On the day the theme for the second round was announced, the production team sent the keyword "Loneliness" to the contestants' group chat.

The group message sat idle for about three minutes before various replies finally started trickling in.

Someone sent a thinking emoji, while someone else asked directly, "Is it okay to either write a new song or do an arrangement?"

Shen Yihang sent a hand-raising emoji, followed by: "I feel like I understand this word all too well."

Lin Shiya didn't send a single message.

She turned her phone face down, picked up the pen on the table, and wrote two words on her staff paper.

Loneliness.

Then she crossed it out.

She wrote another line of lyrics, looked at it for two seconds, and tore off the entire page.

The fluorescent lights in the practice room were a bit old and glaringly bright. She pulled the desk lamp closer, hunched over the score, and painstakingly picked out the notes one by one.

Sister Chen brought lunch at noon, knocked twice, and pushed the door open a crack.

"Time to eat."

"Leave it there."

"Shiya," Sister Chen placed the lunchbox on a chair in the corner, glancing at the scattered scrap paper on the floor.

"Did you sleep?"

"I did."

"For how many hours?"

Silence.

Sister Chen didn't ask further. She pulled the door shut very gently as she left.

Around three in the afternoon, Shen Yihang arrived.

He knocked, poked his head in, and gave a brief smile.

"Sister Shiya, sorry to disturb you."

Lin Shiya looked up and glanced at him.

"Come in."

Shen Yihang walked in and scanned the practice room—guitars, scores, a table full of drafts, and the lunchbox in the corner that clearly hadn't been touched much.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said nonchalantly as he sat on a nearby chair. "Sister Shiya, with your status, there's no need to be this exhausted, right?"

Lin Shiya didn't look at him. Her pen moved across two measures on the score.

"The stage doesn't care about status; it cares about the work."

Shen Yihang chuckled but didn't respond to that.

He looked down, fiddling with a pick in his hand, turning it over.

"I'm planning to do a fusion of idol performance and rock for the next episode; the stage will be explosive." He paused. "I just wanted to let you know in advance, so the atmosphere doesn't get too heated and affect your performance."

Only then did Lin Shiya look up, watching him for three seconds.

"Thanks for the concern."

As those words landed, Shen Yihang maintained his smile, but the inquisitive look in his eyes vanished.

He didn't stay any longer, standing up and saying, "Then I'll go practice first," before leaving.

The sound of the door closing.

Lin Shiya lowered her head and continued writing.

---

On the day of the recording, Shen Yihang was the third to perform.

His team had gone all out on the stage production this time.

Rising platforms, twelve backup dancers, and lighting transitions so dense it felt like a concert.

Standing in the center of the stage, his fusion of singing and dancing was indeed impressive; waves of screams erupted from the fan zone, and the atmosphere was boiling.

Several young contestants backstage started clapping again.

"Yihang's stage today is truly explosive."

"How much did the lighting crew spend on this?"

Lin Shiya sat on a folding chair in the standby area, guitar in her arms. She plucked an open string and tuned it.

Shen Yihang finished his set and came off stage. He walked past Lin Shiya, drenched in sweat, and raised an eyebrow at her.

He didn't say anything.

Lin Shiya shifted her gaze away from him and toward the stage.

"Teacher Lin Shiya, get ready."

She stood up, shouldered her guitar, and walked up.

The lights dimmed. Once she was settled on the high stool, she softly tested the microphone before the spotlight hit.

Someone in the audience shouted her name. It was loud, but the shouting gradually died down.

The song title appeared on the screen: "Silent Island."

An original composition.

There was a brief murmur in the audience, followed by silence.

Lin Shiya's fingers fell onto the strings.

...

When the voting results came out, Lin Shiya was first, and Shen Yihang was second.

The gap was significant.

Backstage, Shen Yihang adjusted his bangs in the mirror. His manager leaned in, voice kept very low.

"Yihang, the fans are getting pretty heated. Do you want to post something to calm them down?"

"No need." Shen Yihang lowered his hand. "Let them talk; they'll disperse once they're done."

But he also knew they wouldn't.

The fans had been holding their breath since the first episode, and after being suppressed for two rounds, now that an outlet had opened, no one could stop them.

As soon as the episode went live, the topic took off.

First, #Lin Shiya Silent Island# hit the hot search. The general public was completely hooked by that ethereal chorus, and the discussion volume for related topics tripled within two hours.

Then came the stronghold of Shen Yihang's fans.

Someone started it: "Why is Yihang still second despite working so hard? Is the production team playing favorites?"

The replies came quickly.

"Lin Shiya just does that same old slow, miserable song routine. She's just coasting on her old reputation."

"A top star getting their votes suppressed—those who know, know."

"And is her live performance really that stable? I feel like there was pitch correction."

This last comment garnered one or two hundred replies.

...

In Jingzhou, Lu Zhixian leaned back on the sofa, watched the performance-only version of the show from start to finish, and then scrolled through the comments.

When he reached the comment saying "unstable live performance, relies entirely on pitch correction," his finger paused.

He thought for three seconds.

Old Zhao had told him not to have any interaction with Lin Shiya for the next few days. He had agreed very readily at the time.

He opened the comment box and checked his account.

It was his main account.

Lu Zhixian: "I suggest visiting the ENT department."

He hit send, locked the screen, tossed the phone onto the coffee table, and went to pour a glass of water.

When he returned, the phone was already vibrating.

He looked at the caller ID: Old Zhao.

He didn't pick up.

He took a sip of water, and the phone continued to vibrate.

He sighed and pressed answer.

"I knew it." Old Zhao's voice blasted through the speaker.

"I knew your 'ready agreement' meant this!!!"

"I'm just stating a fact."

"I don't care if it's a fact or not! Do you know how many people have screenshotted that comment by now?!"

Lu Zhixian put down the water glass and propped his chin up, glancing at the phone screen.

A hot search had already appeared.

#Lu Zhixian Suggests Visiting the ENT Department#

Next to it was the word "Explosive."

"It's not that big of a deal," Lu Zhixian said.

"Not big?!" Old Zhao took a deep breath. "Fine, whatever. You just wait; I'm going to buy some fast-acting heart pills, and I'm buying three bottles this time."

He hung up.

Lu Zhixian looked at the hot search, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

The phone vibrated again. A WeChat message from Lin Shiya.

"Have you ever been to the ENT department?"

Lu Zhixian laughed out loud and typed with one hand.

"Never. My hearing is perfectly fine."

A reply came from the other side after a moment.

"Did Old Zhao hit you?"

"Not yet, but I reckon he's on his way."

After sending that, he switched back to Weibo and scrolled through the replies to his comment.

There were people scolding him for meddling, people saying he was clout-chasing, and a bunch of people shipping them.

Lu Zhixian looked around and then flipped his phone face down on the coffee table.

It didn't matter.

He leaned back on the sofa, tuned the TV back to the show's recording, and dragged Lin Shiya's segment back to the beginning to listen again.

That chorus was vast and lingering, like a wind blowing across a wilderness.

It was indeed good.

---

Shanghai, Shengyue Culture.

Sister Chen stared at Lu Zhixian's comment for half a minute, put her phone down, and looked at Lin Shiya.

"He really dares to say anything."

Lin Shiya didn't respond, lowering her head to turn a page of the score.

"You need to keep an eye on Shen Yihang's team," Sister Chen said, her tone slowing down. "Their fans are making quite a stir this time."

"I know."

"You're not worried?"

Lin Shiya looked up, her expression showing no ripple of emotion.

"Worried about what? The work speaks for itself."

Sister Chen touched her forehead, wanting to say something, but stopped.

As she walked out, she ran into the assistant, Xiao Wu. Xiao Wu handed her the phone, showing a screenshotted message from an entertainment industry insider account.

The message contained only one sentence.

Shen Yihang's team is contacting a certain channel to buy articles; the intended angle: even some powerhouse performers need a man to back them up.

After reading it, Sister Chen returned the phone to Xiao Wu and pushed the door back open.

"Shiya." She showed her the phone screen. "They're about to bring the fire over here."

Lin Shiya stared at the line of text for three seconds before pushing the phone back.

"Let them burn."