Su Ming stared at that reply for a long time.

The profile picture was a golden key, drawn in simple strokes.

The account name: @Key_17.

He clicked into it.

The account had been registered ten years ago. It had only ever posted one Weibo—that reply just now.

Nothing else.

Su Ming didn't respond.

He backed out and reopened the Music section of the Copyright Vault.

"Evening Breeze"'s lyrics copyright registration information lay spread out clearly before him—registration date: June 3, three years ago. Registration number: WY-20200603-0714. Original creation file hash: a 64-character string. Every single piece of data was ten times more solid than the three screenshots he'd posted online.

He tried searching his own name.

Seventeen copyright registration records appeared.

The earliest one—a club promotional post he'd written in his junior year of college. Registered seven years ago.

The latest one—the LOGO he'd made for a client last week. The client hadn't paid yet, but the copyright was already registered under his name.

He scrolled through them one by one.

There was a WeChat public account article he'd written the year he graduated. Back then, only two hundred people had read it. The Repository showed that three months ago, a marketing account with a million followers had reposted it verbatim, changed the title, and racked up eight hundred thousand reads.

The Repository had automatically generated an infringement record: "This work has been republished by a third-party platform without authorization. Legal action is recommended."

Su Ming stared at that infringement record for a moment.

He clicked into that marketing account's page and browsed around. They'd taken his articles, repackaged them, and published over twenty pieces—every single one breaking a hundred thousand views, ads rolling in nonstop.

And him—the original author—his article from three years ago had only two hundred readers.

He screenshotted it.

Then he backed out.

The interface was still there in his mind. Even with his eyes closed, he could still "see" the entrance to the Repository.

He tried searching a few songs.

Every lyric he'd ever written in college—he could see every single character. Every piece was registered, and the copyright owner was himself.

The first LOGO he'd designed after graduation—there was a registration record in the Repository, dated two months before the client's company was even incorporated.

A Weibo joke he'd casually written five years ago—the one a marketing account had plagiarized and turned into viral copy—its copyright was registered under his name.

Su Ming opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"Dad… what exactly did you leave me…"

---

The next morning, Su Ming was woken up by a phone call.

An unfamiliar number on the screen.

He answered.

"May I speak to Mr. Su Ming?"

"This is he."

"I'm the legal representative from Lin Qing Studio. Regarding the false information you've been spreading online, we'd like to discuss a settlement before proceeding with a formal lawsuit."

Su Ming sat up.

"A settlement? What are the terms?"

"You post an apology on Weibo, admitting the screenshots are forged. Our studio will not pursue criminal liability."

"And then?"

"And then there's nothing else."

Su Ming was silent for two seconds.

"The copyright registration documents I sent you—did you look at them?"

"What registration documents?"

"The ones I sent yesterday. Through Weibo DM. Two screenshots."

"We didn't receive them. They might have been filtered by the system."

Su Ming laughed.

"Then let me tell you verbally right now—"

"The lyrics copyright for 'Evening Breeze' belongs to me."

"The registration number is WY-20200603-0714. You can go check it with the Copyright Administration yourselves."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end.

Then the voice said, "Mr. Su, copyright registrations can be forged. We've already verified the things you posted—"

"No. Listen carefully."

Su Ming's voice was very calm.

"What I'm saying is—you can go check it at the Copyright Administration."

"The National Copyright Administration's database. Not the screenshots I posted online—the original records in the database."

"Go check it."

He hung up.

---

Ten in the morning.

Su Ming arrived at his "studio"—which was really just the living room of his rented room.

He opened his computer, logged into the Copyright Administration's website, and looked up the copyright registrations under his own ID number.

There was one registration record he had never applied for:

"Evening Breeze — Lyrics · Registration No. WY-20200603-0714 · Copyright Holder: Su Ming · Registration Date: June 3, three years ago"

He stared at the record.

He had never applied for this copyright registration.

His father had applied for it on his behalf before he passed away.

Su Ming screenshotted the page and saved it.

Then he opened the music streaming app and searched for "Evening Breeze."

It was still there.

He tapped into it.

Listened to it once.

The lyrics were the version he'd written. Not a single word changed.

"Evening breeze gently brushes your face—"

He closed it.

---

Two in the afternoon.

Lin Qing Studio's legal representative called again.

This time, the tone was different.

"Mr. Su, we checked the Copyright Administration's database—"

"Mm."

"This registration… we genuinely didn't see this record before yours. But—"

"But what?"

"But if there's a dispute between the registrant and the actual creator, we can pursue this through legal channels. The lyrics of this song were indeed written by our artist Lin Qing—"

"Lin Qing wrote them?"

"…………"

The other side didn't answer.

"Tell Lin Qing," Su Ming said.

"Tell her to come talk to me herself."

---

Five in the afternoon.

Su Ming's phone buzzed.

Not a Weibo DM.

It was WeChat.

An avatar that had been dormant in his friend list for three years—Lin Qing.

"Su Ming, let's meet."

Su Ming looked at the message and typed a few words.

"Alright."

"Time? Place?"

"Tonight at eight. The coffee shop downstairs from your place."

Su Ming froze.

There really was a coffee shop downstairs from his building.

How did Lin Qing know?

He typed back one word.

"Fine."

---

Seven fifty-five in the evening.

Su Ming sat at the table furthest inside the coffee shop.

Right at eight o'clock.

Lin Qing pushed the door open.

She was wearing a hat and a mask—a completely different person from the polished image online.

She sat down across from Su Ming and took off her mask.

"Long time no see."

"Three years," Su Ming said.

Lin Qing ordered an Americano. She waited until the coffee arrived before speaking.

"About that copyright registration—I asked my dad about it."

"Your dad?"

"My dad. He knew your dad."

Su Ming's hand, reaching for his water glass, stopped mid-motion.

"Your dad knew my dad?"

"Yeah. Your dad came to see him three years ago—said that if one day someone showed up with the registration number for 'Evening Breeze,' we should 'let it go. Step aside.'"

Su Ming set down his glass.

"And your dad agreed?"

"He agreed."

Lin Qing picked up her coffee and took a sip.

"So I'm not here to fight you today."

"I'm here to ask you—"

"What do you want?"

Su Ming looked at her.

"Three years ago, you said four words to me—'I'll definitely credit you.'"

"And now?"

Lin Qing lowered her head.

"I can credit you. We'll put out a statement saying you wrote the lyrics."

"That's it?"

"What else do you want?"

Su Ming leaned back in his chair.

"Last night, I was cursed out by eight million people."

"I explained myself three times. Not a single person believed me."

"Your studio's statement is still pinned on your Weibo—calling me a 'malicious photoshopping, extortion scammer.'"

"If you want me to forgive you—"

"Then delete that statement first. Post a clarification. Make it clear."

Lin Qing was silent for a moment.

The waiter came over to refill her water. She blocked the glass with her hand.

"No more, thanks."

Then she looked up at Su Ming.

"I can delete the statement. I can put out a clarification. But you'll have to give me some time—the studio isn't just run by me. There's also Fang Zimo's say in it."

"Fang Zimo?"

"Yeah. He's the producer of 'Evening Breeze.' And also… my boyfriend."

Su Ming didn't say anything.

"He told me there was no way you had a complete copyright chain. Told me not to panic. But clearly, he was wrong."

Su Ming stood up.

"Contact me after you've posted it, then."

He turned and walked away.

Lin Qing sat in the coffee shop, her coffee unfinished.

Her phone lit up.

In the studio's group chat, the legal representative was @-ing her.

"Lin Jie, we've thoroughly checked the Copyright Administration's records—the lyrics copyright does belong to Su Ming. The registration date is two months earlier than your music copyright. If we go to court, we have no chance of winning."

"And it looks like he has more than just this one. We found several other registration records under his name that overlap with other artists' works."

Lin Qing flipped her phone over and placed it face-down on the table.

End of Chapter 2: The Key