Chapter Ninety-Two: One After Another

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Entertainment is Nearby — No Pop-ups

Story timeline: April to May, 2006

Recommended song: Keith Urban — Tonight I Wanna Cry

Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is entirely coincidental.

“He’s just putting on airs. It’s not like we only refuse his shows. We’ve turned down plenty, but happened to accept his. Does he think he’s more qualified than Kang Ho-dong or Yoo Jae-suk? What right does he have to complain? Dead Cat fought tooth and nail to win first place, even got injured, and he has the nerve to make snide remarks, saying we’re just there to make up the numbers. He should be responsible for his words. For a senior to say something like that—what kind of senior is he? Frankly, we wouldn’t even let him carry Dead Cat’s shoes.” Li Ran was in a full-blown rage, having lost his usual composure in the face of Lee Nam-gyu’s explosive comments.

“Li Ran, the real issue isn’t what he said, but how many people believe him, and how we should respond.” Li Tong remained calm, soothing the agitated Li Ran as he massaged his aching forehead.

The recent remarks from these two seniors had thrown the Korean entertainment industry, which always placed great importance on senior-junior relationships, into utter chaos. To clarify and remedy the situation, Li Tong and Li Ran hadn’t slept for two nights, racking their brains for solutions.

“Ziyi, what’s the current reaction online?” Li Tong decided it was best to first get a full picture of the situation.

“Yes, Uncle Li.” Jiang Ziyi stood up, holding a stack of reports. Seeing his sister’s expression, Jiang Yihan realized there was little good news and began to feel a headache coming on as well. “From the incident with Lu Xianfeng up to Lee Nam-gyu’s interview yesterday, about sixty percent of online voices are now opposed to Jiang Yihan’s actions, and the trend is worsening. A large group of anti-fans dominate the conversation, spreading half-truths and rumors to smear Jiang Yihan’s reputation, stirring public sentiment and growing the opposition. Although mainstream media toned down their criticism after our press conference, Lee Nam-gyu’s comments reignited the fire, and criticism of Jiang Yihan is back in the mainstream. As for support, it mainly comes from Zhang Nian of Begin and China’s Light Music magazine, but they’re outnumbered. The overall online trend is negative, and if we don’t act soon, things will only get worse. In the past two days, the official forum and CY have been flooded with complaints.”

“And what about the Castles?” Now calmer, Li Ran began to think things through carefully.

“The Castles conducted a poll among official fans. Currently, seventy-five percent believe in Jiang Yihan’s innocence, ten percent don’t, and fifteen percent are waiting to see, hoping both sides will prove their points.” Jiang Ziyi glanced at the report in her hand. The support from the Castles was perhaps the only good news.

“At least most of the Castles still have faith. We need to speed things up and steer the situation in our favor. The first thing is to manage our relationship with the media,” Li Tong concluded.

“These media people—when Lazy Cat was doing well, their praise couldn’t be higher. Now, at the first sign of trouble, they run faster than anyone.” Li Ran gritted his teeth.

“That’s how the media is. They report whatever counts as news. These days, truth is not their priority; entertainment and chaos are. The media is no longer the symbol of fairness it once was.” Jiang Ziyi shook her head, looking helplessly at the data.

“I’m not worried about anything else. I just hope my Castles can believe in my innocence.” Jiang Yihan let out a deep sigh.

As they spoke, a staff member entered, whispered something to Li Tong, and his expression changed. He quickly turned on the large TV in the conference room and switched to KBS2. A familiar face appeared onscreen.

“Damn it, now anyone can hold a press conference, huh?” Li Ran slammed his notebook on the table, recognizing Producer Li on TV.

“I’m a program producer. Normally, I wouldn’t speak about internal matters. But this incident has become something our whole industry should be wary of. Jiang Yihan’s rude and arrogant behavior isn’t just directed at his seniors—he’s the same with us producers. He can pick and choose what shows he accepts, refuse invitations at will, show up late or leave early, shout at staff on set, completely ignoring us seniors in production. I think his actions deserve everyone’s attention. For the sake of our industry’s standards, so such bad conduct doesn’t spread, I had to speak out.” Producer Li heaved a heavy sigh, looking heartbroken. “Honestly, there’s more going on behind the scenes. I just hope he realizes his mistakes and changes his ways.”

After Producer Li finished, the people in the room were left speechless. When someone can so completely turn the facts upside down, call black white, and confuse right and wrong, it truly leaves one at a loss. If Lu Xianfeng had only slightly distorted the facts and Lee Nam-gyu had twisted some of them, Producer Li had turned them entirely on their head. No one could have foreseen things would escalate like this.

One so-called “eyewitness” after another came forward to accuse Jiang Yihan of “crimes.” Without sufficient evidence to counter these claims, Jiang Yihan might well be buried by such accusations.

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As Li Tong and Li Ran searched for ways to resolve the crisis, new troubles continued to emerge.

On the third day, just as Li Ran had predicted, it seemed anyone could hold a press conference now. Lin Erxiang of FLY and a reporter appeared in front of the media, worsening the situation further.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Lin Erxiang from FLY. I’m only here today because so many people pleaded with me to speak.” Lin Erxiang’s humble and polite demeanor put the reporters at ease. “Regarding the recent controversy about Senior Jiang Yihan, I just want to say, don’t be too harsh on him. We’re all artists, but first and foremost, we’re human. We have our own personalities and tempers. Please don’t be overly critical of Senior Jiang Yihan.”

But just when it seemed the press conference might take a positive turn, Lin Erxiang’s next words plunged everything into darkness. “However, I must say, regardless of what kind of person Senior Jiang Yihan is, it is absolutely wrong for him to treat his juniors and seniors the way he did.”

Naturally, the question arose: “How did he treat his juniors?”

“He often criticized us harshly. Of course, as juniors, we should accept guidance from our seniors. But he himself hasn’t trained much—he only uses his seniority to constantly scold us, even though we sometimes know more than he does. But the worst part is, if we don’t do as he says, it’s not unusual for him to hit us.”

Lin Erxiang’s press conference was lively, and the media relished the chance to paint Jiang Yihan as a brand-new villain: not only disrespectful to elders, but also abusive toward juniors. The news sent the media into a frenzy, making it the top headline for the next day.

The so-called “insider” reporter was the same one who had spread rumors about Li Xiaoli and Jiang Yihan and had been thrown out by Li Ran. He recounted a bloody story—how he had tried to interview Jiang Yihan, been refused, assaulted, injured, and left powerless.

Coming from a reporter, these “facts” shocked everyone anew: not even journalists were safe from Jiang Yihan’s “violence.” Perhaps the matter really was serious.

The media had never loved Jiang Yihan so much. Every few days brought a new exposé, shattering his previous image and sending sales soaring. Even magazines devoted entire issues to analyzing Jiang Yihan, and their sales, too, climbed steadily.

The wave of press conferences subsided for now, but the issue was far from over. Online, things grew even more heated.

The “real” Jiang Yihan was being “exposed” to the world.

“He’s got no manners—never gives us autographs, always acts superior.”

“He even tried to take advantage of me when I asked for an autograph. It was truly frightening.”

“His personal life is a mess; I hear he’s involved with all kinds of female celebrities.”

“He’s a violent maniac. I heard his sister and manager are often beaten by him.”

“He’s a beast in human clothing. I almost got tricked by him once.”

At first, the online stories were vivid and detailed, but as time went on, they became more and more outlandish—eventually someone claimed Jiang Yihan was a legendary serial killer.

Jiang Yihan had given up; now, he read the news as if it were a joke or a novel. With a week of nothing on his schedule, he returned to a leisurely life. Exhausted in body and soul, he even began to wonder what might happen next.

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Online anti-fan sentiment gradually became mainstream. Even the Castles, who had once staunchly defended Jiang Yihan, began to waver. At first, they spoke out loudly on his behalf, but their voices were drowned out by the overwhelming opposition. Eventually, doubt crept in, and they started to wonder if any of it might be true.

In short, the anti-fan voices pushed the situation to a point of no return.

At this moment, a person seemingly outside the entertainment industry—but in fact, deeply connected to it—brought everything to a head, turning it into a societal issue and making Jiang Yihan the focal point of attention throughout South Korea, cast as a villain.

This middle-aged woman, surnamed Yoon, never showed her true face. She was the archetypal wealthy patroness rumored to keep young male artists. “I once made an offer to Jiang Yihan, but he turned it down because he thought the price was too low.”

“What price did you offer?” asked the so-called reporter.

“It was a price any top male celebrity would accept, but he was just a newcomer and refused. I believe he’d already been kept by someone else.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There are so many reasons. Haven’t you ever wondered?” Madam Yoon’s laughter, like tinkling bells, sent chills down everyone’s spine. “I offered such a high price, and he refused. Isn’t that strange? Unless someone was already paying him more. Then there’s his debut—after only a short training period, he became a star almost overnight. Isn’t that suspicious for a newcomer? And how did he land the Samsung and Ziyi commercials so quickly? You know how lucrative those are. Why would they sign a rookie? Unless someone pulled strings. And look at his recent blockbuster—if you investigate, you’ll find the film was made just for him. Who has that kind of money to fund a whole movie for Jiang Yihan? I doubt ABC Company does. And yet that simple film became the highest-grossing movie in Korean history. Isn’t that odd?”

A string of pointed questions, accompanied by Madam Yoon’s chilling laughter, spread across Korea.

Indeed, Jiang Yihan’s rise had been too smooth to avoid suspicion. Before, no one questioned it precisely because his ascent was so seamless. But now, with all eyes on Jiang Yihan, every question was dragged into the open. The “kept man” rumor became the focus of speculation.

Finally, Madam Yoon made a comment that shattered Jiang Yihan’s calm. She said mysteriously, “Don’t you know? Jiang Yihan is bisexual. That’s why he acted so well in that film.”

Jiang Yihan felt as if his lungs had burst. The slander, the smears, the false accusations had pushed him to his limit. He didn’t understand why they were doing this—was it really just because he was too successful? Why such vilification, such blatant distortion of the truth? It was as if facts no longer existed in the world.

Meanwhile, at ABN, the meeting between Cheng Shi and Lee Soo-man seemed almost cheerful. “Cheng Shi, you did well this time. Even though some of the claims are a stretch, anyone looking closely will spot the holes. But the anti-fans you mobilized online were very effective—they brought public suspicion to such a height that everything seemed to fall into place.”

“Thank you for your praise, President Lee,” Cheng Shi replied modestly.

“But you acted without my approval this time, and that wasn’t wise,” Lee Soo-man’s tone carried a warning that made Cheng Shi’s heart skip a beat. “Still, things have turned out well enough. Just pray there are no slip-ups going forward.” Cheng Shi relaxed a little, but Lee Soo-man’s next words tensed him up again. “But if anything goes wrong now, you’d better not show your face around here again. This incident has grown too big, and all the clues point to our company. If there’s a mistake, we can’t afford the consequences. Understood?” Lee Soo-man’s smiling face made sweat break out on Cheng Shi’s back.

It seemed the storm had finally quieted down. By mid-May, after wave upon wave of trouble, things seemed to subside—until news broke about someone else: Li Yimei.

Rambling Cat’s nagging: Two updates today—this is the first!