Chapter 9 — The Beauty Drainage System

The first week following our debut proved to be an endless whirlwind of packed schedules, relentless press releases, and back-to-back interviews. As the center of the group, my itinerary was by far the most demanding. Between high-end magazine photo shoots, variety show recordings, and brand endorsement meetings, I found myself working from the break of dawn well into the dark of night. Yet, my physical condition remained astonishingly pristine. Ever since the mysterious system slipped into a complete, dormant slumber, my beauty value had stabilized at an extraordinarily high peak. The chief makeup artist remarked that my complexion was the absolute finest she had ever witnessed in her decade-long career. The lead photographer declared that every single angle of my face was flawless, rendering me completely immune to unflattering perspectives or harsh lighting. On the third day following our official formation as a group, our debut music video was released to the public. Within a mere twenty-four hours, the view count soared past the one-hundred-million mark, with my individual solo cams accounting for a staggering sixty percent of the overall viewership. The comment section overflowed almost exclusively with effusive praise.

Lu Nian is breathtaking! Can a visage like this truly exist in reality?

From an ugly duckling to the center position, this reverse-counterattack narrative is far more captivating than any scripted television drama!

To those who mocked and ridiculed her three months ago, do your faces hurt yet?

Even so, a few discordant voices still lingered amidst the chorus of acclaim.

She definitely underwent plastic surgery, didn’t she? Such a drastic transformation in just three months is simply unnatural.

Could she have resorted to cosmetic injections? Modern aesthetic technology has advanced far too rapidly these days.

Something feels profoundly fishy about this; I demand a formal investigation.

These dissenting voices were few, yet they grated harshly against the prevailing harmony. I knew precisely who was pulling the strings behind the scenes. On the fourth day, a notorious entertainment gossip account published a lengthy, scathing expose:

Side-by-side photographic comparisons of Lu Nian before and after a three-month span have been leaked. Her facial alterations are so radical it is as if she completely swapped heads; massive surgical and cosmetic interventions are heavily suspected.

The photographs utilized for the comparison captured me at my absolute ugliest, back when the parasitic system was draining my vitality to its absolute limit, placed directly beside my current radiant self. The contrast was indeed stark and jarring. The comment section erupted into a fierce debate once more.

The visual evidence is crystal clear. This face has unquestionably been artificially altered.

What on earth do you people know about anything? Perhaps she simply lost weight and naturally grew prettier as a result.

Can merely shedding a few pounds magically gift someone double eyelids and a towering, aristocratic nose bridge? Stop joking around.

I scrolled through the vitriolic comments without feeling even a flicker of panic, well aware of the mastermind orchestrating this smear campaign. Sister Lin, the manager of Song Qiaoqiao. This was nothing more than her pathetic, dying struggle.

Whispers and outright accusations of plastic surgery continued to intensify, culminating by the fifth day in a massive trending topic across social media.

Definitive evidence of Lu Nian undergoing plastic surgery.

Survival show center position secured through fraudulent beauty standards.

Lu Nian’s camp finally issues a response.

My management team was spinning in frantic circles, consumed by blinding anxiety.

Nian Nian, do we need to issue a formal public statement? Or perhaps we should visit a prestigious hospital to obtain a certified medical evaluation?

There is no need.

But the search rankings have already blown completely out of proportion...

I said, there is no need.

I picked up my smartphone and composed a short message to Chu Yitang.

Tomorrow is the scheduled fan meeting. Help me invite a few specific people to attend.

Who are you referring to?

Zhang Xiaoyu, Ha Meiqi, Lin Duo, along with several other former members from Group A.

What on earth are you planning to do?

You will find out when the time comes.

The following day, the highly anticipated fan gathering commenced. Over three thousand devoted fans packed the venue, while the simultaneous live broadcast streaming room drew an audience of eight million concurrent viewers. When the event transitioned into the interactive question-and-answer segment, I stepped forward and lifted the microphone.

Before I address any of your questions today, there is a matter I feel compelled to address.

The murmurs in the audience instantly died down, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence.

Lately, an overwhelming number of voices have claimed that I underwent plastic surgery, asserting that the person I was three months ago and the person standing before you now look like two entirely different individuals.

It is true. My physical condition three months ago was abysmal. My skin was sallow and devoid of life, my figure was distorted, and my entire aura made me look at least five years older than my actual age.

However, I never underwent any cosmetic surgery.

A sharp voice pierced the quiet from the crowd:

Then how on earth do you propose to explain such a miraculous transformation?

I have invited a few close friends here today. Perhaps they can help me explain.

With a soft rustle, the heavy velvet curtain on the side of the stage was pulled back. Zhang Xiaoyu, Ha Meiqi, Lin Duo, and four other former trainees from Group A—a total of seven individuals—walked out onto the platform together. Gasps of sheer astonishment rippled through the auditorium. Every single one of them looked immeasurably more radiant and beautiful than they had three months ago. The heavy, bruised shadows beneath Zhang Xiaoyu’s eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a luminous, rosy complexion. Ha Meiqi’s hair had regained its thick, glossy, raven-black luster. Lin Duo had shed five kilograms, leaving her jawline as sharply defined as if it had been carved by a master sculptor. Standing together on the stage, the seven of them formed an undeniable, living wall of evidence. I handed my microphone to Zhang Xiaoyu, who took it and drew a deep, steadying breath.

Hello everyone, I am Zhang Xiaoyu, Lu Nian’s former teammate.

Three months ago, my physical state was similarly dreadful. I suffered from severe dark circles, alarming hair loss, and rough, dull skin. At the time, I foolishly believed it was merely the exhaustion of our grueling training regimen.

Yet, I eventually discovered a strange pattern: once I distanced myself from a certain individual, my physical vitality and health would automatically recover.

The crowd began to buzz with restless curiosity. Ha Meiqi took the microphone next:

My experience was identical. Previously, clumps of hair would fall out every time I washed it. Yet, after leaving that person’s side, my hair grew back thick and full in just a single month.

Lin Duo stepped forward, her voice ringing out clearly:

I had inexplicably gained fifteen pounds during our training. But the moment I parted ways with her, the weight vanished on its own without me changing a single habit.

Once all seven of them had finished speaking, the venue erupted into absolute pandemonium.

Who on earth are they talking about when they say ‘that person’?

Could it possibly be Song Qiaoqiao?

Oh my god, does that mean Song Qiaoqiao’s ethereal beauty was actually stolen from other people?

I reclaimed the microphone from Ha Meiqi’s hands.

I am not going to explicitly point fingers at anyone or name names. But what I want to make abundantly clear is that I never underwent plastic surgery. I merely took back what rightfully belonged to me from the very beginning.

All seven of us experienced the exact same thing.

The entire hall boiled over with frenzied murmurs. The live-stream comment section went completely feral: [So Song Qiaoqiao’s stunning looks were genuinely stolen goods!] [No wonder everyone who ever stood close to her turned dull and ugly!] [That is genuinely terrifying to think about; what kind of monstrous vampire constitution is this?] [Lu Nian is fiercely unapologetic! Calling her out directly in public!]

The trending search tags shifted in an instant:

Lu Nian responds to plastic surgery accusations.

Seven trainees step forward simultaneously to offer testimony.

Damning evidence reveals Song Qiaoqiao feeds on the vitality of others.

I stood tall upon the stage, gazing out over the sea of three thousand stunned faces and the blurring waterfall of text scrolling endlessly across the live broadcast screen. This time, every single person believed the truth. Not because I spun a tale about a mystical system, but because the undeniable transformation of those seven girls served as the most powerful, irrefutable proof imaginable. The beauty that Song Qiaoqiao had illicitly plundered was finally returned to its rightful owners, and she would never be permitted to steal again.

Following the tumultuous fan meeting, public opinion underwent a seismic and irreversible reversal. The topic titled “Song Qiaoqiao drains the beauty of others” stubbornly occupied the top three spots on the trending charts for three consecutive days. Even though no one could scientifically explain the true mechanics behind the phenomenon, internet sleuths had already unearthed the striking before-and-after photographs of all seven trainees. The evidence stood as immovable as a mountain. The entire internet turned its wrath upon Song Qiaoqiao, showering her in scathing condemnation.

How utterly repulsive. To think her entire aesthetic appeal was built on stolen property.

Poor Fang Yuanyuan; she was completely sucked dry of her life force before being heartlessly eliminated from the competition.

How does a vile person like this even have the shamelessness to participate in an idol survival show?

Sister Lin’s official statement was posted and deleted, then reposted and deleted again, before she finally deactivated her account entirely. All of Song Qiaoqiao’s social media profiles were thoroughly scrubbed clean, her profile pictures reverting to the bleak, default gray silhouettes. Yet, the storm was far from over. On the seventh day, Fang Yuanyuan broke her silence with a long-awaited post:

Thank you, Lu Nian. Three months ago, when I was cruelly eliminated, not a single soul believed a word I said. Now, finally, someone has stood up to shine a light on the truth.

I do not harbor a blind hatred for Song Qiaoqiao, but I desperately hope she is held fully accountable for the damage she inflicted.

The post amassed over half a million shares within hours, and the comment section flooded with an outpouring of deep sympathy for Fang Yuanyuan.

Back then, when Yuanyuan tried to warn everyone that Song Qiaoqiao was stealing from her, the whole world treated her as if she had lost her mind.

To think that everything she spoke of was the absolute truth. Such a pitiful girl.

Song Qiaoqiao owes her a profound, public apology.

The following day, trailing closely behind Fang Yuanyuan’s revelations, three additional trainees who had previously been unceremoniously eliminated stepped forward as well. Each of them had once been teammates of Song Qiaoqiao, each of them had suffered through inexplicable bodily deterioration and loss of physical attractiveness during their training period, and each of them had ultimately met the same tragic fate of elimination. Ten people in total. Over the course of the competition, Song Qiaoqiao had preyed upon at least ten victims. Public sentiment rapidly morphed from pure rage into a chilling, collective dread.

Just how many innocent people did she manage to drain?

This is terrifying to dwell on. Everyone who ever orbited her sphere met with utter misfortune.

Who in their right mind would ever dare to collaborate or associate with her from now on?