Chapter 476: Two Kings, Two Queens

Xu Guanjie’s first song was “Iron Tower Soaring Above the Clouds,” his first original Cantopop composition, widely regarded as the pioneering work of Cantopop, holding profound significance for both Xu Guanjie and the genre itself.

Immediately following was his most recently popular song, the theme track “Best Partners” from the film of the same name.

“Your name is Dingdong, sweet as honey, approachable, fresh, and bright; my name is King Kong, styled like James Bond—best partners, you brew the coffee, I add milk and sugar…”

Gong Ying said she had heard this song because she watched the VHS tape of the movie “Best Partners” at home with Wei Ming and Zhu Lin.

She had always assumed Xu Guanjie was Hong Kong’s top actor, never imagining he was also a top singer.

Besides classic old hits like “Ghostly Stars,” “Half a Pound Equals Eight Ounces,” and “The Wanderer’s Heart,” Xu Guanjie prepared a special surprise: he performed for the first time the title track of his yet-unreleased album, “A New Beginning.”

This album, “A New Beginning,” was his first release after leaving PolyGram and signing with Kangyi Chengyin Records.

This new record label, founded just last year, had swiftly secured three major stars—Xu Guanjie, Sally Yeh, and Kwan Cheng-kit—making it remarkably impressive.

Xu Guanjie himself was a singer-songwriter; “A New Beginning” was entirely written and composed by him, and he contributed to ten of the twelve songs on the new album.

Zhou Hui knew she still had a long way to go compared to Xu Guanjie, but being able to create her own music truly earned respect—and it was a deeply happy thing.

Her upcoming album would include three or four songs she co-wrote; the rest would be left to Ah Ming, and if that still wasn’t enough, she’d have to rely on Hong Kong’s music talents to complete the twelve tracks.

After two very joyful hours, the concert ended successfully, and the audience departed in orderly fashion.

At the exit, Zhou Hui saw Ah Long and his wife, then her gaze naturally fell on the woman who bore a slight resemblance to Gong Ying but was far more beautiful and elegant, as if she carried starlight with her.

Ah Long also spotted Zhou Hui and her group; though Zhou Hui wore a mask, Zhou Ma and Lin Ni did not.

He had intended to pretend not to see them, but they had already come over and greeted him in Mandarin: “Brother Long, Sister Long, this must be Sister Xue, right? We’ve spoken on the phone.”

Gong Ying nodded, locking eyes with Zhou Hui, eager to see if she looked exactly like the cover of the record.

Ah Min also felt this was impolite; seeing few people around, she removed her mask to converse.

Instantly, the fresh scent of youth enveloped her, leaving Gong Ying with a brief pang of loss and sorrow—she knew she could never present this version of herself to Wei Ming.

Sixteen or seventeen—that was the most beautiful time of life, but Xiao Wei would never see it.

Though she only suspected the nature of Wei Ming and Zhou Hui’s relationship, if her thirty-year-old self stood beside sixteen-year-old Zhou Hui, and she imagined herself as a man, she’d likely choose the latter too.

At sixteen, a man had ample time to mold her into his ideal form and enjoy her companionship far longer, allowing them to perfectly synchronize.

“Sister Xue, I thought you’d already left Hong Kong, but you’re still here—let’s get dinner sometime.” Zhou Hui extended the invitation, curious about the bond between her Ah Ming and this mainland superstar—why were all his screenplays starring her?

“Sure, I’ll be staying in Hong Kong for a while—plenty of time.” Gong Ying met the challenge head-on.

Hearing they planned to meet for dinner, with the time and place about to be set, Liu Long began to sweat—this situation was slipping from his control; if they sat together and talked about their boyfriends, they’d quickly realize they were talking about the same man!

Should he just confess everything to Ying and convince her to help him hide the truth from Erjie?

At this critical moment, someone shouted, “Ah Min.”

Zhou Hui turned around—it was Sammi Cheng and Zhang Guorong, who had just been seated in the VIP section.

Zhou Hui had no choice but to chat briefly with her two friends; when she turned back, Gong Ying and Gong Ying had already been pulled away by Ah Long.

“If we don’t leave now, the road will be blocked—let’s talk another day,” Ah Long improvised.

“Ah Min, what were you looking at?” Sammi Cheng asked curiously from the other side.

“Oh, just a new friend I met.” Seeing they had left, Zhou Hui chatted a few more minutes with them, mostly about music.

Sammi Cheng laughed: “All three of us just released albums—waiting for yours now. When’s your Mandarin album coming out?”

“The three of us” referred to the three hottest young pop stars: Tan Yonglin, Zhang Guorong, and Sammi Cheng.

Sammi Cheng hadn’t originally been on the list, but her album “Crimson Sammi” released last month became a massive hit, now selling four times platinum, revealing the aura of a diva and establishing her distinct style.

As for Chen Baixiang, he had gone to the U.S. to study music and become an overseas student—he hadn’t appeared in Hong Kong for over half a year and now seemed to have fallen behind.

Besides “Crimson Sammi,” Tan Yonglin also released a new album last month titled “Late Spring,” equally successful, spawning two hit singles: “Late Spring” and “Phantom.”

At the beginning of this month, Zhang Guorong released his new album “The Wind Still Blows,” which also drew tremendous attention, matching the popularity of the previous two, as if the new generation of Hong Kong’s music scene had quietly taken shape.

Zhou Hui smiled modestly: “I’ve only got a Mandarin album—I can’t compare with you two.”

But they didn’t think so; although Mandarin albums held a slight disadvantage in Hong Kong, if Ah Ming was involved, that minor edge would vanish completely.

Moreover, Ah Min’s appeal to teenage audiences would make them buy blindly—no matter Mandarin or Cantonese, if it was Vivian’s song, they’d buy it without a second thought.

Since her mother and Lin Ni were still waiting, Zhou Hui said her goodbyes after a few more words—she had to write songs tomorrow.

On the way home, Ah Min played Zhang Guorong’s “The Wind Still Blows”; she loved this title track by Rong Shao, even though it was a ballad and less popular than the album’s dance tracks—she simply adored it, feeling this was what Zhang Guorong truly wanted to sing.

Yet “Melinda” had pushed him onto the path of a singing-and-dancing idol, leaving him somewhat trapped; Huaxing had pushed him hard in that direction, and this album “The Wind Still Blows” accidentally tapped into the new craze of breakdancing, so its sales matched those of “Crimson Sammi” and “Late Spring.”

The competition among the new generation of musicians was fierce; Ah Min thought of the few songs she had written, wondering how many Ah Ming had written for her—and what he was doing right now.

At this moment, Wei Ming had already arrived in Shanghai; he had left ahead of the other two companions and was waiting for them there.

He came to Shanghai primarily to check on the production progress of “Transformers” Season Two; Season One had been a huge success in North America, significantly boosting sales, so Season Two had to follow.

Moreover, the power dynamic had reversed: this time, Wei Lingling planned to charge the TV station—only those who paid could get the rights to broadcast.

It was rumored that “Transformers” was wildly popular in the U.S.; the very studio that once refused to let the show bear its logo now happily placed its emblem at the beginning, right after DreamWorks Animation.

DreamWorks Animation was DreamWorks’ registered animation company in Hong Kong, responsible for promoting “Transformers”—currently, it was little more than an empty shell.

But DreamWorks Animation’s logo was beautiful: a little boy sitting on a crescent moon, fishing—designed personally by Wei Ming.

At Meiyingchang, Wei Ming also spotted Director Dai Tielang, idly hanging around, holding a packet of letters he’d collected from the gatekeeper.

Wei Ming asked: “More demand letters again?”

Director Dai smiled helplessly.