Chapter 84: Storm

“The Imperial Granddaughter wishes to befriend Luoquan, but is cruelly rejected!”

This is today’s evening trending topic.

It originally started when a few Tokyo University students posted their cafeteria observations on Twitter, in a tone far from friendly—mocking Imperial Granddaughter Akira for thinking she could land a swan.

Unexpectedly, it sparked massive reposts, and some even maliciously altered it to claim these words were spoken by Luoquan herself.

A famous singer mocking the Imperial Granddaughter is far more explosive than a few students venting online.

Japanese media rushed to republish and report on it, gaining traffic while causing severe negative repercussions.

Extreme right-wingers flooded the news comments with messages:

“The Emperor is the symbol of Japan; the Imperial Granddaughter is the future Emperor. For her to notice him is a blessing earned over lifetimes. To show no gratitude and dare mock the Imperial Granddaughter is unforgivable!”

“The Crown Prince has been insulted; Japan as a whole is shamed. I demand the arrest and punishment of the criminal!”

“If I knew her address, I’d make her feel the blood and courage of the Japanese people!”

………………………………

Fortunately, Luoquan’s address has not been exposed; otherwise, given the fanaticism of these right-wingers, they might truly have considered killing her.

But the origin of this storm was pure online rumor—she never said anything about a toad wanting to eat a swan; it was entirely fabricated by netizens.

Yet now this blame is pinned on her head, and removing it won’t be easy.

Although Luoquan immediately tweeted to clarify: she never uttered any disrespectful words toward the Imperial Granddaughter, half the public still believed her, and half doubted her.

At least the fact that Luoquan refused to befriend the Imperial Granddaughter is confirmed—many students present in the cafeteria tweeted that it truly happened.

As a result, public opinion on this matter became sharply polarized.

Those opposing Luoquan felt she was being extremely disrespectful to the Imperial Granddaughter, denying even the chance to be friends, arrogant and lacking the humility expected of a young person.

Supporters of Luoquan, however, saw nothing wrong—she had already stated she had no intention of dating, and while the Imperial Granddaughter claimed he only wanted friendship, everyone knew his true intentions. Luoquan’s refusal was simply to cut off his hopes early, sparing both of them pain.

Beyond these two camps, another view claimed Luoquan, being from Huaxia, fundamentally looked down on the Japanese Imperial Granddaughter and thus had zero interest in befriending him.

This was the classic example of those who thrive on chaos, stoking conflict through nationalism and ethnicity.

Most people rejected this view outright, simply reporting or muting it.

The dispute between Luoquan and Imperial Granddaughter Akira did not subside; instead, it escalated.

Although the Emperor is no longer Japan’s monarch but merely the head of Shinto, his status in the hearts of the Japanese people remains extremely high—“symbol of Japan” is no empty phrase.

Imperial Granddaughter Akira, handsome, approachable, humorous, and academically outstanding, has long been deeply beloved by the Japanese public; in fact, his father and grandfather were similarly adored for the same reasons.

Japanese television networks have conducted multiple public polls on the Imperial Family; one question asked whether the imperial system should be abolished—and 100% of respondents opposed abolition!

This reveals just how popular this family is in Japan.

On the other side, Luoquan is a legendary figure in Japan—her image is everywhere: posters, TV, radio, online—her face is ubiquitous.

In a previous poll asking Japanese citizens who they most wanted to meet, Emperor Akihito ranked first, Luoquan second, with only a two- or three-percentage-point gap between them.

Many Japanese believe it was Luoquan’s songs that saved them, revived the stock market, and even halted earthquakes.

Though exaggerated, since Luoquan released “Don’t Give Up,” Japan has not experienced a single earthquake above 6.5 magnitude.

Whether there’s any real connection remains unproven.

In any case, among Japanese youth, Luoquan’s status is extraordinarily high—she is a goddess.

Middle-aged people, however, hold greater reverence for the Emperor, and many of them are active online.

What began as a dispute between Luoquan and Imperial Granddaughter Akira became a nationwide event, fueled by their symbolic meanings, and evolved into fierce clashes between youth and middle-aged generations.

Each generation has its own spiritual pillar, and now everyone is fighting online to defend theirs.

No one dares yield, for yielding means denying their spiritual pillar—and thus denying themselves, which is utterly unacceptable.

In this heated battle, many used extreme language, desperate to silence their opponents permanently.

Rational netizens tried to mediate, but with little effect; at this point, bystanders can no longer influence the outcome.

Those who originally tweeted mockery of Imperial Granddaughter Akira, and those who reposted and maliciously altered Luoquan’s words, quietly deleted their tweets.

They never imagined their dark impulses would ignite such a massive conflict—but even if given ten thousand chances, they’d make the same irresponsible choice again.

There’s a saying: “In an avalanche, no snowflake feels responsible.”

Fortunately, Imperial Granddaughter Akira is no pathetic male lead from a Japanese teen drama. As a responsible royal, he immediately tweeted upon hearing the news:

“All online claims that Luoquan mocked me are fabricated. I merely exchanged two casual words with her as ordinary classmates—she never said anything disrespectful.

She refused to befriend me simply because we’ve just met and don’t know each other well enough—this is the caution any young woman alone abroad must exercise!

Also, I wish to say: though I am the Imperial Granddaughter, at Tokyo University, I am just an ordinary student with no privileges. No matter what my classmates say to me, there is no such thing as ‘disrespect.’ Please stop making baseless assumptions!”

His clear, forceful explanation laid out every detail plainly—if all male leads in Japanese romance dramas spoke as directly as this Imperial Granddaughter, countless tragic endings could have been avoided.

This statement brought an imperfect end to the controversy.

Neither side was wrong; the fault lay with the rude bystanders and the rumor-mongers distorting facts—but these people had already deleted their tweets and vanished. The netizens’ fury was never fully unleashed.

Luoquan, in all this, was the only true victim—every time something like this happens, she inevitably becomes the one blamed, then bombarded by netizens.

“I’m such a cursed soul…” Luoquan sighed softly, closed Twitter, and decided to check Weibo.

The drama with the Crown Prince hadn’t spread to her home country yet—that was good news—but it didn’t mean things were calm domestically.

After announcing her role in “The Ghost Blows Out the Light: The City of the Dead,” Wen Xia had been trapped in a relentless online storm.

The actress she replaced refused to let it go; the very next day after Wen Xia’s official announcement, she launched her attack.

Her fan leaders spread rumors everywhere:

“Wen Xia maliciously competed and pushed out the original female lead of The Ghost Blows Out the Light.”

“Bought her way into the cast—Penguin paid a fortune to promote a pretty face.”

“She willingly accepted the casting couch; wealthy patrons paved her path to stardom.”

“Can an idol really enter the acting world? You’re only fit to gyrate for a crowd of losers on stage!”

The biggest difference between Japanese trolls and Huaxia trolls is this: Japanese trolls want to kill you; Huaxia trolls want to shame girls as sluts.

If you’re beautiful and gain success, it’s either because you slept your way up or were kept—like they possess divine vision, instantly seeing all evil in the world.

Yet they fail to realize their baseless speculation and prejudiced assumptions are the greatest evil on the internet.

These fan leaders clearly understood this—or rather, everyone knows the dark side of netizens; some turn a blind eye, while others exploit it for personal gain.

Amid this storm, Wen Xia was utterly overwhelmed—her Weibo comments were temporarily shut off, as if she’d given up and accepted the abuse.

There was nothing to be done: even if they knew who the fan leaders were, without ironclad proof, those spreading rumors would never admit it, and nothing would change.

Moreover, Wen Xia truly was brought in with funding—without Penguin’s investment in the Ghost Blows Out the Light production, she’d never have landed the female lead. And their retaliation, emotionally speaking, wasn’t unjustified.

But the method of retaliation was deeply offensive.

At least Luoquan felt rage boiling inside her; seeing her friend insulted, she immediately posted a Weibo:

“I once thought people were executed or jailed because they were guilty. Now I know many are only found guilty because they were first labeled guilty—and then, finally, become so.”

Again, a quote from Xunzi—Luoquan had long discovered that using this master’s words to counterattack left a lasting, soul-deep impact; even a century later, these words still perfectly fit certain Huaxia people today.

But the moment Luoquan spoke, the trolls who had been unable to find a target since Wen Xia closed comments now surged toward her.