Chapter 386

For this kind of situation where a top leader came knocking, Fan Xiaopang dared not take it lightly. After a brief moment of excitement, he immediately forced himself to calm down, checked the time, and promptly called Zhou Yi to explain the details thoroughly.

She had expected Zhou Yi to be shocked, but surprisingly, he sounded utterly unmoved.

"Of course. I have no business dealings with him. The China Film Group is theoretically not even in my circle."

Zhou Yi chuckled teasingly: "But you—you played middleman. How are you going to thank me?"

"That's nonsense. What do I still have that I haven't given you? Just name it," Fan Xiaopang said confidently over the phone, slapping his chest. "I'm coming over right now."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to wear the Wu Zetian outfit."

"Tsk. Didn't know you had a thing for that."

"Role-playing is right up an actor's alley."

"No shame."

After giving Zhou Yi Han Sanping's number, Fan Xiaopang pouted playfully, then hung up and seriously considered her costume design for The Empress Dowager—she'd find a reputable master tailor to replicate a few sets exactly.

She couldn't reasonably take the film crew's costumes home to wear, but custom-made ones were fine—and the fabric would be even better, smoother.

Just imagining the scene made her cheeks flush with shy warmth. But she quickly suppressed the thought and passed along Zhou Yi's words to the top leader.

Han Sanping, though surprised that Fan Xiaopang had so swiftly connected him with Zhou Yi, soon smiled knowingly—this sly little brat.

"Old Qian, if Han Sanping's people contact you later, just stall a bit, then accept."

After ending his call with Fan Xiaopang, Zhou Yi sent a text to Qian Jiang: "I'll take the job."

Since the giant shark of the domestic entertainment industry, Zuo Shan Diao, had surfaced, there was no point in playing games—he could make this guy owe him a favor.

He didn't need it himself, but most of his close associates were still in the film industry; he might need it someday.

Everyone lifts the sedan chair together. He wasn't actually trying to make the whole world his enemy.

As for what to write for Hero…

Singing? He definitely didn't have the time now, and Wang Fei's theme song for Hero was already out, the promotional slogans already launched—that's why Zhang Yimou and others were asking for pure instrumental music.

According to Qian Jiang, during later contract negotiations, because Zhou Yi cited lack of time, the production side even agreed to delay the screening date—such sincerity was undeniable.

"For pure instrumental music, Hero at least has an Eastern visual style…"

Zhou Yi closed his eyes, sank into thought, rubbed his temples, and memories began surging through his mind.

Tan Dun, who had risen to prominence through Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, excelled at expressing Eastern elegance through Western instruments—and Hero would be no exception.

If he didn't want to repeat Tan Dun's approach, he'd first need to differentiate himself instrumentally…

Instinctively, as he pondered this, a majestic Chinese-style instrumental piece rose from the depths of his memory—"Xiang Wang Xing."

"Xiang Wang Xing," a signature work by Guan Dazhou, composed when he served as music director for National Treasure, and spread widely from that program onward.

Due to its grand, sweeping momentum, it was often used in climactic MVP scenes depicting dynastic peaks.

The entire piece was composed of six Chinese instruments: horn, large drum, pipa, guzheng, erhu, and dizi—balancing grandeur with a degree of pop accessibility. For Chinese-style instrumental music, this was undoubtedly ideal.

More importantly, the arrangement and orchestration of "Xiang Wang Xing" could, in this era, be regarded as truly "textbook" level.

"Now, even if I join the Music Association, those old bastards who hate me will have to swallow their words."

Zhou Yi, stroking his chin with his left index finger, struggled to recall and deconstruct every detail of "Xiang Wang Xing." As he picked up pen and paper to write and pause, he realized another advantage of using this piece.

As a pop singer, he was fundamentally out of sync with the Music Association—a fact evident from any list of past members.

The mainstream members of the Association were still mostly from the Cultural Troupes, music academy graduates with official positions, and national or regional vocalists—these were the Association's backbone. Zhou Yi, a pop singer, no matter how popular, was seen by many in the Association as nothing more than a singer with poor technique who sang trash songs—that's all.

Even if he was popular overseas.

After all, when it came to singing artistry, those from the national team truly were terrifying. Future Tan Jin could casually play two tunes and completely crush the public's perception of vocal prowess.

In vocal technique, he could never match them.

If he wanted to advance from a young singer to becoming a "master," pure instrumental music was an excellent tool to boost his prestige—maybe by his thirties or forties, he could even land a guest professorship at the Central Conservatory of Music.

After preliminarily settling on "Xiang Wang Xing," Zhou Yi immediately began considering the musicians' lineup.

Instinctively, he thought of one group, one person.

The Twelve Girls Band, Huang Zhan.

The former was a group of classical Chinese instrument virtuosos trained at the Central Conservatory; Huang Zhan's mastery of ancient Chinese instruments needed no explanation.

If he wanted to rehearse this piece quickly, Huang Zhan's veteran experience would be invaluable.

Of course, he absolutely wasn't thinking about the Ferrari the old man had promised in their bet.

Absolutely not.

That night, after finishing the final editing of the latest episode of Three Bald Guys, Huang Zhan was heading home from ATV when he unexpectedly received a call from his favorite little brother—

"Old man, you promised me a Ferrari. Send it over."

Zhou Yi cut straight to the point on the phone. Huang Zhan was baffled: "What are you talking about?"

What Ferrari?

You don't even have a single hair here—you trying to pull a fast one?

"I'm not lying. If you don't believe me, come see me tomorrow."

Zhou Yi grinned slyly: "I'm just giving you a heads-up so you won't try to weasel out later."

He hung up, leaving Huang Zhan to chuckle and curse: "That little rascal."

"What's wrong, Uncle Zhan? Is someone hurt?"

"No, nothing. Just a bet. Someone came to gloat."

Huang Zhan shook his head with a smile.

Does Zhou Yi need money?

Of course not.

He could buy a Rolls-Royce and toss one aside just because he felt like it—pure caprice.

This call was purely about holding a grudge, coming to gloat—he must've created something he was extremely proud of, otherwise he wouldn't be so arrogant.

At the same time, Wang Xiaojing, who had founded the Twelve Girls Band, also received a call from Zhou Yi—

"Although there was that little incident with Zang last time, the agreement between us still stands. Bring your people over—my concert has a slot for them." Zhou Yi, who never welched on a deal, was still building his good reputation.

Wang Xiaojing, who had not yet taken the group to Japan to develop, was so moved her hands were shaking.

Zhou Yi's recent concert?

Wasn't that only the Shanghai Star?

That was a genuine eighty thousand people!

Wang Xiaojing, who was in the Imperial Capital constantly finding venues for the Twelve Girls Band to hold performances in order to build their fame, nodded without hesitation: "Yes, yes, yes, I'll take them to Shanghai right away."

After Zhou Yi had exploded in popularity, he had actually forgotten the agreement he'd made with her—after all, the gap between their statuses was far too great, and besides, he hadn't really been much help to her back then.

But now, having received Zhou Yi's call, there was only one thought in her mind—

"Zhou Yi is a solid guy, worth working with."

Wang Xiaojing, who happily went to drink a few cups with Cui Jian, was giving her assessment of Zhou Yi.

Cui Jian: "..."

Your face changes a little fast there—not a shred of rock and roll.

(End of chapter)