Chapter 101: Zhou Yi, This Is My Dad

“No need to be so formal, keep it up.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Faced with Zhou Yi’s casual words of encouragement, Wang Xinling—desperate to seize every opportunity—answered with unusual seriousness.

Poor kids grow up fast, and besides, starring in Zhou Yi’s MV could very well attract the attention of other directors.

Chen Hao, who has already joined the cast of “Pink Lady” and is now shooting scenes in Japan, is a living example.

Right now, countless people in the modeling world are watching Zhou Yi’s MV; for a nobody like her with no clout or connections, being chosen is, by industry standards, a stroke of ancestral luck.

After all, Lin Zhiling—who has greater fame and better looks and figure—was rejected, proving Zhou Yi isn’t the type to pick models based solely on appearance.

“‘Big City, Little Love’ is a sweet love song. Here’s your script. You don’t need to show off any strong acting skills—just let your natural strengths shine on camera.”

After handing Wang Xinling the script and shot list agreed upon with the MV director, Zhou Yi laid out his expectations for her—

Smile.

A sweet smile.

As sweet as you possibly can.

The original MV by Wang Leehom mostly features him alone, holding a guitar and singing—fine for a fresh, minimalist vibe, but lacking the song’s inherent sweetness.

So Zhou Yi added Wang Xinling, whose smile is sweet, into the MV.

No lines, no dialogue—just move and express in sync with the lyrics, and keep a sweet smile on your face.

Wang Xinling is perfect for this.

Despite lacking obvious physical advantages, she broke through the sea of idol dramas precisely because of her uniquely sweet smile.

After all, sweetness requires capital.

Some people’s sweetness is genuine; others’ only makes you want to yell, “Fuck.”

“Got it, I understand.”

Taking the two script copies from Zhou Yi with both hands, Wang Xinling walked aside, her expression solemn as she flipped through them.

She wasn’t new to shooting MVs—before Zhou Yi, her agent had arranged for her to appear in Cai Jianya’s MV.

But compared to that Cai Jianya shoot, she realized Zhou Yi’s script was far more detailed: instead of vague cues leaving actors to improvise, he had meticulously listed every action, emotion, and facial expression she needed.

It was very comfortable.

For example, the opening lines of the lyrics—

“Dark hair tied into a loop, entwining all my longing for you.”

“Behind a semi-transparent curtain, the words from my lips carry no deceit~”

The script required Wang Xinling to stand behind the curtain, tying up her long hair, and facing the camera with a sweet, loving smile.

Opening with a close-up—admittedly, shooting Zhou Yi’s MV is a dream: plenty of camera time, no risk of being just background filler.

Wang Xinling had assumed Zhou Yi’s MV would be shot entirely in a studio, but upon receiving the script, she discovered Warner’s lavish budget had allowed Zhou Yi to shoot on location.

Clearly, Warner had immense confidence in Zhou Yi’s second album.

“OK, when you’re ready, give it a try. Remember to sync with the lyrics.”

Under the director’s instructions, Wang Xinling quickly memorized the lyrics and movements, stepped before the camera, and as Zhou Yi’s rough demo played, she performed exactly as the script demanded.

“Huh? Is this the actress in your new MV? She smiles pretty nicely.”

Sun Yanzi, in unusually high spirits, walked into the studio with her hands clasped behind her back, skipping along—then stopped abruptly upon seeing Wang Xinling auditioning, and tiptoed closer—

Her head suddenly popped up from behind Zhou Yi, curiously studying the woman performing expressions and motions under the director’s guidance.

Zhou Yi, who had been standing with arms crossed, quietly observing, glanced sideways at Sun Yanzi, who had appeared like a ground squirrel: “Are you a ghost? You walk without a sound?”

Sun Yanzi grinned, chuckling twice: “I’m not arguing with you today—I don’t want to ruin my good mood.”

“Did you find money on the street? You’re so happy?” Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

Yesterday she was depressed; today her mood cleared up overnight?

“Hehe, my dad came over from Singapore because I made the Golden Melody Awards shortlist.”

Sun Yanzi placed her right hand on the man’s shoulder, her smile brightening further: “I told him I probably won’t win any of the three awards, but he didn’t care.”

“He said this is my first time participating in Taiwan’s Golden Melody Awards—it’s historic, he had to come.”

“If my mom hadn’t been too busy, she’d have come with him.”

Since arriving in Taiwan, Sun Yanzi had only managed to return home for a few days during Chinese New Year—so the thought of her father accompanying her on the red carpet thrilled her.

Zhou Yi nodded understandingly: “That’s great. When’s your dad arriving? Need any help?”

“No thanks—we’re already under heavy media scrutiny. I don’t want to be linked to you, Mr. Heartthrob, I’m still looking for a boyfriend.”

Sun Yanzi rolled her eyes at him: “Thank goodness Jackie Chan was decent enough to throw a birthday party and bring out Zhang Ziyi to divert the media’s attention. You wrote the theme song for his movie—worth every bit.”

“If Jackie Chan heard you say that, he’d make you regret it.”

“...You’ll keep this quiet, right?” Sun Yanzi’s eyes widened in panic after blurting it out; she clapped a hand over her mouth and looked up at the man beside her, blinking with pleading eyes: “Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know?”

Zhou Yi’s lips curled upward, his gaze fixed straight ahead at the studio beyond the glass partition: “We’ll see how you behave.”

“What kind of behavior?”

“Hmm… haven’t decided yet. How about a million or two as hush money?”

“Go die, you! Why don’t you just rob a bank?”

Unable to hold back her laughter, Sun Yanzi playfully slapped his shoulder: “I haven’t sold as many albums as you’ve sold in one—how dare you extort me?”

By now, Zhou Yi’s debut album “Zhou Yi,” thanks to its exceptional quality and several promotional surges, had sold over 1.9 million legitimate copies across Asia.

Mainland China accounted for the bulk of sales.

Especially after rumors spread that Taiwan had targeted him with a ban, his album sales in the mainland surged explosively.

Sun Yanzi’s album sales in Taiwan and Hong Kong could barely keep pace with Zhou Yi’s, but once expanded to the mainland or all of Asia, the gap became enormous.

Even in South Korea, after SM Records covered his songs like “Happy Worship” and saw them go viral, sales of his own album saw a pleasant boost.

Sun Yanzi’s album, meanwhile, couldn’t even be called “known” in South Korea—it was practically unheard of.

Xiao Yaxuan’s “Love’s Main Theme” had gained some market share there.

According to Qian Jiang, Korean companies, having tasted success, were already circling Zhou Yi again to buy the rights to “Love’s Main Theme” for another cover.

That was something Zhou Yi hadn’t anticipated.

He’d become a coveted target for Korea’s major entertainment companies—being “plucked” like a ripe fruit.

While the Korean Wave hadn’t swept mainland China yet, he’d already broken into the Korean market first.

His avant-garde looks in the MVs for “Jing Wu Men,” “My Microphone,” and “It’s Me” had become models for Korean youths to imitate.

Tall, charismatic—he fit their ideal perfectly.

"Forget it, I'm not going to talk about this with you anymore—I'm going to see my dad." Seeing Zhou Yi’s smug expression, Sun Yanzi decided it was better to look away, fearing further damage to her self-confidence.

Seeing Zhou Yi’s smug expression, Sun Yanzi decided it was better to look away before her confidence shattered completely. Humming a cheerful tune, she skipped out of the studio again, hands behind her back—her joyful demeanor made Zhou Yi smile inwardly.

Watching Wang Xinling pass her audition, receive the director’s approval, and follow Warner staff to sign contracts, Zhou Yi left the studio, planning to head home and tidy up.

After all, his parents were coming to Taiwan.

Just as he stepped out of the Warner building, waiting for his driver, he spotted a man in a brown long coat standing at the entrance, looking around as if observing something—

Middle-aged and balding—the man’s nightmare.

Noticing Zhou Yi’s gaze, the balding man smiled and nodded, then walked toward the Warner building entrance with his briefcase.

“Hello, could you tell me which floor the general manager’s office is on?”

“Ninth floor. But he’s not in the office right now—if you need to see him, I suggest calling ahead and leaving a message.”

Glancing at the black bag the middle-aged man carried, Zhou Yi, with nothing better to do, pointed the way and struck up a casual conversation: “You’re not local, are you? Your accent doesn’t sound Taiwanese—Hong Kong?”

The balding man looked at him in surprise, then, as if recalling something, smiled and nodded: “No, but my ancestral home is in Guangdong—I picked up the accent as a child.”

“That explains it.”

Zhou Yi nodded in understanding. Just as his driver pulled out of the underground parking lot, he saw Sun Yanzi’s astonished face appear inside the building’s entrance—

“Dad?! How did you get here so fast? I told you I’d pick you up!”

Dad?

At the sound of Sun Yanzi’s greeting, even Zhou Yi, the social butterfly, felt a moment of confusion.

He’d just been gossiping with her daughter about an unfounded rumor, and now he was calling this man “brother” and “big brother”—wasn’t that a bit off?

(End of Chapter)