Chapter 9: The First Crack in the Facade
The digital storm broke not with a thunderclap, but with a whisper—a sly, insidious post on "Starfall Whispers," the galaxy's most notorious gossip aggregator. It appeared anonymously, of course, titled with faux concern: "Is our 'Little Nightingale's' song built on a foundation of obsession? A glimpse into a forgotten diary..."
The post contained a scanned image of a journal entry, the handwriting unmistakably youthful and fervent, yet undeniably belonging to Qu Tang. It was one of the less volatile excerpts Bai Youyou had unearthed, but its power lay in its pathetic, delusional detail. It chronicled the original owner's frantic, almost religious, dissection of celebrity gossip columns, treating them as sacred texts that held the keys to the Beast Husbands' hearts.
"Patriarch Jin Chen's eyes are the color of molten gold under a twin sun," the entry read, the words dripping with a desperate, worshipful awe. "I will find a dress that exact shade. I have read he favors the Sun-Deer steak from the royal preserves of Xanathar. I will learn to cook it perfectly. He is a creature of refined taste; he will notice the effort. He will notice me."
The effect on Qu Tang's stream was instantaneous and devastating. Her chat, usually a warm river of support and playful emojis, erupted into a chaotic warzone.
[User78]: Holy stars! Is this real? She was a total stalker! [FluffyTail]: This is disgusting! Who digs up a young girl's private diary? This is a vile invasion! [StarScavenger]: I don't know... it doesn't look good. Kinda makes you understand the divorce. [User22]: Wait, so this whole gentle, resilient act is just a new strategy? A way to get their attention again? That's next-level crazy. [MooncakeLover]: Everyone makes mistakes when they're young! She was probably scared and alone!
Qu Tang was in the middle of a singing stream when the mod alerts started pinging frantically. She finished her song, her smile faltering as she read the scrolling chaos. Her blood ran cold, a frigid wave washing over her from head to toe. It was like watching a ghost step out of a grave wearing her face. These words—this frantic, unhinged energy—were foreign to her soul, yet they were penned in her own hand, a relic of the life she had been thrust into. A sickening vertigo gripped her. Who had done this? How had they reached so deeply into a past that wasn't even truly hers?
Panic, sharp and acrid, clawed at her throat. The instinct to flee was overwhelming—to shut down the stream, disconnect her terminal, and hide from the world that was now staring at the most humiliating pages of her history.
But then she saw the doubt metastasizing in the chat. She saw the narrative twisting, the original owner's madness being used to paint her current self as a calculated fraud. This was Bai Youyou's signature. This was the serpent's bite.
Swallowing the lump of ice in her throat, Qu Tang leaned closer to the microphone. The playful glint was gone from her eyes, replaced by a weary but firm resolve. "I see... that some very old, very private words of mine have found their way into the light," she began, her voice softer than usual but remarkably steady. She did not deny it. She could not.
"The person who wrote those words," she continued, choosing her words with care, "was a young girl. She was naive, terrified, and utterly unprepared for the gilded cage she was thrown into. She was handed a fairy tale and then punished for being foolish enough to believe in it. She made mistakes. She clung to fantasies because the reality was too terrifying to face."
She took a slow breath, looking directly into the camera, making a connection not with a crowd, but with each individual viewer. "I am not that scared girl anymore. That life is a closed book. The woman I am now is trying to build something real, with her own two hands and her own voice. I ask that you judge me on the content of my character today, on the songs I sing now, and the stories I tell now—not on the desperate fictions of a past I can never change."
It was a gamble. A humble admission wrapped in a plea for empathy. For a long moment, the chat slowed. Then, her core fans rallied with a vengeance, flooding the channel with supportive messages and donations, a digital shield against the onslaught. But the poison was in the water now. The hashtag #FakeNingale began to trend in a dark corner of the network, a whisper campaign meant to slowly erode her foundation.
Bai Youyou's Perspective: The Serpent's Satisfaction
Bai Youyou watched the entire spectacle from her opulent apartment, a crystal flute of rare lunar nectar in her hand. A cold, triumphant smile played upon her perfectly sculpted lips. The panic that had flashed in Qu Tang's eyes, the slight tremor in her voice during her pathetic little speech—it had been a symphony to her ears.
This was merely the overture.
Leaning back against her silk cushions, she scrolled through the emerging #FakeNingale tag with delight. Each skeptical comment, each expression of disgust, was a tiny victory. She had copies of the far more damaging entries saved—the ones where the desperation curdled into something darker, where the obsession hinted at the madness that would lead to attacking Lu Jue. She would release them slowly, strategically, like drops of poison in a well.
She wanted to see the Little Nightingale's carefully constructed facade crack under the weight of her own pathetic history. She wanted to watch every shred of admiration curdle into suspicion. This wasn't just about winning; it was about restoration. It was about reminding the universe of the natural order. A common, unstable orphan from a radioactive rock had no right to bask in the admiration and protection meant for someone of her own refined lineage and power. She, Bai Youyou, was the destined heroine, the S-grade soothing light. This Qu Tang was a shadow, a fraud, a mistake that needed to be corrected.
With meticulous cruelty, Bai Youyou began planning the next leak. She would let the public sit with this first taste of scandal for a cycle, let the curiosity and doubt build to a fever pitch. Then, she would unveil a juicier, darker morsel. She would peel back the layers of this impostor one humiliating strip at a time, until nothing was left but the ugly, undeniable truth of the crazy woman she had always been. The phantom of the original owner, the ghost Qu Tang thought she had buried, was now Bai Youyou's most potent weapon.