Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Hello, I

“No need to rearrange the music—I can write pop dance tracks too if needed.”

Facing the two bosses’ questions, Zhou Yi pondered carefully before speaking: “But to be honest, my dance skills are just mediocre—can that even work?”

“And frankly, I’ve never systematically studied dance. I can just move, catch a bit of rhythm, and show off a little in front of girls—it’s pure amateur stuff.”

One is one, two is two—Zhou Yi never lies on this point.

Unlike so-called “creation,” dance—even if you’re naturally gifted—requires grueling practice, and even after mastering the craft, you must maintain consistent training.

Not everyone can be a singing-and-dancing artist; it’s exhausting. Haven’t you noticed that King Gao has been gradually reducing his pop dance output year by year?

“That’s fine—we just need to build your name so the public, through Guo Fucheng’s fame, learns there’s another young man who can dance just as well.”

Zhou Jianhui, who had spent years immersed in advertising before entering the music industry, cited a classic marketing case to explain: “Besides, I personally don’t advocate you fully committing to pop dance. I believe the future of Mandopop doesn’t need another Guo Fucheng.”

“Zhou Yi, you’re a newcomer, and from the mainland. You must know that mainland pop singers aren’t highly recognized in Hong Kong or Taiwan, let alone that you’ve never had any debut experience.”

“Under these circumstances, releasing an album—what matters most is whether your personal recognizability can attract fans to buy it.”

“If your album can attract even a small portion of Guo Fucheng’s young pop dance fans for the first wave of traffic, then, on that foundation, word-of-mouth can help you break out and draw more listeners to boost sales.”

“You’re young—you know that when you hear a great song at this age, you can’t help but share it with classmates and friends, especially young girls. That’s the key to whether your album will sell well…”

Unlike Sun Yanzi’s debut album, which was entirely crafted by Warner’s top talents with custom-made tracks, Zhou Yi’s album was entirely self-written.

Precisely because of this, Zhou Yi’s debut album carried far more uncontrollable risks for Warner.

Since Warner had already decided to channel all its initial promotional resources toward promoting Sun Yanzi, the budget allocated to Zhou Yi was clearly much smaller.

After all, Warner Music doesn’t print its own money; these years of decline have left its financial situation far from ideal.

Since Warner’s promotional budget for Sun Yanzi had long been fixed, although Zhou Yi’s budget was also in process, it was clearly not especially generous—especially since, over the past three years, Zhou Jianhui had achieved no significant breakthroughs.

He’d been worrying about how to build initial fame when Li Sisong came to tell him about Zhou Yi’s morning recording session and the exceptional quality of the songs, prompting him to think of Guo Fucheng as a natural promotional resource.

Both are male artists; Zhou Yi is taller and more handsome. Promoting him along Guo Fucheng’s line—wouldn’t that instantly launch his fame?

Leveraging a big-name artist’s fame—or having a big-name artist personally endorse a newcomer with a similar style—is a timeless tactic across the global music industry, and Mandopop is no exception.

Zhou Yi naturally understood this.

When Zhou Dong debuted, his company even marketed him as “Little Tao Zhe”—and they weren’t even from the same company; strictly speaking, that was pure plagiarism.

“And my requirements aren’t high—just two or three pop songs with dance elements in your album will do.”

Seeing Zhou Yi lost in thought, Zhou Jianhui pressed on, outlining his demands for Zhou Yi’s debut album: “Two or three dance-influenced pop songs are enough to carry our initial promotion. Combined with your ‘Happy Worship,’ I believe the A-side of the album can be built entirely along this direction.”

“For the B-side, you can experiment by combining these musical elements to write new songs—but don’t include your tracks like ‘South of Nanshan,’ ‘Mercury,’ or ‘Tragic Beauty.’ The styles would be too fragmented.”

“If you like them, save them for future genre shifts or when you release a greatest hits collection later.”

“My suggestion is to write a few pop ballads on the B-side that match the album’s overall tone—this ensures mainstream listeners will still enjoy the sound. What do you think?”

In a matter of moments, the prototype of a debut album centered on the concept of “Asia’s Little Dance King” was born.

Dynamic, rhythmic, youthful—boundless future.

This was the promotional image Zhou Jianhui had set for Zhou Yi.

That way, promotional materials wouldn’t overlap with Sun Yanzi’s image of “natural, clean, simple, and refreshing.”

“I understand. No problem with the songs—I can do it.”

Zhou Yi immediately agreed, then asked a question that struck to the core: “But what about dancing? Even if it’s just pop songs with dance elements, I still need to know how to dance, right?”

He had a clear sense of his current dance ability.

Fooling around with pretty girls and showing off was fine—but if he actually stepped on stage, he’d probably lose his pants in front of everyone.

If Hong Kong media ever ran a headline like “Asia’s Little Dance King’s Dance Looks Like a Zombie Reincarnation”… he couldn’t bear the humiliation.

“Relax. Trust the company, Zhou Yi.”

Zhou Jianhui smiled faintly, his glasses glinting with confidence: “When you signed, I told you—aside from singing, the company will handle everything else. That’s the company’s purpose and value.”

“As long as you nod, we’ll immediately connect you with the industry’s top dance instructors. The company will cover all costs—you don’t have to pay a cent.”

Zhou Jianhui spoke these words with conviction.

Warner was still Warner—even if now it was a dragon stranded in shallow waters, a tiger fallen into the plains, its industry connections remained intact.

Not to mention—if you were willing to spend the money, you could even hire Michael Jackson’s former choreographer through Warner’s global channels.

“Alright, I understand. Then I’ll leave all this to you, Director Zhou.”

Zhou Yi nodded, once again enjoying the seamless, high-end service of a major company.

That’s the advantage of leaning on a big tree.

If he’d joined a small label, let alone getting Guo Tianwang to mentor a newcomer—he’d probably get warned or mocked the moment he tried to latch onto Guo.

The only regret was that the coming days wouldn’t be easy to enjoy.

Recording in the morning, dance practice in the afternoon—only nights remained his own.

………………………………………………………………

“Sigh…”

“What’s wrong, Brother Yi? Something happen? Why are you sighing?”

More than ten minutes later, in the recording studio’s break area.

When Zhang Shaohan pushed open the door after washing his face, he saw Zhou Yi slumped in a chair, head drooping, sighing heavily—he asked instinctively.

“His time’s getting split up—he’ll have to go to dance practice every afternoon.”

Sitting beside him, chewing an apple, Sun Yanzi wore headphones around her neck and couldn’t help but smirk:

As a singer who couldn’t dance, the company had crafted her public image without any dance component—just running and jumping in MVs counted as victory.

“Dance practice? Isn’t that a good thing?” Zhang Shaohan frowned.

If this happened to her, she’d be overjoyed—she saw it as clear proof of the company’s investment in her.

“Mainly because I just don’t like moving, you know? Dancing is exhausting.”

Zhou Yi leaned back, his head resting on the chair’s headrest, speaking with the callousness of a full man mocking a hungry one: “Thank goodness Director Zhou didn’t demand I become a full-time singing-and-dancing artist.”

“…”

Zhang Shaohan widened her doll-like eyes slightly, momentarily speechless.

For Zhang Shaohan, who had never negotiated with a company before, Zhou Yi’s remarks touched a blind spot—and triggered a deep-seated envy.

When would she ever get such treatment? Sigh…

Zhang Shaohan, who had won several singing contests in Canada, had long since lost her early illusions. After being beaten down by reality, she only hoped to debut quickly and earn money to improve her family’s poverty.

Sun Yanzi, still chewing her apple, smiled faintly—clearly amused by Zhou Yi’s posture: “Friendly reminder, younger brother—didn’t you forget I’m also your teacher?”

“…??”

A question mark slowly floated into Zhou Yi’s eyes as he stared at her in disbelief: “You mean…?”

“Your vocal technique does need correction. I can’t help you much—I have limited time, so I can only give you a basic introduction and fix a few bad habits.”

Sun Yanzi’s youthful face broke into a smile that Zhou Yi found downright demonic: “Since you’re recording in the morning and dancing in the afternoon, you’ll have to stay an extra two hours at the company in the evening.”

“…Thanks a lot, Senior Sister.”

Watching his schedule grow another appointment, Zhou Yi gritted his back teeth and forced out: “You’re so busy, yet still find time to teach me.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve got nothing else to do—the early promotional campaigns are done, all the materials shot, all the variety shows filmed—just waiting for broadcast.”

Sun Yanzi tossed the apple core into a nearby trash bin, turned in her chair, and smiled: “Also, please don’t call me Senior Sister privately—call me Teacher.”

“I’ve already eaten your Baishi meal. Shaohan was the witness. Right, Shaohan?”

“Huh? Ah?”

Zhang Shaohan, who had been daydreaming in place, snapped back to reality, her big eyes filled with confusion.

“You’re only 22—what kind of teacher are you? Senior Sister?”

“I graduated from university.”

“…”

Zhou Yi was speechless, choked by that single sentence.

He hadn’t even graduated yet. Damn it.

Time passed in the recording studio among the three young people’s chatter and laughter.

The next morning, while Zhou Yi was still brushing his teeth at home, his agent Qian Jiang called:

“Yi, the company has found you a dance instructor—a very capable one. I’m waiting downstairs. I’ll take you there.”

Because of his round figure, Qian Jiang’s suit jacket hung open, his belly prominently visible.

“Got it, Brother Qian. I’m coming right away.”

Zhou Yi hurried through his morning routine, quickly changed clothes, slipped on his shoes, and stepped out the door.

After locking up, he looked up—and there, at the corridor’s corner, was the urban beauty he’d met yesterday near the basketball court, walking briskly past—

Compared to yesterday’s sportswear, today she was dressed beautifully, every gesture radiating a hint of star quality.

Huh? She lives on the same floor?

Zhou Yi didn’t dwell on it and hurried downstairs, boarding his agent’s car to the dance training center.

“This dance center has an excellent reputation in the industry—many big names have trained here briefly, including our own King Gao.”

On the way, Qian Jiang handed Zhou Yi a file from the driver’s seat: “Since this center typically uses one-on-one instruction, you don’t have to worry about being seen making mistakes in a group class.”

“The company booked you with Teacher Liu Xiong—he specializes in male body movement and dance.”

As Qian Jiang spoke, Zhou Yi reviewed the instructor’s profile.

He looked refined, with long hair tied into a ponytail, probably in his forties, tall and slender.

“Don’t underestimate this center—these instructors have all choreographed for top pop stars.”

“You know Xiao Yaxuan, launched by Virgin Records last year? The song everyone’s playing on the streets—‘The Most Familiar Stranger’? That’s her.”

Qian Jiang hummed a few bars: “Her album sold out. Now she’s Virgin’s hottest star—and even she was sent here for dance training.”

“...Xiao Yaxuan is here too?”

Zhou Yi couldn’t help raising an eyebrow, his tone distinctly surprised.

Soon, he wasn’t surprised anymore.

Because after following his agent to complete all the paperwork, Zhou Yi had barely sat down in front of a dance studio when a sleek figure in a tight bodysuit and yoga pants stepped out from behind the door—

“Miss Xiao, this is Mr. Zhou Yi, who needs the dance studio after you—he’s from Warner. We’ve arranged for him to wait here.”

As the staff introduced him, Xiao Yaxuan wiped her sweat with a towel hanging around her neck and smiled at the tall, handsome man before her: “Hello, I’m Xiao Yaxuan.”