Investment Cashback, Billionaire God [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 4: The Public Opinion Battle

Chapter 4: The Public Opinion Battle

[Does anyone not know that the composer of “Scorching” is a habitual plagiarist? Right after graduation five years ago, they dared to copy Yingying’s new song, and later repeatedly copied three consecutive singles released by seniors. I suggest Sound Hope remove this song from their library to avoid getting into trouble. Let me say it again, thieves get out of Star Entertainment (]

[We’re just here to watch a dance video. As long as the BGM sounds good and hits hard, that’s all that matters. Why are you debating originality under a male bodhisattva’s borderline video? You scared me I thought the blogger had scandal too.]

[Huh??? “Scorching” was plagiarized too? How come it’s not trending?]

[Aren’t all Sound Hope’s hit songs just patchworks? Why not go after other songs?

OP, I’ve seen this exact copy dozens of times today. Could the troll army be more professional and write a few different comments? Seeing the same copy over and over really makes it hard not to suspect you’re being paid to smear.]

[How much per comment? Delete this and let me post it.]

[Although I know nobody will read this, I still want to borrow this thread to explain. I’ve been Brother Qiao’s fan for five years. The plagiarism controversy back then was never proven the other side only released a timeline of creation, while the concepts and creative process were all vague. In contrast, Brother Qiao’s explanations were more substantial. They were just bullying a newcomer in the music industry with no backing, forcing him to apologize.]

[Let the bullet fly a bit longer [wicked laugh], waiting for the plot twist.]

[OP, stop nitpicking you even forgot to delete the brackets.]

After the brief euphoria, Qiao Ankuang also noticed the divided discussions online.

His past experiences were quickly dug up, sparking disputes in the comment sections of every related short video blogger.

A flood of comments launched a massive critique of his various past “deeds.” Some joined the bandwagon to boycott him, others defended him fiercely, but the majority were curious onlookers just watching the drama.

Suddenly, it felt like all the vicious remarks that had once dragged him into hell were back.

He took a deep breath, knowing he had caused trouble for the company.

If he hadn’t been carrying all these controversies himself, they wouldn’t have encountered so much backlash when releasing the song.

Although these comments didn’t affect the spread and explosive popularity of “Scorching,” they still brought considerable negative pressure.

“Director Fang, I’m sorry…”

As if reading his mind, his boss’s voice on the other end of the call was calm and steady: “Teacher Qiao, any publicity is good publicity. I don’t provide psychological counseling. Since it’s come to this, accept it calmly. Right now, you just need to do two things.”

“First, open a personal account on the Sound Hope platform immediately. Post the creative concept behind ‘Scorching,’ then film a video showing your face to announce that you’ll release a new single within ten days.”

“Second, write another song completely different from your previous style. This time, there’s only one requirement don’t use the default instrument samples from the online music library. The more obscure the instruments you use, the better, preferably ones that haven’t appeared in pop music in decades.”

“If you need to purchase physical instruments or recording equipment, just let me know. I’ve transferred two million to your account.”

These brief words immediately settled Qiao Ankuang. He couldn’t help chuckling a couple of times. Two million given just like that where else could he find such a generous and capable boss?

He promptly pushed the toxic online arguments to the back of his mind, repeatedly expressed his thanks, and gradually let his thoughts drift toward creating the new song.

Qiao Ankuang was completely preoccupied with deciding which rare and unconventional instrument to use, so much so that he didn’t even notice when the call ended.

Unlike Qiao Ankuang’s dramatic emotional swings, Fang Zhuo had long anticipated this public opinion battle.

His initial decision to promote on the Sound Hope Platform was precisely for this reason the comment section here felt more authentic, mostly filled with casual observers just watching for entertainment. The opposing side’s attempts to buy negative publicity could easily backfire.

This definitely wouldn’t be the last time. When he released his next song, he would inevitably face even more aggressive attacks from the opposition.

He had no time to hesitate and lament like Qiao Ankuang. Releasing a new song quickly to clear his name was more important than anything else.

After Qiao Ankuang’s account posted a teaser for the new song, Fang Zhuo forwarded it to Jiang Yu: [Invest 500,000 t worth of Sound+ traffic for each of the two videos on this account.]

Jiang Yu replied instantly: [Received!]

The copyright royalty distribution process in this world was quite efficient. By the morning after the release of “Scorching,” Fang Zhuo had received over 40 million in returns, and this number continued to rise at a significant rate.

The Sound+ investment from the previous day was already showing results both videos had surpassed ten million likes.

The comment sections were buzzing with discussions, with some waiting to see him fail and others cautiously observing the direction of public opinion.

Although not all the feedback was positive, it had generated substantial hype.

With the promotion and release of “Scorching” temporarily concluded and a stable source of income secured, Fang Zhuo moved out of the suburban villa and into the penthouse of a high-end apartment in the city center of District 139.

As soon as he sat down on the sofa, he saw the system flash a large red warning in front of his eyes:

[Ding ding ding, this is an ominous warning. When the host sees this message, it means your remaining survival days are less than ten. Your initial random disease level has been adjusted to Level 2.]

[When the host’s survival time drops below three days, you will receive a severe illness buff, and the severity of this illness will continue to escalate. Please remember to renew your lifespan in time!]

Along with this reminder, Fang Zhuo felt the slight burning sensation in his stomach intensify into sharp, contracting pains. He slowly bent over, suppressing the intense discomfort.

A Level 2 pain was enough to prevent him from engaging in strenuous activities, so it was no surprise that the subsequent severe illness buff would strip him of the ability to think and function.

If it really came to that, even a deity wouldn’t be able to turn things around.

He needed to speed up his progress.

The returns from “Scorching” were already enough to cover the interest on the one billion loan. He attempted to exchange for three more days of lifespan, but this time the cost had skyrocketed to eight million per day.

The pain radiating from his stomach instantly eased, and the system removed the red warning message.

A little bit keenly sensed his dissatisfaction and popped up to offer comforting words: [Host, actually, the initial debuff you randomly got is quite decent. There was once an operator who drew a severe hemorrhoids buff every slight movement would make their butt bleed. Oh, and someone else once got severe diarrhea and had to carry a portable toilet with them whenever they went out…]

Fang Zhuo: [Thank you, I feel much better now.]

The apartment spanned nearly 200 square meters, with almost no partitions inside. The living room alone covered 100 square meters. The walls were lined with large glass panels, and with a simple voice command, the reflections on the glass could instantly transform the scenery.

The monotonous cityscape of the industrial star outside the window vanished, replaced by a cold snowfall descending upon a fir forest.

Inside the room, the temperature remained perpetually constant. He loosened his collar, poured a glass of ice water from the direct-drink dispenser, and began carefully reviewing the notifications that had popped up on the system panel over the past two days.

[Investment Target Slot One: Qiao Ankuang]

[Intelligence: 6] [Physical Strength: 3] [Appearance: 5] [Emotional Intelligence: 6]

[Initial Value Assessment: 1,720]

[Current Value Assessment: 415,000]

[Investment return rate has exceeded a hundredfold. This slot can be freely unbound.]

[Based on settlement results, the fourth investment slot has been unlocked for the host. Keep up the good work!]

[Congratulations, Host! Achievement Unlocked: ‘Artist-Related Discussions Surpass 100,000’]

[Congratulations Again, Host! Achievement Unlocked: ‘First Ten Million’]

[Congratulations, Host! Achievement Unlocked: ‘Work Circulation Surpasses 100,000′]

His gaze lingered on the discussion volume entry. Fang Zhuo lightly tapped the armrest of his chair with his index finger. It seemed that not only cash returns could trigger achievements, but reaching a certain level of exposure was equally effective.

Realizing this, he pulled up the original novel and reread it, taking notes at key points.

“Blazing Starlight” spanned thousands of chapters. Even if Ruan Zihan had been reborn, human memory couldn’t compare to having the original text readily at hand.

The novel was filled with numerous minor characters who appeared only once or twice, flitting briefly through specific story arcs as accessories to the arc’s protagonists.

Now, due to Ruan Zihan’s deliberate suppression, these arc-specific characters had either faded into obscurity or been sidelined. The minor characters they were supposed to bring into the industry were likely still following their original life trajectories, quietly awaiting a turning point that would never come.

A butterfly flapping its wings lightly had not only destroyed the brilliant lives those important characters were meant to have but also radiated outward to affect hundreds of obscure names.

Fang Zhuo circled a few inconspicuous supporting characters from the text. These individuals might not necessarily bring massive cash returns, but they could generate significant buzz.

He opened the largest social app on StarNet and sent a message to an account named “No Photos from Qin Yi Today.”

The account’s homepage was mostly filled with candid photos of celebrities taken at spaceship ports. The image quality was indeed high. The shooting angles were oddly chosen yet always managed to highlight the celebrities’ best features, filling the comment sections with effusive praise from various fans.

Perhaps due to receiving too many private messages, “No Photos from Qin Yi Today” didn’t respond to Fang Zhuo all night.

The next morning, he took a spaceship directly to the Federal University of Political Science and Law on the Primary Star.

The law department was having a tedious large lecture in the comprehensive building’s first-floor auditorium. Qin Yi sprawled across the desk, secretly opening her Light Brain to edit photos she had taken the day before.

She was in her fourth year, at the crossroads of choosing between employment or further studies. Although she had earned some money during university by photographing celebrities at spaceship ports, this side gig wasn’t sustainable long-term.

She figured she’d most likely end up doing miscellaneous work at a law firm after graduation, starting as an assistant lawyer and gradually obtaining her practicing license.

Amid the hectic work, she would slowly detach from the unrealistic dreams woven by enthusiastic fans on StarNet, gradually becoming just another boring adult.

Every class in senior year was so sleep-inducing. Before she could finish editing her photos, she had already dozed off with her head resting on her arm.

The dream felt unrealistically sweet Qin Yi dreamed that during her sophomore year, she had been privately messaged by a celebrity studio. An incredibly beautiful female idol claimed to adore her photography and even wanted to bring her along to film behind-the-scenes content on set.

It was like a massive opportunity had fallen right into her lap. She couldn’t help but chuckle, and the sound of her own laughter woke her up.

Her roommate nudged her gently, “A-Yi, stop sleeping. Class is over, and there’s an entertainment company boss waiting for you outside.”

Qin Yi’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Huh? What does he want with me?”

Could it be that manifesting dreams actually worked? Was she about to be discovered by a high-level talent scout from an agency?

Well, at least they had good taste.

Despite her thoughts, Qin Yi remained cautious and extended her hand toward the man. “I need to see your Star Federation Entertainment Industry Certification Card.”

As the entertainment industry flourished, fraudulent agencies had sprung up like mushrooms after rain. To curb this chaos, the Star Federation had introduced a specialized certification process last year only stamped companies were authorized to operate in the entertainment sector.

Fang Zhuo smoothly pulled up the certification card from his system interface and sent it to her Light Brain, gesturing politely. “Let’s walk and talk. We can grab coffee at Hopeful Seat SOHO.”

When a Private Cloud Array descended from the sky, all Qin Yi’s doubts instantly vanished.

After all, renting one of those cost tens of thousands a day, and its route was tracked in real-time extremely secure. No scammer would invest that much to trick a college student with barely any money to her name.

Fang Zhuo’s Cloud Array was, of course, rented he wasn’t fond of squeezing into public transport with strangers.

Still, given his current progress, he believed owning a Private Cloud Array was only a matter of time.

Sitting in a café where a simple Americano cost over three hundred credits, Qin Yi shifted uncomfortably. Listening to the server’s soft-spoken inquiries, she didn’t know where to put her hands and feet.

After asking about her preferences, the man confidently ordered two coffees in English and projected the contract onto her Light Brain.

“Ms. Qin, as a top student from the Star Federation’s premier law and political science university, reviewing a straightforward talent contract like this should be a piece of cake for you.”

Qin Yi clutched her head. “Please, don’t call me Ms. Qin, and definitely not ‘top student.’ I feel like I’ve been teleported into a business meeting. I really have a bit of a generation gap with you successful professionals.”

Propping her chin in her hand, she carefully read through the contract. “The terms look fine, boss. But can I ask why you want to sign me?”

Fang Zhuo replied, “I’ve taken note of your photography skills and your ability to manage fan communities. I’d like you to shoot a set of stage photos for a female idol. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to meet her.”

Dream and reality suddenly overlapped. Qin Yi felt her mind go numb and was almost ready to sign the contract right away.

But just as her fingertip touched the Virtual Screen, she pulled her hand back. “Could we make it next Tuesday? My internship report deadline is tomorrow night at midnight.”

He neither agreed nor refused, only offering a faint, subtle smile.

The latest model of action camera was pushed toward her. Qin Yi gasped in surprise, her mouth falling open, then heard her boss continue: “See if there’s any other camera or lens you’d like to buy. Make me a list after tomorrow night’s shoot wraps up.”

This action camera had just been released last month and was currently selling at heavily inflated prices. She’d hesitated for a long time before, never quite willing to pull the trigger.

With what felt like shameless greed, Qin Yi tucked the camera into her backpack and swiftly signed her name on the contract with two quick strokes:

“Director Fang, shall we head out now?”

Author’s Note:

———————-