Chapter 75: We Do Not Accept a Settlement

An hour later, the center of the city’s online storm quietly shifted.

#Chuze Band Responds to Plagiarism Accusations, Lawyer’s Statement Includes Complete Evidence Chain#、#Tide Line’s Creation Date Precedes Island by Three Months, Original Demo Exposed#、#Wen Wan Ning Takes Case Personally, Music Copyright Battle Begins#

The top spots on major media platforms’ hot search lists prominently featured Chuze Band’s official statement.

The statement was formally released by Jiayu Law Firm, with rigorous wording and clear evidence.

The timeline evidence included Shen Jia Yan’s cloud audio files, with the earliest version created on February 17th at 22:18 this year—three full months before Island was released. File properties, geolocation, and timestamps were all verifiable.

To reconstruct the creation process, they released edited clips from six months of rehearsal room surveillance footage, clearly recording Shen Jia Yan’s repeated revisions and recordings of Tide Line.

In the professional music analysis, a report co-signed by three renowned industry music producers pointed out that Tide Line and Island only shared common interval progressions in tiny segments. Their overall melody direction, harmonic arrangements, rhythmic patterns, and emotional tones (Tide Line being a deep narrative, Island a light pop) showed fundamental differences, not constituting substantial similarity.

Wen Wan Ning had penned the statement herself, with strong wording: “Tide Line is an original work condensed from Ms. Shen Jia Yan’s life experiences. Its creative motivation stemmed from the loss of a close relative and her personal emotional journey; its originality is beyond doubt. For acts of malicious rumor-mongering and deliberate smearing, our firm will pursue legal accountability to the end.”

The moment the statement went out, public opinion erupted.

The internet boiled over.

—I knew it was a false accusation!

—How could Shen Jia Yan plagiarize!

—Jiuhe Band is so shameless, riding on anyone’s popularity.

······

Music critics chimed in.

—They should have listened to the full song from the start; the depth is on a completely different level.

—The arrangement layers, emotional progression, and use of space in Tide Line are textbook-level creation.

—The plagiarism claim never held water. The chord progressions, rhythm types, and verse narrative logic of the two songs are completely different. Comparing them disrespects the creators.

······

Meanwhile, Shen Jia Yan sat on the sofa in the studio, her phone screen lit up with the statement’s page.

She didn’t look at the comments or the hot searches.

Her gaze lingered on the familiar name at the end of the statement: Wen Wan Ning.

She knew this battle had only just begun.

The brand’s final decision was still pending, the opposing team might counterattack, and the online noise wouldn’t vanish immediately.

But at least, they had fired the first shot.

And it was the person she trusted who had pulled the trigger for her.

Right on schedule, Chuze Band’s statement video was released.

In the footage, Shen Jia Yan sat on the sofa. She spoke, her voice calm yet overwhelming the clamor like a tide: “Tide Line is not plagiarism. It is the silhouette of my grandma watering flowers in the garden, the back of the person I love turning away, every night I missed her but didn’t dare contact her······”

The camera slowly zoomed in as she lifted her head, her gaze piercing straight through the lens as if looking into someone’s eyes: “What this song carries is not inspiration—it’s loss, love unrequited, parting from life and death, everything I dare not forget and cannot forget······”

The video ended.

Social media exploded once more.

#Chuze Band Shen Jia Yan Statement#、#Tide Line Is Not Plagiarism#、#Shen Jia Yan’s Loved One# and other topics surged to the top of the hot search lists.

Countless fans left messages.

—So this song hides so much pain.

—She’s not singing; she’s writing songs with her life.

—By the way, who is the person Shen Jia Yan loves? Whoever it is doesn’t know how to cherish her. If she loved me, I’d faint from happiness.

—Someone as great as Shen Jia Yan, a band as great as Chuze Band—why do people always try to slander them?

······

Lin Che leaned over, looking at the phone, and grinned. “It’s done! Jia Yan, look—the public opinion has completely turned. We’ve ridden the wave and gotten even hotter.”

Shen Jia Yan nodded lightly, her fingertip tracing over Wen Wan Ning’s name on the screen.

She recalled in the meeting room, when she spoke of “emotional expression differences,” the way Wen Wan Ning’s voice had softened slightly; she remembered the fleeting pain in her eyes when she said, “The memories and pain it carries cannot be ‘plagiarized.'”

She knew Wen Wan Ning understood this song.

In the law firm’s office, Wen Wan Ning sat alone at her desk, her phone screen glowing as she played the video for the third time.

Outside, dusk fell, city lights spreading like a starry river, but her world narrowed to the girl on the screen whose calm voice cut like knives.

“Every night I missed her but didn’t dare contact her······” When that line played, Wen Wan Ning’s fingers clenched suddenly, her knuckles turning white.

She had to pause the video, close her eyes, and take a deep breath. But that voice had already etched into her bones, echoing repeatedly.

She knew that “her” was herself—the one Shen Jia Yan had missed on countless nights but never contacted.

She had thought leaving was granting Shen Jia Yan freedom; she had thought silence was the best protection for them both.

But in this moment, she realized her “for her own good” was just a coward’s fig leaf. She had wrapped herself in “rationality” and “restraint,” leaving the deepest pain to the one who loved most purely.

She slowly swiped her phone and clicked play for the fourth time. A tear fell unbidden onto the edge of the screen, blurring a small patch of light.

Shen Jia Yan, returning from the restroom, caught sight of Wen Wan Ning in the office through the glass wall of the law firm corridor.

Her footsteps halted.

Only a desk lamp illuminated the office, its dim yellow glow enveloping Wen Wan Ning’s profile. She sat with her head bowed, the phone screen’s light reflecting on her face, her expression quiet to the point of fragility. Her beige suit jacket draped over the chair back, her shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing slender arms.

Shen Jia Yan’s heart clenched fiercely.

Walk away, don’t look. It’s all in the past, she told herself.

It had been five years; she should have learned to avoid everything related to her. She was here for the case, not to relive old dreams.

But another voice tugged at her: Just a look. It’s been so many years.

Even as friends, classmates, or two people who had once shared earbuds and a bag of chips by the sports field, she should look more—see her growth, her changes······

She saw Wen Wan Ning raise a hand, her fingertip gently brushing her eye corner in a restrained, enduring motion, as if even tears had to follow some order.

She remembered college-era Wen Wan Ning, always the clearest-headed in any crowd. In debates, her logic was airtight and incisive; during exam weeks, she was organized and unflappable. She was like a straight white birch, forever upright, forever rational.

But now, head bowed, her shoulders slightly slumped, as if finally shedding a thousand-jin burden.

The corridor lights were dim, yet Shen Jia Yan felt her chest burn.

She wanted to turn and leave, but her feet felt rooted.

Just then, Wen Wan Ning suddenly looked up, her gaze locking straight onto the glass wall, as if sensing her presence.

Their eyes met across the transparent barrier.

Time seemed to freeze.

Shen Jia Yan’s heart skipped a beat; she wanted to flee but felt nailed in place.

She saw Wen Wan Ning’s eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came.

Then, she stood and walked slowly toward the door.

In an instant, Shen Jia Yan turned and strode away toward the meeting room.

The sound of her shoes striking the floor echoed in the empty corridor, like her racing heartbeat.

She didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare see if that door opened, didn’t dare see if that person followed.

She just walked, faster and faster, until she pushed open the meeting room door, slammed it shut behind her, and leaned against it, gasping for breath.

She closed her eyes, her mind filled with that scene.

The glint of tears in Wen Wan Ning’s eyes, the lips that parted but held back words.

She knew she shouldn’t run.

But she was afraid—afraid that one glance back would trap her forever, plunging her once more into that painful abyss.

And right behind her, the door to Wen Wan Ning’s office eased open.

She stood in the middle of the corridor, staring at the tightly shut meeting room door, her fingertips still on the handle.

In the meeting room, everyone focused on the “plagiarism” incident; no one noticed Shen Jia Yan’s odd behavior.

She steadied her emotions, the chill of the corridor air still lingering on her fingertips, the burning throb in her chest not yet subsided. She returned to her seat with her head down, her movements calm, as if nothing had happened.

But only she knew her heartbeat still pounded in her ears.

Yang Han said excitedly to Lin Che and her, “This is great! Lawyer Wen’s operation has completely reversed public opinion! Less than two hours after the statement, we’ve taken six of the top ten hot searches. Fans and critics are overwhelmingly on our side. And,” she lowered her voice, unable to suppress her grin, “people from Jiuhe Band have contacted me already, wanting a private settlement.”

Lin Che nodded in agreement. “Their lawyer just emailed, saying they’re willing to drop the suit on the condition of a public clarification admitting Tide Line‘s originality and an apology at their next show.”

Yang Han breathed a sigh of relief, a smile finally breaking across her face. “Perfect! Jia Yan, we’ve won this one.”

But Shen Jia Yan didn’t smile. She stared at the table, her fingers absently rubbing the rim of her cup, her voice soft. “A settlement?”

Lin Che’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah—”

Before he could finish, Wen Wan Ning, who had just entered, cut him off. “We do not accept a settlement.”

The meeting room fell silent instantly.

Everyone turned to the door. Wen Wan Ning stood there, folder in arms, her beige suit impeccable, her gaze cool and resolute. She had just come from her office, traces of emotion still in her eyes, but now she had fully resumed her lawyer persona.

“Lawyer Wen?” Yang Han was stunned. “Why? They’re the ones offering, and the terms seem sincere······”

Wen Wan Ning walked in and set the folder on the table, her voice steady. “Because they’re not sincerely admitting fault; they’re seeking peace under public pressure.”

She opened the file and looked around. “They want a ‘public apology’ to cover up the plagiarism facts, but Tide Line isn’t ordinary music—it’s Shen Jia Yan’s heartblood, condensed over five years of loss and pain. Can one ‘apology’ erase that?”

Shen Jia Yan slowly raised her head.

Her gaze fell on Wen Wan Ning. Those eyes, like a night sky washed by rain, were deep yet beginning to shine.

“It’s not erasure,” she said softly, but each word clear as a drumbeat on the heart. “It’s trampling.”

She stood and walked to the table, her fingers lightly tracing the file, where “Jiuhe Band” stood out like a glaring scar.

No matter how much time passed, Wen Wan Ning still understood her more than anyone, knew more clearly what she wanted······