Chapter Fourteen: Director Song Can Handle It—He Steps Up When Needed

The reporters below the stage were utterly bewildered. So this was the very person who had set the internet ablaze across all major platforms with “The Lone Warrior” and “Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth.” Even the reporter whom Li Xiguang had arranged in advance was at a complete loss.

Damn it, you didn’t even know what was really going on, and you were ready to draw your knife. And now, the blade had turned on yourself. Not only that—it had dragged him down as well. Were it not for the ten thousand yuan payment, the reporter might have defected on the spot. But with that in mind, he swallowed his anger and kept silent.

Song Liang could only marvel at Li Xiguang’s bold maneuver, feeling nothing but awe. He’d seasoned the grill with cumin, slathered on the sauce, but in the end, it turned out he was the one being roasted. Was it tragic? Surprising? Unexpected? Utterly bewildering?

Li Xiguang gripped the USB drive in his right hand with all his strength. What was supposed to be damning evidence against Song Liang had become proof of his own downfall. He feared dropping it to the floor and having the content aired in public—then he would be ruined for good.

He looked at Su Bai with a gaze full of complexity, which eventually turned to boundless hatred. Embarrassment wasn’t the most terrifying outcome; what truly frightened him was the likelihood of losing his position as Vice President of Xingyue Media after this incident.

“I have something urgent to attend to. If you have further questions, please direct them to Deputy Director Song,” he announced, then strode away without a backward glance.

The reporters, who had been expecting a good show, sighed in disappointment. Still, the earlier drama had been more than enough.

As Li Xiguang left the hall, he unleashed his fury on Xia Xiaohe. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me that the author of ‘The Lone Warrior’ was this Su Bai? Why didn’t you remind me when you contacted him? Why do I pay you if you’re going to be useless?”

Xia Xiaohe’s face flushed bright red, head bowed. “I... I... I...” she stammered. She wanted to retort that he’d watched the video himself, and the comment section was filled with people pointing out that the two songs were by the same author. How could he not have seen it? Was it her fault he was blind? Now that something had gone wrong, he was blaming her. But years of workplace experience told her this was not the time for excuses.

“Vice President Li, should I find those reporters and ask them not to leak any footage from the press conference?” she suggested. At her words, a cold sweat broke out on Li Xiguang’s forehead.

That was the most crucial point. Losing face was one thing, but as long as the footage didn’t spread, there was still hope. He’d been too furious to think straight.

“Do whatever it takes to keep their mouths shut. Don’t worry about the cost—I’ll cover it all.” With that, Li Xiguang hurried off, so fast that he nearly stumbled. He was shaken to his core.

Inside the press conference, Song Liang was in high spirits as he briefed the reporters on the upcoming song contest. He even revealed that Director Zhang Mingke, head of the Palace Museum’s cultural promotion, held “Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth” in high regard. There was a strong chance the song would be selected directly.

As the press conference drew to a close and the journalists were preparing to leave, Song Liang suddenly called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have one final matter! To clarify that there were no under-the-table dealings between myself and Mr. Su Bai, I am willing to make public the original surveillance footage from that day. You may each take a copy and have it authenticated by any institution you wish. I can guarantee these are the raw, unedited files. However, before viewing, I ask that you switch off all your recording devices.”

Su Bai looked at Song Liang in surprise. He knew that releasing the surveillance footage might have some negative impact on Song Liang’s own reputation—after all, he had tried to throw Su Bai out that day. More importantly, if their conversation were leaked, it could cause an earthquake in the entertainment industry.

On the video: All the reporters watched as Su Bai, dressed in a delivery uniform, walked into the director’s office. At that moment, Xu Mingkun had just finished performing outside. Song Liang was swearing angrily, “What the hell was that performance? Who invited him? Get him out of here!” The female assistant then explained that the sponsors had backed Xu Mingkun, which also came to light. The reporters’ circle erupted.

Now they understood why Song Liang had requested recording devices be switched off—there was an even bigger scandal hidden here. Next, Su Bai expressed his wish to try, and was nearly thrown out. Only when he began to sing unaccompanied did Song Liang grow interested and allow him to perform on stage.

When the video ended, a profound silence fell over the reporters. Reflecting on how they had previously smeared Su Bai, many felt a pang of shame.

It was now clear: how could someone capable of creating such grand, stirring works as “Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth” and “The Lone Warrior,” both brimming with national spirit, be the type to chase fame at the expense of his beliefs?

A female reporter spoke up first. “Mr. Su Bai, Mr. Song Liang, I apologize—we misunderstood you.” She introduced herself. “I’m Wu Qian from Shanghai Entertainment. I am sorry for what I did earlier.” After Wu Qian’s apology, the other reporters followed suit.

“That’s right, Mr. Su Bai, please give us a chance to make amends. Once we have the video, we’ll use it to set the record straight.”

Su Bai cupped his hands politely. “I accept your apologies. However, I wasn’t the only one wronged. Director Song was as well. Shouldn’t you also apologize to him?”

Song Liang grinned. Between men, sometimes just a few words were enough to convey understanding.

Hearing the apologies, Song Liang replied cheerfully, “I can provide you with the footage, but only from the moment Su Bai begins singing. The earlier part cannot be released. I believe you all understand why. The reason for showing you the footage from Su Bai’s entry onward is to avoid any accusations of taking things out of context. Now that the misunderstanding is resolved and you’re willing to clarify the matter online, you have my full support.”

As the reporters dispersed, Song Liang and Su Bai went together to Song Liang’s office. Through this incident, Su Bai gained a deeper understanding of Song Liang. He was a man worth working with—when something needed doing, he did it.

Song Liang had been willing to risk exposing the shady deal between Xu Mingkun and his backers, and even his own reputation, just to clear Su Bai’s name. Su Bai suspected that he had blocked the path for Xu Mingkun and his investors, and perhaps their hands had been behind the earlier attempts to bring him down. Still, he was moved by Song Liang’s actions.

“What do you think, Brother Su?” Song Liang asked. “Have you considered the A contract I mentioned earlier?”

“Brother Song, as I said before, I still need to take care of my sister. Even if I join your company, it will have to wait until she’s fully recovered. However, as for ‘Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth,’ since I promised to donate it to the nation for free, I can entrust the publishing rights to your company. After all, even if I sign with you now, it wouldn’t be right if I couldn’t participate in any company activities.”

Hearing this, Song Liang understood and did not press further.