The cry of the phoenix echoes through the mortal realm, heralding a flourishing age of peace and prosperity.

The Phoenix sings in the mortal world, a melody of peace in prosperous times.

They had witnessed the most legendary stage in history.

The contestants, just coming back to their senses, wore expressions of complex emotion—envy, awe, even a trace of anxiety.

Those who had hoped to challenge King had already lost before the battle began.

Backstage, the notary staff whispered among themselves, confirming again and again that there was not the slightest issue with the audio.

But the audience no longer cared.

For such a vast and boundless sound, the aura it carried could never be replicated by audio engineering.

The netizens who had originally come seeking a “righteous judgment” immediately changed their tune.

What lip-syncing? What immoral artist?

Guards! Seize those who spread such slander and drag them away for punishment!

A delightfully entertaining interactive segment.

Brother Du was in high spirits, genuinely happy for Ji Fanxing, who had finally succeeded in overcoming this challenge.

“Fanxing, I truly admire you! Why don’t you tell us a bit about this song?”

Ji Fanxing had no ill will toward the host, and replied with a teasing note, “I only sang a few words—you should ask Chu Hao.”

“Just a few words?” Brother Du’s eyes widened in mock surprise, turning to the camera with an exaggerated expression.

“Though I have ten pages of lyrics, all the credit for tonight goes to Ji Fanxing,” Chu Hao interjected, making it clear to everyone that this stage belonged to Ji Fanxing.

The audience erupted into applause, cheering for both of them.

It was time for the mentors’ commentary. Xie Huai, voice trembling with excitement, asked, “Fanxing, what inspired you to sing it this way?”

“I once lived on the grasslands for a long time and there I heard the long chant. It is the purest, most moving song nature has gifted to the people of the steppe.”

In the world of entertainment, classics from national tradition and folk culture were often dismissed by creators as outdated, irrelevant to “art.” Even when such elements appeared, they were used only to depict poverty or backwardness.

This mindset had seeped into the general public, causing countless treasures to be buried in forgotten corners of the world.

Xie Huai nodded, his eyes alight with emotion. He had long strived to promote folk culture, but with little effect. Only now, witnessing this performance, did he realize he had been heading in the wrong direction all along.

But before he could dwell on it, Ren Feichang seemed to seize upon something, sneering as he cut in, “It’s obvious the lyrics are imitating my teacher, Fang Zhijing, but the outdated instruments used in the arrangement just don’t fit—they’re out of place.”

Fang Zhijing, though fond of ancient-style lyrics, preferred Western instruments or modern electronic music in his compositions.

Traditional culture had been buried by people like Ren Feichang, who couldn’t distinguish good from bad.

Ji Fanxing regarded this “pig” seriously and said, “We’re always chasing what’s new and trendy. But some things are ancient and precious, like treasures locked away by dust. These treasures are the culture passed down through generations.”

The audience nodded in agreement.

Ji Fanxing continued, “They are witnesses to history, the soul of our nation, and our irreplaceable spiritual wealth.”

“Mentor Ren, you call traditional instruments ‘outdated’?” Ji Fanxing’s gaze was sharp as she fixed it on Ren Feichang. “I’d like to know, in your mind, what truly counts as progress?”

Ren Feichang was left speechless—he certainly couldn’t admit that such was the unspoken rule in the industry.

[Ha! Look at Ren Feichang’s face!]

[How did traditional culture become ‘outdated’? It’s an invaluable heritage!]

[Ji Fanxing is right! We should cherish and carry it forward.]

Backstage, the producer Liu Qi was still on the phone with the boss.

“She’s got talent. Consider signing her up…”

“Yes, of course…”

Though Liu Qi was usually quick-tempered, he was utterly deferential on the phone, mopping invisible sweat from his brow.

Ji Fanxing didn’t seem easy to handle either—this was going to be tricky.

On stage, Xie Huai broke the silence. “Fanxing, you are right. Tradition isn’t something outdated and obsolete—it’s something we need to keep exploring and revitalizing!”

“I’ve learned so much tonight,” Brother Du added with a smile, “Thank you, Fanxing, for showing us the charm of blending traditional culture with modern art.”

[So, we’ve been losing our own treasures without even realizing it…]

[Starting today, I want to learn about traditional culture too!!]

[This is my first time hearing the long chant—truly amazing! Thank you, Fanxing, for enlightening us.]

Ji Fanxing had fulfilled her promise—this was indeed an unforgettable stage and a completely new rap experience.

The performance was a perfect collaboration, each indispensable, and both received an impressive score of 98—the missing two points deducted by Ren Feichang.

Proudly gripping the scoring device, Ren Feichang hadn’t yet realized that this act would forever call his professional credibility into question, and he’d never again be invited as a mentor.

As the show ended and the crowds dispersed, half of the eighty-eight contestants were eliminated. The remaining competitors hugged each other on stage, bidding tearful farewells.

Having seen too many partings in her life, Ji Fanxing felt little emotion and was the first to leave.

Just offstage, Liu Qi approached, rubbing his hands together.

“Fanxing, hello—I’m Liu Qi, the producer. Your performance just now was incredible.”

Ji Fanxing paused. Was this a gesture of goodwill?

She turned, offering a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, Producer Liu.”

Liu Qi, secretly relieved, shook her hand warmly. “If you need anything here, just let me know.”

“Producer Liu, you must be joking. I already have the right to ask for whatever I want.”

Liu Qi froze, awkwardly scratching his chin. “Ahem, what I meant was, if you have requests beyond King’s privileges, we can accommodate them…”

“As it happens, I do have a small request.” Ji Fanxing glanced across the stage at Ji Shengxue and Hai Lan. Suddenly, everything clicked in her mind. She had an idea, and to confirm it, she continued, “I want to swap dressing rooms with Ji Shengxue.”

“What? Uh, okay, okay—I’ll go let her know…”

Although Ji Fanxing hadn’t made any outrageous demands, Liu Qi was still troubled by this odd request.

Could the rumors be true—did Ji Fanxing really see her sister as a thorn in her side?

It didn’t seem that way.

Regardless of whether Liu Qi succeeded, Ji Fanxing headed straight for Ji Shengxue’s dressing room.

Before going on stage, she’d brushed past a man she’d also seen in her previous life. Back then, her mind was in turmoil, and she hadn’t paid attention to the suspicious figure.

The same encounter at the same corner, the same inconspicuous outfit—the man was heading toward Ji Shengxue’s dressing room.

The culprit who had installed a camera in the changing room and maliciously spread a video of Hai Lan changing clothes was about to be revealed.

“Ji Fanxing!” Once again called, Ji Fanxing turned back impatiently.

It was Xu Mo, with Ji Shengxue and an apologetic Liu Qi following behind.

Xu Mo’s brows were furrowed. “What are you doing? Why are you taking Shengxue’s dressing room?”

Ji Fanxing sneered, facing him directly. “Xu Mo, I’ve told you before, you have no right to criticize me.”

“But—” Xu Mo tried to argue, but Ji Fanxing cut him off.

“I don’t have time to waste on you.” With that, she turned and left, growing more anxious. She felt that the man was even more dangerous than she remembered from her previous life.

“Don’t go!” For reasons he couldn’t explain, this unfamiliar side of Ji Fanxing made Xu Mo panic. Convinced he couldn’t let her keep making mistakes, he chased after her.

“Xu Mo!” Ji Shengxue followed as well.

“What a mess…” Was Ji Fanxing really secretly in love with Xu Mo? The three of them together under the stage was a recipe for disaster, and Liu Qi resigned himself to tagging along.

This odd grouping quickly drew the attention of contestants and staff alike…

For Ji Shengxue’s convenience, Song Qing almost always entered and exited with her, so she had a share of Ji Shengxue’s exclusive dressing room.

Earlier, after her teammate was eliminated, Song Qing had left the stage early and returned to the dressing room.

“Ji Fanxing! Who do you think you are!” She muttered curses at Ji Fanxing as she took off her coat, oblivious to the danger closing in.

Hidden in the shadows, the man’s eyes were cold, his fists clenched as he watched the woman who had betrayed him and pushed him to the brink.

Song Qing, completely unaware, opened the dressing room door, locked it behind her as usual, and began to change.

“What a wonderful scent… Just like hers…”

As she unzipped her dress, someone leaned in close to her neck, taking a deep breath.

Song Qing’s eyes flew open in terror.

Just as she was about to scream, a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Mmm!”

The man’s other arm locked around her, his face buried in her neck as he panted, a mixture of pleasure and accusation.

“We agreed you’d record a video to frame Ji Fanxing, but then you hired trolls to expose my identity. Why? Now I’m about to lose my job…

This is my last chance to get close to Axue—and you, why are you here?”

His hands roamed over her as she struggled to breathe, her face flushed with the effort. Desperately, she twisted and rammed herself against the dressing room door, trying to escape. The door rattled violently…

Ji Fanxing, not far off, heard the commotion and approached quietly, alert.

“You…” Xu Mo, on her heels, tried to speak but Ji Fanxing silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

She signaled with her eyes for Xu Mo to look toward Ji Shengxue’s dressing room, where faint sounds of struggle could be heard.

“Something’s wrong in there…”

Ji Fanxing closed her eyes, listening intently. Then, with a grave expression, she announced, “Someone inside is being attacked.”

Her brows furrowed, and her gaze swept the gathered people like a blade before settling on the empty spot where Ji Shengxue’s companion usually stood.

Song Qing was missing.

She was most likely inside.

“Don’t move,” she instructed in a low, commanding voice. “I’m going in.”