6. The title of King for his debut performance is truly well-deserved!
Two consecutive scores over 90 had the audience anticipating Ji Fanxing’s performance even more. They couldn’t wait to see her get publicly humiliated on stage. Not only had Ji Fanxing shamelessly claimed the throne, but she’d also made bold, arrogant declarations—her brazen attitude infuriated netizens to no end.
They spread the word, calling friends to crowd into the livestream, everyone ready to record her impending disgrace, planning to replay it for mockery in the future.
…
“Ji Fanxing! You filthy witch! Despicable woman! You deserve to die!!”
Backstage at the sound control booth, a man switched from Li Jian’an’s Weibo to the program’s live chat and had just posted a barrage of insults when his colleague tapped him on the shoulder.
“I’m going to the restroom—cover for me.”
“Yeah, alright.” The man pocketed his phone and took control of the console. His gaze lingered, burning with desire, on Ji Shengxue, before reluctantly shifting to Ji Fanxing, who was preparing to go on stage. A malicious, fleeting grin appeared—he was eager for vengeance.
You dared to harm my Xue? Watch how I deal with you!
…
“I want to change my song,” Ji Fanxing called a stagehand over, getting straight to the point.
“W-what?!” The stagehand thought she’d misheard.
“I want to switch songs. I’ll sing Ji Shengxue’s piece,” Ji Fanxing reiterated, enunciating every word.
In her previous life, she’d been ruined here. Now that she’d been given another chance, she was determined to do her best.
Her original song choice was mediocre. She’d been reborn too late for other preparations, and of all she’d heard today, only Ji Shengxue’s song was barely acceptable.
After all, this piece had been meticulously composed by their father for his daughter. If the elder sister could sing it, so could the younger. Nothing wrong with that.
The stagehand stared at Ji Fanxing in disbelief, nearly protesting aloud. “That… isn’t allowed, is it…”
“It wouldn’t be for just anyone, but I’m the King,” Ji Fanxing reminded her.
As the King, she had almost free rein in this program, as long as she didn’t interfere with other contestants or the results.
The stagehand looked helplessly at the producer, who felt a headache coming on and finally instructed, “Bring Ji Shengxue here as well.”
The stagehand hurried off. When Ji Shengxue heard Ji Fanxing wanted to sing her song, she was surprised, then frowned slightly.
When she arrived, her first words were disapproving: “Fanxing, don’t be impulsive. That song is a high-register piece—not your strength.”
Ji Fanxing nodded outwardly, but remained resolute. “Only I can say what I’m good at.” Then she locked eyes with the producer, reminding him again, “I’m the King.”
The producer was at his wit’s end. Seeing even her sister had nothing more to say, he could only agree, rubbing his brow.
Rules, once set, couldn’t be taken back. He could only blame himself for not foreseeing someone would use the King’s privilege this way.
[What the hell, Ji Fanxing! How shameless can you get!]
[I’m numb. Let’s see how far this lunatic will go for attention.]
[She’s about to be kicked out and still clings to her sister—damn it, my anger’s making my throat constrict!]
[Ji Fanxing, get off the stage!]
“Next, please enjoy Ji Fanxing’s performance—‘Inescapable Wind and Moon’!”
“Inescapable Wind and Moon” was the very song Ji Shengxue had performed.
The host had barely finished speaking when those at the venue who hadn’t seen the livestream were all dumbfounded. Only Ji Shengxue, returning to her seat, wore a barely perceptible sneer.
She knew better than anyone how difficult the song was. With Ji Fanxing’s unimpressive vocal skills, she probably wouldn’t make it past the first section.
Let her be reckless—she’d pay the price for her own obstinacy…
Unlike Ji Shengxue’s atmospheric entrance, Ji Fanxing simply took the microphone and walked onto the stage—no special lighting, no smoke.
The gentle, flowing prelude began, but the audience paid no attention, still engrossed in their gossip. Even the livestream chat was filled with curses, drowning out Ji Fanxing.
“Wind, drifting through the years…”
No one expected what came next—a voice of ethereal clarity, almost otherworldly, instantly captured the audience’s attention. Even the chat slowed, stunned.
[Am I hallucinating…? What’s going on…?]
“Can’t see through, the joys and sorrows in your eyes…”
“Light, dazzling in the night…”
The composer was indeed talented—the song was lyrical and elegant, but devilishly hard to sing. The opening was low, but the melody quickly soared, modulating up and down with challenging intervals.
Ji Fanxing, having braved countless trials in her past life, had every limit she’d ever broken etched into her soul. Now, with her soul reunited with this body, she surpassed its former constraints, achieving a perfect union.
She sang every melisma with ease, her transitions smoother and more moving than Ji Shengxue’s, drawing the audience in.
Unnoticed, the hall had fallen silent. The chat was empty—everyone was utterly absorbed in her singing.
Only the man at the sound console glared at Ji Fanxing, eyes burning with rage. His hand slid toward a controller, pushing it up.
The moment the key was raised, Ji Fanxing noticed. Just like in her previous life, someone was trying to sabotage her with the same trick, even though she’d switched songs.
Her peripheral vision quickly caught the culprit. Unfazed, she followed the new, higher key with effortless grace.
“Who can traverse mountains and seas, still waiting for my true heart…”
“Who can cleave the stars and moon, and send me warmth…”
“You say wind and moon are inescapable, love and hate never settle…”
“I’d brave the wind and snow, raise a cup and spend this life with you…”
She finished the first verse flawlessly. The man at the console ground his teeth.
As the second verse began, he waited, then, just as the chorus approached, raised the key yet again—on top of the already heightened pitch from the first time.
“Who can traverse mountains and seas, still waiting for my true heart…”
“Who can cleave the stars and moon, and send me warmth…”
But Ji Fanxing’s expression didn’t change. She sang on, undaunted.
With the key raised twice, she imbued the already poignant song with a sense of fate—its lyrics spoke of being trapped by love and hate, yet longing for a soulmate.
Many in the audience were moved to tears.
The climax ended, and the instrumental break followed. In Ji Shengxue’s performance, the key would return to a soft, gentle tone, soothing the audience. But Ji Fanxing didn’t lower the key—the accompaniment remained intense.
“Who can traverse mountains and seas, still waiting for my true heart…”
“Who can cleave the stars and moon, and send me warmth…”
The audience, swept up by her voice, was carried straight into another climax, with no pause to recover.
“You say wind and moon are inescapable, love and hate never settle…”
“I’d brave the wind and snow, raise a cup and spend this life with you…”
As if competing with the singer herself, the key was now even higher than before. The music was utterly transformed—no ordinary person could sing it, and even forced shouting would be unbearable to hear.
But Ji Fanxing sang every note, lifting the song to new heights.
She sang of fate, of love that persists across mountains, seas, and storms—determined to stay together, come what may.
The audience was electrified.
As the song entered its outro, the man at the console, eyes bloodshot, abruptly yanked the controller down.
The soaring accompaniment plunged into a deep, low register.
“Ah—ah ah—” Ji Fanxing, completely unfazed, followed seamlessly, her voice gentle and unburdened, bringing the song to an elegant close.
She finished.
The venue was as silent as a grave.
The livestream chat was blank.
Ji Fanxing glanced nonchalantly toward the sound console, where the culprit was being scolded by the returning sound director. The man, head lowered, shot her one last venomous glare.
After a long moment, the crowd finally came to their senses.
[Was that really Ji Fanxing…?]
[Didn’t they say her singing was mediocre? I think she was better than Ji Shengxue…]
[I’m completely stunned. I thought she was losing her mind, but it turns out I’m the crazy one.]
[How can it sound so beautiful… I’m a traitor—I love her, no matter what she’s done.]
These were the comments of bystanders. Her haters and rival fans, however, still clung to their resentment.
[It was good, but sorry, you’re a terrible person—thumbs down!]
[Tastes differ. Sorry, I prefer our Xue’s version.]
[I’ll just say it—thumbs down…]
Brother Du strode onto the stage, exuding energy.
“Incredible! Who would have thought contestant Fanxing was such a hidden powerhouse—what a stunning performance! Now, everyone, please score contestant 68, Ji Fanxing!”
Xie Huai’s eyes shone as he eagerly asked, “During the climax, the key kept rising—did you coordinate that with the sound team in advance?”
Ren Feichang’s mind whirled, and he objected, “This song is a masterwork. How could you change it on a whim? That ruins the original intent!”
Ji Fanxing nearly rolled her eyes. “No," she replied. She wasn’t about to take the blame.
Ren Feichang was momentarily confused, then at a loss for words.
Ji Fanxing’s “no” was clearly in response to Xie Huai’s question.
But if it wasn’t arranged in advance, then it was obvious—this was sabotage from the sound team.
Had the singer not been unexpectedly strong, it would have been a disaster—a disgrace for the show.
Those who understood were stunned. Those who didn’t exchanged baffled glances.
Xie Huai frowned. “Then…” He too was at a loss, disgusted by such tactics. He glanced at the sound booth, where the music director was signaling frantically.
Seeing the situation, the host hurried forward to change the subject, quickly moving to the scoring round. Ji Fanxing couldn’t be left on stage any longer—anything else could blow up, and then it would be out of control.
This time, the judges were unanimous. There was nothing to criticize; even if they wanted to, they couldn’t. The excellence was undeniable—objecting would only undermine their own credibility.
After the scores were tallied, the host announced:
“Ji Fanxing’s final score is… 95! The highest score of the night! The King’s crown is well deserved!”
Only then did some viewers, whose hands had been more honest than their words, wake from their daze and regret:
[Damn! I voted for her by reflex! Only now do I remember it was Ji Fanxing I just scored!]
[Me too! I want to cut off my hand!]