Entertainment: A song that brought his deceased wife back to life.

The recording date for the seventh episode of "I Am a Singer".

With six hours to go before the show started, the atmosphere on set was already electric.

The production office was packed with more than a dozen people.

Director Hong Yan sat in the middle of the table, with three documents, two cold cups of coffee, and a cell phone that had received more than sixty missed calls and was almost overheating.

The station director's message was relayed through the deputy director: "Let Xu Qing withdraw from the competition voluntarily; the station will not take the blame for this."

The wording is much more elegant, but that's the gist of it.

The investor representative was even more direct, issuing a harsh warning: "If Xu Qing dares to show her face during today's live stream, all GG merchants will collectively withdraw their investment tomorrow!"

The program producer spoke in an extremely troubled tone, rambling on for twenty minutes on the phone.

In conclusion, I would say: "Director Hong, those who understand the times are the wise ones."

After hearing this, Hong Yan slammed his phone screen down onto the table.

He glanced around the room at everyone and sneered, "You've all heard it?"

No one dared to speak.

Hong Yan picked up the cup of cold coffee, took a sip, and then casually tossed it into the trash can two meters away.

"I've been doing this show for twelve years. I've seen nine sponsors go, offended three station directors, and been summoned for talks twice."

He jumped up from the chair, his back ramrod straight.

"You want me to force him to withdraw from the competition? Fine. Wait until you receive my resignation letter first."

As he spoke, he opened the drawer, pulled out a piece of white paper, and slapped it on the table.

That was his resignation letter, which he had written three days ago, and the date on the cover was today.

The air in the entire office froze instantly.

The production manager panicked and grabbed the paper, saying, "Director Hong, calm down—"

"I'm very calm." Hong Yan pried his hands off. "If we can't record on this stage today, I'll take the team to record somewhere else. If we can't take them with us, we'll set up the equipment ourselves in the parking lot and record!"

"Xu Qing has to play today. I, Hong Yan, will risk my life to protect him. Anyone have a problem with that, shut up now!"

The office was silent for a full half minute.

The deputy director's phone kept ringing incessantly.

Hong Yan pressed the speakerphone button.

"Hong Yan, are you crazy? For someone suspected of murder—"

"What is he suspected of? Has the court ruled on him or the police determined his charges?" Hong Yan's voice was so loud it shook the table. "That BBC report, can a keyboard warrior convict someone just by typing a few words? I could put together an article like that for you in twenty minutes!"

"You want me to fire a singer whose case hasn't even been resolved yet? Fine, send me the signed documents, and you'll take the blame if anything goes wrong!"

The other end went silent instantly and hung up.

Hong Yan let out a long breath and turned to look at the production manager.

"Notify the stage crew: Xu Qing's appearance time is not to be changed for even a second. Check the global live broadcast signal three times. Even if the sky falls, the picture cannot be interrupted!"

Two hours before the live stream started.

The air in the waiting area was ten times more stifling than usual, and the atmosphere was so awkward it felt like a three-bedroom apartment could be carved out of the ground.

All six groups of singers arrived, but the tacit understanding that characterized them working independently was completely gone.

Some people turned their heads to steal glances at Xu Qing before quickly looking away, some lowered their heads and frantically scrolled through trending topics, and some simply put on their headphones and pretended to be deaf and dumb.

Adam, with his long legs, strode across half the waiting area and plopped down next to Xu Qing.

No empty words, no insincere hugs.

He simply handed the bottled water in his hand to Xu Qing, then leaned against the wall and closed his eyes to rest.

As he handed her the water, he muttered very quietly in English, "I looked up how much Marcus paid Mrs. Webber back then."

Xu Qing took the water: "How much?"

"Forty-two hundred thousand US dollars." Adam scoffed. "Forty-two hundred thousand US dollars, enough to buy a mother's tears, enough to buy a conscience."

Xu Qing unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip, her eyes showing no emotion whatsoever.

Adam opened his eyes and looked at him, his deep blue eyes swirling with emotion: "How are you going to clean up this mess tonight?"

"We'll see," Xu Qing replied with only three words.

Behind camera position number seven.

Zhang Wei, Fang Licheng, and Du Haitao, the three specially invited music critics, took their seats.

Zhang Wei glanced down at his phone; he had received an anonymous text message ten minutes earlier.

He knew perfectly well that the source of the text message was in Manhattan.

The message consisted of just one line: "You must ask Xu Qing about her lab during tonight's live stream, the more pointed the better. Payment has been received."

Zhang Wei sneered inwardly: Money makes the world go round, it's a fool not to make this money.

He deleted the text message, looked up, and exchanged a glance with Fang Licheng next to him.

The hunt has begun.

The live stream has officially begun, simultaneously worldwide.

The first five singers hastily ended their performances in an extremely oppressive yet exhilarating atmosphere.

When Lin Bonian passed by Xu Qing as he stepped off the stage, he hesitated for half a second, patted him hard on the shoulder, and said nothing.

Finally, it was Xu Qing's turn.

When the staff called his name, everyone in the waiting area turned their gaze towards him like searchlights.

Xu Qing stood up.

He was wearing a faded white shirt today, with some dust still clinging to the cuffs from cleaning up broken glass.

He didn't bring his guitar. He had no intention of singing today.

As he walked to the entrance of the aisle, Luo Qianyu, who was in the last row of the audience, stood up.

The two stood facing each other across most of the venue.

Luo Qianyu raised her right hand, which was wrapped in gauze, and gave him a big thumbs up.

A faint smile flashed in Xu Qing's eyes as she strode into the spotlight.

Center stage.

Three thousand pairs of eyes were fixed on Xu Qing, and at least a thousand of them were filled with naked hostility.

The host walked over, his expression as serious as if he were broadcasting the evening news.

"Xu Qing, before your performance begins today, there are a few things—"

Before he finished speaking, Zhang Wei, who was behind camera number seven, jumped out and raised his hand high.

"May I ask Xu Qing a question?"

In the control room, the director hesitated and then made a gesture.

Zhang Wei didn't wait for a response and eagerly picked up the microphone.

"Xu Qing! The whole world is watching the BBC's report on the 'Siren' project at Humboldt University of Berlin. A 19-year-old girl died in an experiment you led, and her mother is accusing you of being the murderer. Do you have anything to say about that?"

Fang Licheng seized the opportunity to add insult to injury: "If you are innocent, why have you played dead for the past seven years? Without even a word of explanation?"

The noise at the scene was instantly silenced, and the three thousand people didn't even dare to breathe.

Xu Qing stood in the center of the stage, listening to them finish speaking as if they were clowns.

"Are you done talking?" Xu Qing asked in a flat tone, as if asking what to eat today.

Zhang Wei was stunned for a moment.

"Now that you've finished, it's my turn."

Xu Qing took out his phone from his pocket and casually handed it to the stage staff next to him: "Connect to the large screen output of the main control console."

The control room erupted in chaos: "What is he trying to do?"

Hong Yan slammed his fist on the table and roared, "Get him on it!"

The large screen lit up instantly.

The first screen is the interface of the professional voiceprint analysis software that Xu Qing had prepared in advance.

He opened the audio file in the BBC report that supposedly showed "Xu Qing ordering continued pressure" and ran it directly.

The spectrum graph instantly filled the screen, clearly showing the fundamental frequency, harmonics, noise floor, and frequency band energy distribution.

Xu Qing didn't even bother with technical jargon; his main strategy was a pure, one-dimensional attack.

"This recording is 19 seconds long. The jitter range of a normal person's voice fundamental frequency is between 4% and 8%, while the jitter rate of this recording is 0.07%."

He pointed to the red data cable on the screen.

"Don't even mention humans, even with recording studio equipment worth tens of millions, you can't record such ridiculously smoothness. The only thing that can do it is top-notch AI synthesis."

The live chat exploded with comments: "Holy crap? Hardcore science? Isn't this even more exciting than Boruto?"

Xu Qing switched to the next page and continued to zoom in.

"What's even more interesting is the underlying noise spectrum. You can't hear it with your ears, but instruments can't pretend to be blind."

"In the high-frequency range above 8000 Hz, there is a set of extremely regular weak pulses."

On the waveform, the red dots flash regularly like a heartbeat.

"Frequency 43478 Hz. Such a thing is simply impossible in a normal environment."

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the entire room like a knife.

"I know this thing all too well. It's a unique defective mark left by the Siren System v2.3 synthesis engine during runtime."

"And this v2.3 version, there's only one complete copy in the whole world—in the hands of Deep Sea Capital!"

The entire room fell silent, the live chat went completely silent, and everyone's CPU crashed.

Xu Qing gave her no chance to catch her breath and immediately switched to the next file.

A high-definition surveillance video, timestampd: November 9, 2017.

In the scene, Xu Qing, who was wearing a white coat seven years ago, is desperately pulling on the arm of a middle-aged man and shouting something at the top of her lungs.

The middle-aged man shoved him aside and turned his face to the side—the camera precisely captured his face.

No one in the audience recognized the face, but Xu Qing did.

"The person in the video is Marcus Austin, head of Deepsea Capital's North American region."

Xu Qing's voice came from the speakers, so cold it could drop ice shards.

"On November 9, 2017, he personally ordered that Lily Weber, who suffered from severe depression, be subjected to forced auditory stimulation exceeding the standard!"

"I tried desperately to stop him. But I couldn't."

Three weeks later, Lily left this world in her room.

He can save all beings from all kinds of suffering. But he cannot save them from the extreme evil in this world. So he will tear this darkness apart with his own hands and show it to the whole world!

The screen flashed, and finally a screenshot of an encrypted email appeared.

Marcus's internal directive to the lab team—

Title: "Experimental parameters forcibly increased by 30%, no one may disclose this information!"

The sender's signature section, Marcus's name, job title, and digital signature are clearly circled in red, providing irrefutable evidence!

Xu Qing turned off the large screen.

He turned around and stared down at the three "invited music critics" behind camera number seven who were practically wetting themselves.

"You just asked me why I haven't given you a single explanation in the past seven years?"

Xu Qing's voice resonated throughout the entire studio.

"Because some things are useless to say before the court pronounces its verdict."

"But you insist on forcing me to say it."

"Fine. Since you're determined to cause trouble, I'll rip the ceiling off today!"

"In this round, you've lost everything, down to your last last penny!"

The three music critics' faces turned green instantly, their backs soaked with cold sweat, and Zhang Wei's mouth gaped open like a dead fish, unable to utter a sound.

His phone was vibrating incessantly in his pocket, but he didn't even dare to touch it.

In the studio, from some unknown corner, one or two extremely crisp applause rang out slowly.

Immediately afterwards, like a spark falling into a gasoline drum, applause exploded and swept across the entire venue!

The last row of the audience seats.

Luo Qianyu stood there, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

She raised her bandaged right hand and slapped it hard against her uninjured left hand, gasping in pain.