The screen shifted again, and the stadium fell into silence.
The two hosts leaned forward with anticipation. The one hundred thousand people in the audience held their breath.
No one remembered Victor's midnight singing anymore.
Because now, undeniable evidence was being presented—evidence of creativity, of process, of Sophia's own genius.
---
On the show stage, Sophia herself smiled faintly. Her beautiful eyes softened. For a moment, it was as though she had traveled back to that year, reliving the birth of her first masterpiece.
She remembered it too clearly.
She had been at the seaside for the very first time. She had seen the people, the waves, the pale moon above. She had heard a story—a story that would etch itself into her mind.
And then, like lightning through her veins, the lyrics had appeared.
That was the day she wrote her first song, "Under the Sea."
"Scattered moonlight… passed through clouds.
Hide from the crowd, covered with scales of the sea…"
Her voice, thin and childlike at the time, had carried a weight far beyond her years. On the playback, the ethereal notes flowed through the stadium, filling the air with a long-lost quietness.
It was here—this was where her journey began.
---
Sophia, five years old.
The first month after her birthday.
Victor had taken her to the beach for the first time.
He let go of her tiny hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of liquor. His voice was casual, almost lazy: "Go play by yourself. I'm going to drink."
Sophia wrinkled her nose. She hated the stench of alcohol.
She walked toward the shoreline, the sand sinking beneath her small shoes, and felt—for the first time—a rare, fleeting happiness.
Then she noticed a girl in a white dress, lying on the sand and crying. No one else paid her any attention.
Sophia approached her, frowning. "Sister, what's the matter?"
The girl looked up with tearful eyes, then pointed toward the waves.
"Sister is very tired," she whispered. "Would you like to hear a story?"
Sophia nodded.
And so the girl began:
"On a moonlit night, a young girl walked slowly into the sea.
She wore a white dress.
The waves struck her again and again, pushing her toward the shore, but still she moved forward.
Her wounds bled, but the water washed them clean.
The waves comforted her, but could not heal her.
At last she reached the depths.
In the darkness, she heard the voice of the sea calling her.
Her soul slipped into its embrace… and no one could wake her again."
The girl in white smiled sadly, then ran into the sea, reenacting the very tale she had told.
Sophia stood frozen, her heart pounding.
And suddenly, her mother's painting flashed in her mind.
The image, the story, the moment—they merged seamlessly. Words began stitching themselves together inside her young mind.
Scattered moonlight pierced through the clouds…
Sophia opened her mouth and sang her very first line to the sea.
She didn't know how she knew it. It was as if she had been awakened.
Later, when she returned to Victor's bike, she grabbed her small workbook and scribbled furiously.
The first lyrics of "Under the Sea" had been born.
---
The barrage on the live stream exploded.
Fans roared with excitement.
On stage, Sophia nodded gently toward the screen, acknowledging her younger self. This was how the song had come to life.
Host Nana clasped her hands. "Incredible! She heard a story, and instantly the lyrics appeared in her mind. And she was only five!"
Her co-host, Hai Tao, leaned forward. "I'm starting to suspect that Sophia was already writing some lyrics back then. Maybe the songs Victor sang at night weren't his at all—they were secretly hers!"
---
On Douyin, the comment section boiled over.
"She shaped grief so perfectly at only five years old!"
"This girl is terrifyingly talented. She was born a prodigy."
"And what was her father doing? Drinking on the beach."
"Exactly. While she shone, he drowned himself in liquor."
---
The footage continued.
Victor eventually staggered back from the shore, still holding his bottle. He appeared drunk, his steps uneven.
But by then, Sophia had already hidden the lyrics in her pocket.
The screen zoomed in, showing her notebook.
Scattered moonlight through the clouds…
Hide from the crowd…
Scales of the sea…
The soul is silent…
No one wakes you up…
The audience gasped. Even half-finished, the words stunned everyone with their beauty.
---
Charles clapped furiously from the sidelines.
"This is genius!" he shouted. "A five-year-old child—self-taught, without a teacher! This is divine inspiration!"
The fans in the stadium screamed in unison:
"Goddess!"
"Goddess! Goddess!"
"I kneel before this talent!"
---
No one remembered Victor anymore.
Who cared that he had once been described as "man and dog-like" when picking Sophia up from school?
Who cared if he had sung his own version in the dead of night?
All anyone saw was Sophia—a prodigy, glowing at five, shaping sorrow into song.
---
Meanwhile, at the Baijia Forum program studio, two professors continued their debate.
Professor Tian smiled smugly at Professor Carter.
"Well, you see now? You were mistaken. This child's excellence has nothing to do with her father's education. It's her own brilliance."
Professor Carter exhaled heavily, not answering right away. He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Everything looked so natural, too natural—like a script written by fate itself.
How could a five-year-old simply stumble into genius like this? How could such a flawless story fall into place?
"Replay it again," Carter instructed.
The assistant obeyed.
This time, the footage extended further.
Sophia had returned home with Victor. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but as he rode the electric bike through the city streets, he was perfectly steady. His eyes were sharp. He obeyed traffic lights, swerved carefully, never once showing dizziness.
It was not the behavior of a man truly drunk.
The screen flickered once more—back to the seaside.
Victor, half-hidden in the shadows, handed a folded script and a wad of cash to the girl in white.
"Play this role," he told her quietly. "Memorize these lines. Make them real. All the money is yours."
The young actress blinked in surprise. She was an unknown performer, barely surviving, confused why this shabby delivery man had hired her. She thought perhaps he was crazy. But when she saw the tragic lines, she realized—this was a setup for a little girl.
"Why?" she asked softly.
Victor's expression did not change. "Don't ask."
And so, Clara White walked the path Sophia would take, dressed in white, reciting her tragic tale.
When Sophia arrived, Clara delivered her lines flawlessly.
And Sophia, wide-eyed, believed every word.
---
In the studio, the silence was deafening.
It was as though a pane of glass had shattered in the hearts of everyone watching.
The truth was clear.
Sophia's first masterpiece had not appeared by pure chance.
It had been carefully, painfully arranged by Victor.
---
---
Chapter 23: What Is He Going to Do?
The Happy Family program continued, and the air inside the massive stadium felt charged with something indescribable.
The male host, Hai Tao, stared at the screen, his face pale.
"This…" he whispered.
He felt as though he had been caught inside an elaborate design. As if someone had carefully arranged every step, every scene, every spark of inspiration—an invisible hand setting up a masterpiece of fate.
But that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
---
On stage, Sophia said nothing. She listened silently as the producers spoke into her earpiece.
"We've tracked down the woman in the white dress," the voice told her. "The one who told you the story by the sea. She's here, and she'll appear shortly."
Sophia's lips pressed together. She gave a faint hum of acknowledgment, but her eyes were wide with disbelief.
Her heart trembled.
It can't be. It can't be coincidence.
---
The program team made the announcement to the audience.
One minute passed.
Then five.
Then ten.
At last, a middle-aged woman walked slowly onto the stage. She was in her forties now, her beauty faded, her expression heavy with depression and loneliness. Her aura was dim, like a flame burned down to embers.
Fifteen years ago, Victor had chosen her for this very reason.
And when she appeared, Sophia recognized her immediately.
The woman still wore a plain white dress, reminiscent of the one she had worn all those years ago. She stood nervously, her hands trembling.
"My name is Clara White," she introduced herself quietly. "I never imagined I would play even a small role in your life. This… this is the greatest ripple I've ever caused."
Her voice faltered. She didn't dare look directly at Sophia—the international star, the dazzling figure shining like a beacon before her.
"I can't believe it," she admitted. "That I, just a speck of dust, once brushed shoulders with the clouds."
---
"It's you." Sophia's voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, piercing. She nodded once.
Fifteen years had passed, but Clara hadn't changed at her core. Only her age and her sadness had deepened.
Back then, she had been part of Sophia's inspiration. The story she told, her very aura of pain, had seeped into Sophia's heart and helped her shape her song.
But had it all been an accident? Or had someone planted it deliberately?
"What happened back then?" Sophia asked, her tone cutting, demanding truth.
Clara lowered her head. After a long pause, she lifted it again, eyes filled with distant memory.
---
"A man approached me," she said.
"He was dressed in plain clothes, though he was handsome. He told me I could earn one hundred yuan if I acted out a role in front of a child. He wanted me to pretend to be a depressed woman by the sea, and tell the child a story."
Her words made the stadium gasp.
"When I met him," Clara continued, "he told me I had a sad temperament. He handed me a script—lines about a girl in a white dress who walked into the sea, broken by her inner pain. He asked me to memorize it and perform it. He guided me through the emotions, and as he spoke, it was as if the story was his own experience."
Her voice shook. "And then… I told it to you, Sophia."
---
The images replayed on the giant screen—the little girl by the sea, the woman in white speaking her lines, Sophia's wide eyes filling with inspiration.
Boom.
It hit Sophia like a punch to the chest. Her proud certainty crumbled.
Her song, her masterpiece, the one that had marked the beginning of her legend—had it been staged by Victor?
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