The Cannon Fodder Alpha Who Made the Heroine Pregnant - Chapter 37

37:

The Chu family scandal continued to escalate, with certain parties ensuring the spotlight never faded.

Under Zhou Xianling’s leadership, Zhou Corporation had sustained some losses—but all calculated concessions within manageable limits.

Unless the mysterious Sang family figure made their move, these opportunistic wolves circling Zhou Corp would likely fail.

With the plot diverging from the novel, Zhou Xianling’s countermeasures had also shifted.

This contrast made the original story seem like it had forcibly dumbed down its cannon fodder characters.

Chu Meng’s incompetence was understandable, he’d been written as useless from the start. But Zhou Xianling was different. The man who built Zhou Corp into an empire couldn’t possibly be a pushover.

Even without his powerful backer, he wouldn’t be devoured so easily.

His current response aligned perfectly with reality.

If not for Chu Zhao, Zhou Lan would never have finished the original novel, having to ignore its countless logical flaws.

The real Zhou Xianling displayed far more strategic brilliance than his fictional counterpart.

Unwilling to leave Chu Zhao alone in Jiangning, Zhou Lan returned the day after her livestream.

On the high-speed train back, she skimmed through trending updates Hua Qiao had sent—all about her.

She clicked open the ZuiRe app to review last night’s broadcast performance.

The results exceeded even Hua Qiao’s expectations, hence the early morning data dump.

All five songs trended simultaneously. Though not topping the charts, their presence amidst high-traffic topics proved their viral success.

Sandwiched between were two additional hashtags:

#NewArtistMingXiaoZhou
#RisingArtist #SongwritingProdigy

“New artist Ming Xiao Zhou released an original singing video on ShiYan one month ago, going viral overnight. As of this report, likes have surpassed 10 million with millions of comments/shares. Last night’s 40-minute livestream featured five original compositions…”

Numerous marketing accounts promoted her digital album alongside edited clips from the stream, each song featured in snippets.

Great music resonates.

While song popularity kept rising, interest in the artist herself gradually waned—unsurprising for a faceless performer.

Still, her ZuiRe followers had exploded to 200,000 overnight.

Drowning in DMs—from fans asking about new releases to collaboration requests—she disabled private messages immediately.

Serious business inquiries could reach her through Hua Qiao or The Rolling Eggs band. Most unsolicited messages were just opportunists preying on newcomers.

Comments mirrored those on ShiYan, endless requests for full versions and release dates.

While Zhou Lan’s songs were objectively excellent, having all five trends simultaneously clearly involved paid promotion.

Hua Qiao revealed this was Chu Zhao’s doing.

Chu Yue Entertainment had purchased several songs from Zhou Lan with distribution plans already set.

Ming Xiao Zhou’s viral success would heighten anticipation for her compositions—effectively pre-marketing Chu Yue’s artists.

A renowned songwriter could make even unknown singers shine, the ultimate pre-debut boost.

Chu Zhao had transparently explained this marketing strategy, which Zhou Lan didn’t mind. It was mutually beneficial free publicity.

Her follower counts kept climbing across platforms.

Though that ShiYan video might remain her only upload—unless she could avoid showing her face entirely.

Beyond trending, the real surprise was sales.

100,000 purchases within the first hour. Now surpassing a million.

Unprecedented for a debut single.

Pre-orders for the digital album exceeded 100,000—a staggering feat for an unknown artist. But audiences bought the music, not the persona.

At 2 yuan per track (after platform cuts), she’d net roughly 1 million yuan just from day one—with ongoing royalties.

The real goldmine lay in licensing. As both composer and performer, her earnings potential dwarfed standard songwriter royalties.

Hit songs could generate hundreds of millions over time through repeated licensing for shows and performances.

Hua Qiao’s real-time sales updates barely elicited a reaction—an unnatural calm for a newcomer.

“Seriously, no other aliases?” Hua Qiao finally asked.

Zhou Lan: “?”

“It’s just… you act like this is normal.”

Accurate. Every past release has outperformed this. Even her student compositions earned millions.

Her reply: “Rich.”

Hua Qiao: “……”

“Just need you to promote the album release on ZuiRe.”

“Got it.”

“You’re back in Jiangning, right? I need a favor.”

Zhou Lan hesitated. As Chu Yue’s music director, was this about Chu Zhao?

Though reluctant to expose her identity, she couldn’t ignore potential emergencies.

“Go on.”

“That burial case in Jiangning, the Chu family estate. Any updates on them?”

The careful phrasing suggested concern for Chu Zhao.

Odd, since Chu Yue supposedly didn’t know about Chu Zhao’s family ties.

Then again, Hua Qiao wasn’t in the original novel. New characters meant new plotlines.

Every person lived in their own universe, the novel merely focused on Chu Zhao’s world.

“Okay,” Zhou Lan replied.

By the time their conversation ended, she’d arrived in Jiangning.

The villa stood empty—perhaps Chu Zhao had returned to her apartment.

She’d rented it initially to avoid the Chu family. After recent events, who’d want to stay here?

Yet at 8 PM, an exhausted Chu Zhao walked in—freezing at the sight of Zhou Lan on the sofa.

With the Chu family exposed, all pretenses dropped. The caretakers dismissed, only a daytime cleaner remained, leaving Chu Zhao alone each night.

This sudden intrusion—someone in her private space—triggered conflicting emotions.

Not that Zhou Lan was special. Just familiar.

Wait, since when did she consider Zhou Lan familiar?

Chu Zhao mentally corrected herself—just a poor word choice.

“You’re back?”

The phrasing slipped out unconsciously, like a wife greeting an unexpectedly returned spouse.

Startled, Zhou Lan looked up and relaxed upon recognizing her.

“After hearing Zhou Corp’s countermeasures, I thought you might need help.”

“Even just as a cover. The sooner this ends, the better.”

Pure pragmatism.

But to Chu Zhao, it sounded different. Zhou Lan had confessed feelings before.

Was this… for her?

Still, they were incompatible.

“Hn.” Her response was icy. “No surprises yet.”

The Chu family case had grown too big. Online outrage demanded accountability someone had to answer for twenty-seven lives.

That someone happened to be Zhou Corp’s backer, precisely as the Sang family insider intended.

Once investigations began, evidence would emerge to topple Zhou’s protector.

Previous attempts lacked this scale. The Chu family’s mass graves provided perfect justification.

Chu Zhao suspected deep-seated enmity between the Sang player and Zhou’s patron.

Yet with Zhou’s shield gone, the Sang faction still hadn’t struck.

Every day Zhou Corp survived—increased her exposure risk.

Zhou Lan’s return did ease pressure, especially with Ling He’na constantly pestering about her whereabouts.

Having to humor such people while maintaining appearances was exhausting.

Seeing Zhou Lan, she felt… relief?

Since when did Chu Zhao rely on others?

Rubbing her temples, she dismissed the thought as fatigue.

Meanwhile, Zhou Lan remained oblivious, fully absorbed in analyzing every detail of their situation.