Chapter 99
No Sense of Occasion
"Mr. Chao?" The assistant saw him moving toward the back rows without explanation and followed.
She watched him reach the second row and bend to retrieve something from the floor, and immediately said: "Mr. Chao — the floor is dirty. Let me get that."
"It's fine — your dress isn't convenient for bending down." He stopped her and reached under the seat himself.
"What is it?" As a member of the organizing team, the assistant felt an instinctive unease — her first thought was an extreme fan planting a hidden camera.
"Looks like two small toys." Chao Musheng set them in his palm and held them out for her to see more clearly.
Confirming these were only plastic toys, she relaxed.
They were extremely crude in make — a thumb-sized plastic landmine and a finger-length plastic cobra. When shaken, the cobra's eyes blinked red.
The workmanship was poor, and the symbolism was worse. For artists, a landmine meant a career explosion and the cobra meant poison — both of the worst omens combined in one gesture.
The assistant groaned inwardly. Some anti-fan or a nasty competitor — and they were caught in the act by Kunlun's own headquarters representative. The organizers would owe someone an explanation.
In a critical moment like this, she was intensely grateful that Mr. Chao was the editor-in-chief's son. Whatever came next, he was at least unlikely to pursue the organizers too harshly on that account.
"The red carpet starts any minute — have your people go through every seat again right now." Chao Musheng kept the plastic toys in his closed fist. "At an event this significant, any kind of incident would reflect badly on the organizers."
"Yes." She knew exactly how serious this was, and immediately dispatched staff to recheck every seat.
Guests and fans all went through a security checkpoint on entry — genuine weapons couldn't get in — but small items of this kind were harder to screen out.
People in entertainment circles were often quite superstitious. If an artist found something ominous beneath their own seat, the fallout could be significant.
*
The security player still had no idea his props had been discovered by an NPC. He had never imagined this was possible. When a player hadn't activated a tool, NPCs weren't supposed to be able to perceive it.
Outside, the crowd of fans was enormous. The security player was almost pushed out of his hat trying to maintain order.
How many NPCs had the Main God created for this instance?
The screaming came in wave after wave. He couldn't understand it — those people couldn't even get into the venue, and the artists couldn't hear them. What exactly were they cheering for?
And the banners and merchandise they were holding, huddled in their little groups — what were they so happy about? Though the bigger the crowd out here, he supposed, the more impact it would make when the news of Song Xu's death spread.
He had already designed the most satisfying sequence for Song Xu's end. The cobra would startle him to his feet and draw every camera. Then the explosive prop would trigger.
Blood and flesh scattered across the air. The pitiful sight of severed limbs. The beautiful faces around him twisted in horror. Panicking fans—
He had always loved the look of NPCs in helpless terror. The anticipation of it made him almost unable to contain himself.
*
The red carpet began ten minutes later than scheduled. Artists and viewers at home had no idea why — fan accounts in the comment streams were growing irritable.
Only the event staff knew: while sorting through seats, they'd found a total of seven or eight more crude plastic items under the chairs of other artists, in addition to the cobra and landmine from Song Xu's seat. Snakes, wolves, ammunition — even a tiny plastic assassin figure with a drawn blade.
If you're going to perform a curse ritual, at least make the objects worth looking at. What exactly is a plastic toy you can buy three-for-ten-yuan going to curse?
"Besides the two items under Song Xu's seat, the other seven or eight pieces were found under some of the currently highest-profile artists." The lead organizers gathered with grave expressions; with Chao Musheng present, they couldn't even swear out loud.
Vicious. And cheap.
The head of Nangua Video mentally reviewed every competitor platform's behavior patterns. The other video platforms loved to piggyback on major events or snipe from the sidelines — but this was beneath even their level of tactics.
Besides, several of these top-tier artists had projects awaiting release on other platforms. If the artists came to harm, those projects would be buried too. No platform would sabotage their own interests like this.
"The red carpet has already started outside. Mr. Chao — we'll send people to pull security footage immediately." The Nangua Video head wiped sweat from his forehead. The air conditioning was running full blast, and he was still soaking through his clothes. "Please be assured — we will give Kunlun entertainment a satisfactory account of this."
"I hope so." Chao Musheng kept his tone measured. Being too conciliatory in a situation like this would only suggest he was easy to manage. "I trust Nangua Video will take good care of every artist who has come to this event."
The Nangua Video head felt a private bitterness. Yes, Nangua Video was the most prominent name among the organizers — but right now he would have preferred Mr. Chao remember the other organizing parties.
The other organizers, feeling the Nangua Video head's glance, all avoided eye contact and kept their mouths shut.
You've been pushing Nangua Video to the forefront all week, haven't you — seizing every bit of visibility? Now that someone has to take responsibility, you remember us?
The head gritted his teeth and showed Chao Musheng back to his seat, then returned to the production area and found a security team leader passing by, whom he berated comprehensively.
The team leader stood there absorbing the dressing-down, mildly baffled about what he'd done.
"There was a problem in the venue." A nearby staff member gave him a sympathetic look. "You just happened to walk by at the wrong moment. Don't take it personally."
In the corners: the person mopping the floor, the one clearing equipment, the one picking up rubbish — all had their ears open.
Something went wrong in the venue. Had another player already made a move?
Players' phones buzzed with a message in the group chat.
[Don't flush out the game before it starts.]
Flush out the game?
Curly Hair, seated with Chao Musheng's assistant in the staff coordination area, looked at the player group notification and glanced toward the central section.
She'd only just sat down. Not many artists had entered yet — just some lower-profile ones. The atmosphere was entirely normal; nothing unusual had happened.
She scanned the room and her gaze settled on Chao Musheng in the front row.
He was sitting calmly, apparently chatting with someone nearby. If he was fine, there was probably nothing to worry about.
*
"Mr. Chao's presence lights up the entire hall." The man seated to Chao Musheng's left was the kind of industry figure that countless artists cultivated relationships with. Even fans knew his standing in entertainment circles.
Someone who never smiled at events like this — toward Chao Musheng, his posture was easy and his words were warm. "When I first saw you, I felt a pang of regret on behalf of the entertainment industry."
Chao Musheng recognized an overture when he heard one, and smiled as he returned the volley. "Regret about what?"
"That you didn't join it." Seeing Chao Musheng accept the gesture, the figure's expression warmed further.
He usually wouldn't come to events like this. But he'd been in Linhai on short-notice business today, and heard that Kunlun headquarters' representative would be in attendance — so he'd carved out two hours to come.
His first thought on seeing Chao Musheng had been simple: this is someone born for the screen. The proportions, the features — even on a cinema screen, this face could sell tickets on its own.
But he was Kunlun's headquarters representative. He was a resource himself; he didn't need to leverage his appearance.
To be representing Kunlun at major events this young — he was someone whose future was beyond calculation. Every person in this room would want to impress him.
Just as he was about to continue the conversation, he noticed Chao Musheng had gone quiet, all attention drawn to the stage. Nothing was being performed there — only Chao Yin, the 时光 editor-in-chief, speaking from the podium to hold the mood.
She said something lightly humorous. Chao Musheng's whole face lit up — eyes brilliant, expression full of something that looked like wonder and pride.
The young Mr. Chao looked at Chao Yin the way fans looked at idols.
He didn't interrupt. Instead he sat quietly turning over thoughts about a possible collaboration with 时光. Mr. Chao evidently admired Chao Yin — it would be remiss not to acknowledge that.
Chao wasn't a common surname.
Chao Musheng and Chao Yin — there had to be a blood connection.
Niece and aunt — or mother and son?
A shame there was so little information about this young Mr. Chao. If there were more, he might have found a way to use the Chao Yin connection to get closer to Kunlun.
*
Chao Musheng was photographing and filming — taking many pictures of Chao Yin on stage. When Chao Yin came and sat in the empty seat to his right, he opened a bottle of water and put a straw in it. "Have some."
"How did you know that's how you drink without ruining your makeup?" Chao Yin took the bottle and sipped carefully. She'd been on her feet all day and had barely managed to sit down for two minutes.
"I've watched girls at school events drink like this when they're in makeup." He tilted his head and murmured: "Do you have to go back up later?"
"Yes — there's still a closing speech." She passed the half-finished bottle back to him. "Is it very boring sitting here?"
"If I wasn't sitting here, I'd never know how beautiful you are up there."
"How beautiful?" Chao Yin laughed.
"Glowing." He looked at her, serious. "The most beautiful person in the world."
Chao Yin's eyes went warm. Afraid of giving herself away, she reached up and ruffled the top of his head. "Such a sweet mouth."
When Sheng-sheng was very small, she'd worked long hours often. By the time she got home it was late, so whenever she had a chance to pick him up from nursery early, he would be so happy.
She had carried a sense of guilt back then — she felt she hadn't given him enough of her time.
But Sheng-sheng had always been so good. He would hug her and tell her that her eyes looked like stars when she was working hard, and he never once complained.
He seemed to have skipped a rebellious phase entirely. He understood her work was unusual and never pestered her to bring him along.
This was the first time both of them had appeared together under the attention of so many cameras.
"Look at this one — isn't it a particularly good photo?" He chose what he considered the best shot from everything he'd taken. "I'm sending this to the group later."
Chao Yin looked at herself in the image — poised, confident, luminous.
"It's wonderful."
She smiled. Even now, she was still an idol in Sheng-sheng's eyes. How lovely.
*
The exchange between mother and son was caught by the livestream cameras.
The red carpet broadcast had three feeds: one on the waiting area outside, one on the carpet itself, and one inside the hall.
With no major-tier artists seated yet, the interior camera had been scanning without purpose, and viewers were restless — until the camera found Chao Musheng, at which point the comment feed exploded.
[Smart camera operator — the only correct move right now is to lock onto this traffic generator.]
[Who's the woman next to the civilian? They look so comfortable together — do they know each other?]
[You don't know 时光's editor-in-chief Chao? Have you never been in fandom spaces?]
[Pure outsider — here because the civilian is attractive and I wanted something to watch.]
[The person on the civilian's left is a massive industry figure — he actually started a conversation?]
[That figure is powerful in entertainment circles — but by Kunlun's standards, quite ordinary.]
[What on earth did the civilian say that made the editor-in-chief that happy?]
Once the interior broadcast's director realized Chao Musheng was a traffic generator, the camera swept toward him every few minutes. Viewers watched a steady procession of people come to greet him, and several artists discreetly asked for photos.
[Oh — that person is bowing their head talking to the civilian now? Wasn't it their fan accounts calling him a nobody riding others' coattails three days ago?]
[That other one too.]
[The civilian reads one page of an entertainment industry power fantasy and the first thing he says is probably "this isn't even satisfying."]
*
Song Xu finished the carpet and a brief host interview, then walked into the hall to find another artist shamelessly trying to get a photo with Mr. Chao. A sour feeling rose in his chest.
Mr. Chao is Kunlun's. Why are artists from other companies trying to crowd in?
He stepped forward, gently displaced the other artist, and half-crouched in front of Chao Musheng. "Mr. Chao — I'm so sorry. My livestream the other night caused you trouble."
"It's fine — viewers like to pile onto things. It'll stop being discussed in a few days." Chao Musheng noticed Song Xu's phone was already unlocked and open. "You want a photo too?"
Song Xu nodded vigorously.
Strictly speaking, he and Song Xu had a very marginal family connection through the Song family — but he had no affection for the Songs, and Song Xu had been sensible enough never to mention it or try to leverage it.
"Come on then." He pulled Song Xu up, and they took a photo shoulder to shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr. Chao." Song Xu took a careful glance at Chao Yin. "Thank you, Editor-in-chief Chao."
He had spent time around Song Cheng while building a certain persona, and after learning that Song Cheng had pushed Chao Yin down a staircase while she was pregnant, he'd never been able to face her without a cloud of guilt — even though he couldn't clearly explain what he was guilty of.
Chao Yin knew of Song Xu. She gave a nod. "Not at all. Please find your seat."
"Of course." Song Xu shuffled backwards to his seat and posted the photo with Chao Musheng to his social feeds, accompanied by a long passage of praise.
He didn't care what the industry said about him.
Everyone in this room wanted to attach themselves to Mr. Chao. The only difference was who had the nerve.
[I'll bet anything the dog immediately posted that photo to show off. That's just how he is.]
[Lucky Song-dog — riding the civilian's wave all week and now getting a second-row centre seat. Not earned — Kunlun's industry clout, nothing else.]
[Friendly reminder: Song Xu is Kunlun entertainment. The civilian is Kunlun's representative. Song-dog's seat comes from Kunlun's standing, full stop.]
Song Xu's manager, hiding in a corner watching the discussion multiply online, was grinning wide enough to split his face.
There were so many artists at this red carpet. The only reason Xu-ge is getting any of this attention is entirely because of Mr. Chao. Mr. Chao — you are the god of Kunlun entertainment.
He kept refreshing the page. A security guard passed behind him without a sound and nearly startled him out of his skin. "Who are you — how do you walk without making any noise?!"
When he saw the face clearly, he frowned. Isn't that the same guard who almost had a confrontation with Xu-ge this afternoon?
The security player gave the manager a cold look and went upstairs.
Useless NPCs — once the assigned task was complete, they were meaningless as roadside litter. He could crush any of them between his fingers.
"Freak." The manager, rattled by that look, broke into a cold sweat, and only muttered his complaints once the guard was gone.
*
The red carpet concluded. All the artists were seated. The fan sections lit up with support wands in every color.
The security player's mouth curved into a wild smile. When the crowd is at its largest — that's when the real celebration begins.
He opened his tool panel. Activate.
He waited. Song Xu in the second row showed no reaction whatsoever.
What was happening? The tools hadn't taken effect?
He triggered them again and again. Song Xu kept sitting there, perfectly comfortable, even talking animatedly to his neighbor — entirely unaffected.
Patience. Don't lose patience.
He opened the system panel and filed a complaint.
One A-class tool and one B-class tool — it wasn't possible for both to have completely failed to activate.
The system took several minutes to respond this time.
[Player, hello. No data indicating tool failure has been detected at this time. Please read the tool operation guide carefully and retrieve your tools for re-deployment.]
The tools are already under an artist's seat. How am I supposed to retrieve them?
Stupid system. He glared at Song Xu through gritted teeth, and filed another complaint.
[Ding! Player filed a malicious complaint against the system. Points deducted: 2,000. Please engage positively with your tasks and reflect on your own conduct. A negative attitude is not helpful.]
Go reflect on your Main God's legs.
He forced down his rage and went back down to the first floor — and found several people in the corners whose expressions were all wrong.
All players?
Still seething, he called a few of his security colleagues over. "Those people over there look like paparazzi."
[Ding! Four players have had their identities exposed. Instance failed.]
The distorted expression relaxed into a smile. He straightened his cap and resumed an honest, unremarkable face before walking into the interior coordination area — safely out of any camera angles.
He looked across the crowd. In a seat in the coordination area, Curly Hair was watching the performance on stage.
His expression froze for a moment.
At this stage of things — she still had the peace of mind to enjoy the show?
He didn't understand it. He couldn't work it out. Was Wang Xiaojuan losing her mind?
She didn't used to be like this in instances.
*
The event drew toward its close. The artists had gone up for a group photo. Nothing unusual had occurred.
[Ding! A gale will arrive in 100 minutes. Players, prepare accordingly.]
[Ding! The one who dims the light of the stars will face the punishment of fate. Do you hear the artists' cries and their rage?]
[Ding! Main quest updated: Answer the call of the artists. Remove the man who has stolen their radiance.]
The man who stole the artists' radiance?
Every player's eyes turned toward the young man sitting in the front row with his phone.
The jewelry on him caught the light from every direction. His features outshone everything around him, reducing those nearby to shadows.
So this was the final boss they had to face.
*
As the group photo wrapped up, some artists went directly to the backstage area to remove their makeup and leave; others returned to the compound to change and secure their jewelry before departing with their teams. Only a handful with no further commitments stayed on to wait for morning.
The compound that had been loud for days went suddenly quiet. Chao Yin rubbed at her temples, exhausted. Most of the artists had gone; as organizers, they still had matters to handle.
Staff were dismantling equipment. Old He looked at the newly refreshed task prompt on his panel. He hadn't been allowed at the gala — he didn't know who the man who'd "stolen the artists' radiance" was. But something uneasy moved in him.
With the artists gone, the compound's staff count had thinned significantly. Old He couldn't tell which of the remaining people were staff and which were players — but the atmosphere felt clearly off.
Since the main quest had updated, no one in the player group had spoken. The chat had gone dead.
In the dark, the leaves at the top of the trees trembled. Old He knew the gale the system had mentioned was almost here.
The staff near him sorting broken equipment had no idea what was coming.
"I thought I saw a weather alert — strong wind warning somewhere." He knew he probably shouldn't be saying anything to NPCs. But he thought of Chao Yin being kind to him a few days ago, and he said it anyway. "Did anyone else see it?"
"Strong wind?" The nearest staff member checked their phone. "Nothing on my weather app. Where did you see it?"
A player not far away raised their head and looked at Old He with a thread of cold intent.
"I might have misread it." Old He understood — his comment had drawn a player's attention. He set down the rubbish he was holding and clutched at his stomach. "Sorry — I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."
He remembered which room Chao Yin was in. If she and Chao Musheng really were mother and son — he needed to warn her.
At least repay what he owed Mr. Chao.
"Where do you think you're going?" Two unremarkable-looking people stepped into his path before he reached the stairwell door.
Old He pretended not to know their player status. "I'm going to clear rubbish from the upstairs floors."
"Upstairs is ours." Their voices were flat. "Stay where you are."
"Stay your grandfather's—" Something flew from the side and kicked both of them into the ground.
Curly Hair put them down, turned to Old He. "What are you standing there for — come upstairs and help."
The two of them ran up to Chao Yin's floor. The windows on every side were shivering with wind noise.
"The gale is here." Curly Hair's expression was grave. She watched the branches outside thrashing. "This isn't a natural storm."
This was a gale created by the system or the Main God. The Main God was trying to seize this instance's territory.
The elevator behind them chimed open. Chao Musheng stepped out.
"Xiao Juan — what are you doing here?"
"Xiao Chao." Curly Hair could see three figures at the far end of the corridor walking toward them. "You're here to see Chao-ayi?"
"A strong wind has started outside — all the staff have gone back to their rooms. You two should as well." He nodded. "I came to keep Mom company."
Before he finished speaking, the three figures at the end of the corridor suddenly broke into a run toward him — and threw two objects directly at him.
He caught them by instinct.
A paper airplane and a small sandbag?
"What exactly do you think you're doing." The sharpness in his voice was rare. "This is not the time and place for messing around. Do you have no sense of occasion at all?!"
The three players who'd just thrown S-class tools at him: "..."
Main God almighty. There is an NPC here who just caught S-class tools with bare hands.
Main God — you need to see this.