Lin Qing Studio didn't delete the statement.

On the third morning, that pinned Weibo post — "malicious photoshopping, extortion" — was still there.

By the time Su Ming scrolled past it, Lin Qing had been silent for two days.

He didn't reach out to her again.

He opened the copyright repository interface, found "Evening Breeze" under the music copyright category, and saw a button —

Authorization Status: Authorized (Authorized Party: Lin Qing)

Below it, a line of small print: "The authorizer may choose to revoke authorization."

He clicked revoke.

A confirmation box popped up.

"After revoking authorization, all existing authorizations for this work on all platforms will immediately become invalid. Confirm?"

Su Ming clicked confirm.

"Operation successful. Copyright status updated to: Unauthorized."

2:00 PM.

Major music platforms across the entire internet simultaneously removed "Evening Breeze."

No warning. No announcement.

The song just vanished from playlists — users who were listening midsentence got cut off, greeted by a message: "This work has been removed."

Weibo exploded.

#EveningBreezeRemoved shot to number one on trending.

#LinQingPlagiarism appeared right behind at number seventeen, then climbed at a visible pace.

"What's going on?? I was just listening and it disappeared!"

"I was about to post about this song on my Moments and now I can't find it."

"Lin Qing Studio, say something!"

"Does this have something to do with that Su Ming guy?!"

"I knew it. I said those lyrics didn't sound like Lin Qing — go back and listen to 'Evening Breeze.' The word choice is completely different from her other songs."

"Right! 'Evening Breeze' lyrics are way more detailed, denser imagery. Lin Qing's own lyrics lean colloquial."

"So the truth is — someone else wrote the lyrics, she refused to acknowledge it, he produced evidence, and she took it down?"

"Above logic doesn't hold. If Su Ming took it down, that means the copyright is really his."

"This drama keeps getting bigger…"

Su Ming scrolled through trending. His expression didn't change.

His phone rang.

It was Lin Qing.

"Su Ming! What did you do?!"

Her voice was shaking.

"I revoked the authorization."

"What gives you the right —"

"The fact that the lyrics copyright for that song belongs to me."

"You —"

"I told you yesterday. If you put out a clarification statement, I wouldn't do anything."

"You didn't. So I handled it myself."

"Do you have any idea that song is my biggest hit — 800 million streams across all platforms — what am I supposed to do now that you took it down?!"

"That's your problem."

Su Ming hung up.

4:00 PM.

Lin Qing Studio finally put out a new statement.

Not a clarification.

An apology.

"Statement regarding the lyrics authorship of 'Evening Breeze': After verification, the lyricist of this song is confirmed to be Mr. Su Ming. The studio and Ms. Lin Qing extend our sincere apologies to Mr. Su Ming for our previous improper statement. Relevant disputes are being actively discussed."

Su Ming read it.

Took a screenshot.

Then he opened the copyright repository and changed the authorization status of "Evening Breeze" back to "Authorized."

7:00 PM. "Evening Breeze" was back online.

But the tide on Weibo had already turned completely.

"The studio apologized?? Didn't they say he photoshopped everything?"

"So Lin Qing really did steal someone else's lyrics."

"That Su Ming got abused for three days and nights before getting one apology… if that were an ordinary person, they'd probably be depressed by now."

"Let me just say this — if you found out something you wrote was used by someone else without your name on it, you posted proof, and eight million people called you a liar — how long could you last?"

"He lasted three days. I'd have broken down on day one."

"Consider me a fan now. This Su Ming is seriously tough."

"Wait — if he really wrote the lyrics for 'Evening Breeze,' does he have anything else?"

Su Ming saw that comment.

He didn't reply.

But he opened the music search bar in the copyright repository.

Typed: "Lin Qing."

23 songs appeared.

He typed another name.

"Fang Zimo."

The search results jumped out.

"Fang Zimo · 47 registered works"

He opened the first one.

Fang Zimo's signature song — "Night Voyage." 1.5 billion streams. Song of the Year. Made half the audience cry at the awards ceremony.

The copyright registration line read —

Lyrics: Fang Zimo
Music: Fang Zimo

Su Ming scrolled down.

Copyright traceability record.

Hash match result of the original creation file —

"Original lyrics copyright registrant for this work: Zhou Yuan (not Fang Zimo)"

Su Ming's finger stopped on the screen.

He opened the second one.

"Lonely Island." Also one of Fang Zimo's signature songs.

Original registrant: Zhou Yuan.

Third one, "Sleepless Night." 1.2 billion streams.

Original registrant: Zhou Yuan.

Fourth, fifth, sixth…

Fang Zimo's 47 songs.

Su Ming went through them one by one.

Song 17, original registrant: Zhou Yuan. Song 23, original registrant: Zhou Yuan. Song 31, original registrant: Zhou Yuan. Song 39, original registrant: Zhou Yuan.

He counted.

Out of 47 songs, 29 had original lyrics copyright registrants that weren't Fang Zimo.

All pointing to the same person — Zhou Yuan.

Su Ming didn't know the name, but he recognized Zhou Yuan's writing style.

He'd heard "Night Voyage" many times — there was a line in the lyrics: "Ship at sea, man in dreams." The first time he heard it, he thought the phrasing felt familiar, like the work of some niche creator.

Now he knew who it was.

Su Ming didn't know this name.

He searched for Zhou Yuan.

A Weibo account from three years ago. Last post dated two years back:

"Too tired to write songs anymore. I'm out. Take care, everyone."

Seven comments below it.

The first one: "Bro Yuan, don't go. The songs you wrote were really good."

The second one: "That 'Night Voyage' lyrics by Fang Zimo… wasn't that yours?"

Zhou Yuan didn't reply to that one.

The others were similar — people expressing regret, asking questions, someone asking "Did someone ghostwrite for you?"

Zhou Yuan didn't reply to any of them.

And then — nothing. No more updates.

Su Ming looked at the timestamp on Zhou Yuan's last post.

Two years, three months, and seven days ago.

Exactly the month Fang Zimo won Song of the Year for "Night Voyage."

He clicked into Zhou Yuan's profile and read through all his Weibo posts.

Forty-three in total.

Mostly sharing his daily lyric-writing grind — "Wrote sixteen words today, deleted twelve," "Stayed up all night finally got the chorus right," "Client said it was too artsy. I said, what'd you expect?"

The last one was that "I'm out" post.

There was one comment he'd replied to — his only reply.

Someone asked: "Bro Yuan, did someone screw you over?"

Zhou Yuan replied: "No. Just tired."

Su Ming stared at that line and sat in the dark for a long time.

Then he opened that account: @Key_17.

Sent a DM:

"Who are you?"

He waited five minutes.

No reply.

He sent another one:

"Where is Zhou Yuan now?"

This time, a reply came.

A key icon lit up.

"Alive. Not in the industry anymore."

"What do you want to do?"

Su Ming thought for a moment, then typed a few words.

"Let him know —"

"That what's his is still his."

After sending that DM, Su Ming placed his phone on the desk.

He stared at the streetlamp outside the window. Light filtered through the gaps in the blinds, falling across the wall in stripes — like musical staves.

Three seconds later, his phone buzzed.

@Key_17 replied.

"He doesn't care anymore. But you do. That's why you're the Guardian."

Su Ming looked at those words. He didn't reply.

He put his phone in his pocket, stood up, and walked to the window.

He'd walked that street downstairs for three years.

Today, it looked different.

Su Ming searched Zhou Yuan's name and cross-referenced it in the copyright repository — Zhou Yuan had over sixty lyrics registered under his name. All original registrations. Not a single one was ultimately credited to him.

Over sixty.

Enough for three albums.

Su Ming closed the search and sat in the dark for a long time.

He thought about his own song, "Evening Breeze" — if his dad hadn't registered the copyright in advance, he'd be just like Zhou Yuan now. Abused by the entire internet, then shut up and disappear.

But he didn't.

He had the copyright repository.

Zhou Yuan didn't.

Su Ming sat back at his desk and reopened his computer.

He typed a line into a document:

"Fang Zimo · Work Copyright Traceability Report"

Then he started organizing, one by one.

Song 1, "Night Voyage." Original registrant: Zhou Yuan. Registration date: nine months before Fang Zimo's public credit.

Song 2, "Lonely Island." Original registrant: Zhou Yuan.

Song 3, "Sleepless Night." Original registrant: Zhou Yuan. Registration date: one year and two months early.

As he organized, the realization sank in — this wasn't one instance of a lazy creator cutting corners. It was a systematic ghostwriting operation that had lasted years.

He was going to give Zhou Yuan's work back to him. Piece by piece.

Outside the window, dawn was breaking.

Su Ming saved the document. File name: "Fang Zimo_Copyright_Traceability_Full.doc."

He closed his laptop and lay down on the bed.

His phone was still buzzing.

Not hateful DMs this time — just countless notifications.

People had been leaving comments under his "Hello, Global Copyright Repository" Weibo post.

"Boss, are you serious? Did you really write 'Evening Breeze'?"

"Following. Waiting for your next move."

"That Fang Zimo guy… should we look into him too?"

Su Ming stared at that last comment. He didn't reply.

He turned off his phone.

End of Chapter 3: First Song Removed