Chapter 66: Matters of Cooperation

On her first day back on home soil, Luo Quan’s mood was far from pleasant.

In the hotel, Luo Quan dumped her luggage against the wall with a scowl: “This is exactly why I hate idiot fans—they never consider anyone else’s feelings. Don’t they realize how their actions affect their own idol?”

Wen Xia smiled gently: “Every celebrity faces this kind of thing. You’ll accumulate countless idiot fans too, someday.”

Luo Quan stretched out on the bed: “So I’m definitely going to tighten up my fan management from now on.”

The matter should’ve ended there—fan congestion and arguments at airports aren’t rare, and posting online might draw backlash, but it rarely sparks major controversy.

But this time, things were slightly different: the villain struck first.

Wang Yan’s global fan club posted a video with the caption: “Yes, blocking the airport was our fault, but don’t think you can use this to craft a virtuous image for yourself. We don’t even know you—don’t drag our Yan Yan into this.”

The video was shot by the host of Wang Yan’s Weibo super topic, handheld; in it, Luo Quan gazed at the camera with an air of haughtiness. Though the footage had clearly been distorted, it did little to diminish her beauty.

The video quickly trended. As a newly risen popular actress, Wang Yan’s fans were highly active—they immediately flooded the comments section with censorship and attacks on Luo Quan.

“She built her career on marketing—now that she’s finally got a chance to piggyback on our Yan Yan, she’s not going to miss it.”

“Our Yan Yan is so unlucky—she comes to Beijing just to pick up an award and gets targeted like this.”

“Take Yan Yan away—she’s not someone any monster can bully!”

“You got roasted to ashes on Weibo just days ago, yet instead of repenting, you’ve doubled down—how shameless can you be?”

Luo Quan was once again slammed—good news was, last time the whole internet hated her; now, only one star’s fans did.

But this time, Luo Quan didn’t stay silent. After confirming Wang Yan herself had said nothing, she directly posted a rebuttal on Weibo:

“They say everyone needs a mirror to reflect on themselves and know what they truly are. But those who know themselves don’t need a mirror—and those who don’t know themselves? A mirror won’t help.”

She directly @ed Wang Yan’s global fan club, leaving no doubt about her target.

Thanks to the domestic breakout success of the demo version of “Coming of Age,” Luo Quan had gained a substantial number of fans in recent days—barely reaching three million. Though far fewer than Wang Yan’s ten million, the quality of her fanbase was another matter entirely.

Once her fans learned the full story, they immediately counterattacked, flooding the comments under Wang Yan’s fan club’s video—no matter how you looked at it, Luo Quan was in the right.

Unfortunately, Luo Quan’s fans were too well-mannered—their rebuttals weren’t harsh. Meanwhile, Wang Yan’s fans were vicious, storming Luo Quan’s Weibo to hurl abuse directly.

“You’re the one who needs a mirror most—our Yan Yan is far prettier than some ugly piece of trash like you!”

“You’re Chinese but you love singing Japanese songs—decades ago, you’d have been labeled a traitor!”

“Do you know how professional Yan Yan is? She fell from a ten-meter-high wire rig and didn’t cry! But you? Just a marketing freak who only knows how to ride trends!”

Luo Quan had never feared a verbal battle. She scowled as she scanned the comments from Wang Yan’s female fans, picked the top-voted ones, and replied to each in turn:

“Your idol’s only flaw is that she’s not pretty enough—everything else about her is pure peacock.”

“If singing Japanese songs makes me a traitor, then liking your dad makes me your mom?”

“Of course she didn’t cry falling from ten meters—those who cried were the others.”

Then Luo Quan posted another Weibo:

“When a beam of light shines into dark corners, that light becomes a sin. If it becomes routine to smear something good the moment it appears, then society itself has gone mad.”

This post was her defense: Luo Quan saw nothing wrong with her words. She had merely spoken as a passenger, condemning the absurd practice of celebrities being met at airports—words that struck a nerve, hence her backlash.

Soon after, Wen Xia posted to support her friend:

“The passenger corridor is tiny. Just now, when Wen Xia and I stepped out, we were blocked by these people. They’d been waiting for how long? We were stuck there for just as long—even if Luo Quan hadn’t yelled, I would’ve!”

As a true domestic traffic giant, Wen Xia’s words instantly changed everything—her fans surged forth, besieging Wang Yan’s idiot fans and forcing Wang Yan’s fan club to shut comments.

Whether out of fear of confronting Luo Quan or not, Wang Yan’s displaced fans never retaliated against her afterward.

Wen Xia was untouchable—they hadn’t expected Luo Quan to be with Wen Xia at all. This whole mess had brought Wang Yan a massive wave of hatred.

Wang Yan herself clearly hadn’t anticipated this outcome. She’d assumed it was just some minor star trying to ride a trend—only to find Wen Xia dragged in. Together, they’d utterly destroyed Wang Yan’s public image. With no choice, Wang Yan posted an apology:

“I’m sorry my fans caused so much trouble and inconvenience for airport passengers. I will strengthen fan management and prevent such incidents from happening again. I hope everyone will monitor me.”

The comments section remained flooded with fan censorship—words of comfort, protection, and sympathy were everywhere, but genuine apologies? None. Even insincere ones were absent.

But Luo Quan wasn’t one for collective punishment. This was purely the fans’ doing, and since the main party had apologized, she had no reason to keep fighting.

These three women dominated today’s trending headlines. The public feasted on the drama, delighted. Luo Quan’s sharp yet insightful retorts won widespread praise—no profanity, yet devastatingly effective. No wonder she was a Tokyo University linguistics student!

Thus, following “Marketing Queen” and “Asia’s New Generation Singing-Composing Leader,” Luo Quan gained another nickname: “Yin-Yang Master.”

Luo Quan found the nickname both amusing and exasperating, but since it was clearly a term of endearment from the public, she accepted it graciously.

This was the biggest scandal before tonight’s Weibo Night. All three had been invited—and at seven tonight, they’d meet on stage. No one knew what sparks would fly when they faced each other.