Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven: Teacher Sun Yanzi

Recording songs is actually a very tedious process, especially in the year 2000, when the industry had not yet fully deteriorated.

In this era, for 99% of singers, the demanding standards of studio albums typically left them all wearing pained expressions by the end.

Sometimes just four or five lines of lyrics would be painstakingly re-recorded over a dozen times—unquestionably torturous.

To be honest, before officially starting the recording, Zhou Yi had been skeptical about this claim.

He had recorded in Beijing before, albeit only demos, but roughly speaking, those still counted as studio demo songs.

Unfortunately, reality proved him wrong.

Not just wrong—he was wildly wrong.

“This line doesn’t feel right, Zhou Yi. Your diction needs to be clearer, with better distinction between stressed and unstressed syllables, so the phrasing and rhythm become more distinct.”

“And Zhang Shaohan, your tone is good, but your emotion isn’t lively enough. Do you understand? ‘Happy Worship’ is a cheerful song—both lyrics and melody are bright and joyful.”

“You need to make your vocal emotion fuller while maintaining tone quality, not like you skipped breakfast and have no breath left…”

In the studio, Li Sisong, having removed his monitoring headphones, turned to the two approaching him and began his endless guidance, making Zhou Yi grit his teeth inwardly.

Since Zhang Shaohan arrived this morning, nearly four and a half hours had passed—it was almost 12:30—and they still hadn’t finished half a song.

Zhang Shaohan’s naturally rough tone is truly a gift from heaven, but unfortunately, she is not yet the fully formed Zhang Shaohan of the future; there’s still much to polish.

Zhou Yi, though his musical knowledge didn’t come from a formal music academy and would be considered an amateur by industry standards, has excellent vocal physiology and abundant emotion.

The main reason he’s been stopped repeatedly is that mainland China’s music training education differs significantly from that of Hong Kong and Taiwan, leaving his diction habits somewhat mismatched.

Added to that are the quirks inherent to his amateur background…

Of course, to Li Sisong, this veteran of music, none of these were problems—given time, they could all be fixed.

At this moment, his only thought was: after Sun Yanzi, he had encountered two more uncarved jades.

The only pity was that Zhang Shaohan was already signed to Fuhua Records, unlike Zhou Yi, whose contract was with Warner.

He wanted to find Zhou Jianhui and see if he could try luring Zhang Shaohan away from Fuhua.

Standing nearby, Sun Yanzi watched Zhang Shaohan, head bowed, hands awkwardly fidgeting with her jeans, and quickly stepped in to ease the tension: “Teacher, it’s already this late—let’s take a break and have lunch.”

“Huh? Almost 12:30 already? Alright, then let’s stop for now. Miss Zhang, think carefully about what I’ve said.”

“And Zhou Yi, your vocal technique should be more scientific. Right now your voice is at its peak, so you can get away with anything—but once your vocal capacity declines and your technique remains unscientific, your tone will lose its quality…”

Looking up at the clock and realizing it was mealtime, Li Sisong gave them both directions for improvement before turning to Sun Yanzi: “Stefanie, you’re Zhou Yi’s senior in vocal technique—teach him more.”

Stefanie is Sun Yanzi’s English name.

Probably because they’re both from Singapore, Li Sisong often switched between her Chinese and English names when addressing her.

Sun Yanzi nodded, understanding: “OK, leave it to me.”

After Li Sisong left, Zhou Yi, his scalp numb from the recording ordeal, collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, slumping into the nearest chair—

Gazing up at the ceiling, his handsome features instantly twisted into a pained mask: “Ugh, I’m exhausted, exhausted—why is recording so tiring? I’ve recorded demos on the mainland before.”

“I feel like my throat isn’t even mine anymore.”

Zhang Shaohan, too preoccupied to complain, apologized humbly: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Zhou. I made too many mistakes—I truly apologize.”

Poor children grow up fast; back in Canada, most of her family’s appliances were won from singing competitions, leading her to believe her singing ability was exceptional.

Only after arriving on Baodao did she realize she’d been living in a well, seeing only a tiny patch of sky.

After studying so long at Fuhua, she’d harbored some resentment over their refusal to release her album—but after today’s recording, she truly understood she might not yet meet the standard for debut.

“No need to apologize. I’m not a monster. If you sing poorly, just sing again. Besides, your tone is genuinely excellent.”

Zhou Yi lazily waved his hand, his casual tone carrying no hint of blame, which eased Zhang Shaohan’s tension.

She genuinely feared this talented songwriter might get angry and cut off her chance to land this job.

After all, she needed money.

“Zhou Yi’s right, Miss Zhang. Your tone suits this song perfectly. As for problems, every beginner has them—it’s no big deal.”

Sun Yanzi, leaning against the desk corner, smiled reassuringly: “When I first entered the studio, I got scolded even worse than you—I nearly cried.”

“Really?”

Curious, Zhou Yi turned his head back: “Did you end up crying?”

Sun Yanzi gave him a strange look: “Is that the point?”

“For me, it is—because I can’t imagine you crying from being scolded.”

“You’ll never see me cry from being scolded—but you might see yourself crying from me scolding you.” Sun Yanzi raised an eyebrow, sensing gossip: “Don’t forget, Li Sisong asked me to correct your vocal technique.”

“Is that so? Then I’ll look forward to it, Teacher Sun Yanzi.” Zhou Yi smiled unbothered: “Now let’s go eat.”

Zhang Shaohan, the silent bystander who hadn’t been able to speak, quickly jumped in to assert her presence: “Uh, Mr. Zhou, Miss Sun, let me treat you to lunch today—I want to apologize for my terrible performance this morning.”

Even though her wallet was tight, this wasn’t the time to be stingy.

Zhou Yi glanced at Sun Yanzi; they exchanged a smile. He then rose from his chair, stretched comfortably, and waved dismissively: “Since you’re so determined to apologize, wait until you become a big star and can afford to treat me—this meal’s on hold.”

Zhang Shaohan blinked in surprise: “What?”

“I believe in you. I think you have serious star potential—so let’s leave this meal as a debt.”

Knowing Zhang Shaohan’s financial situation, Zhou Yi didn’t bring up her hardship but joked it off: “Besides, Miss Sun Yanzi is becoming my teacher—this meal counts as my initiation dinner. You can be the witness.”