Chapter 27: He Opened a New World for Mandarin Music

You really got lucky.

After a week of hanging out, Sun Yanzi, who had grown somewhat familiar with him, threw a pillow straight at him—she couldn’t stand how smug he looked.

Zhang Shaohan, beside him, was simply delighted, happy for Zhou Yi without any other thoughts.

This is a show even the Big Four stars of Hong Kong had to book months in advance to appear on.

Jealous, jealous. Look at that jealous face of yours, Sun Yanzi.

Zhou Yi grabbed the pillow covering his face and caught a faint scent of shampoo on it; he glanced sideways at the woman with monitoring headphones around her neck: “Don’t be jealous. Learn from me—be helpful. Maybe you’ll get this chance someday too.”

“Better lock your doors and windows tight at night, Zhou Yi,” Sun Yanzi, fists clenched, glared at his provocation, her teeth grinding with irritation.

“Men and women must maintain propriety—you’re about to debut, and you still want to come into my house at night? What are you up to?” Zhou Yi scoffed, unfazed: “I warn you, I’m used to sleeping naked.”

Since both were housed by Warner, their residences weren’t far apart—that’s why Zhou Yi had bumped into Sun Yanzi while grabbing dinner before.

“But, Yi-ge, which single are you planning to release in October?” Zhang Shaohan, curious about Zhou Yi’s debut, couldn’t help asking.

Will it be the lead single “Happy Worship”?

Or “Forced to Love”?

“Release a single? What single? By October, even if this album takes forever to finish, I’ll have it done—I’ll just bring the whole album onto the show.”

Album production time is usually unpredictable.

Generally, if the singer handles everything from start to finish, production takes longer—and Zhou Yi was no exception to this rule.

Just look at the release timelines and speeds of Zhou, Wang, and Tao.

Tao Zhe, one of the three, fell behind first because his album production time kept growing longer—his creative energy was simply exhausted.

Even with Zhou Yi’s advantage, he still had to put in effort to perfect the melodies from memory and spend time crafting the MVs. This wasn’t the era of ringtones, where you could slap up a Flash animation and call it an MV.

“Don’t worry, Teacher Sun. Since you’re at least my teacher, if you need to, I’ll bring you along on the show.”

Zhou Yi, fully aware this woman would soon ignite a new wave in the Mandarin music scene in June, made the promise with a mischievous grin.

Sun Yanzi rolled her eyes at him, commenting on his habit of making empty promises: “Shao Han, see? This is what a man who spouts empty vows looks like.”

Zhang Shaohan, still an unknown, dared not interject—she just feigned ignorance and grinned dumbly, saying nothing.

“Don’t stir up trouble. Don’t ruin my heroic image in Shao Han’s eyes,” Zhou Yi said, brushing off invisible dust from his nails, utterly unconcerned.

Sun Yanzi barely held back her laughter: “Besides your height and looks, you don’t match this phrase in any other way.”

“Your behavior, taken seriously, is undermining the cooperation between Warner Records and Fung Mao Records, Sister Sun.”

“Why not throw in Virgin Records too? Aren’t you going to see your rumored girlfriend today?” Sun Yanzi smiled faintly, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched him.

Although Virgin Records, Warner Records, and Alpha Records had swiftly denied the rumors and provided evidence, the sensational “two women fighting over one man” story had been smothered in its cradle before it could spread, failing to ignite a storm.

But that didn’t stop Sun Yanzi from teasing him about it.

Besides, if these two really made guest appearances on each other’s albums, the rumor would inevitably be revived—and denying it would become nearly impossible.

“You’re underestimating me. I record in the morning and rehearse dance in the afternoon.”

He pointed to the sheet music, fully arranged and sitting near the control desk, then spread his hands: “Shao Han, let’s get to work.”

“After we finish recording our duets ‘Happy Worship’ and ‘Forced to Love,’ you can go home—you won’t need to run back and forth every day. I’ll notify you when we start filming the MV.”

Sun Yanzi, still smiling, shrugged indifferently and put on her headphones.

Helping Zhou Yi record songs was the easiest job she’d ever taken in her entire music career—he did everything himself, leaving no room for anyone else to earn a cent.

Add in his height and looks, and he was unquestionably the ultimate all-in-one package of the Mandarin music industry.

Didn’t you notice that Warner’s top producer Li Sisong hadn’t shown up lately? There was simply no space for him here—just a bored, waiting-to-debut Sun Yanzi lending a hand was enough for Zhou Yi to handle everything in the studio.

Surprised by Zhou Yi’s terrifying production ability, Sun Yanzi silently marveled as the complete arrangement played through her headphones—Zhou Yi’s unmistakable voice emerged—

“Those who’ve forgotten their names, follow me—now let’s worship happiness~”

“Those who’ve dropped their burdens, follow me—spread it, and build an era of joy~”

The opening was an instantly catchy melody, followed by a rap delivery that left Sun Yanzi stunned—unlike the mumbled, unintelligible rapid-fire rapping of underground hip-hop, Zhou Yi’s enunciation was uniquely crystal clear.

“To which generation does happiness belong? The 70s, 80s, 90s, or Y-generation~”

“Flip through the history textbook, and even if you search carefully, you won’t find the answer—you can’t memorize it either.”

“Relax, let me tell you.”

“What kind of era blows what kind of wind? I hold my microphone…”

Zhang Shaohan’s voice chimed in perfectly, her bright tone enhancing the layered depth of Zhou Yi’s rap.

At that moment, even Sun Yanzi, who had studied music for years in Singapore, felt moved. Her head swayed unconsciously to the beat, her index finger tapping the table.

This was a style never before seen on the mainstream Mandarin music stage before 2000.

Sun Yanzi didn’t know how this song would be judged when released, but right here, right now, she felt this man was doing something wildly insane—and incredibly cool.

He overturned the existing Mandarin music style, innovatively introducing the then wildly popular Western hip-hop elements and integrating them flawlessly into Mandarin pop.

Unlike the 1993 mainland album “Somebody,” recorded by Chinese musicians Tutu, Xie Dong, and Yin Xiangjie, which was half-baked and more like a rhythmic chant than real hip-hop, failing to gain any foothold in the mainstream market.

But this one was different.

Whether in composition, arrangement, or the rhythm and cadence of the rap, Zhou Yi had achieved perfection.

After spending a week finally hearing the full arrangement and complete song, Sun Yanzi stared silently at Zhou Yi through the glass—

Dappled light scattered across his body, weaving a hazy veil.

In that moment, she seemed to see a throne faintly forming behind him.

He, had opened a new world for Mandarin music.