Chapter Forty-Nine: There Is Only One Truth

When the applause finally died down, Lin Qihua glanced at Yu Fengqin. Seeing her nod in agreement, he stepped forward, faced everyone, and smiled. “The director has already introduced me, so I won’t boast about myself. Thanks to Director Yu’s appreciation, I have the chance to compose songs for you all to help the company through these difficult times. So, I won’t be modest. We’ll proceed in two parts. First, I want to see each of your individual styles and performances to understand what suits you best and see if I gain any inspiration to write songs for you. Second, after that, the trainers in charge of the training camp can recommend the trainees they think are most outstanding and ready for debut. I’ll also evaluate them. These are tough times, so we have no choice but to accelerate the process. Of course, we still have to see whether these seedlings are fit to be pulled up early, don’t we?”

Lin Qihua’s words sent ripples through the crowd. Everyone began to discuss in low voices—no songwriter had ever spoken with such confidence. To write songs tailored to each person? Was this custom-made composition? Even well-known songwriters wouldn’t dare make such claims. Those who had songs written for them were all top-tier stars, even superstars. The composers willing to tailor songs for them were all lofty figures. How could Lin Qihua dare say such a thing?

Lin Qihua watched the commotion below with a faint, ambiguous smile on his lips. Lei Jing’s eyes sparkled, her fists clenched in excitement. Xiao Xiao’s smile froze momentarily, then blossomed into genuine delight. Only Zhao Qiao’s expression was odd, almost as if he were gritting his teeth.

“Wait a moment.”

Here it comes, Lin Qihua thought to himself as he turned to Zhao Qiao. “Do you have a question?”

“First, I want to question your qualifications,” Zhao Qiao said, glancing at He Li before biting the bullet and continuing, “As far as I know, you’re nothing more than a fifth-rate artist. Not only is your status far below ours, but even within the company, you’re merely a newcomer. What right do you have to stand above us and give orders? Secondly, custom-made songs? That’s no easy feat. You speak of it so lightly, aren’t you afraid you’ll be exposed as a fraud? If you really had the ability, any company would be eager to worship you, so why would you come to our little place? Isn’t this just an empty boast? Are you afraid the company won’t keep you? Are you so desperate for a comeback?”

“Zhao Qiao!” He Li’s face turned ashen, and she barked out a warning. Behind her, Yu Fengqin and Lian Yuling also looked grim, clearly not expecting Zhao Qiao to jump out like this.

“Li-jie.” Lin Qihua stopped He Li from losing her temper and looked at Zhao Qiao, a faint smile on his lips. “Zhao Qiao, I don’t know what gave you the courage to openly challenge me—and by extension, the company’s decision. Is it because you still have endorsements, and as the company’s veteran, you feel untouchable? Or is it your rabid fans? Or is it Starshine Company?”

“What are you talking about?” Zhao Qiao retorted, but there was a hint of shock on his face. “I’m an artist of this company. Of course I care about its interests. Don’t slander me without evidence.”

Lin Qihua chuckled disdainfully and turned to He Li. “Li-jie, how much time is left on his contract?”

“One year,” He Li replied quickly, her expression changing as she realized something.

“One year.” Lin Qihua held up a finger. “Starshine Company has contacted you, haven’t they? But not to poach you—they know with only a year left, there’s no point paying a penalty fee. Or maybe you’re unwilling to leave just yet, because you’re at a critical point in your career, and a sudden move could impact your prospects, right? Moreover, Starshine Company also wants you to stay here, so you can relay any company developments to them and help them strategize. In other words, you’re their plant. Am I right?”

He’s a spy? The others all turned to Zhao Qiao in shock.

“Slander! You have no proof. How dare you smear me like this?” Zhao Qiao trembled with rage.

“Indeed, I have no evidence. It’s just a deduction,” Lin Qihua said, spreading his hands with a relaxed smile. “First, I was personally chosen by Director He, which means I represent the company. For you to stand up and challenge me—unless you’ve already stopped caring about the company, or Starshine Company has already promised you something—is out of the ordinary. Maybe you’re unhappy about my presence right now. Second, when I said I’d write songs tailored to each person, your eyes betrayed panic—not because you didn’t believe I could do it, but because you knew I could. And that would be very bad for you, so you had to make a scene. Third, how is it that while Starshine Company is suppressing our company—so much so that even Lei Jing and Xiao Xiao have no jobs—you’re still able to work and earn money? Is it because you have connections? No. If your family had connections strong enough to ignore Starshine Company, they wouldn’t have sent you here; they’d have sent you to Huayi, Nanyi, or Dongyu—all major companies with better resources and networks, where it’s easier to debut. So the only reason you’re still booking jobs is because Starshine Company has already bought you off. They wouldn’t suppress you. Instead, they’d help you get more work, so you become even more important here and better serve their interests, right?

“It’s a shame you made this mistake. If you’d simply gone without jobs like everyone else, or waited a little longer and leveraged your fans for a comeback, no one would suspect you. But you were too impatient, too worried that a brief lull would erode your popularity, so you insisted on working. That’s your biggest flaw. Don’t say it’s because you’re more popular—Lei Jing and Xiao Xiao are certainly more popular than you, and they were both suppressed. Why should you be the exception? So there’s only one answer: you’re Starshine Company’s spy. Do you disagree with my reasoning?”

Realization dawned on everyone, and the way they looked at Zhao Qiao changed—now full of disdain. They weren’t fools; the truth was obvious once pointed out.

Zhao Qiao’s face turned the color of iron. He gritted his teeth in silence, determined not to admit anything.

“Actually, you didn’t have to expose yourself,” Lin Qihua continued. “If you’d kept quiet, I really couldn’t have pointed you out so directly. But you had to speak up, because Starshine Company must have instructed you. My arrival clearly threatened their plans, so you had to sabotage things. Unfortunately, your methods were too crude and you gave yourself away. I’m quite glad we caught you out so quickly.”

Zhao Qiao lowered his head and said nothing.

He Li’s expression was stern. “You should go. I think your career here will be on hold until your contract ends. Or, you can have Starshine Company buy you out and pay the penalty. We won’t stand in your way.”

Zhao Qiao shot Lin Qihua a venomous look, then glanced at Xiao Xiao before turning to leave, head bowed. He knew there was no point staying now. From here on, he could only hope Starshine Company would help him.

“It was true after all,” Yu Fengqin said with a pained shake of her head.

“Well, now it really is a women’s troop,” Lin Qihua suddenly quipped. The five remaining artists were all women—wasn’t this a true women’s battalion?

“So you’re the commander of this women’s troop, then?” He Li rolled her eyes at him, but the lighter mood was a relief. She had worried the incident would dampen everyone’s spirits.

“I couldn’t command anyone—at best, I’m a military advisor with a dog’s-head staff,” Lin Qihua waved his hand. “If only I had a white-feather fan, I could strike a pose like the great strategists of old—how dashing! Being the commander is far more tiring.”

At this, Lei Jing was the first to burst out laughing. The others couldn’t help but smile as the tension in the room finally eased.

“Hey, military advisor,” Lei Jing, always bold, spoke up, “earlier you said you’d tailor songs for us. Was that just to scare Zhao Qiao, or is it true? Don’t get our hopes up for nothing.”

“Truth often lies behind a bluff,” Lin Qihua grinned. “If I didn’t have that ability, how could I have lured him out? Rest assured, while I can’t guarantee a tailor-made song for everyone, as long as I find inspiration, I’ll write something for each of you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t let me off easily, would you?”

“Certainly not.” Lei Jing shook her fists. “Nothing angers me more than being deceived. So, what do you need us to do?”

“It’s simple. As I said earlier, each of you prepare two of your best acts—whether singing solo or a dance performance, whichever you’re most skilled at. I need to understand what style suits you best. And trainers, you should start thinking about which trainees are ready to be recommended. Let them prepare as well. Our artist roster is too small—only three groups. It’s embarrassing. We can’t attract outside talent, so we’ll have to promote from the training camp. I believe we’ll find some suitable candidates. As for the rest, we’ll combine debut preparation with ongoing training.”

“That’s worth a try,” He Li said thoughtfully, then turned to Lian Yuling. “Lingling, what do you think? Your opinion is what matters most.”

“With the company’s situation as it is, I can’t insist that every trainee complete the full course before debuting. I’ll make an exception this time,” Lian Yuling replied helplessly. “I know a few trainees with excellent talent. You can review them carefully. If you think any are suitable for debut as singers, let them know to get ready. Special circumstances call for special measures. Go ahead.”

“Alright.” The trainers in charge of the camp nodded and left, pondering which trainees would be best. Although Lin Qihua spoke of accelerating the process, at minimum, vocal ability and other fundamentals had to meet debut standards, so there weren’t too many to choose from.

As for the others, Lei Jing and her peers all set off to find a place to consider which acts to perform. They were all debut artists, so preparing their best pieces wasn’t an issue at all.