Chapter 636: A Taste and No More

The hair dryer kept buzzing as Miss Luo Quan held her long hair, letting the heat reach every strand.

This was always the most tedious part, especially for someone like Miss Luo Quan with so much hair—it took minutes just to dry it.

But since she didn't need hair treatments or styling, her thick hair actually made her the first to finish.

She'd once considered cutting her hair short—it would've been so much easier.

But long hair flowing freely did look truly beautiful, and cutting it short didn't guarantee she'd look refreshingly new.

So the idea remained just an idea, with no intention of ever acting on it.

Fortunately, her only grooming concern was her hair; everything else required no effort.

It was still early, so Miss Luo Quan opened her phone to check the latest trending news.

As a live-streamer who frequently chatted with netizens and fans, Miss Luo Quan collected online material every day.

Otherwise, if she didn't know anything about whatever the commenters brought up, how could she possibly offer therapy?

She had plenty of forum apps both domestic and overseas, and would casually check the trending lists whenever she had free time.

Today, one term appeared on trending lists both domestically and internationally: a major crowd crush incident in Houston, America's aerospace city.

The incident happened during the day; American media exploded with coverage early, but news only reached China that evening.

It started when a famous American rapper, in organizing his solo concert, used a series of reckless maneuvers that triggered a crowd crush and compression accident.

Current reports indicated nine deaths, over twenty serious injuries, and hundreds receiving medical treatment.

Anytime, anyplace, an incident of this scale was a major disaster.

When Miss Luo Quan saw the words "rapper," her heart skipped—a thought flashed that it might be her brother, given how notoriously fanatical his followers were.

But upon further thought, she remembered he hadn't announced any tour recently—it couldn't be him.

She opened the news article and found it was someone else.

Another well-known African-American rapper, who had once invited her to collaborate on a duet, which she had politely declined.

After reading the full story, Miss Luo Quan could only say it was caused by multiple failures, but the rapper bore enormous responsibility.

First, before his concert even began, he posted on Twitter: "I want to see my fans greet me with the most frenzied energy."

This highly incendiary statement directly caused every fan—whether they had tickets or not—to surge into the venue as soon as entry opened; many fans and security personnel were knocked down, and numerous injuries occurred immediately.

The venue's maximum capacity was seventy thousand, yet over one hundred thousand people entered—far exceeding limits; with so many people packed together, an accident was inevitable.

Even worse, when the crowd crush had already begun and ambulances arrived below the stage, the rapper still refused to stop the show—he even egged the crowd on.

Medical staff had come on stage early to warn him, yet he insisted on finishing the concert, dragging it out for over an hour until police intervened to shut it down.

By then, it was far too late—many spectators had already lost their breath, while the rapper himself had long gone home to sleep.

And after such a massive tragedy, the rapper didn't issue an apology until hours later, and it was insincere, full of blame-shifting.

Now, American netizens had already dragged him to the top of Twitter's trending list.

Some even raised a question: Are large-scale concerts still necessary?

Or, do all entertainers deserve the right to host such massive events?

Because some artists hold concerts purely for hype and money, never considering safety—they sell far more tickets than the venue can hold, and hire insufficient security and medical staff.

This behavior is clearly irresponsible, and America currently lacks any regulations to govern it.

This crowd crush was too devastating—it rang an alarm bell for everyone—and now some had openly called for restrictions on concerts, gaining considerable support.

Of course, there were opponents.

Opponents argued concerts boosted local economies, and not every concert ended in disaster; accidents were rare, so banning them entirely would be overreaction, and binary thinking was unacceptable.

But one demand they all agreed on.

That not every entertainer deserved to host a mega-concert.

Without the proper qualifications, lacking moral fitness for the role, disaster was inevitable.

Like this rapper who caused the catastrophe—if he'd had even slightly higher character, paid attention to the crowd, and listened to staff warnings, so many wouldn't have died.

But he only cared about having fun, and afterward showed zero remorse—he clearly didn't care at all.

Under these circumstances, netizens were, of course, furious.

They didn't just insult him online—they took to the streets in protests.

This was, after all, an American tradition: public outrage could be expressed physically, and protests were far more effective than online rage.

The protesters' demands were mainly two: first, punish the rapper—not just fine and apologize, but ban him entirely.

Only such punishment could appease public anger.

Second, impose restrictions on entertainers holding concerts and music festivals—require qualification evaluations before approval, such as reviewing their past conduct and moral record.

A good track record doesn't guarantee a good person, but someone who won't even pretend to be decent is certainly not one.

This demand struck directly at the core of every celebrity's livelihood.

Unlike Chinese stars who earn most from variety shows, Western stars made a significant portion of their income from concerts.

A major concert, if tickets sold well, could earn anywhere from hundreds of millions to over a billion.

The money came in so fast.

If the protests led the government to enact restrictive laws, it would be cutting off everyone's livelihood.

Cutting off someone's livelihood was like killing their parents.

Besides stars, concerts involved countless other stakeholders who profited too.

So this protest was bound to face fierce resistance.

After reading it all, Miss Luo Quan concluded concerts were indeed not easy to organize.

If her own fans ever went truly wild, they might be no better than those in the news—she didn't know if she could even calm them down if something similar happened.

One news story added another layer of concern.

But as netizens said, overreacting by banning everything was unacceptable.

Concerts would still be held, but they couldn't be handled as carelessly as most people did.

After scrolling on her phone a while, Miss Luo Quan got up and poured herself a glass of warm milk.

She usually slept early, but today's hot bath left her wide awake afterward.

Wen Xia and Su Yu were both chronic night owls, so all three women stayed up late tonight.

Naturally, they also woke up late the next day.

Miss Luo Quan opened her eyes at ten—first among them.

She checked her phone—no calls, no messages.

The film shoot was scheduled for noon, so there was no rush.

She glanced at her phone: Weibo had already begun promoting her performance in "Director, Are You Ready?"

The clips being promoted were her arguments with several directors.

Human conflict always drew massive attention, and watching Miss Luo Quan challenge others was genuinely entertaining for netizens.

Miss Luo Quan was a beautiful girl, and society often tolerated irrational behavior from women.

But she never exploited this unfair privilege against men.

She had always spoken and acted with remarkable rationality; on the show, she never lost her temper, her voice remained soft and intellectual, like a kind older sister explaining a problem to her younger neighbor.

Yet her soft voice didn't mean her words lacked conviction.

On the contrary, every word she spoke was meticulously logical, analyzed and reasoned purely from a rational standpoint—never a single nonsensical remark.

This was already evident from the clips released so far.

Although Miss Luo Quan was always the one questioning and challenging, every time she did, it was the directors who were criticized—not the audience or guests who turned against her.

What did this indicate?

It meant most people agreed with her views.

Or perhaps, most people simply couldn't think of how to refute her.

Either way, her performance was outstanding.

But the highlight of this episode wasn't Miss Luo Quan's confrontations.

A live audience member revealed in the comments that during the "If You're So Good, Do It Yourself" segment, Miss Luo Quan delivered a performance that might be the best of the entire show.

Possibly even the best in the entire variety show's history, despite only four episodes having been filmed so far.

Such praise instantly raised everyone's expectations to the maximum.

No one doubted Miss Luo Quan's talent—if the praise was this high, the only possible conclusion was that she had created another masterpiece.

Meanwhile, some outspoken audience members had already leaked the title.

It wasn't really a leak, since it wasn't something strictly confidential.

The four characters "Farewell My Concubine" quickly became a hot topic both inside and outside the industry.

Those who had seen it called it a potential masterpiece.

Those who hadn't saw these cryptic hints and were driven mad with frustration.

Just say it all! This half-revealed, half-hidden tactic was incredibly tantalizing.

Amid this atmosphere, everyone waited with eager anticipation as the new episode of "Director, Are You Ready?" finally aired.

The first half of the show naturally featured Miss Luo Quan as "Luo the Confrontational," passionately debating with the guests.

Especially the female director, who was so harshly criticized by Miss Luo Quan that she stormed off—arguably the most intense reaction in all four episodes.

But before the episode aired, this scene sparked controversy—some felt Miss Luo Quan had spoken too harshly.

Yet at the time, no one knew the full context, so misunderstandings arose.

They thought her sharp words were inappropriate.

Only after the episode aired did everyone understand why Miss Luo Quan had targeted that female director.

This movie is purely designed to flatter a certain group, fundamentally aiming to stir up division, and the director clearly wants to exploit this division to harvest a massive wave of related traffic.

This behavior was never criticized before, so it was highly popular.

But this time, she ran into Miss Luo Quan—she never indulges in such behavior.

Others dared not speak up, but Miss Luo Quan had no reservations, leaving the female director furious and storming out.

Of course, it might also have been sheer shame.

But regardless of which, it was a satisfying revenge—the audience in the screen all cheered Miss Luo Quan for calling her out.

The facts proved that Miss Luo Quan was indeed not an irrational woman; no one was more reasonable than her.

The following scenes were much the same: Miss Luo Quan continued pointing out the director's flaws while offering viable solutions.

Yet her tone was no longer as fierce as when she confronted the female director; it had become much gentler.

Soon, the program entered its second half—the part that became Miss Luo Quan's solo performance.

First, Director Fei stunned all viewers with "The Siege," prompting everyone to marvel that even a clumsy bird could finally take flight.

Then Miss Luo Quan pointed out that the dialogue was problematic, lacking rigor.

The two sides remained deadlocked, so Director Fei told Miss Luo Quan, "If you're so good, go ahead and do it yourself."

In the program, this segment was resumed only three days later.

But after editing, only a few dozen seconds passed before the screen returned to the program.

By then, Miss Luo Quan had already finished filming; the screen showed the problems she encountered on set.

The most comments appeared during her coaching of the female actress—the program effect was explosive.

"Her acting is absolutely phenomenal—Miss Luo Quan's talent is just that high."

"It's as real as life."

"That gaze—it's soul-crushing."

"Never thought Miss Luo Quan could be this captivating."

"Mainly because she's beautiful—try putting a tank in her place?"

…………

It was clear the public was extremely satisfied with this performance—completely enchanted.

But since the character Miss Luo Quan portrayed was exactly like that, achieving this effect proved she delivered the role perfectly.

Still, it might also have something to do with her talent—perhaps she was simply suited for such roles?

Of course, these were only the audience's thoughts; Miss Luo Quan would never bind the character to herself.

After this small climax passed, the grand climax arrived.

Miss Luo Quan's work appeared before countless households—the four characters "Farewell My Concubine" dominated the center of the screen.

The next ten minutes were, for viewers, both long and fleeting.

They felt as if they had lived through many years alongside the film's characters.

And in the blink of an eye, the plot was abruptly cut off.

"What the hell? That's it?"

"I was just getting into it!"

"Is this a preview? Where can I watch the full version?"

"I've watched pirated copies my whole life—this time, I genuinely want to watch the official version, even if I have to pay ten times the price."

"Miss Luo Quan's film—I'm blowing it up right now."

"I finally understand what 'the optimal solution for Chinese-language cinema' means."

The barrage of comments was full of praise, nearly elevating the film to heaven.