Mu Xin stepped forward with a show of contrition. “Sorry about that, everyone. There was a mix-up backstage. We’ve been swamped because of all this.” Her voice was syrupy, practiced.
A reporter from one of the outlets Mu Xin had hired raised an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, why not clear this up properly? Everyone’s here—there are cameras, reporters. Now’s the perfect time.”
Mu Xin had indeed invited several high-profile journalists for today’s set-up. The moment she nodded, shutters clicked in a frenzy, and the cameras angled to catch both the accused and the supposed evidence. Most of those reporters had been paid; they would only report what helped the story they’d been hired to sell.
“You can’t let a plagiarist run wild,” a female star said indignantly. “Judging by the method and the style, this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this—just the first time she’s been caught.”
“Since everyone’s here, why don’t we ask Zhanfang Entertainment’s head to explain? Those songs were hers, right?”
“Yeah.”
“.....”
Under mounting pressure, Mu Xin looked to Shi Wan. “Ms. Shi—look, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone, but—”
“I know.” Shi Wan stood. Her movement was calm, almost bored. “If you all want to see it, then look.”
She went up on stage and projected the documents she’d brought. “These are my composition drafts. Everything is here. Any other questions?”
Mu Xin peered at the images, lips twisting in a smile. “Ms. Shi, don’t gloss over this. That draft has an ‘L’ written on the bottom, doesn’t it? So this is L’s work, right? Even if it’s not yours—why do you have these drafts? The matter’s already come this far. Are you still going to hide from us?”
The reporters’ shutters hummed like angry bees. They hadn’t expected Shi Wan to produce drafts at all—let alone hand over what looked like someone else’s work.
“Why can’t I be L?” Shi Wan sounded bewildered and a little helpless. “What’s wrong with presenting my own drafts?”
“Your drafts? How shameless—didn’t you see the ‘L’ at the bottom?” Someone in the crowd couldn’t hold back a curse. It was as if they’d never seen shamelessness like this: to be accused of plagiarism and then pretend the stolen work was yours. If every plagiarist behaved like her, the world would be chaos.
Shen Siyuan glanced at the speaker—apparently someone from Qingyue Entertainment.
Mu Xin’s grin widened. “Ms. Shi, you can’t sweep this aside. This is the perfect chance to set things straight. Don’t you want to clear your name?”
“I already did,” Shi Wan said simply.
Except almost no one in the room believed her—save for those on her side.
“Doesn’t Ms. Shi know that L is signed to our company?” Mu Xin clapped her hands for effect. “If she won’t, I’ll call him over myself.”
“You—” Shi Wan forced a composed expression. “That’s not—fine.”
“Call him, then.”
Her reluctance made Mu Xin more certain that Shi Wan was putting on an act. A murmur ran through the crowd. Rumors had been circulating that L belonged to Senyue Entertainment; many had dismissed it as hearsay. Now, seeing it play out, they realized the rumor was true. Everyone knew the man behind Senyue didn’t compromise lightly. The implication was clear: Senyue had clout.
A sharply dressed man in his thirties walked in, measured and unhurried. He introduced himself to the gathered cameras. “Hello. I am L of Senyue Entertainment. I hadn’t planned to make an appearance over this, but the level of brazenness here has left me no choice. If we allow plagiarism to go unchecked, there will be no ground left that is untouched.”
Nods all around. He carried the air of someone powerful.
“I’d thought L might be a woman,” one whisper went. “But no—he speaks like a man.”
“You can’t tell by the songs? They sounded like a young woman in love.” Someone laughed.
“Doesn’t matter. At his age he’s probably married,” another muttered. Then the blame shifted back to Shi Wan. “It’s one thing to plagiarize, but to impersonate the original author too? Does she think our artists are pacifists she can trample on?”
“Agreed.”
The group’s criticism of Shi Wan grew louder but conversational, not one unified roar. Around Shen Siyuan, people fell silent—no one dared speak. They couldn’t guess what the man from Senyue intended to do. Support? Condemnation? Nothing was clear. What was obvious was that Senyue’s appearance put pressure squarely on Zhanfang.
“If Ms. Shi doesn’t apologize,” someone said, “we’ll sue.”
“Fine.” Shi Wan’s smile was thin, almost amused. “I thought Senyue would send a woman to handle this. Funny you didn’t even verify the gender before making assumptions.”
“Shi Wan—that’s aimed at you,” Mu Xin abandoned titles and called her by name, sharp with accusation.
“Isn’t it true? Based on what you’ve seen of his life, who told you L was a man?” Shi Wan shot back.
“The public doesn’t know whether L is male or female. If Senyue says they signed him, that should be enough.”
“Maybe.” Mu Xin’s tone turned condescending. “If you can’t accept that, then we’re on totally different levels. Your way of handling things is—astonishing.”
The man’s smile was brittle. “These songs you’re accused of stealing—they’re mine. I composed them recently. I worked hard to find the inspiration, to draft them. Shortly after finishing, I discovered my initial drafts had gone missing. I’m curious how Ms. Shi obtained them.”
“Probably by shameless means,” someone whispered, glancing at Shen Siyuan.
L’s expression darkened. “I can let this go if Zhanfang formally apologizes.”
Mu Xin snorted. “How can we trust you? How do we know you’re actually L and not an impostor?”
“My Weibo posts from a few days ago shouldn’t count for anything?” he suggested. “If there’s doubt, I can log on right now.”
“Anyone can hack an account,” Mu Xin shot back, eyes flicking to Shi Wan with a look that said, See? I told you.
L’s jaw tightened. “If no one believes me, I’ll have to take this to court.”
Shi Wan inclined her head. “That’s fine. I’ve already hired the best lawyer.”
“What?”
Before the man and Mu Xin could process it, a woman in a tailored suit came hurrying into the press area carrying a stack of files. She paused when she saw the crowd, smoothed her expression, and, after a silent, barely-contained mutter under her breath about Shi Wan, put on an air of cool composure and introduced herself. “Good afternoon. I’m Bai Yun, attorney at Bai Yun Law Firm.”
For a beat the room stalled, then erupted.
“No way—Bai Yun? The legend?”
“My idol!”
“Which side is she on?”
“She must be with Senyue—Bai Yun’s the most righteous lawyer. She always goes after the bad guys.”
Bai Yun's face remained unreadable as the whispers swelled. Then, without hesitating, she stepped to Shi Wan’s side. The crowd’s assumptions met a quiet, decisive contradiction: the most righteous lawyer had come—and she was standing with Shi Wan.