Chapter 17: You Really Are the Heavenly Purple Star

“Xian Ge, Xian Ge! I heard one of your company’s artists got caught in a workplace love triangle and committed suicide by poisoning— is this true?!”

“Xian Ge! Xian Ge! Is your company too strict in managing your artists’ romantic relationships, leading them to risk their lives once they fall in love?!”

“Xian Ge! Others say your artists took drugs at a gathering and overdosed, causing this tragedy— is this true?!”

“Xian Ge! Xian Ge...”

At 3:25 a.m., outside the hospital.

When Wu Zongxian arrived late in his chauffeured car after being notified, a barrage of microphones thrust toward him—

The reporters’ questions grew more absurd by the second, instantly darkening Wu Zongxian’s mood into a blackened pot-bottom scowl.

What the hell kind of news is this?

“OK, OK, fellow journalists, please don’t block me— my artist suffered gas poisoning, not the rumored workplace love triangle or drug overdose.

“I’m going in now to check on their condition. Please don’t write false stories. Thank you.”

With clear fatigue still in his eyes, Wu Zongxian firmly stated his position, then, escorted by bodyguards clearing the way, stepped directly onto the hospital’s stairs—

Behind him, media reporters who had rushed to the scene each carried cameras and recorders, their excited clamor adding noise to the silent night.

As one of Taiwan’s most famous variety show hosts, Wu Zongxian’s fame today is unmatched on the island.

Now, with his company suddenly embroiled in a suspected fatality, these ever-sharp reporters had gone wild.

Zhou Yi, standing at the third-floor corridor corner, looked down and took in the reporters held back at the entrance, unable to suppress a gasp:

“My god, Taiwan reporters are still brutal in this era— their microphones are practically jammed into Wu Zongxian’s mouth.”

He even suspected that if it weren’t for fear of disrupting hospital order and inviting unnecessary trouble, these reporters wouldn’t care about barriers— they’d scale walls or crawl through dog holes just to be first inside for exclusive footage.

“Ah Yi, we’ve confirmed the situation. We can leave now.”

As Zhou Yi marveled at the reporters’ professionalism, his agent Qian Jiang, who’d also rushed out at 3 a.m., came over: “Wen Lan and the other two weren’t poisoned by food— after professional diagnosis and testing, it’s confirmed as gas poisoning.

“You really saved the day this time. Even the police praised you—you saved three lives.”

“It was nothing, no big deal.”

Zhou Yi smiled, lowering his gaze: “I just stayed late correcting Yanzi’s vocal technique tonight, got home late— otherwise I wouldn’t have run into this.”

“Regardless, this is a huge win for you.”

Satisfied, Qian Jiang glanced around the quiet surroundings, then leaned close, lowering his voice: “Do you know who you saved? They’re all Wu Zongxian’s artists.

“The woman is Wen Lan, a moderately famous singer;

“The two men— one is Liu Lihong, a has-been, irrelevant now. The other is Zhou Jielun—I’ve heard the name. He’s Wu Zongxian’s famous songwriter, wrote many songs, though few got used.”

“I was looking down at Wu Zongxian.”

Zhou Yi said nothing more, only raised his right hand and pointed out the window.

“I know you don’t want to exploit this for publicity. Don’t worry—I understand the rules.”

Qian Jiang’s chubby face broke into a grin: “But you did Wu Zongxian a huge favor— he’ll have to repay you with variety show resources.

“You know how high Wu Zongxian stands in Taiwan’s variety scene—I never expected to get you on his flagship show.

“But now it’s different—he owes you a massive favor.

“I have to say, Ah Yi, you really are the Heavenly Purple Star descending— in our industry, that means you’re destined to be famous.”

With a nostalgic touch to his receding hairline, Qian Jiang, who’d been in the business for years and never seen a rookie’s career launch so miraculously— three lives saved at the start— couldn’t help but marvel.

In Taiwan’s variety scene around the millennium, if a newcomer wanted to build fame fast, appearing on Wu Zongxian’s shows was an excellent choice.

In his past life, Zhou Jielun did exactly that— forced onto Wu Zongxian’s flagship show for one episode before his debut album, becoming a variety guest first to build early popularity.

“I don’t care about variety shows, but you need to coordinate the timing. I’m only staying in Taiwan for a month— after that, I’m returning to the mainland.

“If I need to come back, it won’t be until after July.”

Zhou Yi didn’t care at all about his agent’s giddy excitement, as if he’d just found cash on the street.

Soon, Taiwan’s restrictions on mainland artists would be announced— mainlanders would be banned from public performances or TV appearances.

Zhou Yi wasn’t someone like Zhao Yanzi who groveled desperately—he’d never kneel and beg like a dog.

When the ban lifted, he might even use this moment to purify his fanbase in Taiwan— then, when the ban was finally lifted, Taiwan’s fans would be drumming, setting off firecrackers, joyfully welcoming their king’s return...

“I get it, I get it.”

Qian Jiang, unable to foresee the future, now saw even greater potential in his new artist. He decisively brought Zhou Yi to meet Wu Zongxian, who had just arrived, to make a quick introduction.

“Xian Ge, long time no see.”

“Long time no see, Ah Jiang. This is Zhou Yi?”

Wu Zongxian, whose face still bore few wrinkles, sized up the tall, broad-shouldered Zhou Yi, and, in high spirits, nodded repeatedly: “Good, good—a promising artist. I’m very impressed.”

He wasn’t a fool—he’d already received information from Warner before arriving. He knew exactly what Qian Jiang was after.

But he didn’t mind—on the contrary, he owed him thanks.

This was three lives—had anything gone wrong, his personal reputation and company’s name would’ve been ruined.

“Do you have time in a couple of days, Ah Jiang? Bring this young Zhou along—we’ll have dinner. My treat, to properly thank you.”

Wu Zongxian, smiling sincerely, issued the invitation without hesitation.