Chapter 200: I

To be fair, Wu Bai's songs all have extremely distinctive personal styles, especially his famous tracks. Others can sing his songs without issue, but if they try to imitate his vocal delivery, they'll almost certainly fail.

Even Zhou Yi himself is no exception—his own attempt to replicate that signature vocal style still comes off as awkward and out of place.

Of course, Sun Yanzi isn't any better.

Already known for her Singaporean accent making her Mandarin pronunciation and singing unusually distinctive, she stubbornly tried to mimic Wu Bai's vocal tone—and ended up turning it into a comical disaster.

Worse still, she didn't even realize it, singing louder and louder; Wu Bai would probably want to hit her if he heard it.

"Come on!"

Sun Yanzi, getting more and more into it, forgot this was just her own restaurant—she waved both hands toward Zhou Yi, who was chewing on chopsticks, her joyful smile infectious, her voice amplified by the ceiling fan into a faint reverb.

Zhou Yi simply tapped his chopsticks against the edge of his bowl to keep rhythm, grinning as he harmonized with her, occasionally slapping the table to create different "drum beats."

The fish on the plate and the chicken in the soup pot were the only living creatures present to witness this scene—and in the end, they were utterly devoured by the two of them.

"Burp~"

Zhou Yi, full and satisfied, draped one arm over the back of his chair and slumped completely: "Where's this place from? The food's actually really good."

"I don't know. Chen Zeshan booked it for me."

Sun Yanzi, half-lying in her chair, sucked on the last bits of meat clinging to the chicken leg, mumbling: "I don't even know which way the local market faces, let alone this restaurant."

"You're being honest now, aren't you?"

"I've always been this honest—you're just mistaken about me."

Sun Yanzi, having mastered Zhou Yi's mannerisms to perfection, gave a serious defense of herself, spat out the bone, and occasionally smacked her lips, her gaze lingering on the messy table, savoring the moment: "Eating at home is so much more comfortable—no need to worry about anything."

This kind of relaxed feeling only comes when she's with Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi, having drained the last drop of Sprite from the bottle, gave her a wry look: "You could ask Chen Zeshan to cut back on your workload."

"No thanks—I'm already very satisfied. My current workload is already far less than originally planned."

Sun Yanzi, half-slumped in her chair, gently rubbed her full stomach, kicking her feet happily, utterly content: "Besides, my fans are still waiting for me, you think I'm like you, always looking for excuses to slack off?"

Right now, at Warner, only Zhou Yi has the privilege to refuse work—whether in number of appearances or variety show slots, he's practically negligible compared to other top stars—he's either rich enough or important enough.

His fans have turned into stone statues waiting for him—and yet no one can do anything about it.

"I wonder who's been slacking off on me? I'll release the behind-the-scenes footage of 'The Lazy Song' someday—let your fans see your true lazy nature."

"Pfft, that song wasn't even released in China."

Sun Yanzi sneered, as if she wasn't easily frightened—but then she remembered something and asked curiously: "Are you only planning to release this song in Japan? What about domestically? What about Europe and America?"

"Of course I'll release it—why not? Japan first was just to ride the hype of Jackie Chan's movie premiere, since I missed the North American one."

Zhou Yi, chewing on a toothpick, stretched comfortably: "But domestically… honestly, I'll release it, but I don't expect strong sales."

These days, people who listen to English songs—and especially those willing to pay for them—are a minority within a minority; most well-known foreign songs are still that famous "Go go go, o le o le o le."

Even with his fame, it's hard for him to make an English song sell big in China.

And don't even get me started—he wouldn't work even if Michael Jackson himself came.

"So are you going to Japan for promotion today?"

"Why would I go to Japan? The results aren't even out yet. Today I was supposed to go to CCTV to meet the Koreans—"

Zhou Yi suddenly realized he'd said too much, his tone freezing; he looked up at the woman whose eyes were crinkled with laughter, and unconsciously raised an eyebrow.

"Though I'm deeply grateful you took time out of your busy schedule to come comfort me on Mid-Autumn Day, my advice is—you'd better head back to work this afternoon."

As she spoke, Sun Yanzi tilted her head with a smile: "I think I'm not as fragile anymore—because of you."

"Is that so? Good."

Zhou Yi, toothpick still between his teeth, shrugged and stood up with a grin: "I hope your place doesn't have too many paparazzi—otherwise, tonight's evening paper headline will be us two."

"Hard to say, but I don't care anymore—they can write whatever they want," Sun Yanzi shrugged. "I've been written about for a whole year already."

"Alright, I'm off then."

"Mm."

Sun Yanzi sat watching as Zhou Yi picked up his coat and prepared to leave—after a moment's thought, she called out to stop him: "Zhou Yi."

"?"

Zhou Yi, already at the entrance changing his shoes, turned his body toward her.

In that instant of eye contact, Sun Yanzi clasped her hands behind her back and gave him a bright, lively smile: "Thank you."

Zhou Yi smiled carefree, slinging his coat casually over his shoulder: "I'm off."

His broad back vanished the moment the door closed; Sun Yanzi turned her gaze back to the fully laden table…

When her father Sun Yaohong in Singapore called that afternoon, Sun Yanzi was lying on the sofa, holding a peeled Malacca pomelo, a trace of mooncake crust still on her lips—

"Hello? Dad?"

"Stefanie, it's Mid-Autumn today—are you…?"

Concerned for his daughter, Sun Yaohong was clearly still worried; the paternal care clearly warmed Sun Yanzi. Holding half the pomelo, she smiled up, her gaze landing on the kite displayed in its ornate frame—

"Dad, don't worry—I'm doing just fine here…"

………………………………………………

"Impossible. I don't believe it."

Tokyo, Japan, Johnny & Associates.

Rikuzo Koyama, president of Smile Records, which handles Johnny & Associates' music releases, frowned as he held the Oricon sales figures; across from him, several Johnny & Associates executives all insisted it was impossible.

"A Chinese artist? How could he take the #1 spot on the Oricon weekly singles chart?!"

A week ago, Johnny & Associates had confidently launched several group singles; Rikuzo Koyama's Smile Records was specifically responsible for distributing their albums.

So what was this?

"Did Warner buy the data?"

"No, according to my sources, they didn't," Rikuzo Koyama shook his head.

Born in 1947, he held high positions at Sony Music and Warner Music, especially at Warner, where before his departure he had reached the highest post—Chairman—of Warner (Japan) Music.

"This Chinese man seems a bit ominous; according to the records, he also has a nickname in China—Emperor?"

(End of Chapter)