Chapter 10: Jiang Qi, Furious

It was a string of red numbers, still jumping incessantly.

[99+]

What a familiar feeling.

Li He tapped the pulsing numbers.

In an instant, the page transformed.

Li He felt exasperated—wasn’t this supposed to be a mighty, impressive system? Why did it feel like a certain chat app, so lacking in dignity?

On the new page, a cascade of message alerts appeared:

[Negative emotion value +0.1 from Jiang Qi]

[Negative emotion value +0.1 from Zhou Min]

[Negative emotion value +0.1 from...]

There was even a backend data record.

Suddenly, Li He felt the system’s dignity rise again; soon, he’d know exactly who was badmouthing him behind his back, could even jot it down in a little notebook.

But soon, Li He realized he was overthinking it.

The new messages were coming in far too fast—dozens per second. He’d never be able to count them all, even if he stayed up all night.

Li He was startled. Was it really this exaggerated?

Among the ever-jumping new alerts, Li He noticed one name appearing repeatedly.

Jiang Qi.

In just that moment, her name popped up three times.

What grudge could this be?

Li He remembered the name—he’d seen it somewhere.

Soon, it came to him: the top pinned comment on DouHand.

She was apparently a singer, though Li He had never heard her songs and didn’t know how she sang.

Li He opened DouHand and found Jiang Qi’s account.

He watched a few of her short singing videos, gaining some understanding.

Firstly, she was very pretty.

Everything else hardly mattered.

Jiang Qi’s high notes were impressive, the type with a small but powerful lung capacity.

“I wonder if she’d be interested in buying a song.” Li He rested his chin in his palm, murmuring.

After listening to Jiang Qi’s songs, Li He immediately thought of a singer from Hong Kong in his previous life.

The original singer of “Bubble”—their voices were similar.

Li He thought, if he sold “Bubble” to Jiang Qi, she’d probably buy it.

He first clicked “follow” on Jiang Qi; without following, he couldn’t send a private message.

“Let’s ask.” Li He opened the private chat, surprised to find Jiang Qi had already messaged him.

Actually, many singers and artists had sent him messages—he simply hadn’t read them.

There were too many to keep up with.

Besides singers, artists, news observers, there was also an overwhelming number of enthusiastic netizens.

Everyone wanted to send local specialties or something, but Li He felt awkward accepting, so he stopped checking private messages.

“Pay for my phone screen—what the heck?”

Li He stared at the words for a long time, unable to figure out their meaning.

Who the hell touched your phone screen?

Then Li He sent back a screenshot, carefully cropped.

When Jiang Qi saw the message, she was dumbfounded, nearly tossing her phone again.

She hadn’t actually wanted Li He to pay for her phone screen, she’d just sent the message in a fit of anger, unable to hold back.

But what was with this screenshot of his loan balance? Was he saying he had no money to pay for her screen, or asking her to help pay his debts?

Jiang Qi was beside herself.

What kind of bizarre logic was this!

After sending the message, Li He cheerfully climbed into bed, ready for a blissful midday nap.

But soon, his phone chimed.

Li He picked it up.

Ha!

Jiang Qi had replied.

[Singer Jiang Qi]: “Teacher Jiabei, hello, I’m singer Jiang Qi.”

Teacher Jiabei?

Are all celebrities this humble... Li He thought, since you called me ‘teacher,’ if I don’t reply, you’ll feel uncomfortable.

[Jiabei]: “Hello, Jiang Qi, I’m Jiabei, songwriter and composer.”

Jiang Qi was stunned.

Calling someone ‘teacher’ was just a sign of respect, not literally being their student—it’s common in the entertainment industry.

Jiang Qi felt Jiabei wasn’t just annoying, but also had a habit of taking liberties.

Li He, meanwhile, smiled as he saw Jiang Qi’s name pop up again in the message alerts.

Li He was confused—why did she get angry so easily? He was just following her lead.

She called him ‘teacher,’ so out of politeness, he called her ‘student.’

[Singer Jiang Qi]: “Teacher Jiabei, your song ‘Solace’ is amazing—I love it so much.”

Jiang Qi decided to get the lyrics out first; she was feeling so stifled.

[Jiabei]: “Thank you, I like it too.”

Jiang Qi was speechless—was he sick?

Who asked whether he liked it or not?

[Singer Jiang Qi]: “Teacher Jiabei, could I see the second half of the lyrics for ‘Solace’? Don’t worry, I won’t leak a single word.”

Li He saw the new message and immediately wanted to refuse.

This song was for that shameless He Luo; leaking the lyrics wouldn’t do.

But considering Jiang Qi was a female celebrity, he didn’t reject her too bluntly, replying somewhat tactfully:

[Jiabei]: “No.”

Jiang Qi nearly spat blood.

She thought, since Jiabei had replied, it shouldn’t be a problem to ask about the lyrics.

Even if he refused, surely he’d say it was a commercial secret, couldn’t be revealed—yet he simply said ‘No.’

No, your sister!

Jiang Qi was utterly hopeless.

She tossed her phone aside, buried her head under the sofa cushion, and cared not for whatever was on TV.

Jiang Qi only knew she was irritable and wanted to escape it all.

“Ding-dong~”

A message alert rang from her phone.

Jiang Qi didn’t move—who cares who messaged, she wouldn’t look. Let the world end!

After five seconds, Jiang Qi sat up, annoyed, and reluctantly picked up her phone to see another message from Jiabei.

“The last time.”

No matter his character, Jiabei was a heavyweight in songwriting and composition; as a newcomer, Jiang Qi couldn’t afford to offend him.

She planned to apologize and say she was busy, then never reply again, never watch his videos.

Then Jiang Qi opened the chat with Jiabei.

[Jiabei]: “I can’t show you the lyrics for ‘Solace,’ but I have another song. I can send you the audio.”

Jiang Qi shot up from the sofa.

Her eyes were filled with astonishment—who exactly was Jiabei?

Besides “Solace,” he had other songs!

Such talent shouldn’t go unnoticed in the entertainment world.

[Singer Jiang Qi]: “Really, Teacher Jiabei, you’re so kind.”

Her vow to never speak to him again was long forgotten.

Li He sent Jiang Qi a video—the system’s synthesized audio version of “Bubble.”

Seeing that Jiabei sent a video, Jiang Qi’s heart skipped a beat.

She remembered the terror of Jiabei’s previous videos.

With trembling fingers, she opened it; luckily, the visuals were different this time, otherwise she’d have tossed her phone again.

The video unfolded slowly, the screen pitch black, a line of white text with phonetic annotations shooting up from below.

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