Chapter Sixty-One: The Perpetrator

Wang Dongliang promised to find out as soon as possible. After lunch with Wang Dongliang, Cheng Xiaoyu parted ways with him. As he walked through the somewhat deserted streets of the capital, street lamps adorned with large red Chinese knots everywhere, Cheng Xiaoyu felt not the slightest hint of festivity.

Back at the hotel, Cheng Xiaoyu took out his laptop and went online. He first logged into the alumni directory, then checked the class message board—it had been nearly half a year since anyone left a message. The bleak activity of the alumni site was a daunting challenge for him. Truth be told, business management was not his strength; having a treasure trove but not mining it left him unsettled.

Setting aside his aimless thoughts, Cheng Xiaoyu turned to the three major Chinese music websites he followed. At this time, music sites were still relatively profitable due to strict copyright protections, but they acted merely as intermediaries for musical content—the lifeblood remained in the hands of content providers (record companies). Exclusive download rights for a popular star’s album would often spark fierce competition among several sites, but eventually, they realized it wasn’t worth the trouble. Once the three major sites had grown, dominating most of China’s online traffic, they developed a tacit understanding and established a Music Network Association to coordinate their efforts. This led to healthy competition: instead of vying for exclusive download rights, they adopted a revenue-sharing model. Thus, all three sites offered downloads for big stars’ songs, sharing the profits while minimizing costs. Usually, a star’s album would be available for download only after a month on physical shelves in audio stores; during this period, fans could pay or enjoy free previews of select tracks as required by the content provider. Of course, there was also the option to purchase directly, with the site arranging delivery.

Each of the three sites had its unique focus. Cicada Music was the earliest, boasting a comprehensive library and specializing in pop music, along with numerous resident music critics. Green Robe Music focused on traditional music, classical, opera, and Chinese opera, offering the most complete collection in China. It also organized concerts and music salons, and was quite competent in pop music. MusicNet, backed by chat software, emerged later but quickly amassed the broadest user base. Its main focus was pop and original music, drawing a large group of online original artists and launching a dedicated Original Music Chart, which propelled many popular newcomers.

Cicada and Green Robe Music also allowed newcomers to upload their own recordings, but unlike MusicNet, they lacked dedicated charts for new artists, making it harder for fresh talent to break through.

Thanks to the Music Network Association, the charts of the three major sites were unified, judged by download and preview counts. Every year, the three sites jointly hosted the China Music Gala, currently the highest award in Chinese pop music.

Cheng Xiaoyu registered the username "a'sposon" on MusicNet, tagging himself as a free musician, though he had yet to upload any works.

MusicNet split revenue with creators based on downloads; the price for each track was set by the creator themselves—anything from a thousand yuan per track to free, offering great autonomy.

Generally, as an unknown independent musician, one would upload songs for free preview and download to gain exposure, hoping to climb the charts. Once established, with a loyal fanbase, they might switch to paid downloads. Many uploaded music simply to attract the attention of record companies, hoping to become signed artists. Talented musicians had a better chance of signing, but few managed to become household names across China.

Cheng Xiaoyu had originally recorded a song called "Sunny Day" intending to upload it as a trial, but he agonized over whether to post it on Cicada or MusicNet. Though he could do both, his perfectionism wouldn't allow him to be indecisive, so he had never made a decision.

Today, he finally resolved to go with MusicNet, registering an account. He planned to record more songs after returning to S and upload them. As for Guilty Crown, Wang Ou had already registered the band on all three music sites, tagged as a band. Their works hadn’t been recorded yet, so nothing had been uploaded, though Wang Ou had posted a few high-quality videos.

Cheng Xiaoyu researched information on Thin Fox online, but found nothing useful.

That afternoon, he received a call from Su Weilan, asking him to go to the Wangqiao Town police station to make a statement and sign. He was told a driver would pick him up shortly and given the driver’s contact.

Su Weilan’s tone toward Cheng Xiaoyu was fairly cordial; after all, he received a handsome dividend from Shanghe Records every year, and his company organized many concerts for Shanghe’s stars. Star tours were usually handled by record companies, but generally only in first-tier cities. Concerts in second-tier cities, due to higher risks, were often subcontracted to cultural media companies like Su Weilan’s.

Su Weilan didn’t take Cheng Xiaoyu seriously. If he truly wanted to establish a connection, he would have personally escorted Cheng Xiaoyu to Wangqiao Town police station instead of sending a driver. In his view, Cheng Xiaoyu held no real value for association. If Aunt Zhou hadn’t called his father yesterday, and his father hadn’t instructed him, he wouldn’t have bothered with the trip.

Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t mind being underestimated. He was confident that he could accumulate energy and someday soar above the rest.

The car sent was a standard Mercedes S-series from Shanghe’s Beijing branch—nothing special. Su Weilan hadn’t deliberately tried to slight Cheng Xiaoyu by sending a shabby car; after all, he had to give face to Second Uncle Su Changhe and couldn’t let Cheng Xiaoyu disgrace the Su family in public.

As soon as Cheng Xiaoyu stepped out of the car in the Wangqiao Town police station courtyard, he was stopped by a short, stocky middle-aged man whose narrow eyes resembled Zheng Long’s. Around his neck hung a gold chain with a dark green jade Guanyin pendant.

Cheng Xiaoyu found it amusing; often those who commit evil are the most fervent in seeking religious protection. One glance at his face and Cheng Xiaoyu knew he was related to Zheng Long. He had no intention of engaging and tried to walk past into the station.

Zheng Jun hurried after him but didn’t dare to tug or pull. Normally imposing, he now followed Cheng Xiaoyu humbly. The strong black driver, wearing sunglasses, stepped forward to block Zheng Jun—clearly a professional bodyguard. Helpless, Zheng Jun could only trail at a distance, entering the station’s office.

The officer taking the statement was the same fifty-something policeman from yesterday. Upon seeing Cheng Xiaoyu, he immediately stood, pulled out a chair for him, and asked, “Cheng Xiaoyu, please sit. I’ll pour you some tea, or if you prefer another drink, I’ll have someone get it for you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, “No need, just tea is fine.” As he sat down, he glanced toward the detention room opposite. The room had barred doors, its interior clearly visible. Yesterday’s group of auxiliary officers were all inside, Biao was there too, head drooping.

The detention room had a cement floor, no heating, no bedding, not even a place to sit. Worse still, shoes were forbidden inside. Everyone inside was shivering, snot running down their faces, arms crossed as they paced to keep warm. Three who had assaulted Cheng Xiaoyu were worse off: handcuffed to the iron windows, unable to squat or sit, standing barefoot and listless against the wall. Seeing Cheng Xiaoyu seated outside, none dared look his way, all facing the wall, terrified he might catch their gaze.

This room wasn’t usually for statements; the police station had arranged it to appease Cheng Xiaoyu. The old officer brought a cup of hot tea from next door, carefully placed it before Cheng Xiaoyu, and apologized, “Sorry, we don’t have good tea, please make do.”

Cheng Xiaoyu replied, “It’s fine, ask whatever you need. I’ll answer truthfully.”

The old officer sat opposite, “Just a few questions, nothing much. Sign your name and you can go. None of them will get away with it.” He spat toward the detention room; no one dared make a sound.

At that moment, Zheng Jun hunched into the room, dropped to his knees before Cheng Xiaoyu, tears streaming down his face. “Young Master Yu, please be merciful, let us go. If you must, take just me—I’ll admit to everything. Please spare my son and the others, they’re just ignorant.” With that, he began slapping himself hard.

The old officer was at a loss for what to do, stood to help his former benefactor Zheng Jun up, but glanced at Cheng Xiaoyu and held back. He could only murmur, “Boss Zheng, why put yourself through this?”

Cheng Xiaoyu, seeing Zheng Jun’s reddened face, felt a pang of pity, but the fate of the Zheng family was no longer his to decide. To maintain the integrity of the process, their fate was sealed—they were undoubtedly a criminal gang, and Zheng Jun himself was not exempt.

Most of China’s nouveau riche made their money with original sin; dig deep enough and none are innocent. At minimum, all evade taxes—those who only evade taxes are the most conscientious.

While Cheng Xiaoyu felt some pity, he had not a shred of sympathy. He answered solemnly, “When you harm others, you must be prepared to be harmed yourself. Let the law judge as it will—I won’t interfere with justice.” His words were righteous, full of moral force. In truth, even if he wanted to interfere, he couldn’t; if he could, Zheng Long would spend the rest of his life in prison.

Zheng Jun still did not rise. The old officer urged, “Boss Zheng, you’d better think of another way.”

Zheng Jun produced a check, pleading, “Young Master Yu, please show mercy. Name your price—if I have it, it’s yours.”

Before he finished, Cheng Xiaoyu stood and said, “A father’s failure is reflected in his children. If you’d known, why do it in the first place? I won’t take your money—keep it to support your family in prison, so your son can live a little better.” He then told the officer, “Let’s just sign. Use Wang Dongliang’s statement as mine.”

The old officer quickly handed over the notebook for Cheng Xiaoyu to sign, praising his handwriting.

Cheng Xiaoyu walked out of the detention room, accompanied by the old officer, while Zheng Jun remained kneeling in misery. Inside, yesterday’s attackers watched their boss kneeling outside, barefoot and crying; ironically, now they fervently hoped for the law’s fairness.

And was Cheng Xiaoyu not, in his own way, another perpetrator?