[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty":3,"chapter-the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-chapter-2":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The King of 2000: A Mandopop Dynasty",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2301258,4501,"Chapter 2: Chapter Two: A Person from the Post-Millennium Era","the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-chapter-2",2,"\u003Cp>Peking University, soccer field, crowds thronging the sidelines.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scorching summer sun treated everyone on the earth equally; Peking University students and outsiders alike kept glancing at the field, drawn to a figure standing out like a crane among chickens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A man in an Arsenal-style red-and-white jersey performed a flawless Marseille turn, then slid through the legs of a defender, executed a bull’s tail move, and dribbled past five players in succession before delivering a final shot that pierced the goalkeeper’s net—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Beautiful!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Holy shit, he scored again?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is this Arsenal number 22 really that strong?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I don’t watch soccer, but may I ask—who is this guy?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I don’t watch soccer either, but may I ask—is this soccer or table tennis?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the scoreboard now reading 13:0, an onlooker, baffled, stared at the man sliding on the grass in celebration and voiced a question from deep within.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Bro, is this your first time at Peking University?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Among the spectators, a local Peking University student glanced at the stranger beside him and explained: “That’s Zhou Yi from the Law School.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, so he’s Zhou Yi.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A junior from a nearby technical college, who had come to check out the girls, suddenly looked enlightened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi, a third-year law student at Peking University, became instantly famous across campus upon enrollment for his striking looks and charismatic style.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone knew that after Sa Beinan, the Law School had taken in another flashy guy—and this one was far more flamboyant than Sa Beinan, who had already joined CCTV.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike Sa Beinan, who favored the “righteous path,” this Zhou Yi was wild and bold to an extreme.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d sung on stage at galas, danced in bars;\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dared to flirt with girls others feared to approach, dared to fight battles others avoided;\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d done part-time work, and rumors said talent scouts had spotted his looks and wanted to sign him; some even claimed Gao Xiaosong from across Wudaokou wanted to sign him to Maitian to release songs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Smart, tall, handsome. Athletic, strong, and with a great voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His charismatic, lively demeanor embodied the idealized image of a young man stepping into a new era—beautiful girls eagerly sent him covert glances.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whenever the bold, beautiful girls cheering and bringing him water appeared by the field, students from Peking University’s stomatology department always experienced a surge of tooth-grinding envy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ease up, Zhou Yi! You’ve scored thirteen on us—do we Chinese Literature Department have no dignity?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the field, the red-shirted man, holding the ball as he returned to midfield for the restart, wore a grimace and complained to the man across from him—the red jersey on his back clearly bore the words “Peking University Chinese Literature Department.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I held back, I definitely held back.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Opposite him stood Zhou Yi, six feet tall, wiping his sweat-drenched bangs with one hand, waist on hip, breathing hard, his sharply defined handsome face creased with a smile: “I only scored three. The other ten were my teammates.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...” The Chinese Literature senior couldn’t help rolling his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew Zhou Yi was holding back, but somehow the words rang even more irritating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You score three, and your ten teammates each score one? What kind of equal-distribution magic is this? Even the goalkeeper could come up and score a penalty kick—this is ridiculous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright, alright, just keep playing, what a pathetic match...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since neither team could muster three substitutes, the Law School team graciously maintained the 13:0 score until the final whistle, despite the Chinese Literature team’s grumbling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the match, Zhou Yi was drenched in sweat. He casually shed his jersey, walked to the sideline bare-chested with his teammates, laughing and chatting. Just as he picked up his backpack containing his clothes to change, someone called out behind him—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Zhou Yi, Zhou Yi! Someone called for you—someone’s waiting for you outside the campus gate.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi, with his Arsenal jersey twisted over his shoulder, paused mid-sip, turned in surprise to the classmate who delivered the message: “Looking for me? Who?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had a school soccer match today—everyone who knew him knew to come straight to the field if they wanted to find him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Said they’re from Warner. Are they really sending a talent scout to sign you as a star, Zhou Yi?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the word “Warner,” Zhou Yi’s eyebrows instinctively lifted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Why again Warner?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That old bastard isn’t trying to pull another scam, is he?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As a reincarnated soul from the future, the name Warner Music was anything but unfamiliar to him. In its prime, Warner was unquestionably a giant—but right now...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Warner hadn't yet launched Sun Yanzi, Gong hadn't yet formed a group, and its domestic market share was pitiful compared to other giants, propped up only by the declining Guo Fu Cheng and Zheng Xiuwen. [86] Was he now receiving Sun Yanzi's treatment?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although Zhou Yi was confident that with his crystal-clear memories of future hits—gained through reincarnation—he could carve out a reputation as one of the “Millennium Gods of Mandopop” by plagiarizing those classics, he still rejected their contract.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rejected it twice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t want to end up fighting endless lawsuits just to reclaim the copyrights to his own songs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As someone from the future, he knew exactly how profitable those iconic songs’ copyrights would become in the distant future. Just look at Zhou Dong and JJ Lin—they made fortunes just from licensing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had no shortage of profitable avenues in his memory, nor any childish dream of earning a hundred million.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two years from now, in the 2002 World Cup, the infamous black-referee scandal would net him a massive fortune with zero effort.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he’d be rich, young, and able to let his parents retire twenty years early.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Reborn, he only wanted enough money to guarantee a comfortable, carefree life and to let his family live comfortably without exhaustion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn’t cut out for business anyway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Entering the entertainment industry to cash in on his memories was a bonus; if not, no big deal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If worst came to worst, when the ringtones era arrived, he could just release “Autumn Doesn’t Return,” “Damn Tender,” “Rats Love Rice,” and make a fortune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wouldn’t feel a single pang selling the copyrights to these songs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a strange psychology.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi had once bored himself by self-analyzing and arrived at a precise answer: double standards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He assumed, subconsciously, that all the future songs in his memory belonged to him—specifically those songs powerful enough to become stepping stones to godhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he were to “sell” these classic songs’ copyrights, he’d feel heartbroken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if the original creators wrote them and signed away the rights to launch their careers, he felt nothing—instead, he’d listen and marvel, “What a genius singer—what a beautiful voice.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reason? He knew exactly how valuable these copyrights were.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he sold them himself, it felt like he was cutting off his own flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if the original author wrote them and sold them, no problem—because the future loss wouldn’t be his.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Double standards? Normal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi accepted his own flaw without hesitation—and had no intention of changing it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn’t a saint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He despised others’ double standards, understood his own, and became known as a hypocrite.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After graduating college, he’d endured four brutal years at a law firm—only to wake up one day after collapsing from overwork and find himself reborn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For these nineteen years since reincarnation, Zhou Yi had mastered double standards effortlessly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was just an ordinary man, not lofty or idealistic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>True saints surely existed in this world—but not him. He only held to modest, practical boundaries.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pulled out his Nokia 3210 from his backpack, notified the Warner representative waiting outside the gate, then returned to take a quick shower, changed into a white T-shirt and dark blue jeans, and slipped on white sneakers before heading to the campus gate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the gate, same spot as before, same familiar face—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Warner representative, early thirties, dressed in a sharp suit, slicked-back hair, briefcase in hand, stood out conspicuously.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Brother Qian, sorry—I was just playing soccer on campus.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though he planned to refuse again, Zhou Yi still maintained proper manners—apologized first, explained the delay. Politeness never hurt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No problem, no problem. It’s my fault. Oh, by the way, Zhou Yi, about the suggestion you made last time—if you’re willing, let’s keep talking?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man, speaking with a Hong Kong-accented Mandarin, delivered a message Zhou Yi hadn’t expected.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ten minutes later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside a café then considered luxurious, Brother Qian from Warner brought the company’s sincerity: “That’s right, Zhou Yi—the company has decided to relax restrictions on your song copyrights...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Is Warner really that bold?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi was momentarily stunned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d heard Warner waited two full years to sign Sun Yanzi, then immediately crafted a tailored debut album for her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That kind of treatment was unheard of among any top male or female singers at the dawn of the millennium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In contrast, young Zhou Dong had once lived, ate, slept, and wrote songs inside the company, desperate for any opportunity. The contrast was almost tragic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Was he now receiving Sun Yanzi's treatment?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No—when Sun Yanzi first signed with Warner, though dubbed “Warner’s biological daughter,” didn’t they still take all her song copyrights before 2003?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wait, no—she hadn’t written many songs herself back then.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pushing aside his surprise, Zhou Yi took the draft contract and read it—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was nearly identical to the previous two versions, except for added copyright protection clauses. One clause caught his eye: all songs composed by Zhou Yi himself would belong to Zhou Yi.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, only those he composed himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Yi smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew this well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In his previous life, it was rumored that Zhou Dong regained the copyrights to the songs on his first seven albums after falling out with Wu Zongxian—because his father had insisted on including a copyright protection clause in his original contract with Alpha Records.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That clause was nearly identical to Warner’s current version.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hadn’t expected his two firm rejections would push Warner, now in its deepest slump, to concede.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looks like all those campus gigs singing for others these past few years weren’t wasted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this was likely the maximum concession a singer-songwriter could ever win.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, for non-songwriting singers, the company provided all the songs—you only held performance rights, and that was fine, unless you paid to buy back the copyrights yourself.\u003C\u002Fp>",1734,"2026-06-20T07:33:41.161Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","36dd4505ab9fb497111b58c1d8da71fc97132fb7e6b7d7715ac1223b9f4bc44a","the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-chapter-3","the-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-chapter-1",883,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-king-of-2000-a-mandopop-dynasty-cover.jpg"]