Jiang Yue had thought she was prepared for anything, another stage accident, a random dog chase, even falling flowerpots. But plagiarism? That was new.
The news broke mid-morning, right when she was sipping tea in Zhenkai's office. Fang Zixuan was flipping through magazines on the couch while Qin Yuze typed silently at his laptop. The tension from Zhou Meili's latest smear had only just begun to settle when Zixuan's phone pinged with an alert.
"Uh-oh," he muttered again, his go-to phrase when chaos decided to knock on their door. "Yueyue… you might want to see this."
She frowned, leaning over. His screen displayed a trending article:
> Rising Poetess Jiang Yue Caught Stealing Lines?
A social media user has posted strikingly similar verses to Jiang Yue's To Love, To Lose, To Heal, claiming her latest live poem was copied word-for-word. Screenshots attached.
Jiang Yue's fingers trembled as she scrolled. Sure enough, her words the ones that had poured from her in sleepless nights, soaked in heartbreak and stitched with healing, were there. But stamped with someone else's name.
"They're saying I stole… my own words," she whispered, hollow.
Before panic could take root, Li Zhenkai was already on the phone. His tone was cool, lethal. "Launch a full investigation. I want every trace of the original drafts tracked, every copyright file pulled. Assemble the legal team, now."
The steel in his voice steadied her pulse. Even so, Jiang Yue could feel the claws of imposter syndrome tightening again. What if people believed it? What if her reputation already fragile crumbled before her eyes?
Zhenkai hung up and knelt slightly so his gaze leveled with hers. "You didn't steal anything. They stole from you. And I don't lose battles, especially when it comes to thieves"
It should have reassured her, and it did, but deep down, Jiang Yue knew this wasn't only about legal documents or reputation. This was about her words. Her truth. And she couldn't let someone else twist them.
"Don't just fight with lawyers," she said softly. Her voice grew steadier as an idea sparked. "Let me fight with poetry."
That evening, Jiang Yue announced a surprise live stream. Thousands tuned in instantly, curious and buzzing with theories. The chat exploded with accusations, defenses, memes, and endless scrolling text:
> "Did she really plagiarize??"
"No way, Yue jie writes straight from the soul."
"If she stole, then I'll eat my keyboard."
"Meili's fingerprints are all over this. #ProtectJiangYue"
When the camera flicked on, Jiang Yue sat before her desk, a single notebook open, pen poised. No makeup, no stage lights, just her, raw and unguarded.
"Good evening," she began, her voice calm but edged with fire. "Some of you have seen the posts claiming I stole my own poem. I won't waste time arguing with shadows. Instead… I'll write something new. Right here. Right now. In front of you all."
The comments went feral.
Zixuan, watching off camera with a bag of chips, muttered, "She's going for the kill."
Zhenkai stood in the corner, arms crossed, his gaze steady on her.
Jiang Yue lowered her head, let the noise fade, and began to write. Her pen scratched against the paper, the words flowing like a river she couldn't dam:
You took my lines,
pressed them into your palms like stolen coins,
thinking they would buy you truth.
But truth is not a thing you counterfeit.
It bleeds.
It heals.
It breathes through the cracks of nights I lived,
the pain I buried, the love I lost.
Did you think you could steal that?
Take my voice,
but you will choke on its echo.
Her hand slowed. She lifted her gaze directly to the camera. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes were sharp as glass.
"Nice try, thief."
She closed the notebook.
For a moment, silence. Then the chat detonated:
> "🔥🔥🔥 LEGENDARY."
"THIS is why she's untouchable."
"Did she just write an entire clapback poem LIVE??"
"Zhou Meili is finished. Stick a fork in her."
"Nice try, thief" → new tattoo incoming.
Within minutes, hashtags exploded across platforms: #NiceTryThief, #PoetryQueenJiangYue, and #OriginalMuse. Clips of her live stream went viral, spliced with dramatic music, fan edits, even animations. One fan posted a video of a thief cartoon running away with lines of poetry, only to trip over Yue's words and fall into a pit labeled irrelevance.
The legal team Zhenkai had deployed soon tracked the "plagiarist" account back to a shell company linked, unsurprisingly to Zhou Meili's circle. The evidence was clean, damning, irrefutable.
Zhenkai handled the takedown with surgical precision, but even he had to admit privately: Jiang Yue had already won the real battle the moment she looked into that camera.
Later, when the buzz still hadn't died down, Jiang Yue found herself curled up on the office couch again, exhausted but oddly at peace.
Zhenkai sat across from her, tie loosened, watching her with that unreadable gaze.
"You didn't need my lawyers," he said quietly.
"I needed them," she corrected, meeting his eyes. "But I also needed to prove to myself I could fight. My words are all I have. If I don't defend them, then what's the point?"
For a heartbeat, something softened in his expression, a flicker of admiration he rarely allowed anyone to see.
Zixuan, of course, ruined the moment. "I'm just saying, if she ever gets tired of poetry, she could totally go into rap battles. That was some 'drop the mic' energy."
Jiang Yue threw a cushion at his head.
And for the first time since the plagiarism storm began, her laughter was real, free, unshaken, and victorious.