Chapter 20: No One Has More Heart Than I Do

“If that’s the case, then it doesn’t seem impossible.” Sun Yanzi pondered upon hearing Zhou Yi say this.

If there’s no scheduling conflict, guest-starring as the MV’s female lead is no big deal— the company won’t refuse. It’s normal for a new artist to collaborate with another new artist; this happens in every record label.

“Okay, it’s settled then.”

Zhou Yi snapped his fingers upon receiving a clear answer, leaning back comfortably in his chair: “As for Shaohan’s involvement, I’ll go talk to Boss Zhou later and get him to send a contract to Fumao.”

As he spoke, he remembered something and tilted his head with a smile toward Zhang Shaohan, whose face glowed with surprise: “By the way, Shaohan, you don’t have an agent yet, right? If you keep more of the money you earn, don’t forget to treat us.”

Zhang Shaohan, lips trembling for a long while without uttering a word, suddenly stood up from her chair and bowed deeply to the man seated before her: “Thank you so much, Yi-ge. Really.”

This sudden, heartfelt gesture left both Zhou Yi and Sun Yanzi momentarily stunned.

“...Actually, you don’t need to be so formal—it makes me feel like your benefactor.” Zhou Yi’s expression turned peculiar, knowing the future timeline.

Soon, the singer Zhang Shaohan would explode onto the idol drama scene, soaring to massive fame.

He’d done this purely to cultivate a good connection.

“No, to me, Yi-ge, you really are my benefactor.”

Looking at the man before her—only one year older, yet so brilliant that Warner’s executives bowed to him—Zhang Shaohan’s face darkened. She clenched her teeth and confessed honestly: “You probably won’t believe me, but my family is truly poor. Really, truly poor.”

“Since middle school, most of the appliances in our home were prizes I won from singing competitions, because we couldn’t afford to buy big-ticket items.”

“When I came to Baodao and signed with Fumao Records, I thought I could finally debut and improve my family’s life—but in reality, I’ve just been stuck in singer training, paying for my own living expenses. I’ve had to work two jobs and send money home.”

“For someone like me, who’s currently broke, your sudden offer to duet with you and cast me as the MV’s female lead is like rain in a drought...”

During these past two days, whether it was Sun Yanzi’s wealthy background or Zhou Yi’s speech patterns utterly unlike his age, Zhang Shaohan—raised in poverty—had felt a quiet sense of inferiority.

Though their ages were nearly identical, the topics Sun Yanzi and Zhou Yi discussed were often ones she couldn’t join—or even understand.

She assumed Zhou Yi must have come from a wealthy family in the mainland; otherwise, how could he possibly connect with Sun Yanzi, who came from a scholarly household?

Being friends with these two, frankly, had always weighed on her. Especially since Zhou Yi was so kind to her.

Giving her the MV female lead role was essentially giving her a public debut platform.

She was here to record songs, a trainee singer—she could naturally tell whether a song was good, catchy, or high-quality.

Honestly, if Warner had picked this song, she wouldn’t have even been considered for the duet, let alone the MV.

She knew her place.

In a way, Zhou Yi was truly her first patron.

She’d kept her struggles hidden until now, partly out of shame—but now, she simply couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Zhou Yi’s outstretched hand had lifted the dark cloud hanging over her head, revealing sunlight she hadn’t seen in a full year at Fumao.

A debut slot—especially as the female lead in a Warner-promoted artist’s MV—how could she not be thrilled?

“Though I don’t fully understand your current financial situation, helping you is still a good thing.”

Zhou Yi, equally surprised by Zhang Shaohan’s dire circumstances, raised an eyebrow and smiled to lighten the serious mood: “Even if I’m not fond of the term ‘rain in a drought.’”

“Why not?”

Sun Yanzi frowned in confusion: “What’s wrong with that term?”

“I don’t like Song Jiang—but this phrase always reminds me of him.” Zhou Yi shrugged, then immediately met two puzzled stares—

“Song Jiang?”

“Song Jiang?”

“...The Water Margin. You haven’t read it?”

The two women instinctively glanced at each other, then both shook their heads—

Zhang Shaohan: “I haven’t read it. Only heard of it.”

Sun Yanzi: “My dad has a copy of The Water Margin in his study, but I flipped through a few pages and found it boring, so I put it back. I didn’t understand it.”

Zhou Yi: “...”

Never mind then.

He’d almost forgotten—one grew up in Canada, the other in Singapore; their environments weren’t like those on the mainland.

If they had no interest in The Water Margin or its TV adaptations, not knowing about “Rain in a Drought” Song Jiang was normal. The stories that truly crossed over among overseas Chinese were probably Journey to the West and Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

Sun Yanzi, rarely seeing Zhou Yi speechless, burst into unrestrained laughter. Zhang Shaohan, slightly embarrassed, sat back down quietly, unsure what to say.

She couldn’t join Sun Yanzi in laughing—even though it was rare to see Zhou Yi so flustered.

“You’re a graduate of a top university, from a scholarly family, and you laugh like that?” Zhou Yi shot back, annoyed by Sun Yanzi’s “reckless” behavior.

“I’m not interested in The Water Margin. Ask me anything about the Three Kingdoms—I’ll answer.” Sun Yanzi smirked, unconcerned, her crossed leg swaying, her left hand idly tossing the half-eaten apple.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then ask me.”

“Who did Sima Zhao kill?”

“Sima Zhao killed—huh??” Sun Yanzi froze, her mind blank. Zhang Shaohan, watching beside her, also suddenly plunged into mental chaos.

Zhou Yi, smugly glancing at them, opened his mouth to press further—when his phone suddenly rang in his pocket—

He pulled it out. The caller ID showed an unknown number.

Curious, Zhou Yi pressed answer: “Hello? Who’s this?”

“Mr. Zhou, hello. I’m Wen Lan—the same Wen Lan you saved last night.” A gentle, still slightly weak female voice came from the other end.

“Oh, Miss Wen. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to bother you. I’d like to ask when you’re free. Wen, Genghong, and Jielun would like to invite you to dinner to express our gratitude.”

“You’re already discharged?” Zhou Yi was astonished.

“Yes. We just need to rest at home for a while now. It’s all thanks to you, Mr. Zhou.”

“It was nothing. Pick a time—any day within the next three days, I’m free.”

“Then why wait? How about tonight, Mr. Zhou?”

“Fine by me.”

Zhou Yi had just hung up when he noticed Sun Yanzi and Zhang Shaohan both staring at him with unmistakably gossiping eyes. He frowned: “What’s with you two?”

“Hero saves beauty—end of scene. And you’re so handsome. Following wuxia drama logic, doesn’t the hero get the beauty next?”

Sun Yanzi, chewing apple flesh, grinned mischievously: “Do you have a girlfriend on the mainland?”

Hearing this, Zhang Shaohan’s eyes lit up instantly, eagerly awaiting his answer.

Zhou Yi, holding his Nokia and meeting Sun Yanzi’s teasing gaze, smirked: “Of course not. I’m still young—why tie myself down to one tree when the whole forest is out there?”

“Tsk. Didn’t know you were a player.”

“Don’t slander me. I’m no player. Everyone on the mainland who knows me knows I never play with women’s feelings. I’m just a very loving person.”

“Is that so? How much love do you have?” Sun Yanzi swung her apple, unconvinced.

“Tsk. How to describe it... Let’s put it this way: there’s probably no one in this world more loving than me.”

Zhou Yi spread his hands and grinned sardonically: “No one.”