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

Her clear voice joined in, riding above the sea of cheers.

The fans screamed, waving their glowing sticks and phones, jumping in sync with the beat.

As Lin Qian moved toward the stage, entire sections of the audience stood, following the goofy little dance.

Hands raised. Feet stomping. Everyone hopping left and right like children at recess.

The sight was absurd.

And yet—utterly magical.

She laughed, the sound carrying over the melody, and twirled in her long blue gown. The fabric shimmered with each step, hugging her curves, then flaring slightly as she spun.

Every motion made the gown ripple like water, highlighting the graceful lines of her body.

The crowd went wild.

Lin Qian couldn’t resist. Between lyrics, she did the silly dance her fans had created online—knees knocking together, arms waving loosely in circles, her hips swinging side to side.

It was ridiculous.

But the way she did it, full of energy, laughter spilling from her lips, it became mesmerizing.

"Hop, hop, candy drop! Spin around, don’t you stop!"

The fans nearly drowned her voice, their chorus thundering louder than the stadium’s speakers.

Lin Qian pressed her free hand to her chest, grinning so wide it hurt, her eyes glistening with gratitude as she sang.

By the time she hopped onto the stage, the atmosphere was boiling over.

The blue of her gown glittered beneath the lights, clashing vividly with Hua Jing’s fiery red and Fu Jingrong’s ethereal white.

Three colors. Three figures. Three legends.

The audience went insane.

Hua Jing leaned forward, microphone in hand, her voice blending smoothly into the refrain. Fu Jingrong adjusted his playing, the piano weaving childlike magic beneath their voices.

And for one perfect moment, the three of them—red, white, and blue—were united on stage.

Singing. Laughing. Harmonizing.

Lin Qian’s chest swelled. She had sung countless times in her career, but never had she felt like this.

Like she belonged.

Like this was bigger than her.

Her eyes darted to Hua Jing, who gave her the faintest smile, one so warm it nearly made Lin Qian cry right there on stage.

She couldn’t thank her yet. The song still thundered on, fans dancing, chanting, stomping in rhythm.

But her heart screamed the words anyway. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Thank you.

Thank you for everything you have done for me.

The words sat heavy in Lin Qian’s throat, desperate to escape, yet shackled by her own pride. She could not bring herself to say them aloud, not here, not now, not when the world’s eyes were fixed on her. Still, the weight of those words pressed against her chest, suffocating, and her eyes stung as if tears might betray her in front of millions.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

No. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she spun with the rhythm, her gown swirling like waves under the dazzling lights. Her laughter was swallowed by the chanting of the fans, her voice lost in the storm of a hundred thousand throats. The silly, childish song that had once felt like a gamble now felt like a victory march, not because of what it was, but because of what it had given her in this single, unforgettable moment.

And then it ended.

The final note struck, echoing into silence.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The world seemed suspended between light and sound, between disbelief and ecstasy. Then the eruption came—cheers so deafening the very walls of the stadium trembled. The fans screamed until their throats turned raw, waving their glowing sticks in frenzied devotion, chanting the three names like a mantra.

Hua Jing. Fu Jingrong. Lin Qian.

Three names that had just turned the entire entertainment world upside down.

Lin Qian gasped for air, her chest heaving from laughter more than exertion, and glanced instinctively at the giant digital board displaying the live popularity polls.

Her heart nearly stopped.

Number three.

Her name was glowing in third place, climbing and climbing as the votes shot upward in real time. Above her, Fu Jingrong remained at number two, and Hua Jing, radiant and untouchable, had surged into number one.

She covered her mouth, eyes trembling, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her again. For her, this was enough. More than enough.

It didn’t matter if she walked away without an official trophy tonight. She knew the politics. She knew Hua Ling had already bought her way into securing spots, twisting names on the lineup, manipulating everything to her advantage. Lin Qian had been prepared to sit quietly through the ceremony, unnoticed, forgotten, another stepping stone trampled under Hua Ling’s glossy heels.

But now—now she stood on the same stage as legends. Now her name was on that board. Now she had something no one could ever erase.

To her, that was the real victory.

The lights suddenly cut out.

A hush fell over the stadium as it was plunged into darkness once again. Screams of surprise rose, followed by frantic whispers, then chants of the three names returned, louder and louder, as if the audience feared that if they stopped, the magic of this night would vanish forever.

But when the lights returned—

The stage was empty.

The three figures had disappeared.

"Encore! Encore!" voices thundered, but no matter how desperately they shouted, begged, cried, the stage remained stubbornly barren. The echoes of Hua Jing, Fu Jingrong, and Lin Qian still lingered in the air like ghosts, but the reality was crushing. They were gone.

The fans were unsatisfied. Desperate. As though the taste of perfection had been placed on their tongues only to be snatched away too soon. Online, live comment threads exploded:

Where did they go?!

No! Come back! Come back!

This can’t be it, right? They’ll sing again?!

I swear if they don’t come back, I’m suing the organizers!

The holy trinity just appeared and vanished like smoke. This is too cruel!

While the fans wept for more, backstage was descending into chaos.

The director slumped into his chair, wiping sweat from his brow. He had been clenching his jaw the entire time, heart pounding like a drum of war, powerless as Fu Jingrong and his people hijacked the carefully written program he had spent months perfecting. He hadn’t even been able to access his own control system.

The fact that those three managed to commandeer the stage so completely was a mystery he couldn’t even begin to unravel.

But now—finally—control was his again.

He exhaled a shaky breath, barking out commands to the staff. "Camera one, reset—camera two, prep for the next segment! Don’t just stand there, we’re still live!" His voice cracked, but adrenaline carried him forward. "Lights! Queue the presenters—move, move, move!"

They scrambled, trying to salvage the pieces of the ceremony. But the truth was clear: no matter what came next, the audience didn’t care anymore.

Their hearts had already been stolen.

Meanwhile, in a quiet room backstage, Lin Qian stood frozen.

Her body trembled faintly, though whether from exhaustion, adrenaline, or something else, she couldn’t tell. She was still replaying the moment in her mind—the overwhelming chorus of fans, the way her name had soared up the board, the laughter she had shared on stage with Hua Jing and Fu Jingrong.

And then there she was.

Hua Jing.

Not a hair out of place, not a drop of sweat visible. She stood like a goddess untouched by mortal strain, her red gown glowing against the dim backstage light. Her beauty was breathtaking, almost unfair, and her smile—so serene, so natural—was enough to pierce through every wall Lin Qian had ever built around herself.

Lin Qian stared. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t stop.

Perhaps it was gratitude. Perhaps admiration. Perhaps something else she dared not name.

But her gaze was too intense, too naked, too full of things she couldn’t say aloud.

And Hua Jing noticed.

She blinked once, her lips curving into the most shameless, playful grin.

"Am I that pretty?" she teased softly, tilting her head, her voice low but carrying, deliberate, like a spark thrown into dry tinder.

The words struck Lin Qian harder than any spotlight.

Her breath caught, heat rushing up her neck into her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out—only the sharp pound of her heart filling her ears as Hua Jing’s smile deepened, eyes glimmering with mischief.

Lin Qian stared at this shameless woman, her cheeks faintly pink from embarrassment. She opened her mouth as if to speak but only ended up exhaling sharply, a small "hmph" humming past her lips. With that, she folded her arms across her chest and turned her face slightly to the side, as if Hua Jing weren’t even worth replying to.

Hua Jing’s smile only deepened.

A light laugh escaped her lips, crisp and unhurried, dripping with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her eyes glowed with a teasing luster as she tilted her head and said slowly, "Is that really a way to treat your savior?"

The word savior landed like a pebble dropped into a still pond, the ripples spreading outward until Lin Qian’s composure snapped.

"I did not ask you to save me!" Lin Qian suddenly shouted, her voice ringing out far louder than she intended. She regretted it instantly—her tone sounded too defensive, too flustered—but the words were already hanging in the air, trembling with stubborn indignation.