"Everyone, please look at the screen."
Following Zhang Yichen's instructions, a staff member displayed the projection.
"This is Miss Chen Xiaoxi's medical record from the past year. Before leaving her former company, she had already been diagnosed with depression due to excessive pressure and an overwhelming workload."
"May I ask—how exactly is a patient suffering from depression supposed to act 'arrogant'? As for the contract termination, didn't Miss Chen pay the penalty fees? Or are you saying that even after developing depression, she was still expected to work herself to the bone for them?"
Zhang Yichen deliberately emphasized the words pressure and heavy workload.
Didn't the former company like smearing people?
Fine. Then let's fight fire with fire.
They had nothing but baseless accusations—while he presented concrete medical evidence.
Once the medical records were made public, Zhang Yichen didn't believe anyone would still have the nerve to attack Chen Xiaoxi.
Moreover, judging by the date of her first diagnosis—
It was before the alleged contract breach.
A perfectly healthy person doesn't develop depression out of nowhere.
Didn't the former company owe everyone an explanation?
"Next—sixth question!" Zhang Yichen casually pointed to another reporter in the front row.
"Mr. Zhang," the reporter asked, "some people online are questioning your originality. They say you never received formal music training—so how did you manage to write so many good songs?"
The questions were getting sharper.
But this one still didn't faze him.
"Heh… that one's easy," Zhang Yichen chuckled. "Because God gave me this talent. I'm a naturally gifted creator—writing songs is as easy for me as eating."
That statement cut deep.
Among countless music creators, who dared to say writing songs was as easy as eating?
Today, Zhang Yichen said it—and without hesitation.
"Oh, right," he added casually, "I still have over two hundred unreleased songs. Any senior artists interested in collaboration can contact President Li Yue of ChenXi Entertainment Media. Custom commissions are also welcome."
A subtle bit of self-promotion.
Selling songs would help him build connections and establish his footing quickly.
That way, if negative rumors surfaced again, he'd have allies.
"Seventh question—you," Zhang Yichen said, pointing at a bespectacled reporter.
"Mr. Zhang," the reporter asked, "there are rumors online claiming that you're being financially supported by Miss Chen. Is that true?"
Finally—that question.
Zhang Yichen had almost thought today's reporters weren't interested in scandals.
"This doesn't even require thinking," he replied calmly. "My surname is Zhang. Miss Xiaoxi's mother's surname is also Zhang. On top of that, I'm her manager."
The implication was clear.
Anyone who kept pushing this topic would only make themselves look foolish.
"And besides," he continued, "I'm an orphan. Sister Xiaoxi is kind-hearted—what's wrong with her taking care of me a little?"
This directly addressed the two incidents that had fueled speculation—
Accompanying him to buy clothes, and going with him to the hospital.
They were intimate gestures, but now had a reasonable explanation.
"Alright, eighth question—you," Zhang Yichen said, pointing ahead.
Three reporters stood up at once.
They exchanged glances.
Zhang Yichen smiled. "Perfect. There are three questions left—each of you gets one."
Fair and reasonable.
The reporter on the left went first.
"Mr. Zhang, it's said that you plan to donate yesterday's livestream earnings—over thirty million—to the Red Cross. Is this true?"
"It is," Zhang Yichen replied lightly. "But not thirty million—forty million."
This was exactly the kind of question he welcomed.
A single livestream generating forty million—
That alone was massive publicity for Joy.
By donating it all, he established a positive image for all three of them.
Two birds with one stone.
He didn't elaborate further—too much talk would sound like bragging.
"Next."
The middle reporter stood.
"Mr. Zhang, you were the top scorer in the college entrance exam four years ago and could have chosen any university. Why did you choose Sichuan Vocational College?"
"I couldn't refuse—the money was too good."
Zhang Yichen kept it simple.
How else was he supposed to explain it?
For money?
For servers?
Or just to coast through college?
At that moment, Chen Xiaoxi suddenly spoke.
"Let me answer this one."
"Everyone knows he grew up in an orphanage," she said gently. "The orphanage is old and severely damaged. Ah Chen wanted to rebuild it."
"But rebuilding an orphanage requires a lot of money. Sichuan Vocational College offered enough funding to make that possible—that's why he made that choice."
What she said was true—and it added another layer to his image.
Coming from her, it felt sincere rather than self-promotional.
"The final question," Zhang Yichen said with a slight smile, gesturing to the last reporter.
The reporter stood, his gaze sharp.
"Mr. Zhang, you said you'll release one song per day. Can you guarantee their quality? And if you can, won't releasing so many songs disrupt the market?"
As expected.
One question—but really two.
Zhang Yichen didn't mind.
He chuckled softly, tapping his fingers on the table.
"I've already said it—I can guarantee that every one of those two hundred songs will be good."
"As for disrupting the market—I don't agree."
"I think the current music scene is stagnant—like still water."
"With the release of my songs, I believe the industry will be revitalized—brought back to life."
"Alright, that concludes today's press conference. Thank you all for coming."
Zhang Yichen gave a slight nod, his expression calm as he scanned the room.
The reporters were reluctant to leave—but faced with his presence, they packed up and exited in an orderly manner.
At the doorway, staff arranged by Li Yue handed each reporter a red envelope.
An unspoken rule.
After all, reporters were uncrowned kings—no one wanted negative coverage.
Footsteps and hushed chatter faded into the distance, like the curtain closing on a grand performance.
Zhang Yichen remained where he stood, watching them leave.
The smile on his face slowly faded—
Replaced by a deep, thoughtful expression.