Chapter 40: The Threat from the Young Master of the Capital

Shen Xian's phone, the one linked to the Postman account, had been inundated with calls. Hundreds of text messages arrived as well, some even included women's selfies—faces obscured by mosaic, but the figures were undeniably alluring.

"Postman, give me a song, and I'll be yours for the next month," one message read.

"Postman, do you like me? Write me a song, I can do anything you want," said another.

"Postman, want to meet up?" came a third.

Even Liu Ruyun sent another message, requesting a meeting.

Shen Xian deleted them all with an expressionless face.

Wang Tianqi, Li Xiurong, and Ning Cai were gathered together, sharing barbecue.

"President Shen, this drink is for you," Li Xiurong said gratefully, filling a glass of beer and standing to toast Shen Xian first.

If not for Shen Xian, Wang Tianqi would still be unemployed.

"Wang Tianqi will start receiving song royalties next month. Take him to the hospital then, and get his corneas replaced," Shen Xian said, raising his glass to hers.

Wang Tianqi replied, "No rush, President Shen. While I still have some popularity, I want to take on a few commercial performances and appearances, earn you some more money. When things calm down, I’ll think about the surgery. Besides, it’s not something that can be done immediately—it takes time."

Shen Xian nodded.

Li Xiurong poured another glass, toasting Ning Cai: "President Ning, this drink is for you. Thank you for this opportunity."

When Shen Xian had brought Wang Tianqi to Ning Cai, he’d endured considerable humiliation. Chen Rumeng's mocking words toward Shen Xian remained vivid in Wang Tianqi's memory.

Ning Cai responded with equal courtesy: "If anyone deserves thanks, it's Shen Xian. He acquired the Postman's song and gave it to Wang Tianqi. Everything Wang Tianqi has today is thanks to Shen Xian."

Shen Xian laughed heartily. "Just lucky, really. Happened to see the Postman selling songs on the Original Music Base, so I bought one on a whim."

Wang Tianqi lowered his head, silently picking at his food.

"Have things at home been arranged?" Shen Xian asked.

Li Xiurong’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, but she quickly smiled. "Everything’s arranged."

Her gangster brother and problematic parents were hardly easy to handle. She’d already received numerous messages demanding fifty thousand—the claim was that Wang Tianqi was earning big money, and fifty thousand wasn’t enough; they wanted another fifty thousand, or else they'd make trouble at the company.

Li Xiurong didn’t reply, simply turned off her phone.

Shen Xian noticed, but didn't press the issue.

A notification sounded; he checked his phone and saw a message from Zhou Wan: "Postman, what are you up to? 'This Is Love' is so well-written, I really like it too."

Zhou Wan had been interacting with him quite frequently lately.

Frequent chatting could give the impression that he liked her.

Shen Xian worried that she might misunderstand. He had no desire to communicate further, but he was always courteous, and he struggled to reject others.

He felt compelled to reply instantly; if he didn’t, he felt awkward.

Many philanderers are like this.

So many men don’t consider themselves cads, but their behavior aligns perfectly with that stereotype.

"Thank you for liking it. Have you eaten?" Shen Xian responded.

See? That’s classic cad behavior.

He could have ended the conversation with a simple thank you, but instead he asked if she’d eaten, opening a new topic.

Many women, when chatting with overly attentive men, typically reply with a brief "hm," "oh," "good," or "I’m going to shower," to close the conversation, never extending it further.

Shen Xian was different; he found such replies dry and awkward.

It was his habitual way of chatting, something that couldn’t be changed overnight.

"I’ve already eaten. I just wanted to ask what you’re doing," Zhou Wan replied.

Wasn’t she getting a bit too involved?

"I’m having dinner," Shen Xian wrote.

Zhou Wan didn’t reply after that, not wanting to disturb him.

Another sleepless night ensued. Although Liu Ruyun had taken third place, she felt no joy.

It was her best result on a music program, but her heart felt heavy.

The pressure brought by the Postman was overwhelming.

"You didn’t lose to Wang Tianqi, you lost to the Postman. With those songs, even a dog could score high singing them," Chen Feng comforted her.

Liu Ruyun was full of regret.

If only she’d waited another month before breaking up with Shen Xian.

Fate was truly capricious.

Barely half a month after her breakup with Shen Xian, he obtained the Postman’s songs.

If they hadn’t broken up, would those songs have been hers?

And how many more Postman songs did Shen Xian have?

If there were a dozen more, she’d have to postpone her album release.

Besides, the Postman hadn’t released anything new for days.

"After I Leave," "Fallen," and "Wait a Minute" were still only available on Douyin’s proprietary music platform, not yet licensed to third parties. Once they were, the charts would be dominated.

Could her new song’s popularity survive?

"The Postman really deserves to die!" Chen Feng cursed bitterly.

He felt most aggrieved.

Originally, with the excuse of intercepting the mailbox and his own songs, he had hoped to shine in the Chinese music scene.

Who could have predicted the Postman would appear out of nowhere?

Compared to the Postman, his own talent was utterly trivial.

Not even crumbs remained.

On Zhou Wan’s side, she’d just finished soothing her daughter Qingqing when the phone rang.

Seeing the caller ID, Zhou Wan frowned, instinctively reluctant to answer.

But the phone kept ringing.

"Xiao Wan, are you asleep?" A pleasant male voice came from the other end—deeply resonant and gentle.

This man was none other than Qi Zhengqing, the young master of the capital.

His family’s group was valued in the billions, spanning mining, new energy, high-end hotels, media, and more.

The hall-of-fame musician Lin Daoan was merely a retainer for their family.

Zhou Wan’s rise from livestreaming to diva status owed much to Lin Daoan.

Qi Zhengqing had publicly claimed more than once that Zhou Wan belonged to him, which she thoroughly disliked.

Though Lin Daoan had written over a dozen songs for her, she paid copyright fees thirty percent above market rate.

She’d also turned down Qi Zhengqing repeatedly, stating she had a child and wasn’t interested in romance.

But Qi Zhengqing was undeterred.

He had no intention of marrying her; he simply wanted to sleep with her.

His intentions were obvious and undisguised.

Zhou Wan said, "I was just about to sleep. What is it?"

"I’m coming to Nanzhou tomorrow. Let’s have dinner, see a movie, and afterward go to a hotel. You must spend tomorrow night with me," Qi Zhengqing said.

He made no attempt to conceal his intentions.

He once said, "Once you have money and the resources women need, you’ll find that women are the easiest things to obtain."

Zhou Wan frowned. "Young Master Qi, I’m not like the women you usually meet. Don’t waste your energy on me. I can’t fulfill your requests."

Qi Zhengqing chuckled. "In a few days, it’s the Voice of Huaxia gala. As far as I know, you’ve already registered. Do you really want something to go wrong at this critical moment?"

It was a blatant threat.

Voice of Huaxia was an official, small-scale concert. Though it would be streamed online, the live audience comprised powerful figures within the system.

The songs performed praised heroism and exemplary deeds.

Among the twelve hall-of-fame singers, who was best at writing such songs?

Undoubtedly, Lin Daoan.

Zhou Wan had already arranged a song with him, promising ten thousand per word, composition extra. With his confirmation, she registered and passed the eligibility review—even registration for this event required a political screening.

She wanted to shed her label as a web singer, making participation essential.

But now, Qi Zhengqing was threatening her with this?