Gu Zhao ultimately abandoned his plan to grow out his hair.
Secretary Zhang credited himself for the successful persuasion—after all, they had worked together for some time now. Though he couldn’t fathom why the CEO had such a "rebellious" idea in the first place, invoking the argument that "long hair obstructing vision would affect work efficiency" had swiftly resolved the matter.
Of course, he would never know the real reason Gu Zhao changed his mind: the revival competition of *Voice of You* had begun.
Jin Jiu had changed his hairstyle.
When he told the makeup artist, "I want to cut my hair and try a new look," she was so moved she nearly teared up—then promptly snipped off his long locks without hesitation.
She’d been itching to do it for ages!
Sure, some celebrities rocked long hair beautifully, adding an ethereal charm to their presence.
But no one wore it quite like Jin Jiu. Others had stylish bangs; his was more like a heavy curtain, hanging so low it nearly covered his chin. In all her years in the makeup industry, she’d never been so desperate to give someone a haircut.
The makeup artist was a professional. Snip, snip—and when Jin Jiu’s delicate features were finally unveiled, An Baixing, standing nearby, gasped:
"Holy crap! Dude, you’re *this* good-looking?!"
Jin Jiu was indeed strikingly handsome. Even as a singer who didn’t rely on his looks, his pale complexion couldn’t diminish the sheer impact of his features, which were arresting enough to make anyone blurt out an expletive.
His eyes, though still dull and lifeless, stood out the most—paired with his sharp nose, he looked like a fragile, newly born creature, still damp and vulnerable.
As An Baixing enthusiastically put it:
"You’re *too* good-looking! You could totally pass as a porcelain-doll beauty, damn it. God, I can’t believe someone this gorgeous is my friend—I must be legendary or something!"
The makeup artist was instantly fired up. After a quick glance, she whipped out her tools with glee:
"I knew it! Your bone structure is *perfect* for the stage. Just wait—I’ll give you a show-stopping makeover. You’ll be the brightest star out there!"
Jin Jiu hadn’t properly looked at his own face in seven years.
He’d been called pretty since childhood. At sixteen, besides being hailed as the "Voice of an Angel," his androgynous, delicate features had also earned him the title of "Angel’s Visage."
But after *those* incidents, the once-endless praises turned into disgusted murmurs.
He grew afraid of being seen, terrified his face might repulse others. The compliments from An Baixing and the makeup artist made him hesitantly lift his gaze toward the mirror.
The reflection felt unfamiliar, different from what he remembered.
In Jin Jiu’s eyes, he wasn’t vibrant or likable—just pallid and withered. Even when he tried to force a smile, it came out stiff and unnatural.
Would *she* like someone as gloomy and unappealing as him?
His head drooped dejectedly, but before it could fully bow, the makeup artist caught his chin, her eyes sparkling with excitement:
"Don’t move! I’m giving you a ‘Vampire Duke’ stage look—yes, just like that! Bare your teeth a little… perfect, perfect! Adorably fierce. Here, let me glue on some fangs. Don’t worry, they won’t mess with your singing."
Jin Jiu, who had actually been practicing his smile: "…"
While the closed-off program crew maintained an eerie calm, chaos reigned outside.
In just a week, the truth about what happened seven years ago had been overturned, re-overturned, and overturned again.
As Sheng Quan had predicted, the facts were always there—it just depended on whether people cared to dig.
First came skepticism, then investigations. Rumors—some true, some false—flooded the internet under the guise of "I heard." Eventually, both sides brought out their evidence, and the dust finally settled.
When it was all over, the battle—a mix of fresh gossip and old grudges—entered its final phase: the recap.
The recappers mainly consisted of the victorious side or neutral third parties who’d stayed out of the fray, mostly influencers and video content creators.
"Riding the Little Donkey" was one such recapper. Ever since the book-fan group chat screenshots skyrocketed his following, he’d become a staunch Sheng Quan loyalist, charging to the front lines in every Sheng Quan-related drama.
He’d been there for the book-fan leaks, meticulously compiled evidence when Huaxing Building was rumored to be under Sheng Quan’s ownership, and even paid a hefty sum to buy his way into the book-fan group—just so he could screenshot and hype Sheng Quan’s appearances the second she surfaced.
In short: he dove headfirst into every controversy and, when things were quiet, dissected every Sheng Quan-related tidbit.
From daily updates on the *Path of Life* film crew to Yan Hui’s career milestones, Xing Mang’s hiring sprees, speculations about who they’d poached next, calculations of Huaxing Building’s annual rental income, debates over whether Xing Mang *actually* prioritized looks in recruitment—even CEO Gu Zhao himself became a recurring subject of his deep dives.
There are many influential figures like "Riding a Little Donkey" who are eager to jump on every trend, even something as trivial as "Sheng Quan yawning." These individuals have played a significant role in helping Sheng Quan gain her current fame and fanbase in just over a month.
Even netizens who missed the earlier major events would, after repeatedly seeing posts about Sheng Quan from these influencers, subconsciously form the impression that "she's a celebrity," even if they didn’t know her beforehand.
Of course, this relationship is mutually beneficial. These accounts have also attracted a large number of fans interested in Sheng Quan. They fuel the hype around her, and in turn, Sheng Quan’s popularity boosts their own reach.
In this positive feedback loop, they naturally position themselves on the frontlines of "protecting Sheng Quan," because safeguarding her means safeguarding the traffic that sustains them.
Sheng Quan is well aware of this. For instance, while her main account appears aloof and follows no one, her alt account keeps close tabs on the activities of this "Sheng Quan Protection Squad."
Lately, however, she’s been a bit busy. It wasn’t until a full day after "Riding a Little Donkey" posted their summary that she finally came across it.
**[Summary of the Jin Jiu Incident:**
1. Seven years ago, Jin Jiu was the most promising newcomer of his season in "Love Song Newcomer King," hailed by the media as having the "Voice of an Angel" (I scoured the internet to find a few audio clips with damaged quality—linked below. Even though the audio has degraded after countless transfers, you can still tell it truly deserves the title).
2. In May, just before the competition, Jin Jiu suddenly vanished. He reappeared in mid-August, only to be embroiled in the "Concert Scam Cheating Fans Incident" (Figures 1 and 2 are compilations of newspaper clippings from that time). By then, Jin Jiu could no longer sing with his angelic voice; media reports described it as hoarse and unpleasant, leading to a massive wave of fans turning against him.
3. Important note: Not a single cent from the concert tickets went to Jin Jiu. He had refused to perform but was forced onstage. At the time, he wasn’t even sixteen yet—just graduated from middle school. Multiple reports also highlighted his severe overwork (Figure 4 shows a blurry photo of Jin Jiu from then, where he’s practically skin and bones).
4. In late October, media reported Jin Jiu being rushed to the hospital covered in blood, suspected of attempting suicide (see Figure 4 for the scene photo). Though blurry, the side profile confirms it’s him. After analysis by experts, it’s believed he chose the slowest, most agonizing method: cutting his wrists in a bathtub of warm water (an eyewitness, "Melon [screenname]," who worked at the hospital, saw Jin Jiu being wheeled into emergency care).
5. In early November, Jin Jiu terminated his contract with the exploitative company (after relentless digging by netizens, former employees "Life’s Hard, Sigh [screenname]" and "Jasmine [screenname]" confirmed their identities and testified that after Jin Jiu’s suicide attempt, he stormed into the boss’s office with a knife and stabbed himself. Terrified, the unscrupulous boss Rong Chang immediately agreed to release him).
6. After the contract termination, Jin Jiu seemed to disappear from the public eye. But thanks to eagle-eyed sleuths, his trajectory over the past seven years has been pieced together: He first returned to school for tenth grade but was expelled due to severe self-harm tendencies (so far, two classmates and thirteen schoolmates have corroborated this).
Afterward, he drifted between odd jobs and medical treatment. Testimonies have surfaced from former colleagues at a fried chicken shop, a courier station, a restaurant, an auto repair shop, a delivery service, and more.
Their memories align: Jin Jiu was quiet, kept to himself, always hiding his face. Most coworkers never even saw what he looked like. But they all mentioned he loved singing—always humming to himself in secret. Some jokingly asked him to sing for them, but he’d clam up completely.
7. Four years after the contract termination, Jin Jiu began auditioning for singing competitions. Why did no one notice? Because he was eliminated in either the preliminaries or early rounds. I’ve compiled the footage dug up by dedicated netizens—eighty-five clips in total. Every single time, the reason for elimination was the same: he couldn’t sing a single word.
The most recent clip was from last month—another silent elimination. The link is below. It’s clear he was nervous, because in *The Voice Has You*, though he stayed silent for forty seconds, he managed to sing eight lines in the last twenty. This suggests it’s not that he *can’t* sing, but that performing onstage triggers deep psychological trauma.
7. Over the course of three years, there were a staggering eighty-five documented instances of him signing up for singing competitions—video evidence exists for each one. This clearly shows that Jin Jiu was desperately trying to overcome his stage fright, which rendered him voiceless whenever he stepped into the spotlight. As for the root of this trauma, check the third link. It leads to footage of his final concert, widely believed to be the final straw that drove him to suicide. The atmosphere was so suffocatingly oppressive that I couldn’t even finish watching it. Feel free to challenge yourself if you dare.
That’s the gist of the Jin Jiu incident. Even someone like me, who never follows celebrities and only lives for the gossip, has to say: it’s tragic. Heartbreakingly, horrifyingly tragic. This is just a rough summary—for more details, you can search online. If you spot any discrepancies, feel free to comment and correct me.]
Sheng Quan thought she knew Jin Jiu’s past inside out, but as netizens dug deeper, she realized the reality was a hundred times crueler than the book had portrayed.
This was now a real world, and Jin Jiu had left traces everywhere—classmates who witnessed his dropout, doctors who once treated him, coworkers from his part-time jobs, even people who’d crossed paths with him at training classes.
To them, he was just a fleeting presence in their lives. But once Sheng Quan propelled Jin Jiu back into the public eye, these witnesses emerged, piecing together his story from fragments of memory.
The book never mentioned that he dropped out due to severe self-harm, nor did it describe how he worked himself to exhaustion just to afford lessons and treatment. It certainly didn’t mention how he was forcibly pushed onstage to face disappointed fans.
The book noted his relentless participation in singing competitions but never specified the number. Now, with video proof of eighty-five appearances, it meant Jin Jiu had subjected himself to this torment at least eighty-five times in his quest for redemption.
Eighty-five times standing onstage, eighty-five times confronting his darkest memories, eighty-five times choking on silence and hating himself for it.
This was just the seventh year. In the thirty years the book spanned, how many more times had he endured this?
But it didn’t end there. While the blogger had summarized the major incidents, the comments section revealed even more horrors.
[You missed something, OP. Jin Jiu wasn’t just poisoned—after that, his throat was slit. It happened during an argument with Zhou Xie after he reported the poisoning. An old newspaper photo shows Jin Jiu with bandages around his neck. The wound wasn’t deep enough to damage his vocal cords, but still… it was a slit throat.]
[WTF?! Poisoned AND his throat cut? He was only sixteen at the time!!!]
[I can’t stop crying, it’s so devastating. Especially watching those competition clips where he stands frozen, trembling… I just burst into tears.]
[I was that coworker at the fried chicken shop. I used to tease him to sing, and when he couldn’t, I thought it was funny. Now… I’m a monster. A MONSTER!!]
[Great summary, OP. I couldn’t shake off the video for days. Despite his trauma, despite shaking to his fingertips—when he saw someone supporting him, he still sang.]
[I’d heard his name before but never looked into it… If I could time-travel, I’d go to that cursed concert and hold up a lightstick for him. Let him know someone was rooting for him!!]
[So THIS is what Sheng Quan meant when she said she wished she’d known Jin Jiu back then. She’s in the industry—she must’ve known the truth. Of course my Queen Sheng has impeccable taste.]
[Does anyone else keep rewatching that “Sing with You” clip where Sheng Quan raises the lightstick? The look on Jin Jiu’s face—pure disbelief—wrecks me every time.]
[His voice is so beautiful. Even now, after his vocal cords were ruined, it’s still breathtaking.]
[I can’t imagine how hard he worked to sound like this after such damage.]
[That Zhou Xie is pure evil!! Three years in prison? He should rot there for LIFE.]
[Isn’t his family’s company collapsing? Recent news says his uncle got arrested too.]
[Poor baby. I just want to hug Jin Jiu and never let go.]
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “President Sheng, we need to leave for the show!” Ming Qi called.
Sheng Quan opened the door, and Ming Qi immediately looped an arm through hers. “They said tickets for the live audience in the semifinals are selling out. Didn’t the crew reserve some for you? Who’d you give them to?”
“I sold them.”
“Sold them?” Ming Qi blinked. “Aren’t you arranging any… fans for Jin Jiu?”
She meant the industry-standard “professional audience members”—paid actors who pretended to be die-hard fans, a common tactic to boost a less-popular star’s image.
“No need.” Sheng Quan glanced at her phone, then snapped it shut with a smile.
“He already has real ones.”
The semifinals venue.
When Jin Jiu appeared on stage, the barrage of live comments erupted in astonishment.
【Is that Jin Jiu?!!!】
【Where did this handsome guy come from?! Give me back the brooding long-haired man!!】
【Holy crap, he’s so hot, so hot, so hot!】
【Help! I thought those reports from seven years ago calling him an angel were exaggerations!】
【Ahhhh he looked at the camera! Cameraman, why are you shaking? Cut the shot back to him right now!】
【Those eyes! Those eyes!! I’m dead!!!】
Jin Jiu truly looked reborn. As he stood beneath the stage lights and lifted his gaze, it was as if all the light in the world had gathered upon him.
Yet his eyes were fixed only on Sheng Quan.
When he saw Sheng Quan smiling and applauding, an involuntary small smile tugged at his lips.
The lights dimmed, and the entire audience’s attention was riveted to Jin Jiu on stage.
But he was no longer afraid of the dark, silent sea of spectators.
Jin Jiu picked up the microphone, and as the accompaniment began, his voice—hypnotic and mesmerizing—rose gradually from a whisper to a soaring crescendo. This time, his performance was even better than the last.
His gaze remained fixed on the audience below, like a mermaid who had just stepped ashore, pouring every ounce of emotion into his voice, using his song to lay bare his soul.
He paid no attention to the admiration of the judges or the murmurs of praise backstage.
As the song ended, Jin Jiu’s chest rose and fell slightly with exertion, his eyes searching nervously for Sheng Quan, desperate for her approval.
Sheng Quan smiled and raised a light sign bearing his name.
Before Jin Jiu could even smile in response, two more signs flickered to life behind her, both flashing "Jin Jiu" in bright letters.
At first, he didn’t comprehend. Only when he heard someone in the audience shout his name did he freeze, stunned and uncertain, his eyes darting around in disbelief.
【Jin Jiu, you’ve got this!!!】
【❤ Jin Jiu ❤】
【Jin Jiu is the best!!!】
【No one sings like Jin Jiu!!!】
He stood rigid, staring wide-eyed at the crowd below.
Behind Sheng Quan, more and more light signs bearing Jin Jiu’s name lit up one after another.
They sparkled, connecting to form a tiny, shimmering galaxy just for him.
