Qin Xianming, accompanied by Yu Wei, visited a Macau casino.
On his first trip, the casino ensured he didn’t lose but instead tasted victory. In two days, Qin won over three million yuan!
He felt that if he stayed longer, he could win even more.
In 2004, three million was no small sum, even for Qin. Wealth didn’t mean liquid cash. Business ventures, with their ups and downs, often yielded less profit than this despite immense effort. Yet in the casino, he effortlessly won millions without breaking a sweat or groveling. The casino pampered him—luxury car transfers, high-end hotels, and, if he desired, champagne and beautiful company. In all his years building his empire, Qin had never earned money so easily.
Despite mental preparation, the Macau trip jolted him. Returning to Chengdu with his winnings, it took two days of fishing to shake off the feverish thrill.
Wang Jun teased, “Old Qin, is it really that intense?”
Qin’s expression turned serious. “Intense? Not an exaggeration at all. The sensory rush a casino gives you is beyond imagination. There, money isn’t money—it’s chips. You only wake up when you’ve lost everything, and if you can’t face reality, what’s left? Jump off a building or into the sea.”
Casinos didn’t just profit from high rollers. Countless casual gamblers contributed to their daily revenue stream.
Lose big, win small.
A hook always dangled, ensnaring gamblers’ souls. When addiction took hold and they had no money to enter, they’d do anything—steal, cheat, rob.
Family and friends ceased to matter; the casino became their true home.
Wang Jun was startled by Qin’s vivid description.
Among their group, Qin had the strongest resolve and broadest experience. If even he struggled against such temptation, Wang Jun doubted he could resist.
Qin planned to take his children to the casino to witness its allure, fearing they might fall prey to gambling later. Wang Jun considered his son, Wang Shuang, but decided against it. Wang Shuang was currently obsessed with studying, a rare phase Wang Jun hoped would last. With his son’s shaky perseverance, exposing him to such a test might backfire.
While Qin fished to calm his nerves, in Hunan, the sub-district’s runner-up revival night concluded. Li Mengjiao, with over 20,000 more votes than the runner-up, secured her spot to compete for the annual championship without suspense.
Her soaring popularity owed much to her fans’ fervor.
After losing the Chengdu crown, her fans, unconvinced, wrote a petition that went viral online and was picked up by print media, drawing massive attention to both the Super Girl competition and Li Mengjiao herself.
Of course, some of this attention was negative, with critics deeming her too flamboyant for her young age, harboring biases against her.
Love or hate, discussion fueled attention, and attention bred heat.
In this timeline, the 2004 inaugural Super Girl, while not matching the “gods’ battle” of 2005 from Wen Ying’s memories, outshone its original 2004 counterpart. The organizers, no fools, analyzed the phenomenon and found that while contestants displayed sisterly bonds onstage, offstage rivalries stoked audience emotions.
When emotions ran high, the experience mirrored Qin’s casino rush. Fans, having invested so much in their favorite, felt personal defeat if she lost.
With the organizers’ tacit encouragement, Li Mengjiao and Xu Mei’s fanbases became bitterly opposed, a dynamic extending to all top five finalists.
Post-revival night, Li Mengjiao emerged triumphant. During an interview, a reporter asked if she was aware her fans were highly aggressive.
It was a trap. Denying knowledge would make her seem detached, disappointing her supporters. Admitting awareness would invite criticism for condoning attacks on other contestants.
The debate would inevitably circle back to her age, with tomorrow’s headlines blasting “underage contestant” critiques.
Li’s mother, anxious, tried to interrupt. Li Mengjiao, surprised, responded, “How can my fans’ love be called aggressive? When you love someone, you want to protect them. If others didn’t attack me, they wouldn’t need to retort. Still, I hope everyone stays calm. Just love me—that’s enough. Don’t obsess over other contestants just to find faults. I’ll get jealous!”
Was it a good answer?
It was brilliant.
She sidestepped no issue, affirmed her fans’ efforts, and playfully claimed jealousy to dissuade them from attacking rivals. Her stance was clear, her tone charmingly coy, even making the reporter chuckle.
It felt authentic, exactly what a girl her age would say.
A trained artist might deliver such a line, but Li Mengjiao, unsigned, exuded a natural charisma. Some reporters felt she was born for the stage, destined to be a star.
Her response won hearts. Fans adored her candid authenticity, feeling validated, and her “jealous” remark was endearingly cute, strengthening their loyalty.
Other contestants might accuse her of faking cuteness, but Wen Ying, reading the report, laughed. This girl wasn’t acting—her earnestness was genuine, her charm undeniable.
The day after advancing, Li Mengjiao flew back to Chengdu.
Not out of love for school—she couldn’t bear the organizers’ constant pressure to sign.
“The other four top-five contestants signed. Isn’t that enough?” she grumbled to Wen Ying.
Wen Ying thought, *Who ever tires of making money?*
Post-revival, things clarified. Li Mengjiao was the most popular in Chengdu and remained so nationally. The organizers were loath to let her go.
“What do your parents say?” Wen Ying asked.
“Mom says don’t sign. Dad says stall,” Li replied.
Li’s father was a sly veteran.
With parents like these, Wen Ying had little worry about Li Mengjiao being duped.
Let Li’s dad spar with the organizers—who’d outwit whom was anyone’s guess.
Li Mengjiao invited Wen Ying to Hunan for the competition. “Don’t worry about costs—I’ll cover everything. Come support me!”
Having sold her “Shrimp King” shares for 150,000 yuan, she was a little tycoon, confidently offering to bankroll her friends’ trip.
Wen Ying didn’t decline. “Sure, I can’t make the top-five-to-three match, but I’ll be there for the championship.”
“Deal!” Li Mengjiao said, brimming with confidence, unfazed by her unsigned status for the next round.
Wen Ying wasn’t worried either.
A controversial, attention-grabbing contestant like Li would surely reach the finals.
She wondered, though, what the signed contestants were feeling now.
