Chapter 56: Zhou Yi, Release a Single

“What’s going on? Who just released an album? And they even called you to tell you personally?”

Watching Zhou Yi hang up the phone, Qian Jiang curiously asked.

Zhou Yi knew only a handful of singers, and none had announced a new album ready for release.

“Jay Chou—you’ve met him, that guy who got poisoned by gas.”

“Oh, that unlucky guy.”

Qian Jiang, who still remembered how Zhou Yi had saved him, instantly recalled who Jay Chou was: “Can he even sing?”

He never debuted under Wu Zongxian—how can he possibly make it?”

“Whether he can sing or not, you wouldn’t believe me anyway—just buy his album and listen for yourself.”

Sitting up straight on the sofa, Zhou Yi peeled an orange and smiled: “Buy me ten more—last time he supported me, so it’s only fair to return the favor.”

“Sounds like you really believe in him.”

Qian Jiang was surprised.

This was the second time Zhou Yi had shown such faith in a new singer.

The last new singer Zhou Yi backed was Zhang Shaohan, who had since become a heavily promoted artist under Fumao.

“Wait a minute—how come all the new singers you back are from other companies? Isn’t Warner their label?”

Suddenly realizing this, Qian Jiang’s expression turned odd.

“Who said that? Before Sun Yanzi debuted, I was already backing her.” Zhou Yi chewed an orange segment, his eyebrows twitching slightly from the sourness, then silently handed the orange to his agent.

“But Sun Yanzi was already spotted by Zhou Jianhui before you—even her entire album was custom-made by Warner—”

Unwary, Qian Jiang broke off a segment and put it in his mouth; the next second, his face twisted in agony: “Damn!”

Seeing someone else get hit too, Zhou Yi grinned broadly: “Bought it from the fruit shop downstairs—complain to them if there’s a problem.”

Qian Jiang glared at him mock-angrily: “I get you gigs, and this is how you treat me? And I just landed you another one.”

“What gig? Another theme song? Or another TV appearance?”

“Neither—it’s to write a song for Sun Yanzi.”

“?”

“Don’t ask questions—it’s the company’s decision. They’re planning to capitalize on the momentum and release another album for Yanzi in December. Since you’re right here, Zhou Jianhui wants to know if you have any ideas—maybe write her a custom song.”

After hearing the reason, Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow in surprise: “Didn’t she just release an album in June? Why so soon again?”

“You think the Taiwan market is that big? She needs to strike while the iron’s hot—not everyone starts with simultaneous releases across both sides of the strait like you.”

Sun Yanzi, whose debut album missed the huge mainland market, didn’t need to shuttle back and forth like Zhou Yi—so naturally, they’d schedule her next album.

Qian Jiang wiped his mouth after gulping down water: “Also, the company wants you to start preparing for your second album.”

“Of course, they’re not rushing you—you can take your time finding inspiration, just start getting things ready.”

For Zhou Yi, the rare Mandarin pop artist who writes, composes, arranges, and sets the theme for his own albums, Zhou Jianhui knew he needed ample creative freedom.

After all, singers can start singing once they get the right song, but singer-songwriters often have their own stubbornness—take Tao Zhe, whose album last year was a smash hit, yet this year not a whisper of a new one.

“Also, now that you’re free, you should start writing the song you promised Fumao—for Zhang Shaohan. Fumao plans to launch her before Christmas; they’ve already received eight or nine songs matching her style and vocal tone.”

As Qian Jiang kept talking, he pulled out a notebook from his suit pocket: “Also, because of your sudden fame, international brands are reaching out—I’m in preliminary talks with them.”

“International brands? I’ve only been hot for less than half a year—who’s got such good taste?”

Zhou Yi, expecting his first endorsement deal to be from a mainland brand, was stunned: “Benetton?”

“Coca-Cola and Pepsi.”

“...”

He’d almost forgotten—these two were the ultimate celebrity endorsement machines.

Hearing it was them, Zhou Yi perked up: “What’s the offer?”

“Both initially offered four million, four-year contracts. If you sign with Pepsi, they’ll arrange collaborations with Wang Fei, Zhang Guorong, and others.”

“Coca-Cola doesn’t have that advantage, but they promise other promotional resources.”

“Are they trying to bribe a beggar? I’ve already made over four million from my album alone. Four million for four years?” Zhou Yi sneered, clearly unimpressed.

In this era, successful singers still earned faster than regular film and TV stars—though stars like the Two Zhous were exceptions.

They didn’t just make more money—they made it quicker.

Although his album royalties and income streams arrived slowly and inconsistently—settled quarterly or semi-annually—his own estimates and the company’s accounting showed:

As of November 7, his album sales and licensing income had already exceeded four million RMB and was rapidly approaching five million.

Warner was even preparing to advance him part of his royalties.

Though taxes would sting later, he knew where to draw the line.

Liu Xiaoqing, famously arrested in June for tax evasion, was still rotting in prison—he didn’t want to join her singing “Iron Bars and Tears.”

“I told them the same thing—it’s not urgent, still in first-round negotiations. From what I see, Pepsi is more willing to raise their offer.”

Pepsi…?

Although Zhou Yi personally preferred Coca-Cola, he wouldn't mind switching to Pepsi if it offered enough sincerity.

“Besides these two international brands, some domestic companies have also approached us—like Wahaha, which also sells cola—but their offers are low.”

“As for clothing, Benetton hasn’t contacted us, but Jingba Men’s Wear—currently hot in China—has shown interest and reached out. But their first offer was too low, and there are signs it might fall through…”

As Qian Jiang rattled on, the details of various endorsement deals unfolded before Zhou Yi.

As a major component of a star’s income, endorsement deals often determined how big an artist was and how high their status.

At least Qian Jiang, who came from Hong Kong, believed that—and he’d been pushing hard to get Zhou Yi the best deals.

When they finally talked until nightfall, Qian Jiang slapped his forehead and stood to leave: “I’ll handle the endorsements—you write Zhang Shaohan’s song fast. If you can’t write Sun Yanzi’s song, I’ll step in and turn down the offer.”

Even though they were from the same company, if he had to be the bad guy, Qian Jiang was happy to play the part.

“No need—I’ll tell them to come pick it up tomorrow.”

“Oh, tomorrow—wait, tomorrow?”

Zhou Yi nodded.

“Fable” and “Green Light”—both done in minutes.