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

It's 9:30 PM Beijing time.

It's 9:30 a.m. New York time.

The opening bell of Nasdaq, crossing the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans and spanning twelve time zones, crashed heavily into Ma Dongteng's office in Shenzhen.

Ma Dongteng stared intently at the six screens in front of him.

Three cups of coffee beside him had gone cold, and he was chugging the fourth cup down his throat like water.

He wasn't waiting for the market trend.

He was waiting for the executioner's blade to fall.

In the first second after the bell rang, the order book for Penguin Music was relatively normal, with only a few buy and sell orders, like an ordinary trading day.

In the seventh second, a massive sell order of 30 million US dollars suddenly appeared!

In the ninth second, sell orders from number two to number five were completely filled, and the densely packed numbers instantly blocked the entire sell order board like an iron plate.

At the twelfth second, the first wave of major short sellers officially entered the market.

Ma Dongteng felt as if his scalp had exploded.

The candlestick chart on the screen was like a drop tower that had lost its cable; without even a backward wave, it plummeted from the opening price into the abyss, dropping by five percent!

"Oh shit!"

Ma Dongteng overturned the fourth cup of coffee.

Brown liquid spilled all over the documents on the table, but he didn't bother to wipe it up.

The decline was eight percent.

Fifteen seconds have passed.

A drop of 12 percent!

The market makers' buy orders were completely wiped out, creating a terrifying vacuum in the order book—sell orders were lined up to the ceiling, while buy orders seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Ma Dongteng grabbed the phone and dialed the direct line to the New York investment bank.

What is the current real-time short selling volume of Penguin Music?!

The trader on the other end of the line was trembling: "Mr. Ma, as of now... short selling volume has exceeded 1.8 billion US dollars! And it's accelerating! This isn't ordinary short selling; this is organized, targeted attacks!"

1.8 billion.

Ma Dongteng's mind raced as he calculated: Deepsea Capital's initial position of 3.4 billion yuan yesterday, plus the additional amount added today, has brought its total exposure close to the 5 billion US dollar mark!

Five billion US dollars was used to short a Chinese stock listed in the US.

This isn't a deal, this is like using an aircraft carrier to kill mosquitoes, trying to wipe them out completely!

The decline was 18 percent.

The transaction triggered Nasdaq's volatility warning mechanism, and the trading screen flashed yellow lights rapidly.

But what good is the yellow light? It won't stop dumping empty orders!

Ma Dongteng's phone then went off.

Brokerage Risk Control Department: "Mr. Ma, the collateral ratio has fallen below the warning line. Please add margin within thirty minutes!"

Bank Credit Department: "Mr. Ma, given the abnormal fluctuations in your company's stock price, our bank has decided to suspend the credit line..."

The board's WeChat group exploded: "Old Ma, should we consider bringing in strategic investors? Several of the older directors in the group are already lining up on the rooftop; if this continues, the company will change hands!"

Ma Dongteng slammed his phone onto the table.

It didn't break when he dropped it, so he picked it up and dropped it again. The quality was too good, and it still didn't break.

He stared intently at the screen; the price had dropped by 23%.

The six screens were all a ghastly green, a green so intense it sent chills down your spine.

He suddenly recalled what Xu Qing had said on the phone last night—"They'll go all out before the market opens tomorrow."

This is hardly a deadly attack.

This is clearly digging up a grave!

A drop of 28 percent!

Triggered Level 1 circuit breaker.

Trading will be suspended for five minutes.

Ma Dongteng slumped in the chair like a rag doll, his face ashen under the cold light from the ceiling.

A five-minute cooling-off period for circuit breakers?

Calm down my ass, his funds are already depleted.

With trembling hands, he dialed Xu Qing's number.

"Xu Qing, Penguin is finished."

This was the first time in Ma Dongteng's life that he had spoken in such a lifeless tone.

This is not an exaggeration, but a genuine sense of despair—the funding chain has broken, and if no additional margin is provided, all pledged shares will be forcibly liquidated by the brokerage firm in fifteen minutes.

Once the margin call occurs, control of Tencent Music will change hands instantly.

Ma Dongteng's 12-year-old business, built from scratch, was wiped out.

On the other end of the phone, Xu Qing was standing in the kitchen frying eggs for Luo Qianyu.

"understood."

"So you 'knew'?!"

Ma Dongteng's voice was hoarse; he was roaring even through the internet, "My company is about to go bankrupt, and you're telling me you know that?!"

"wait."

Xu Qing tossed the frying pan and flipped the fried egg over.

The oil sizzled in the pan, the heat was just right—any more and it would be overcooked, any less and it wouldn't be runny.

"Wait? Wait until the coffin lid is closed?!"

"Wait for the right person to come."

Xu Qing hung up the phone decisively, scooped the fried eggs into a plate, and brought them to the dining table.

Luo Qianyu had just finished washing her face and came out.

Her hair was still wet, and the clownfish sticker on her face had somehow gotten onto the collar of her pajamas.

She glanced at Xu Qing's calm expression, then at the phone on the corner of the table.

Ma Dongteng's chat window on the screen was still popping up like crazy, and the last message had seventeen exclamation marks in a row.

Luo Qianyu didn't ask any more questions.

She silently pulled out a chair, sat down, and ate a couple of mouthfuls of rice.

Suddenly, she put down her chopsticks, pulled a bank card from her pajama pocket, and slammed it on the table.

"My secret stash of money totals three million two hundred thousand. Not much, but—"

Xu Qing didn't even look at it, and pushed the bank card back with her hand.

"With this little bit of money, you wouldn't even make a ripple in the current betting market."

"you!"

Luo Qianyu immediately bristled, "They kindly revealed their trump cards to help you, and you're complaining it's not enough!"

Xu Qing picked up the perfectly cooked fried egg and shoved it into her bowl, silencing her.

"With a broader perspective, the real show has only just begun."

He took out a tissue to wipe his hands. "Even dust can hide a spark. Keep this 3.2 million for yourself. You can use it to treat me to Haidilao later."

Luo Qianyu chewed on her fried egg angrily, but she knew exactly what was going on.

Xu Qing's composure in the face of imminent collapse suggests either complete resignation to his fate or the long-term planting of a potentially devastating explosive.

Based on her understanding of this man, he was definitely the latter.

She swallowed the fried egg, her voice muffled: "Who are you waiting for?"

Xu Qing didn't answer, but simply picked up her cup and took a sip of warm water.

The morning light streamed in through the window, illuminating his apron, which was stained with a little oil.

At this moment, he seems to have nothing to do with someone who is about to lose his biggest financial backer.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ocean.

The Peninsula Manhattan, Executive Suite.

Adam Lambert stood barefoot in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 63rd floor, with the bustling New York skyline unfolding beneath him.

On TV, CNN was broadcasting news of Penguin Music's stock price plummeting, with the blood-red arrows at the bottom of the screen depicting the alarming drop.

His agent stood behind him, holding a top-secret document he had just received from the front desk.

"Adam, look at this."

Adam didn't turn around, his voice languid: "What?"

"The latest format for 'I Am a Singer' is here. The next round will be the 'Demon King' challenge."

Adam hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying.

The agent opened the file, his fingertip lingering heavily on a name.

"There is one person on the list of challengers—Elena Wittrová. The principal coloratura soprano of the Vienna State Opera, known as the 'vocal weapon of Europe'."

Adam finally turned around.

"It was Chen Che who invited them."

The agent lowered his voice, "It's said that Chen Che went to great lengths, squeezing three days out of her European tour schedule just to fly over and challenge her."

Adam took the document and flipped through it, his brows gradually furrowing into a deep frown.

"What song did she choose?"

The agent hesitated for a moment.

"You might not like to hear this."

"explain."

"She has a fragment of the score."

The agent's gaze was complicated. "According to information we got from inside the production team, that incomplete score... is a fragment of a piece that Xu Qing destroyed in Berlin seven years ago. Chen Che is planning to undermine us completely."

Adam's hand, which was gripping the document, instantly bulged with veins.

He recognized the piece.

Seven years ago in Berlin, a gaunt Chinese boy sat on the street playing guitar, the melody flowing from his fingertips was the one he hadn't finished writing yet—later, that boy personally erased his hard work from the hard drive.

"If Xu Qing doesn't go on stage, Luo Qianyu alone can't handle Elena at all. That woman's coloratura is so powerful that she could lift the ceiling off a theater with three thousand people without a microphone."

The agent closed the file. "With Chen Che's arrangement and that incomplete score... this is aimed at both you and Xu Qing."

Adam remained silent for a long time.

The faint sounds of Manhattan's bustling traffic drifted in from outside the window, mixed with the cold, detached voice of a CNN anchorwoman.

He casually tossed the documents onto the sofa and picked up his phone from the coffee table.

Scrolling to the bottom of the contacts list, a number labeled "My Guitarist" lies quietly there.

Adam's thumb hovered over the dial key for a full three seconds.

In the end, he didn't press it, but instead flipped the phone back onto the table.

"Book me the next flight to Beijing."

The agent was stunned: "Aren't you going to call him first?"

Adam bent down, picked up the bottle of mineral water from the ground, unscrewed the cap, and took a big gulp.

"Some things need to be said face to face."