Chapter 52: Chapter Fifty-Two: I Stand Unmoved

Naver is Korea’s Weibo and also its largest search engine.

Like in Huaxia, today’s hot topic among Koreans is the ban on Korean content.

Although the Foreign Affairs Department has repeatedly denied the existence of this ban, the facts speak for themselves, and everyone understands what’s really going on.

As citizens of the undisputed number one superpower, Korean netizens reacted with anger to this ban, and the flood of Huaxian artists leaving their groups and returning home was like pouring gasoline on the fire, making it burn even fiercer.

Fans felt betrayed, while most netizens felt shame.

As one of the few developed nations in Asia, Koreans always act superior online, believing nothing abroad can compare to their own country—a single phrase, “Everything originates in Korea,” is enough to illustrate this phenomenon.

Underlying this excessive pride is deep insecurity.

As a developed nation, Korea ranks high economically but holds little global standing, and its position in East Asia is extremely precarious.

To the north lies the bitter, volatile neighbor Cao County; further north is the even more volatile Russia.

To the south is Japan, a long-standing rival with worsening relations, whose economic power has consistently ranked among the world’s top three and whose cultural industry leads all of Asia.

To the west is Huaxia, the world’s most populous nation and the largest GDP economy, whose every move reshapes the entire East Asian landscape.

To make matters worse, U.S. troops are stationed on its soil—its survival truly depends on American goodwill.

Military supremacy, population supremacy, economic supremacy—all right on its doorstep. Throughout history, only Mongolia could be compared; Mongolia had the world’s greatest navy, while Korea ultimately became the universe’s nation.

Koreans living in this abnormal international environment often have distorted psyches—excessive pride and excessive insecurity are their most authentic traits.

Such people love to dominate online, feeling superior to every country except the U.S., and at the slightest provocation, they hurl accusations and threaten missile strikes.

Today’s announcement of the ban on Korean content has undoubtedly struck a nerve among most Koreans. Beyond screaming on Naver, they are desperately seeking ways to “sanction” Huaxians.

Unfortunately, over ninety percent of Huaxians don’t use foreign websites, and Korean netizens can’t access mainland China’s internet—they’re like headless flies, full of rage but unable to find an outlet.

At this moment, Luo Quan appeared.

Like Sony’s Huaxia branch, its Korean branch also promoted the news of Luo Quan’s upcoming new album, just with a slightly later release date.

At first, Korean netizens had no extreme reactions—they were even looking forward to it, since Luo Quan’s songs constantly topped YouTube charts, her fanbase and fame kept rising, and her appearance on Tdler had already won her a solid following in Korea.

But once Luo Quan’s nationality was exposed, the accumulated fury of Korean netizens finally found its target:

“You just announced the ban on Korean content, and now you dare come to Korea to promote yourself? Don’t you have any shame?”

“Aren’t all Huaxians like this? They talk about boycotting Korean and Japanese goods, but as soon as there’s a sale, they run faster than anyone else.”

“I can’t believe you’ve actually broken up my group—I get furious every time I see the words ‘Huaxia.’”

“I remember this Huaxian woman sings Japanese songs, right? Nothing good about any of them—how did Naver let her trend?”

“We can’t let this woman become popular in Korea. If Huaxia restricts us, we’ll boycott Huaxians too!”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen a developing country dare to impose restrictions on a developed one—how ridiculous.”

These comments were still relatively rational; though firmly opposed to Luo Quan, their language was at least polite. But the comments that followed were outright insults—pure internet nationalist trolls spewing every vile, filthy word imaginable. Luo Quan scanned through them all and turned green.

Sony's top management's ambition to counterattack Korea was completely shattered; the ban on Korean content crippled the promotion of Luo Quan's new album in both Huaxia and Korea, leaving no option but to retreat, conserve resources, and focus entirely on the domestic market.

After all, Japan remains Sony Records’ largest market base. Luo Quan’s popularity and reputation continue to grow; barring any mishap, her album will sell massively.

But for Luo Quan, today will be a day to remember—she has now set the record for being cursed by netizens in Huaxia, Japan, and Korea.

It’s not hard for an artist to become universally hated online, but an artist like Luo Quan, hated across three countries within a single month, is likely unprecedented since the new century!

“I guess I’ve just made history, right?” Luo Quan put down her phone and smiled.

“What history?” Wen Xia blinked, thinking Luo Quan had cracked under the pressure and lost her mind.

“Being universally hated online. In recent years, has any star been universally hated in three countries like me?” Luo Quan leaned back dramatically: “What does it mean to be an international star?”

Wen Xia replied weakly: “What’s there to brag about? The priority is fixing your image!”

“There’s nothing we can do for now,” Luo Quan shook her head. “Unless the ban on Korean content is lifted immediately.”

Hearing this, Wen Xia fell silent.

Luo Quan smiled bitterly: “It’s not completely hopeless. Once my music is released, domestic backlash will fade significantly.

They all think I have no talent, just endless marketing. Once my music is out, these accusations will collapse on their own… As for Korea? Let them fume.”

Wen Xia looked deeply troubled: “It’s not that simple. You sing Japanese songs—breaking through in Huaxia will be painfully slow.”

Luo Quan smoothed her expression and smiled: “Don’t worry—I have absolute confidence in my music. Once the new album drops, every accusation and doubt will vanish in an instant.”

As she spoke, Luo Quan rose abruptly and walked to the balcony. After pulling open the floor-to-ceiling window, she leaned on the railing, gazing out at the dazzling night skyline of Tokyo, where lights and stars wove together in brilliant splendor.

A fierce wind, roaring through the skyscrapers in the stifling air, slammed into Luo Quan—its blade-sharp cold slicing across her delicate face.

Though slender, she showed no fear or retreat before this assault, only lifting her head stubbornly, bare-faced to the storm.

As a poem once wrote:

Let a thousand gales rage—I stand unmoved!