“Rigged! It’s absolutely rigged!”
Within ten minutes of the Rongcheng finals ending, posts complaining about the results had already appeared in the fan forum created for Li Mengjiao.
Fans were furious, feeling their intelligence had been insulted by the organisers. Li Mengjiao’s votes had been far ahead, only to mysteriously stall and be overtaken by Xu Mei. How could fans accept this?
“When I saw Xu Mei’s votes catching up, I used my phone to cast 50 votes. When my phone ran out of credit, I used my mum’s phone to vote dozens more times—over 100 votes in total. Every SMS was charged, but Mengjiao’s vote count didn’t budge!!”
The poster used multiple exclamation marks.
Countless replies followed, all pointing out the abnormality of Li Mengjiao’s stagnant vote count.
This was supposed to be a talent show for the masses, but if the organisers could manipulate votes, what was the point of fans spending money to vote?
Of course, Xu Mei’s supporters were ecstatic, believing her victory was a triumph of true talent over fleeting popularity, a well-deserved win.
These supporters urged Li Mengjiao’s fans to rationally accept the results, accusing them of being sore losers who cried “rigged” when they didn’t win.
At first, it was just a clash between the two fanbases, but it quickly escalated into personal attacks on the contestants. Li Mengjiao’s fans accused Xu Mei of some shady deal with the organisers, while Xu Mei’s supporters mocked Li Mengjiao for relying on cutesy charm without real singing talent, claiming her runner-up position was already unfair to the other Rongcheng contestants.
“Only our Xu Mei gets to go to Hunan for the national finals!”
“You can complain all you want, but there’s only one champion!”
The tension filled both fan forums. Without smartphones, people were slower to catch up with online chatter. Neither Li Mengjiao nor Xu Mei knew about the fan wars yet. After the competition, both stayed at the TV station for the celebratory banquet, and Wen Ying and her group joined them for the feast.
From Li’s mother, Wen Ying learned the full story.
Xie Qian had predicted Li Mengjiao wouldn’t win but hadn’t guessed it was tied to the contracts. Li Mengjiao didn’t sign the “indenture,” so she got second place… Though there was no solid proof, it was an unspoken understanding among everyone.
The three judges likely knew as well. At the banquet, Professor Fang avoided Wen Ying’s gaze.
Professor Fang was overthinking—Wen Ying didn’t blame him.
First, in terms of overall ability, Xu Mei and Li Mengjiao were neck-and-neck. If the champion was chosen by professional judges rather than audience popularity, Xu Mei was qualified to win, no question.
Second, Professor Fang alone couldn’t decide the outcome. He was working for the organisers, paid to do a job. It wouldn’t be right to stir trouble by leaking the competition’s behind-the-scenes dealings.
So why would Wen Ying hold a grudge against Professor Fang? She’d rather spend her energy comforting Li Mengjiao—though, looking at Li Mengjiao, it seemed she didn’t need much comforting. The banquet was a Western-style buffet, and Li Mengjiao was happily stuffing cake into her mouth, her tongue so discerning she could tell it came from a specific Rongcheng bakery.
“You guys think I’m gonna cry? I’m not crying. Sure, I’m a bit bummed about not winning, but I feel like being champion is just… whatever!”
Xu Mei won the championship and cried her makeup off on stage.
Xu Mei had signed the contract.
With such a harsh contract, she’d have to perform wherever the company sent her. Was Xu Mei going to abandon her studies?
After all the hard work to get into a top Modu university, giving it up for a competition? If Li Mengjiao did that, her parents would probably break her legs.
Li’s mother nodded vigorously. “Well said. Tomorrow, I’m signing you up for school. Study hard and don’t overthink things. Being a celebrity isn’t easy, and you don’t need to worry about earning money. Your dad and I will make sure you’re well-fed.”
Li’s mother feared that if Xu Mei gained fame at the national finals, Li Mengjiao might regret not signing. She decided to increase Li Mengjiao’s pocket money starting next month!
For a teenage girl, the focus should be on studying hard at school. Ideally, she’d achieve something great, but even if she didn’t, the school environment—especially at better schools—was pure, reducing the chances of a girl going astray.
Hanging out with classmates, laughing, going shopping with friends after school, drinking milk tea, buying dresses—surely that was better than being exploited by an entertainment company?
Wen Ying could tell Li Mengjiao felt the competition was over.
Though she didn’t win, she had proven her awesomeness. What Li Mengjiao craved was the spotlight on stage. The process mattered more than the result.
Li Mengjiao, her mother, Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang, and the others saw tonight as the end. Though they had doubts about the audience vote results, Li Mengjiao herself could accept it, so her friends didn’t press the issue. They couldn’t exactly egg her on to confront the organisers.
“What if the runner-up could also go to Hunan for the national finals?” Wen Ying said.
Her words didn’t garner much attention, except from Xie Qian, who gave her a couple of glances.
Qin Jiao hesitated. “During the competition, the host said only the champion could go to the national finals. Would the organisers really change their minds?”
Perhaps Wen Ying was just speaking offhand, but Qin Jiao worried Li Mengjiao might take it seriously.
Having her calmed emotions stirred again, only to face disappointment, would be doubly painful!
“Maybe. If I were the organiser, I’d let the runner-up go too. Just four division champions in the national finals? That’s too bland—one round and it’s over. How much less ad revenue and sponsorship would that bring? If you add the runners-up, you could hold a ‘revival round’ for them. Want your favourite contestant in the national finals? Vote for her to ‘revive’! The revived runners-up compete with the champions, and a division champion might even lose to a division runner-up in the finals… The results would be full of suspense, the organisers profit, the audience is satisfied—so many benefits. Why wouldn’t the organisers change their minds?”
All rights of interpretation belong to the event organisers.
People see this phrase often in daily life but rarely pay it much mind.
Wen Ying’s words were the perfect explanation of that phrase.
So-called event rules aren’t laws written into the Constitution. What’s stopping them from being changed? For the organisers, whatever rules benefit them most can be shamelessly altered!
Wen Ying’s bold remarks at the banquet were overheard by Professor Fang, Producer Yan, and a high-ranking official from the organising team present that night.
The official asked Fang and Yan, “Is she a contestant from the Rongcheng division?”
Producer Yan shook her head, but Professor Fang quickly answered:
“No, she’s not a contestant. Young girls these days love sharing unique opinions to get attention. Just ignore her. The more you respond, the more she’ll keep going!”
It was indeed a unique perspective.
But this unique perspective happened to align exactly with the station’s plans.
This arrangement had been kept secret even from Rongcheng City TV, the co-organiser, yet a young girl had nailed it. Her insight could outshine Professor Fang’s expertise!
