artists to go one by one.

This was the first media outlet to speak from Qin Lulu’s perspective, raising the question: why must she leave? Coupled with her resolute tone during the live interview, the public began to realize there must be unspeakable reasons compelling her to forgo renewing her contract.

Though the prevailing sentiment did not change dramatically, this gave fans ample reason to support their idol, retaining a significant number of wavering supporters. Qin Lulu’s goal was accomplished; as for the impact on Huayi, that was no longer her concern.

Lin Qihua’s name resurfaced after two months, and people realized he had almost been forgotten.

The group Tianyin was directly affected. After reorganizing, the team had integrated well, and with the company’s focused grooming, things were going smoothly. They were busy with events, their fame steadily rising, and everything seemed on track. Yet, this article put them in the line of fire, as countless curious music fans started asking: Why was the most outstanding trainee replaced less than a year after debut? What really happened in Tianyin? Their notoriety grew, but unfortunately, the attention was negative.

A water cup was hurled violently in the training room.

Liu Feng cursed, “How is any of this our business? Instead of noticing the progress we’re making, people are focusing on someone who’s not even in the group anymore. Are these people just bored out of their minds?”

The other four members glanced at Liu Feng and then lowered their heads to rest. Since Lin Qihua’s departure, Liu Feng had become the official leader of the group, with no one to oppose him. He had asserted his authority several times, securing his position and prestige. No one dared to defy him, but neither did anyone go out of their way to get close to him. When Lin Qihua was around, even if they didn’t see eye to eye, the other three weren’t affected. Now, judging by their indifferent expressions, it was clear that although the group’s popularity had recently soared, it was not as harmonious as outsiders believed.

Xiao Rong, the newest member, was not afraid of Liu Feng, but knew it wasn’t wise to stand out. The people behind him had brought him into the group to quickly gain popularity in preparation for a future solo career. There was no need to get involved in other matters. In Xiao Rong’s view, the group was still haunted by one name: Lin Qihua. Though gone, his influence lingered, especially among the other three, who often spoke fondly of him in private.

“Have any of you been in touch with Lin Qihua?” Liu Feng asked.

“No.” They all shook their heads.

“I think I saw him performing at a bar,” Liu Zhixiong recalled, “I saw a few videos online recently, performances at a bar—the singer looked a lot like Qihua.”

“Oh?” Liu Feng’s eyes lit up. “He’s fallen to singing in bars? I thought he’d join a smaller company as a trainee again and relaunch in a year. Looks like he’s struggling, scraping by.”

But Liu Zhixiong, recalling the video performances, thought otherwise—perhaps not so desperate.

“Which bar was it? As old friends, shouldn’t we visit him? Otherwise, people might say we have no heart,” Liu Feng said with a smile.

“It’s called ‘Tang Dynasty’ Bar, I think. But it’s not convenient for us to go—company rules, you know,” Liu Zhixiong replied after a moment’s thought.

“That’s true, best forget it,” Liu Feng shrugged off the idea. “Alright, let’s get back to practice. We’ll show everyone with our strength that we are the real Tianyin.”

Yet inwardly, he sneered. Who truly followed company rules to the letter? Hadn’t he already gone out drinking to network with Guo Shao? Bars weren’t new to him. Knowing an old friend was performing in one, and not even paying a visit—he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

...

In a villa on the outskirts of Yanjing, the winter sun brought a trace of warmth. In the spacious living room, two people sat facing each other.

“This is the first time you’ve come to see me of your own accord,” the woman said gracefully, sliding a cup of tea toward the man. “I’m very pleased.”

“A-Lian,” Han Dong gazed at the beautiful, elegant woman before him, his expression complicated, “I came because I need your help.”

“I know,” she smiled gently, “But even so, I’m glad you think of me when you need something—it means I still have a place in your heart.”

“I…” Han Dong swallowed, his words coming with difficulty, “You know I’m not worthy of you. I’ve never thought…”

“Dongzi,” she raised her hand to stop him, her tone soft, “From the night you saved me, I knew we could never be together. But I couldn’t stop myself from falling for you, from loving you. It has nothing to do with you. I won’t force you, but my feelings remain.”

Han Dong’s lips moved as if to speak, but he fell silent. This scene had played out countless times; in front of her, he had no resistance. She never demanded anything, but how could he face her gentleness without unease?

“The first time you asked me for help, it was for your junior apprentice. I’ve heard he’s doing well now, and I’m happy—because I trust your judgment,” she said, her eyes flickering with pity at his haggard appearance. “So, tell me, who is it this time?”

“Qin Lulu. I hope you’ll help her.” Han Dong’s face twitched, but he forced out the name.

Her hand trembled slightly as she held her cup. She sipped her tea, then set the cup down quietly. “So it’s her? Dongzi, is she really so important to you? Look at yourself—your once-brilliant career in ruins, and you don’t seem to care. With your talent, you could flourish anywhere, in any field. Yet you hide in the shadows like a fugitive, debasing yourself, just to stay in the same city and watch over her from afar?”

Han Dong bowed his head in silence.

“Honestly, I knew if you came to me, it could only be for her,” she said, regaining her composure. Her eyes on him were a mix of emotions. “How should I feel? It’s complicated—some sadness, because you still can’t let go of her. You sacrificed everything for her once, and now you’re willing to swallow your pride for her sake and ask for my help, even though you know I love you. Yet I’m also comforted, because I wasn’t wrong about you. You are, after all, the man I love—loyal and true.”

“A-Lian,” Han Dong sighed, “I never intended anything more, but even as an ordinary friend, I can’t bear to see her hurt. Ultimately, today’s issue is a continuation of what happened before—I am responsible, and I must help her.”

“But you’re powerless, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Han Dong’s head remained bowed.

“Dongzi,” she said softly, “I’ve told you before: you can always come to me. Your concerns are mine. Why do you always hesitate? How many fruitless efforts have you made lately, searching for help but refusing to ask me?”

“Yes, if I could solve it myself, I wouldn’t trouble you. I didn’t want to bother you unless I had no choice,” Han Dong said dejectedly. “After all, no matter how generous you are, this is about another woman. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed softly, covering her mouth. “Hearing you say that makes me happy. It shows you care for me, and that’s enough. So, how do you want me to help her?”

“I’ve thought it through,” Han Dong said earnestly, looking up. “The simplest way to resolve this is a two-pronged approach: first, buy out the remaining year of her contract and pay the penalty; second, mount a strong publicity campaign—just frame this as a normal contract dispute, and that will suffice.”