MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

a girl shouted, standing from her seat.

"No, no, he’s looking at me!" another cried, her hands waving frantically.

"You’re both wrong, he’s staring right at our section!" someone else yelled, almost in tears.

Soon the fans were arguing with each other, each desperately claiming that Fu Jingrong’s eyes had chosen them. But the truth was different. His gaze wasn’t vague. It was piercing, unwavering, locked onto a single point—as though whoever he was staring at carried a weight far heavier than anyone else in the room.

The atmosphere shifted. The clamor slowly died as people realized this wasn’t just a random glance. His eyes were too focused, too intense, burning with meaning that ordinary words could not explain. It was the kind of gaze one gave to someone who mattered deeply—perhaps too deeply.

And then, in the midst of the murmurs, the chaos, the stage changed again.

From the opposite side, a figure emerged. A woman stepped into the light, her every movement commanding attention.

She was dressed in fiery red. A gown that shimmered with each step, clinging to her form before flaring like flames at her heels. Her lips, painted crimson, curved ever so slightly into a smile that carried both allure and danger.

Even her shoes—razor-sharp heels of striking red—clicked against the stage with a sound that echoed through the silence. It was the sound of arrival, the sound of dominance.

Her skin was pale, but not the porcelain pallor of natural beauty. No—hers was the whiteness born of long illness, the kind that hinted at fragility. And yet, instead of diminishing her charm, it enhanced it, making the scarlet of her gown blaze even more vividly.

Her hair was styled flawlessly, each strand in place, as though hours had been spent ensuring not even the faintest imperfection would remain. Under the stage lights, she looked less like a performer and more like an apparition of fire, stepping out of the shadows to reclaim her throne.

As soon as she appeared, Fu Jingrong’s music shifted—his hands still moved, but the melody softened, warmed. And then, the impossible happened.

A smile bloomed on his lips.

It was faint, fleeting, yet enough to send the audience into pure chaos.

"Did you see that?!"

"He smiled—he actually smiled!"

"And it’s because of her! Who is she?!"

"My God, she looks like... no, it can’t be..."

Online, the livestream chat exploded. Comments flooded the screen at blinding speed.

[Who’s the woman in red??]

[The moment she appeared, Fu Jingrong smiled!]

[Oh my God, I’m shaking, he never smiles on stage—never!]

[Wait, isn’t that... isn’t that...!]

[No way... no way it’s her. She disappeared after that accident, didn’t she?!]

[If that’s really... the whole entertainment world is about to flip upside down.]

Inside the stadium, shockwaves rippled through the crowd. People leapt from their seats, craning their necks for a better view. Some covered their mouths with trembling hands, others shrieked uncontrollably. The sound rose and fell like a tidal wave of disbelief.

Back at the nominees’ section, Hua Ling’s face froze. Her smile, once carefully maintained for the cameras, shattered completely.

Her pupils shrank. Her breath hitched. Her nails dug so deeply into her palms she nearly drew blood.

No... no, it can’t be her.

Every fiber of her being screamed in denial, but her eyes refused to lie. That pale face. That aura. That red dress that burned like fire against the night.

It was her.

Her mind reeled, but the sight before her refused to change. That pale skin. That blazing gown. That unshakable presence.

Her chest tightened as a memory surged up unbidden—just earlier, when she had been walking down the dim hallway after her performance.

The lights had been weak there, casting long shadows against the walls. She had seen someone walking from the opposite direction. A woman. Draped in a fiery red dress that seemed to glow even in the darkness.

At the time, Hua Ling had squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. But the shadows were thick, and the woman passed quickly. Still, Hua Ling remembered the faint curve of lips—an almost imperceptible smile that made her heart pound without reason.

A sinister smile.

She had turned then, intending to look again, maybe even call out—but the woman had vanished as if she were never there. No footsteps. No sound. Nothing.

And now... now that very same face was here, unveiled under the brightest stage lights.

The face Hua Ling had once prayed she would never see again.

Her skin went cold, a chill racing down her spine despite the heat of the crowded stadium. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t real—that this was just a trick of the light, or a hallucination brought on by nerves.

But it wasn’t.

The woman in red was real. Alive. Standing in front of everyone.

Hua Ling’s hands trembled in her lap. She clenched them into fists until her nails tore into her flesh, but even pain couldn’t steady her. She felt the ground beneath her slipping, as if her entire world had tilted, and she was one breath away from collapse.

And worst of all... she knew exactly who that woman was.

The very person she thought she had erased. The very sister she believed the world had forgotten.

Hua Jing!

Meanwhile, Fu Jingrong never looked away. His gaze stayed locked on the woman in red, his faint smile deepening as if he had been waiting for this very moment.

The stadium, the world, erupted!

...

That was the only way to describe it.

One moment, the stadium was in stunned silence. The next, it was as if a dam had burst, and every scream, every gasp, every shout came crashing down in a tidal wave of disbelief.

Because under the blinding light, that face had finally appeared.

Perfect. Balanced.

So breathtaking that it didn’t even seem real.

The crimson gown clung to her figure like it had been painted on by the gods, the fiery heels striking against the stage floor with every step. Her lips, painted a sharp scarlet, curved into the faintest of smiles, and with her pale skin—so pale it seemed carved from porcelain—she looked less like a mortal and more like a phantom.

A phantom the world had been waiting for.

"HUA JING!"

The first cry broke out from somewhere deep in the crowd. And then another. And another. Until the entire stadium roared her name, wave after wave of sound pounding against the walls like thunder.

"HUA JING! HUA JING! HUA JING!"

It was deafening.

Even Fu Jingrong’s piano—once the heart-stopping center of the stadium—seemed to fade beneath it. His melody softened, as if bowing in reverence to the queen who had just stepped back into her throne.

Fans clutched at their faces, some with tears streaming uncontrollably down their cheeks. Others simply stared, mouths wide open, unable to process what they were seeing.

"She’s alive..." someone whispered, choked with sobs.

"It’s her... it’s really her!"

Online, the livestream exploded so violently that the servers lagged.

[OH MY GOD IS THIS REAL???]

[SOMEONE TELL ME I’M NOT DREAMING]

[First Fu Jingrong... and now Hua Jing? HEAVENS WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS?!]

[LOOK AT HER. LOOK AT HER. SHE’S A GODDESS.]

[I’m crying. I can’t stop crying. Hua Jing-jie, you’re finally back!]

[Ghost or not I don’t care, she’s so beautiful I can’t breathe.]

[The REAL queen has returned. Blue Awards will go down in history for this.]

The disbelief was universal.

Those who had once given up hope—who had resigned themselves to Hua Ling’s rise—were now shaking their heads in wonder. This was a miracle.

Inside the stadium, even hardened industry veterans had tears shimmering in their eyes. Some stood to clap without even realizing it. Others simply pressed trembling hands to their mouths, watching in awe.

And then, like a current pulling everyone together, a single chant began to rise.

"HUA JING! HUA JING! HUA JING!"

The sound rolled like thunder, shaking the very ground.

Every corner of the stadium echoed with her name. Every fan, every artist, every pair of eyes was locked on the figure in red.

"The real queen has returned!"

The cry echoed again and again, bouncing off every wall of the stadium until it became the only truth anyone could hear.

"The real queen of Blue Entertainment has returned!"

The fans were unstoppable. Their voices crashed together like tidal waves, merging into a sea of sound so immense it drowned out everything else.

Hua Ling’s fans tried to resist.

They screamed her name. They held up her glowsticks, waving them frantically. They tried to chant louder, to remind the world that Hua Ling had just performed, that she had just won an award minutes ago.

But their voices were swallowed whole.

No matter how hard they shouted, the answer was always louder. Stronger.

"HUA JING! HUA JING! HUA JING!"

The chant shook the very floor beneath their feet.

Hua Ling’s supporters exchanged frantic glances. Some of them even looked pale, as if realizing for the first time that they were grossly outnumbered.

This wasn’t just a small group of fans reuniting with their idol.

This was a flood.

And a flood crushed everything in its path.

Online, the same phenomenon was unfolding.

[Hua Jing. Hua Jing. Hua Jing. I don’t care what anyone says, THIS is the woman who deserves the crown.]

[She disappeared for a year, and yet the moment she shows her face, she drowns the entire stage.]

[Hua Ling WHO??? Sorry, I only see Hua Jing.]

[This... this is history being written live.]

[No words. Just tears.]

And then, the impossible happened.