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The industry doesn't knock loudly.
It calls once.
And waits to see if you're smart enough to call back.
The number wasn't saved.
Private line.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
"This is Li Chen," I answered.
A woman's voice responded. Calm. Trained.
"Mr. Li, this is Han Rui from Brightnote Records. Do you have a moment?"
Brightnote.
Mid-tier label.
Good reputation on paper.Complicated reputation behind the scenes.
"I have five," I replied.
"That will be enough," she said smoothly.
She didn't mention Yueyin.
Not once.
That was the first warning sign.
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"We've been observing several independent artists lately," Han Rui continued. "And more importantly—the people behind them."
I leaned back in my chair.
"Observation is a strong word."
She laughed lightly. "So is intention."
Straight to the point.
Good.
"You've managed growth carefully," she said."No artificial virality.""No premature contracts.""No public emotional breakdowns."
Each sentence was a test.
"You're not managing like a fan," she added. "You're managing like a professional."
I didn't thank her.
Compliments in this industry are never free.
"And?" I asked.
"And we'd like to talk about you."
There it was.
She proposed a meeting.
Not an offer.
Not a contract.
A conversation.
Office building.Daytime.No rush.
Another good sign.
When I told Yueyin, she blinked.
"They want… you?"
"Yes."
She frowned. "But I'm the singer."
I shook my head. "You're the product. I'm the process."
She didn't like that answer.
Xiaoyu liked it even less.
"That's dangerous," she said quietly later. "They don't hire people like you unless they want control."
"Or replication," I replied.
She looked at me sharply.
"…They want to know if they can copy what you do."
"Exactly."
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The meeting room was glass and steel.
Minimalist.
Designed to make people feel replaceable.
Han Rui arrived with a man in his forties.
No introduction needed.
He was the real decision-maker.
"We're not here to steal your artist," he said calmly.
I smiled. "Then you're already better than most."
He nodded. "We're here to recruit the architect."
Straightforward.
Too straightforward.
They asked questions.
Not about Yueyin's voice.
About process.
"How do you decide pacing?""How do you respond to criticism?""What do you prioritize—data or intuition?"
I answered honestly.
Carefully.
No system.
No miracles.
Just structure.
Finally, the man leaned forward.
"We want you," he said."As a creative manager.""With access to resources you don't currently have."
"And Yueyin?" I asked.
"She can stay independent," Han Rui replied quickly. "Or join later. Her choice."
A lie.
Not complete.
But close enough to be dangerous.
I stood.
"Send me the terms," I said. "I'll read them."
No handshake.
No agreement.
Just acknowledgment.
That night, Yueyin was unusually quiet.
"…If you leave," she said slowly, "will you still manage me?"
I didn't dodge it.
"I won't leave you," I said. "But I might gain enemies."
She nodded.
"…Then gain them carefully."
Xiaoyu watched us from the doorway.
Later, when Yueyin was asleep, she spoke.
"They're testing if you'll choose power over people."
I looked at my phone.
At the unread email from Brightnote.
"They're testing the wrong thing," I said.
The system flickered faintly.
[Branch Point Detected:]Industry alignment opportunity.
I closed it.
This choice wasn't about optimization.
It was about direction.
They didn't come for the singer.
They came for the mind behind her.
And now—
I had to decide whether to step inside the machine…
Or force it to adapt to me.
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