The elevator doors slid open, and Zhong Ziyan stepped out eagerly.
—Thank goodness the elevator didn’t malfunction. She’d half-expected a horde of Lickers with barbed tongues to drop from the ceiling.
"This way," her agent said, pretending to check a message. "Director Li is in the recording studio. Let’s head straight there."
Zhong Ziyan followed at a leisurely pace, her gaze sweeping across the sixteenth floor. Almost instinctively, she mapped out the layout in her mind, noting exits and emergency routes.
Houtu Entertainment spared no expense—most of the sixteenth floor was occupied by state-of-the-art recording studios, nearly all of them in use, buzzing with activity.
A faint, almost maternal smile touched Zhong Ziyan’s lips.
—Listen. That’s the sound of the boss’s empire thriving and raking in cash.
"Director Li, I’ve brought Zhong Ziyan," the agent announced, approaching a man with long bangs. After a quick greeting, he turned and held out a hand to Zhong Ziyan. "Hand over the sheet music."
"No need," Director Li said, one eye—no, both eyes—glued to his computer screen. He didn’t even glance up. "There are instruments inside. Play it for me. I don’t have time to read."
Zhong Ziyan wasn’t bothered by his attitude. She peered through the soundproof glass and spotted a variety of instruments, including a violin, arranged inside.
The agent blinked. "Uh, Director Li, shouldn’t you take a look first? Miss Bai hasn’t arrived yet."
"Busy," Director Li snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "I’ll know if it’s worth listening to within the first few bars. Don’t waste my time."
The agent opened his mouth to argue, but Zhong Ziyan was already strolling into the recording studio, hands in her pockets.
She went straight for the violin, tuning it carefully before lifting it to her shoulder.
When she looked up again, the previously empty space outside the studio was now packed with people—all staring straight at her.
Zhong Ziyan: "…?" What’s this, a fight?
Fu Mingyao stood outside the glass, fuming when Zhong Ziyan’s gaze swept over her without a flicker of recognition before dropping back to the violin. She stamped her foot in frustration.
Bai Ling, equally ignored, wore a sour expression. She patted Fu Mingyao’s shoulder. "Relax. Let’s hear her masterpiece. Director Li Ye is one of the industry’s top experts. His judgment will be fair."
Li Ye remained glued to his screen, seemingly deaf to Bai Ling’s thinly veiled barbs and flattery.
"I’ll also be recording later," Bai Ling added humbly. "If there’s anything I can improve, please don’t hesitate to critique me, Director Li."
Li Ye snorted softly. "Miss Bai, with you, there’d be a lot to critique."
"…" Knowing Li Ye was a prodigy the company had fought hard to recruit, Bai Ling forced an awkward but polite smile.
Li Ye’s talent was undeniable, but what he was really known for was his brutal honesty—a sharp tongue that made people want to punch him.
There was no way Li Ye would approve of Zhong Ziyan’s composition. He’d tear her apart.
That was exactly why Bai Ling had arranged for him to review it today.
Someone near Bai Ling whispered, "Is that bracelet on her wrist what I think it is…?"
Another voice chimed in quietly, "It can’t possibly be the limited-edition Van ○ Cleef & Arpels commemorative piece, right? Only five were made worldwide, and they weren’t even for sale."
Amid the hushed murmurs, the violin’s melody finally flowed into the air.
Almost instinctively, the crowd fell silent, their attention riveted.
By the end of the first measure, Bai Ling’s smug, confident expression had frozen.
By the time the first passage concluded, even Li Ye—who usually seemed surgically attached to his computer—jerked his head up, staring at the young woman in the recording studio, her head slightly bowed as she played.
Zhong Ziyan wore nothing but a plain T-shirt and casual pants, and the violin in her hands was a run-of-the-mill instrument worth a few thousand at most. Yet the music pouring from her strings sounded like it had drifted in from another world—a divine realm untouched by mortal hands, carrying a beauty beyond human comprehension.
Li Ye sprang up like a fish leaping from water, snatching a pair of high-quality monitoring headphones and jamming them onto his head.
This was nothing like the "talentless hack who needs to be taken down a peg" he’d been warned about!
But his realization came too late—he’d only managed to lose himself in the latter half of the piece.
When Zhong Ziyan finally lowered the violin from her shoulder, the three-minute performance felt like the blink of an eye. Everyone, whether musically inclined or not, stood dazed, craving more.
Li Ye, a true connoisseur, had been even more entranced than the rest.
Only when Zhong Ziyan pushed the door open and asked, "Done?" did he snap back to reality, whipping his head toward her.
"This piece is incomplete," Li Ye declared firmly. "There’s more, isn’t there?"
"There is," Zhong Ziyan confirmed, her tone indifferent. "But wasn’t one submission enough?"
She glanced at the crowd still loitering outside the studio, baffled. What were they even here for? Professional claques?
Li Ye: "…" He stood, tossing the expensive headphones aside. "Did you compose this yourself? This is a masterwork. Do you understand that?"
"Sure." Zhong Ziyan slapped the folder into Li Ye’s hands, ignoring her gaping agent. "Approved, then? I’m leaving."
"Wait!" Li Ye clutched the folder and chased after her without hesitation.
The agent instinctively blocked him. "Director Li, Miss Bai is about to record—"
"Get someone else!" Li Ye shoved the agent’s arm aside, scrambling after Zhong Ziyan, words tumbling out rapid-fire. "This composition isn’t suited for a forced pop adaptation, but it’d be perfect for a musical!"
"Do whatever you want with it," Zhong Ziyan said offhandedly.
"Hand over the rest!"
"Maybe next deadline."
As Li Ye practically glued himself to Zhong Ziyan’s back, following her out like an eager puppy—a far cry from his usual "you tone-deaf morons" arrogance—Bai Ling found no opening to interject. Her composure cracked.
She’d gathered everyone to watch Zhong Ziyan humiliate herself. Instead, she’d handed Zhong Ziyan a stepping stone to glory. Worst of all, Zhong Ziyan hadn’t even glanced her way, as if she hadn’t noticed her presence at all.
Bai Ling’s face burned crimson with humiliation, her mind screaming for a time machine.
The sycophants who’d flocked around her exchanged awkward glances before finding polite excuses to flee the cringe-inducing scene.
After all, there are different levels of lying through one's teeth. Given the performance just witnessed—one so universally appealing that anyone with ears could recognize its divine beauty—it would be nearly impossible for anyone to shut their eyes and shamelessly claim Bai Ling could surpass Zhong Ziyan.
Even Bai Ling herself knew that even at her absolute best, her performance couldn't hold a candle to Zhong Ziyan's piece.
It was a difference as vast as heaven and earth—a matter of sheer, innate talent.
