Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty: Zhou Wang Tao Lin Share the Rain and Dew Equally

「Real?」

Sun Yanzi raised an eyebrow at this answer: «That’s a novel way of putting it—I’ve never heard that before.»

«Now you have.»

Zhou Yi shrugged and spread his hands, teasing: «You know, hip-hop is all about authenticity.»

«But the hip-hop artists I’ve seen usually just talk about authenticity—they rarely live it the way you do.»

Sun Yanzi took a bite of the fruit and said nothing in reply, instead turning the conversation to her own past experiences.

As a Singaporean—and one who studied music while attending school—she had naturally encountered hip-hop, a globally popular musical element.

Zhang Shaohan, beside her, didn’t know what to say, so she blinked her electric eyes and nodded vigorously in agreement: «True—I’ve met plenty of hip-hop fans during competitions, many of them all talk and no action. They sing about luxury cars and beautiful women in their songs.»

She studied in Canada, where the culture was even more intense than in Singapore.

«Maybe it’s because I haven’t reached the point where I need to lie. Also, thanks for the compliments—I don’t think I deserve them.»

Zhou Yi, who had a deep self-awareness, smiled unconcernedly: «Besides, I have no intention of playing the pure-love image. That way, if any scandals about multiple relationships surface later, they won’t backfire on me.»

These days, playing the innocent act is trendy—but once that image collapses, the backlash is terrifying.

People today always blame the “traffic era” for its obsessed fans, but the fans of the megastars from the millennium era were even more monstrous.

Traffic-era fans just tap keyboards and open their mouths; millennium-era fans could physically brawl at any moment.

They dug up dirt on rivals, traded insults, gave each other derogatory nicknames, bought data to win awards, competed over progress and effort, even fought over endorsements—every single one of these behaviors existed among millennium-era megastar fans, and some even escalated to real-life showdowns.

Internet-era traffic fans are merely repeating what the old generation did.

The most famous “Zhou Wang Tao Lin” and “Big Four, Little Three” of the millennium-era music scene each had fanbases that once tore each other apart like elite soldiers.

As for film and TV megastars, their obsessed fans tore things up even worse—spreading false accusations, bribing rivals were child’s play; the stars themselves would personally jump into the fray.

Thus, Zhou Yi, reborn into this era, understood the importance of a celebrity image—if I’m already a ruin, then nothing can collapse.

«You think very far ahead.»

Sun Yanzi, seeing for the first time someone who deliberately planned to turn themselves into a ruin, looked at him with astonishment: «But won’t that hurt your marketability?»

Since the birth of the Chinese-language music scene, no artist had ever dared to start out like this.

«If I keep delivering great music, why wouldn’t there be a market?» Zhou Yi waved his hand grandly, exaggerating playfully: «I’m the king who will rule the Chinese-language music scene for the next ten years!»

With access to Zhou Wang Tao Lin’s hits and a string of subsequent artists’ songs—even if they were copied—he had enough confidence to gamble on this.

If domestic albums failed to sell because of this image, he could always leverage Warner’s connections to try his luck overseas, especially in the U.S.

He remembered plenty of Billboard chart-toppers; just compiling a few albums to compete for Grammys would guarantee that every critic and opponent back home would fall silent.

In this era, the foreign moon really was considered brighter.

«...»

«...»

Sun Yanzi and Zhang Shaohan, hearing for the first time someone self-proclaim himself as “King of Chinese-language Music,” were left speechless—then burst out laughing. Zhang Shaohan, still only eighteen and with a thin face, tried to hide her laughter behind her hand.

Sun Yanzi, aged twenty-two, was different—she laughed so hard her back teeth showed. She leaned back, her laughter echoing like goose calls: «I can’t—I’ve never heard anyone call themselves the ‘King of Chinese-language Music’ before. This is hilarious—you really don’t fear the wind blowing your tongue off.»

«You’re mocking me, huh? Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—haven’t you heard ‘Don’t underestimate the poor youth’?»

Zhou Yi, equally playful in his expression, couldn’t keep a straight face either—his big teeth showed, his grin never fading: «Be serious. This is a serious matter.»

«I’ve never heard that—I’ve only heard ‘fortune shifts.’ Shaohan, have you heard it?» Sun Yanzi, still laughing until her diaphragm twitched, turned to Zhang Shaohan, who was quietly stifling her giggles.

Zhang Shaohan, who had been playing the invisible girl, was caught off guard: «Huh? Ah?»

Zhou Yi immediately pointed at Sun Yanzi and drew an imaginary pie in the air: «Stop laughing—I’m still powerless and haven’t been crowned yet. You must help me refute her and raise the banner for me. When I achieve fame and success, you’ll be richly rewarded.»

«Enough, don’t put her on the spot.»

Sun Yanzi, now calming her laughter, shrugged her shoulders—still catching her breath—and said: «If you’re going to shoot a music video, better finish my part quickly.»

«My album launches next month. No matter the sales, I’ll have to travel for promotion—I won’t have time then.»

«Easy. Pick two songs—decide which one you want to appear in.»

Zhou Yi waved to Zhang Shaohan, signaling her to bring him nearby paper and pen—and under the two women’s stunned gazes, he uncapped the pen—

«What two songs? Zhou Yi—you—»

Before Sun Yanzi could finish her sentence, her expression shifted into eerie shock.

Lines of lyrics appeared as Zhou Yi’s pen moved, followed by sheet music—he didn’t pause once.

Seven minutes later, both Sun Yanzi and Zhang Shaohan stared wide-eyed, frozen in place as if seeing ghosts, staring at the two freshly written love songs in Zhou Yi’s hand, lips trembling, unable to utter a word.

«Give Me a Song’s Time,» «I Love Only You.»

One R&B love song, one pop love song.

Both were professionally trained musicians; even without arrangement, they could hum the melodies simply by reading the sheet music and lyrics:

«Rain soaks the sky, gray with meticulous care. You say you don’t understand why we held hands at this moment~»

«In the kingdom of love’s happiness, you are my only one, my only love is you, I truly love only you~»

«~~~»

After several hums, deeply sensing the exceptional quality of these songs, Sun Yanzi and Zhang Shaohan lifted their eyes from the sheet music to the man sitting like a lord in his chair, legs crossed, their gazes filled with complex emotion.

«Well?»

Seeing their eyes turn to him, Zhou Yi smirked and raised an eyebrow: «Share your thoughts?»

Had Tao Zhe’s «Hate Dream of the Red Chamber» not been unsuitable for Sun Yanzi to appear in, he would have written that uniquely risqué song right then and there—a landmark in Chinese pop history.

For his debut album: «Give Me a Song’s Time,» «I Love Only You,» «Hate Dream of the Red Chamber,» «It’s Me»—the millennium’s Four Kings, Zhou Wang Tao Lin, all equally represented;

Bonus tracks: «Admiration for Happiness,» «Can’t Help Loving You» as solid backups.

This was the confidence granted to Zhou Yi by his cheat.

He couldn’t imagine any Chinese-language artist’s debut album matching his.

Zhou Dong wasn’t close. Fei'er Band, even with their reputation of “debuting at peak,” wasn’t close.