Chapter Eighty-Nine: At Last Online, a Frenzy of Mixed Reactions in the Live Chat

Beneath the official account, a veritable battlefield had taken shape, fierce and unyielding. Fans and hired commenters clashed without end, locked in a relentless struggle. Yet, it was but a brief spectacle—a fleeting moment of chaos before the tide turned. In the end, Bai Ling’s supporters, fewer in number, were forced into retreat, and the official account soon fell under the occupation of the opposition. Of course, this outcome was not without reason: in her fan group, Bai Ling herself had urged everyone not to waste their time on fruitless arguments. If these hired hands wanted to stir up trouble, let them, she said. After all, it was free publicity, fueling the fire of popularity. At this point, what harm was there in letting matters run their course? What truly mattered was the release of her work.

And so, in the days that followed, even as a torrent of criticism and abuse rained down, Bai Ling persisted in posting promotional images. Many of her fans, with unspoken understanding, would glance at the posters and then turn to discuss them within the fan group. They recommended the show to their real-life friends as well—those genuine friends from outside the virtual world. In this way, it seemed as though Bai Ling and her followers had formed a world of their own, creating a private sanctuary, apart from the tumult outside. Yet, even in such circumstances, things were far from dire.

At last, good news arrived from Ouyang—the editing for all episodes was complete, and the release date had been finalized. In truth, securing approval for an online release in such a short time was nearly impossible. Even for web dramas, a period of review was necessary, along with obtaining a publication number—no easy feat. Bai Ling had asked Ouyang Ruofeng how he had managed it, but when the topic arose, Ouyang grew evasive, unable to provide a clear explanation, and eventually deflected the question. Bai Ling chose not to press him further. In any case, the good news was that the series would be released.

She shared this news with her fan group, calling on everyone to watch, and also posted it publicly, welcoming even the troublemakers to help boost the show’s popularity. The wait for the release was agony—every minute dragging by. Until now, Bai Ling had always maintained a tranquil detachment from the world, but now, for the first time, she truly felt as though she had entered the fray. This was no rehearsal; this was real battle. After all, this series was the most meaningful project she had ever undertaken—there could be no failure. Even if she had to pay a heavy price, even if it meant leaving the industry altogether, she was determined to defend what she had achieved.

…

At ten o’clock that night, “The Crown Princess’s Promotion” finally went live, releasing nearly ten episodes at once. At the very moment it began streaming, countless viewers flooded in.

“First one here!”
“If you’re reading this, you’re not first!”
“Cheering for Bai Ling!”
“Crown Princess, let’s go!”
“This is Bai Ling’s first work—maybe even her last. It has to take off, it can’t end here.”
“I’m just here for the hype, let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
“Is this synopsis for real?”
“What, no female lead? Only male leads? I’m out!”
“I’ve lost interest just from the synopsis—off to leave a negative review.”
“Ha, what sort of ridiculous setup is this? How could this be any good? If it is, I’ll stand on my head!”
“As a guy, I’m offended. How could something like this become a drama?”
“What’s going on in entertainment these days? A show like this gets released—must have serious backing.”
“I heard this is supposed to rival ‘Bright Future’? Hilarious. This can’t compare to a true masterpiece.”
“Who said it was meant to compete with ‘Bright Future’? Isn’t it that ‘Bright Future’s’ own promotions have been trying to put down Crown Princess?”
“If you’re not the target audience, just leave. If you want to give negative reviews, go ahead. Everyone knows you’re just here to cause trouble.”
“Is the pacing really that fast? I just want to watch the show. Turning off comments—I’ll share my thoughts after I finish.”
“Say what you will, but Bai Ling is stunning. She looks absolutely breathtaking on the cover.”
“I knew it back during ‘Girl Group Assembly’—Bai Ling was born for period costumes.”
“Her very first drama is a historical one—that’s a tough debut. Looking forward to her performance.”
“I don’t understand why some of the comments are so vicious. Bai Ling’s been in the news a lot lately—is she being targeted?”
“Alright, everyone, let’s just be quiet and watch the show!”

As expected, from the very first moment, a deluge of comments appeared, a chaotic blend just as Bai Ling and Ouyang had predicted. There were those who disparaged the show thoughtlessly, some judging it based on the synopsis alone, eager to drag it down from the very first episode. Yet, there were also devoted fans expressing support for Bai Ling, and others tirelessly attempting to keep the comment section clean, though ultimately to no avail. In short, the scene was lively and tumultuous.

Though the majority of comments were harsh and critical, it was clear that the show had started off with considerable buzz and high viewership.

Fittingly, the metrics for judging a web series’ success are precisely its popularity, its click rate, its view count. So, despite the unfavorable reviews, Bai Ling and the creative team were elated. As for the show’s reputation, that would be determined over time.

Tick.
Tock.
Time slipped by, minute by minute. After an hour, Bai Ling could wait no longer—she turned on her computer and began to check the situation. Entering the series page, she started reading the comments.

“Wow, this plot twist is actually pretty good.”
“This is so awkward, but so entertaining!”
“What a dramatic story and setup—did Zhuge Ming write this? My word, he’s talented.”
“Bai Ling is gorgeous—I can’t stop staring!”
“Given this setup, am I allowed to shamelessly call Bai Ling ‘husband’?”
“No, you have to call her Zhang Peng, or Peng Peng. That works too.”
“Damn, I wish I could transmigrate into this show and steal the husband role myself!”

A flurry of excited, squealing comments filled the screen. The initial flood of criticism had already subsided considerably. Now, a multitude of casual viewers were discussing the plot, and true fans were falling into a frenzy. Only a small faction of hired trolls kept up their relentless “watch while cursing,” drawing mockery and tags from others.

Seeing this, Bai Ling’s anxious heart finally settled. In truth, when she had chosen the script and begun filming, she had already known this series would do well. The world she had come from before was not so different in terms of culture and taste. The aesthetics were much the same—those who loved “Crown Princess” loved it with all their hearts, while those indifferent remained unmoved. Some, initially uninterested, would stumble upon a few episodes and find themselves hopelessly addicted, unable to pull away.

In her previous life, Bai Ling had been one of the latter. She understood deeply the unique charm of this drama. Yet, because so much hinged on its success, she could not help but feel a measure of anxiety. Now, though, she could finally breathe easy.

It was at that moment that Ouyang’s call came through.