Chapter 58: Zhou Yi, Your Budget Is Unlimited

“Zhou Yi, Zhou Yi! Are you the producer of the albums for Sun Yanzi, Xiao Yaxuan, and Zhang Shaohan?!”

“Zhou Yi, Zhou Yi! Zhou Yi, could you share some updates on your new album’s production progress?”

“Zhou Yi, recently a newcomer singer named Zhou Jielun has stirred up a wave in the music scene. So far, his popularity this year ranks second only to yours—what do you think of him…?”

“Zhou Yi…”

Zhou Yi, invited to an event, was ultimately intercepted at the interview podium—had he not dodged quickly, those enthusiastic microphones would have nearly poked him in the face—

With the help of Warner staff, Zhou Yi finally got the interview order sorted and accepted the interviews, clutching a pile of microphones he couldn’t even tell whose they were—

“First, I am not the producer of their albums. They are my friends; I merely wrote two songs for them, which isn’t even news.”

“Second, my personal new album is indeed in preparation, and I won’t let my fans down.”

“Third, I’ve known Jielun personally for a long time—we’re close friends. His new album selling well is perfectly normal in my view.”

At the end of November, Zhou Yi, wearing a wine-red wool coat and a cream-colored turtleneck underneath, looked even more slender on camera, perfectly blending warmth and fashion.

Facing the cameras, when asked about Zhou Jielun, Zhou Yi did not show any hostility as the media expected—instead, he generously offered his blessings.

As a new discovery in the Bao Island music scene in November, Zhou Jielun burst onto the scene with two songs, “Xing Qing” and “Long Juan Feng,” sparking a wave no one had predicted except Zhou Yi.

“Long Juan Feng” even surged into the top thirty of the quarterly charts.

Remember, it was already year-end—most major artists had already fought for their spots. Yet Zhou Jielun still carved out a bloody path, and his fierce momentum inevitably led the media to link him with Zhou Yi.

After all, Zhou Yi himself burst onto the scene in July and climbed to the top through relentless competition.

Some media, eager for drama, after seeing Zhou Jielun’s album sales soar, shouted the slogan: “Let’s support our Bao Island native singer Zhou Jielun!”

Other media even hoped Zhou Jielun could replicate Zhou Yi’s myth—and surpass him on the charts—to complete an overtaking at the end of the millennium.

Loyal as ever, Zhou Jielun called Zhou Yi directly after seeing the news, insisting it wasn’t his or his company’s doing—it was the media making things up.

Alpha, under Wu Zongxian, was no major company and lacked Warner’s ability to control public opinion. Even though Zhou Yi repeatedly said it was fine, Zhou Jielun was still furious at the rumors swirling outside.

“This sales growth rate… if not for you, this year’s most popular male singer on Bao Island would probably be Zhou Jielun.”

In Zhou Yi’s “company dormitory,” holding the market analysis data from Warner, the chubby agent Qian Jiang couldn’t help but whistle.

It’s terrifying.

What’s going on with the Bao Island music scene this year?

One powerhouse after another—according to historical descriptions, this is the sign of chaos, with warlords vying for dominance.

“No wonder Bao Island’s local media are hyping Zhou Jielun so hard—you were too dominant, crushing them and leaving them stifled.”

“Now a male singer has suddenly emerged, equally unexpected, and they naturally channel their pent-up frustration into supporting him, hoping Zhou Jielun can suppress you.”

Qian Jiang, who had spent years crisscrossing the Three Regions, rubbed his stubbly chin and quickly figured out why the media were doing this—a sardonic smile crept onto his face.

“Zhou Jielun can’t possibly surpass me—it’s just wishful thinking from the Taiwanese media.”

Zhou Yi paid no mind to the outside noise.

The data might look impressive, but he still led Zhou Jielun by a wide margin—let alone the fact that Zhou Jielun’s album was only popular within Bao Island.

Zhou Jielun wouldn’t truly become a national force until after 2005; before that, he was merely a minor king.

Before 2005, even holding concerts on the mainland was a gamble—he worried tickets wouldn’t sell, so he partnered with China Mobile, offering one ticket for every 300 or 400 yuan in phone credit.

Zhou Yi’s first time seeing Zhou Jielun’s concert ticket in his life was one his family got by topping up phone credit.

“Whether or not it’s wishful thinking, all this publicity isn’t without benefit to you. Your popularity has rebounded, and with Zhou Jianhui’s approval, the company has granted you exceptional creative freedom.”

Qian Jiang’s face lit up like a Maitreya Buddha when talking about profits: “According to what I’ve heard, because your first album was such a massive success, Warner now values your second album more than Sun Yanzi’s.”

“In fact, Zhou Jianhui may even secure for you the right to an unlimited album production budget.”

Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow: “Unlimited? Really? I’ve never heard of that.”

“‘Unlimited’ is just a fancy way of saying ‘very expensive.’ No matter how much you spend, you won’t be burning hundreds of millions of RMB on one album.”

Qian Jiang, still used to Hong Kong’s exaggerated phrasing, slapped his forehead and clarified: “You’ve heard stories about past Hong Kong superstars spending millions or tens of millions to produce an album, right?”

“So I can just use MV filming as an excuse to travel everywhere?”

“Theoretically, yes. Company expenses cover meals and drinks—it’s an unofficial industry perk. If you want inspiration, tell me where you want to go, and I’ll buy your ticket.”

Qian Jiang flipped open his notebook, the pen tip resting on a schedule: “From Wu Zongxian’s side, your special feature has been fully produced, split into two parts for broadcast.”

“If you’re not in a hurry to go home for New Year’s, you could stay on Bao Island and see how the audience reacts after the show airs.”

“Also, Rock Records is throwing a celebration for Liu Ruo—our team got invited. Are you going?”

Zhou Yi nodded immediately: “Of course. After all, she came to support us before. I understand the principle—when you lift a sedan chair, everyone helps carry it.”

Qian Jiang was about to nod when Zhou Yi’s phone rang—

“Speak of the devil.”

Seeing the caller ID read “Zhou Jianhui,” Zhou Yi grinned and pressed answer: “Hello? Zhou Zong?”

“Zhou Yi, your new album’s preliminary budget is set at two million RMB. If you need more, we can increase it further.”

After speaking, Zhou Jianhui paused, then added: “Unlimited.”

………………………………………………

“What? Really? Are you serious?”

“Of course it’s real. Do you think I’d lie to you? Thanks a lot—next time I’ll treat you to dinner.”

On Bao Island, Fan Bing, who had rushed over after finishing a TV drama shoot on the mainland, hung up the phone and exhaled deeply.

She flopped backward in a star shape on the hotel bed, staring at her phone screen displaying her friend’s number, her expression grim.

This was her last chance.

If this failed, she’d truly have to bow to those people just to get decent acting roles.

Damn it!

Just thinking about it made Fan Bing furious.

She and the others had all come from “My Fair Princess,” yet the other two were now household names, while she got nothing—big productions only ever cast her as a maid.

Honestly, she didn’t know if playing the female lead in an MV could earn her renewed attention—but this was the last straw she could grasp on her own.

In this era, gaining fame through an MV was still a viable option.