Lu Zhixian tapped away on his phone's calculator, his fingertips flying.

Old Zhou stood by, rubbing his hands in anxiety; seeing Lu Zhixian acting as if nothing was wrong only made him more anxious.

"Vinyl is just too complex a process."

"Mold making, mastering, pressing, quality control—to grind through this entire process, ten days is the fastest it can possibly take. This is already the limit, pushing ourselves to the breaking point." Old Zhou's voice was strained.

"Time is the first hurdle. The second hurdle..." He paused, lowering his voice.

"It's going to cost extra."

"That Uncle Liu I know has craftsmanship that is one of a kind in the country, but his temper is foul and stubborn."

"To get him to take on such a critical, urgent job, the cost will at least double, and that's not a small sum."

Lu Zhixian locked his phone screen, not even glancing at the number he had just calculated, and looked up to meet Old Zhou's gaze.

"Anything that can be solved with money isn't a problem."

His tone was calm, yet carried a sense of certainty.

"Brother Zhou, contact him now. The sooner, the better."

Old Zhou was momentarily choked by this display of wealth; it took him a while to manage a nod before he pulled out his phone and walked aside to make the call.

Early the next morning, Old Zhou took the freshly minted master hard drive and drove straight into the old industrial zone on the outskirts of the city.

Uncle Liu's studio was tucked away in a dilapidated factory building, without even a sign.

He pushed open the iron door.

Uncle Liu was in his fifties, with graying hair, wearing an old, faded work uniform.

His hands were covered in thick calluses and small nicks, clearly the result of years spent grinding away at machines.

He didn't waste any words; he took the hard drive, plugged it into an antique piece of equipment, and put on the monitoring headphones.

Old Zhou stood by, not daring to breathe a word.

Lu Zhixian's album was ultimately titled 《 string》.

The cover concept was one he had decided on himself. It was a minimalist black-and-white half-body shot, with light and shadow outlining a sharp jawline, his gaze fixed directly on the lens—handsome in an aggressively striking way.

For a full forty minutes, Uncle Liu didn't move an inch.

Not until the final notes had completely faded did he slowly take off the headphones, staring fixedly at the screen, silent for a long time.

After a full minute, Uncle Liu's throat moved, and he squeezed a few words out through his hoarse throat.

"This thing needs top-tier vinyl."

With that, he turned directly toward the workbench and grabbed his tools.

"We start tonight."

...

Who knows what wind carried the news.

Two days later, news broke that Lu Zhixian would be releasing his new album on February 18th—the very same day that the eight artist groups from Xingmang Entertainment were releasing their music—and it set the internet ablaze.

On Weibo, a major industry influencer fired the first shot.

[Is he crazy or just arrogant? Newcomer Lu Zhixian announces his new album drops on 2/18, going head-to-head with Xingmang's eight-star lineup! Is this a case of a newborn calf fearless of the tiger, or throwing an egg against a rock?]

Once this post went live, the comment section was immediately overrun.

"Hilarious. Being stubborn doesn't mean being stupid, right?"

"Did winning the New Year's Eve championship make him forget his own name? Can't wait to see Xingmang teach him a lesson."

"If you combine the fanbases of those eight Xingmang artist groups, one spit from each of them could drown him, seriously!"

"I actually think he's got guts! Modern domestic entertainment is lacking someone who dares to flip the table like this!"

It's said that during an internal meeting at Xingmang Entertainment, an executive saw the news and laughed out loud: "A mayfly trying to topple a tree—delusional."

The online ridicule was overwhelming.

Yet Lu Zhixian, standing in the eye of the storm, acted like an outsider.

Watching the chaos unfold online, not only was he not annoyed, but he was actually amused.

Switching to his main account, he casually posted a minimalist update.

"2/18, 《 string》."

He attached a ten-second audio clip.

No lyrics, just a guitar riff that hooked into the depths of one's soul.

He hadn't spent a single cent on promotion.

But less than ten minutes after the post went up, the comment section exploded.

"Ahhhhh! This intro is absolutely incredible! I'm putting this on repeat!"

"Just for this vibe alone, I'm pre-ordering ten copies!"

"Assemble, String Orchestra! Don't listen to what others are barking about—let's take down Xingmang!"

The fans, as if pumped with adrenaline, frantically shared and controlled the comments, successfully pushing this post—which had zero promotion—onto the tail end of the trending topics.

Jiang Cheng's call came in almost instantly, his voice shaking: "Brother Lu! Several music platforms have reached out to me, wanting to discuss release partnerships!"

But before Lu Zhixian could respond, Jiang Cheng's tone suddenly dropped.

"However... an executive at a major platform let something slip. Xingmang has gone berserk; they've spent a fortune to buy out every single homepage recommendation spot on the 18th. Splash screens, banners—they haven't left us a single opening."

"What he meant was, our song can be released, but apart from a basic category listing, we won't get a shred of exposure."

Jiang Cheng's voice was laced with despair.

In this era of traffic, without platform support, even the most divine song would die on the beach.

Lu Zhixian didn't even frown after hearing this.

"I see."

"Huh? That's... that's all you have to say?" Jiang Cheng was bewildered.

"Yeah." Lu Zhixian leaned against the window, watching the traffic below, his voice terrifyingly steady. "We don't need recommendation spots."

"A good song grows its own legs."

"We're only going to do one thing: upload the highest-quality master to every platform. As for the rest, let the bullets fly for a while."

February 16th, two days until the release.

Xingmang Entertainment's publicity machine was running at full power, with an offensive as overwhelming as a tsunami.

Eight artist groups, eight high-budget trailers spread across the internet.

Han Zixuan's album trailer, which boasted a twenty-million-dollar production budget, was helmed by a film director—the prestige was off the charts.

# Han Zixuan New Album Trailer #

# Xingmang's Eight Stars Aligned #

# The Music Scene Is About to Change #

In the top ten trending topics, Xingmang occupied three spots alone.

Han Zixuan's trailer broke ten million views in two hours, leading the charts by a landslide; the overwhelming pressure of top-tier traffic was on full display.

The entire industry's attention and all media coverage were completely sucked up by Xingmang.

Amidst this overwhelming fanfare, save for the die-hard fans of the "String Orchestra," the rest of the internet had almost forgotten Lu Zhixian.

Late that same night.

In the monitoring room of Echo Workshop, only a single dim floor lamp remained on.

Lu Zhixian leaned against the console, wearing the monitoring headphones that had been "blessed" by Uncle Liu, and listened to the final master of 《 string》 from start to finish.

As the final notes faded, he took off the headphones.

Looking at the quiet console, Lu Zhixian chuckled softly.

"Let the show begin."

Just then, the phone screen beside him lit up.

A WeChat message from Lin Shiya popped up.

"Wishing your album great sales."

A second message followed immediately.

"Also, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. No rush—wait until you're finished."