Chapter 23: Annual Customers.
The guy up front caught Song Yao’s eye-roll, smiled awkwardly, and turned off the music.
To ease the tension, he struck up a chat.
“Miss, heading to Thousand Elephants City’s Big Pub for the live house too?”
Song Yao nodded, seeing he was polite. “Sort of.”
That lit him up.
“Reverse Thinking fan? You heard—they’re Rongcheng Chronicles. Obsessed!”
“Uh… it’s okay.”
Song Yao brushed off.
She barely knew Reverse Thinking—heard a few tracks, max.
Seeing her disinterest, he realized she wasn’t a fan.
But tonight was their exclusive show. Why pay solo? Single tickets sucked value.
“Miss, friend of a band member or…”
“Guest band’s lead singer’s my friend.”
“Oh… the girls’ band from two years back?”
He got it. “Vocal’s unique, but new songs flopped. Guesting Reverse Thinking’s exclusive should boost hype.”
“Reverse Thinking… that big?”
Song Yao puzzled.
Zhang Min blasted them late nights—but never elsewhere.
“Big? Not huge. Current scene—Rongcheng locals selling out exclusives? Rare.”
Song Yao half-nodded.
Wouldn’t know without work.
“Thousand Elephants City—passengers to rear door…”
Chat over—destination.
They exited together—he kept talking.
“Miss, solo too? Refund, buy duo? Saves cash. Live house better with friends—solo, no one to share…”
Song Yao cold-glanced.
Not her first day female. Knew guy motives.
Department beauty—countless pickups.
“No thanks.”
Direct reject.
Ignore pickup artists.
“Miss, reconsider? Tens saved. Live house fun with pals—solo…”
His buzzing—like flies. Song Yao sighed.
“Ten seconds to run. Consequences—not my fault.”
He laughed.
Threatening him?
1.8m guy—scared of <1.6m potato?
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”
Song Yao counted.
He grinned harder.
What happens post-count?
“Three, two, one…”
“Miss, done?”
Smirk. “Nothing happened?”
“Poor kid.”
Song Yao shook head.
Next second—shadow flashed. Kick to his waist—pig-squeal, flew half-meter.
“Dared harass decent women in public—this kick was light!”
Golden-haired girl flicked hair. Onyx eyes—cold contempt.
But on Song Yao? Spring-melt tenderness.
“Xiao Yaozi, this dog touch you? Yes—I castrate.”
Guy shuddered—ignored waist, clutched crotch.
“Easy, Qianlan—don’t jail yourself.”
Song Yao stopped her.
This miss? Might actually un-lynch without anesthesia.
“Joking—Dad arrest me?”
Qianlan scoffed, eyed guy. “Staring? Scram.”
“R-Rolling!”
He scrambled off.
One more second—little brother risked.
“Wise.”
Qianlan huffed, linked Song Yao’s arm. “Xiao Yaozi, soundcheck done—why so late?”
Song Yao smiled helplessly. “Thousand Elephants traffic. Else no weird creature entanglement.”
“Too soft. Pickup? Kick his root—last eunuch of New Dragon.”
“Everyone got bureau-chief dad?”
“Dad irrelevant. Scum deserves beating!”
Qianlan righteous.
Song Yao dropped it.
Official second-gen, like rich—clueless normal survival.
Backstage live house.
Qianlan wanted chat—stage called.
“Captain Qin, tech says pedal noise—tune it.”
“Coming.”
Qianlan smiled at Song Yao. “Wait—back soon.”
Song Yao nodded, sat, opened phone—client notes.
Qin Qianlan, Red Rose Band rhythm guitarist/lead vocal, annual VIP, bureau-chief dad.
Yes—besides Xia Mengrou hospital, another client: nearly kidney-kicked guy—Qin Qianlan meetup.
Qin Qianlan’s demands varied: beyond emotional value, sometimes new song reviews, feedback.
Forced zero-music-cell her to learn guitar…
Out of scope—but sole annual client: 100k upfront for year.
Grandma’s bills urgent—saved her.
Thus, extra services—annual perk.