Li Zhenwei didn't relax just yet.
Praise could rise quickly, but so could backlash. What mattered now was direction—guiding the conversation before it twisted again. He signaled to the PR team, and within minutes, related accounts began to move in quiet coordination.
Film bloggers reposted the audition clip, breaking down Muyao's performance line by line. Some pointed out her controlled expressions; others noted how she left emotional space instead of forcing tears. Acting students and small reviewers joined in, offering calm, technical opinions rather than blind praise.
"She doesn't overact. That's rare for a newcomer."
"You can tell she studied the character instead of copying someone else."
"This kind of audition takes courage."
"She knows how to hold back. That's not something you can fake—most newcomers try too hard."
"I've been acting for years, and I can say this kind of control usually comes after many mistakes. She skipped a few steps."
"She understands silence. That's harder than delivering lines."
"This isn't flashy acting, but it's honest. Directors like this type."
"You can see she listens to the scene, not just herself."
"For a first project, this level of calm is impressive."
"She didn't rely on expressions or tears. That shows confidence."
"This is the kind of audition that grows stronger the more you watch it."
These comments stood out from the rest.
They weren't excited screams or blind praise—they were calm, precise, and unmistakably professional. Some accounts even had verified badges, others were names Muyao herself had once seen in cast lists and award ceremonies.
As more people noticed where the comments were coming from, the discussion shifted again.
"Wait… Isn't this senior actress Li Wenqing?"
"That director-comment sounds like Zhao Mingyuan…"
"These aren't fans talking."
The doubts that once dominated the comment section began to lose ground.
Meanwhile, the earlier rumors started to lose their footing. Under the original accusations, new replies appeared.
"Did anyone actually confirm she 'stole' the role?"
"The director never announced anyone else for Lin Meixin."
"Why are these rumors all coming from fan circles?"
Li Zhenwei didn't let his guard down. The tide was shifting in Muyao's favor, but the source of the storm was still out there. Cao Yirou—the B-list actress who had started the rumor—had to be dealt with before she could spark another wave of attacks.
He opened multiple screens, tracing accounts, connections, and fan groups. Cao Yirou had thought she could stir chaos unnoticed, hiding behind backup accounts and whispered messages in private chat groups. But Li Zhenwei's team was methodical. They began documenting everything: her posts, the timing, the replies, and even the subtle nudges she had sent to her fan circle that fanned the flames.
"Prepare a report," he told the PR team. "We'll let the public see what's really happening behind the scenes. If Cao Yirou wants to play dirty, she's about to lose credibility faster than she can gain it."
While Li Zhenwei was preparing everything to expose Cao Yirou, an unexpected notification popped up on his screen. Star My Destination's official Weibo hadn't posted yet—but someone else had just shared Muyao's audition clip.
It was Xie Jingchi.
The caption was simple, confident:"I was there during the audition. I can tell this is her first time acting—she's a rising star."
Almost immediately, his fans began flooding the comments.
"Xie Jingchi said it himself! She's legit!""I trust his opinion over random internet rumors.""Finally, someone with experience recognizing talent.""Rising star? I can already see it!""Xie Jingchi doesn't throw praise lightly—she must be really good."
The repost pushed the momentum even further. Some who had doubted her paused, while others quietly deleted their negative comments. Gradually, new fans began to appear—some had followed Muyao before she entered the industry because they enjoyed her travel vlogs, others started following after noticing Xie Jingchi's support, and many more joined when he called her a rising star. Even casual viewers began watching the audition clip more carefully, curious to see what had impressed Xie Jingchi so much.
Within just five minutes, Muyao's Weibo follower count skyrocketed—from 2,000 to 10,000. Notifications flashed across her screen, a rapid stream of new follows and likes. Yet Muyao knew nothing of it. In Lianhai, the sky was clear, the sea calm. She sat on the balcony with a warm drink in her hands, completely unaware that the tide online was slowly turning in her favor. Her phone lay untouched beside her.
Lin Muyao Drawn Into Casting Controversy, her audition video, Xie Jingchi's repost, and the rising support were spreading like wildfire. Back in Hua City, the Lin family watched anxiously as the topic climbed higher on the trending list. Every notification, every comment, every repost seemed to carry both excitement and tension.
Lin Anguo's face darkened as he scrolled through the posts. "Look at this… all of this is about Muyao," he muttered, voice tight with anger and frustration. "We should never have allowed her to step into the entertainment industry in the first place."
Lin Xinyu and Lin Yunxia leaned in, worry etched across their faces. "They're accusing her of stealing a role… and it's all over the trending list," Xinyu said, her voice trembling.
Yunxia swiped through the posts, biting her lip. "I can't believe they can say such things about a girl who just stepped into society, while they don't even know her."
Boyuan's hands clenched into fists. "How can people be so cruel? She's talented, hardworking… and they attack her like this?"
Anruo sat quietly, her eyes soft as she watched her family's reactions. "She's our Muyao," she said gently. "And no matter what anyone says online, we know who she really is."
Even surrounded by the calm of Lianhai, the storm of words online reached her family, leaving them furious, worried, and protective of the youngest Lin.
Lin Anguo picked up his phone again, dialing Muyao's number for the third time in as many minutes. Each ring made his chest tighten. "Come on… pick up," he muttered under his breath.
Yunxia hovered nearby, scrolling through the comments. "They're saying the most disgusting things… I don't even want her to see this," she said, her voice tight with frustration.
Boyuan slammed his palm gently on the table. "We can't let her be alone for this. She's too young, too new. This… this is ridiculous."
Even Anruo, normally calm, had her fingers hovering over her phone, debating whether to text Muyao herself. "She's on vacation," she said softly. "She needs to be away from all this for now… but we have to make sure she knows we're here."
The group sent messages, left voicemails, and even tried video calls, but Muyao remained blissfully unaware, her attention fixed on the gentle waves of Lianhai. She sipped her warm drink, the wind teasing her hair, completely insulated from the chaos online.
Lin Anguo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "She can't see this yet. Not until we handle the situation. We protect her first, then we deal with the storm."
Yunxia nodded firmly. "Exactly. Let's make sure nothing reaches her that could hurt her spirit. She's too precious… too pure for this kind of attack."
The family fell into a tense, quiet rhythm—watching, waiting, protecting. They couldn't be with her physically, but they could guard her in every other way.