Chapter 62: Circles? I Am the Circle

“What? A gathering? And Zhou Xun? Why wasn’t I invited to something like this? I actually really liked her show ‘April in the Human World’ this year.”

The next day, afternoon, Warner Building recording area.

As Sun Yanzi stepped out of the recording studio and barely closed the door behind her, she heard Zhou Yi say he wouldn’t continue recording tonight after removing his monitoring headphones.

“You can go if you want—just change your nationality.”

Zhou Yi, spinning a pen between his fingers, let out a light laugh and pointed the pen’s tip at her: “Tonight’s gathering is all mainlanders.”

“...Tch, so it’s a circle gathering.”

Feeling exhausted, Sun Yanzi sank fully into the soft sofa, silent, but gave the man a dismissive gesture.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi couldn’t help but feel curious: “What, did you go rob someone last night? You’re this tired?”

“Yeah, I robbed someone—the fans’ money.”

Sun Yanzi sighed weakly: “I finished a shoot the day before yesterday, and now I’m starting recording for my second album. Tell me why I’m this worn out.”

Here, Sun Yanzi felt even more resentful, especially after seeing Zhou Yi’s radiant appearance: “Wait, why doesn’t the company pressure you to release an album? Why are they always on me?”

“Well, maybe because my contract explicitly states the company can’t interfere with my creative freedom?”

Zhou Yi, signed as a composer, shrugged: “So even if the company wants to push me, they have no grounds—I only need to deliver one original album per year.”

When signing, Warner had referenced the typical timeline for Mandopop singer-songwriters: one original album per year wasn’t an unreasonable demand.

Many singer-songwriters in the industry released a major album only every two or three years.

“No way, that makes me even more resentful. Why can you live the high life while I’m stuck working like a slave for capitalists?”

Spending time with Zhou Yi, Sun Yanzi had picked up his fresh slang.

At the turn of the century, Zhou Yi, constantly spouting catchy phrases, was undeniably ahead of the curve, naturally stylish to his core.

“What if I was just as overworked when I dropped my album in July?” Zhou Yi clearly resented being called lazy.

“But now you get to rest—I have to rush straight into recording my second album, then hit the promotion circuit. New Year’s coming, I seriously doubt I’ll even make it home for the holiday...”

Sun Yanzi, legs curled up on the sofa, started counting her fingers and venting.

As a country with a majority Han population, Singapore also celebrates Spring Festival, and she hadn’t seen her family in a long time.

“...No choice. Your contract says this—you can’t refuse company assignments. If you want to change it, wait until your next contract.”

Zhou Yi, who had flipped the power dynamic since the contract negotiations, could only express regret.

If he remembered correctly, Warner’s early Sun Yanzi was indeed a workhorse of the industry: seven albums in three years from 2000 to 2003—a staggering feat in Mandopop history.

Had he not held back during negotiations, Zhou Yi feared Warner’s exploitative tendencies would’ve been turned on him too.

“But my contract runs until ’03—so annoying. I still have to endure two more years.”

The initial excitement from signing had mostly turned into a burden. Without Zhou Yi around to listen to her complaints, Sun Yanzi didn’t know how she’d handle the pressure.

After all, in the entire company, the only person she truly trusted was Zhou Yi—someone who, like her, had risen overnight. She didn’t fully trust her agent; only Zhou Yi heard her hidden thoughts.

“Think of it this way: if you build your popularity to rival a diva’s, you’ll hold all the power when negotiating your next contract.”

“Thanks for the good wishes. Have fun tonight.”

Sun Yanzi, nearly sinking into the sofa, felt a dull sense of gloom, her voice muffled as she napped with her head down.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi removed his headphones from around his neck, stood up, grabbed a blanket, and walked over to drape it over her.

Then, under Sun Yanzi’s watchful gaze, he turned and waved goodbye: “Don’t sleep without a blanket in winter—catch a cold and you’ll regret it. I’m off.”

“...”

Sun Yanzi had almost felt warmed by his first sentence—until she heard the next. Her face darkened instantly. Zhou Yi paused at the door, turned back, and spread his hands smugly: “I’m heading out to have fun now.”

Damn it!

Sun Yanzi, furious enough to summon a cup out of thin air, gritted her teeth: “Zhou! Yi!”

………………………………………………

“Huh? Who called me?”

Two hours later, Ju Yunxuan, parking lot.

Zhou Yi had just stepped out of his agent Qian Jiang’s car when he faintly heard someone calling his name. He paused, turned, and saw Fan Bingbing waving at him from afar—she’d just exited the company car.

“Ah Yi, you’d better be careful.”

“According to what I’ve heard, Jin Suo’s having a rough time.”

“Qiongyao dislikes her disobedient, uncooperative attitude and has sidelined her. You know how powerful Qiongyao’s circle is on the island.”

“Plus, she can’t get any resources on the island, and on the mainland, people from Beijing’s circle are interested in her—but she won’t bow down, still resisting, so she’s getting nothing.”

Qian Jiang, who’d also spotted Fan Bingbing, whispered the confirmed details: “It’s hard to say if she’s desperate and targeting you.”

“Either way, stay cautious. Don’t get too involved—otherwise, you might offend people in both circles.”

“Tch, this circle, that circle—so many circles.”

Zhou Yi sneered: “What’s there to offend? I’m just a singer. Can they really stop Warner from letting me release music?”

“Do you think even Qiongyao herself could get Zhou Jianhui to throw her into the sea to feed fish?”

Guo Fucheng, the king, was visibly worn out—he was now the only viable male singer at the company, the undisputed Warner crown prince. Are you kidding?

Zhou Yi would never accept having to kowtow to others just to play around with female stars.

Circles? When you don’t even rely on them to survive, circles are bullshit!

Besides, bluntly put, Zhou Yi had already risen—he himself was a circle now. Otherwise, why would Fan Bingbing come crawling to him?

Still, he hadn’t expected early Fan Bingbing to be this defiant, standing up to both Beijing’s circle and Qiongyao’s.

“Huh? Wait a minute. That doesn’t make sense—if she’s alienated from Beijing’s circle and Qiongyao, why is she here?”

“Probably because of Zhou Xun. Considering Fan Bingbing is a mainland artist struggling in Taiwan, and Zhou Jie and Fan Bingbing know each other—they were both in the ‘My Fair Princess’ cast.”

“Though Qiongyao has ignored Fan Bingbing, Zhou Jie is mainland-born too—he wouldn’t kick her while she’s down. But he’ll only do that much: not kick her.”

With that, as Fan Bingbing approached Zhou Yi, Qian Jiang gave him a look: “Alright, watch yourself. I’m leaving.”

As Qian Jiang drove off, Fan Bingbing, sensing the moment, walked over to Zhou Yi and smiled: “When Zhou Xun told me you’d be at this gathering, I was surprised.”

“Are you close with Zhou Xun?”

Zhou Yi, not taking Qian Jiang’s warning seriously, smiled back.

“Not really—we’ve had some dealings. You know, I can’t get any resources now, so I have to cling tightly to big stars like Zhou Xun, hoping to snag something for myself.”

To Zhou Yi’s surprise, Fan Bingbing frankly admitted her current plight and her real reason for befriending Zhou Xun.

“You’re really going to tell me this?”

Zhou Yi studied her with a playful gaze, surprised.

“I don’t think Warner’s stupid. My situation must’ve been explained to you by your agent already.”

Fan Bingbing gave a bitter laugh and shrugged helplessly: “Honestly, I’m at my wit’s end. Better to be upfront now than have you hate me later.”

“Besides, everyone in every circle already knows my situation.”

Zhou Yi found it amusing: “You guys are something else—playing chess in the entertainment industry, with factions everywhere and strict hierarchies.”

“Chess?”

This time, it was Fan Bingbing’s turn to be confused.

What did chess have to do with this?

“The chess world has the same factionalism. Oh no—actually, their factions are even more numerous, and everyone cares about lineage and masters. If you’re self-taught, even if you’re the strongest, you’ll be excluded.”

Zhou Yi didn’t refuse her, and Fan Bingbing’s relief was visible. She fell into step beside him: “So the chess world’s exclusion is just as harsh?”

“Shallow pond, lots of turtles. Not surprising.”

“...”

Inside Ju Yunxuan, when Zhou Xun saw Fan Bingbing laughing and chatting with Zhou Yi—the man she’d seen in photos—she was surprised.

When did they become so close?

“Zhou Xun, nice to meet you.”

Spotting the small group of stars chatting nearby, Zhou Yi stepped forward and extended his hand to the most prominent figure closest to him: “Zhou Yi.”

Nearby, Zhou Jie, also from Qiongyao’s ‘My Fair Princess’ cast and sharing the same surname, noticed Zhou Yi entering with Fan Bingbing. He blinked but said nothing.

Lu Yi and Chen Kun exchanged glances, both clearly surprised.

“Our Zhou family really has a purple star descending—Zhou Yi, you’re the first to make those arrogant Taiwan musicians lose their armor.”

Zhou Xun, blunt and cheerful, gave Zhou Yi a thumbs-up, then introduced everyone:

Lu Yi, who rose to fame overnight with ‘Never Close My Eyes’;

Chen Kun, who’d just finished filming the TV drama ‘Like Mist, Like Rain, Like Wind’ with Zhou Xun, and the undisputed top male actor in mainland TV: Zhou Jie.

Zhou Jie, the highest-ranking, acted as if he knew nothing of Fan Bingbing’s feud with Qiongyao, smiling warmly: “I’ve long admired you. Your theme and ending songs for ‘Young Bao Qingtian’ are incredible—my family even called to ask if I knew the singer Zhou Yi.”

“That’s because Jie Ge’s acting was amazing—I love watching it myself.”

Zhou Yi wasn’t just flattering.

He genuinely loved Zhou Jie’s performance in ‘Young Bao Qingtian’—nuanced, brilliant.

“Long time no see, Bingbing. Come sit.”

Seeing Zhou Yi, Zhou Jie, and Zhou Xun chatting happily, the lower-ranking Lu Yi and Chen Kun stepped in to draw Fan Bingbing away, sparing her awkwardness.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

Fan Bingbing, not wanting to offend their kindness, understood their difficulty. Before turning away, she gave Zhou Yi a grateful glance.

Zhou Yi caught the signal and raised an eyebrow.

She knew: she was on board.

The sincerity gambit had succeeded—but what was the cost?

After she’d openly revealed her situation and why she’d reached this point, Zhou Yi hadn’t hinted at anything like sleeping with him.

And just as she thought Zhou Yi was about to reveal his true intentions, this man’s subsequent actions truly seemed no more than simply pulling her up.

Fan Bingbin did not believe anything so good could happen for free; she was no longer the naive, innocent sixteen-year-old girl she once was.

But Zhou Yi’s slightly “strange” behavior and mannerisms had completely fried the CPU of her nineteen-year-old mind.