Chapter 90: Set a Small Goal First

“This song… I feel like you’ve become even more unrestrained after using English lyrics?”

Hotel room.

After changing out of tonight’s gown and taking a shower, Sun Yanzi sat cross-legged on the sofa, wearing loose pajamas. A dry towel rested on her head, its ends dangling down to partially obscure both sides of her cheeks along the curve of her short hair—

One hand holding an apple bitten twice, the other gripping the sheet music, she voiced her opinion: “And I haven’t seen you looking tired at all—why are you even thinking of slacking off?”

As a Singaporean, her English proficiency was more than sufficient to grasp the meaning of “The Lazy Song.”

“People can’t be judged by the same standard—I think I am tired.”

Zhou Yi, idly spinning a pen between his fingers, let out a light laugh, dismissing Sun Yanzi’s complaints: “Not everyone’s built like you, made of iron. Learn to enjoy yourself—otherwise money’s just a string of numbers.”

“Do you think I want this? I’m practically drowning in stress myself. My second album, ‘I Want Happiness,’ came out in January, and it’s only March—still not even past the promotional period—and the company’s already starting to prepare my third album. I feel like another one’s coming by July or August.”

Talking about this, Sun Yanzi instinctively clutched her head; the damp towel instantly disheveled her neatly arranged hair, fully revealing the helplessness in her emotions: “Next year there’s a concert tour, another album to release, and promotions everywhere.”

She used to love singing.

But now, Warner’s relentless pace—album after album—left her feeling suffocated, and she had no one in her daily life to confide in.

Only in front of Zhou Yi, someone she knew well, could she voice the buried frustrations, without worrying he’d leak them.

She had virtually no personal time left at all.

Coming here to attend Zhou Yi’s Coca-Cola signing ceremony was, for her, practically an unspoken vacation.

Having grown up in wealth and never having endured hardship or exhaustion, her body now felt unable to bear it anymore.

“Why not try talking to Chen Zeshan? Slow down the pace?”

Recalling Sun Yanzi’s brilliant record of seven albums in three years, packed with countless concerts, Zhou Yi winced and suggested:

As Sun Yanzi’s manager and vice president of Warner, Chen Zeshan was undeniably capable—but his philosophy of “use them until they drop” left Zhou Yi cold.

Chen Zeshan was truly better suited for artists like Cai Yilin, who could tolerate extreme overwork.

“I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t figured out how to tell him yet—he’s doing this for my own good.”

Sun Yanzi sighed; she hadn’t yet reached her breaking point, only felt a flicker of irritation with the current situation.

She was naturally soft-hearted, and Chen Zeshan genuinely cared for her, with a clear, well-planned career path.

Every time she wanted to rest, Chen Zeshan could find dozens of reasons to convince her to keep working nonstop.

In fact, Chen Zeshan was right—her fame had now spread even to mainland China—

Zhou Yi’s compositions “Little Luck” and “Green Light,” along with Yao Ruolong’s lyrics and Li Sisong’s composition for “I’m Starting to Understand,” saw massive popularity spikes as her promotional exposure increased after the new year.

At least now, when mainland listeners mentioned “Warner’s Twin Stars,” they could name specific songs by Sun Yanzi—not just a vague concept.

Of course, the hottest female singer on the mainland right now wasn’t her—it was Xiao Yaxuan.

If in Taiwan, Xiao Yaxuan, Sun Yanzi, and Zhang Shaohan were currently a three-way standoff, on the mainland Xiao Yaxuan’s songs dominated the charts, pushing “Green Light” to second place.

There was no help for it—“Love’s Main Theme” was just too popular, so popular that Virgin Music itself was caught off guard.

Aside from Zhou Yi, everyone at Virgin Music was stunned by the explosive success of “Love’s Main Theme” in the mainland market, and now singers eager to invite Zhou Yi to write songs were as numerous as fish crossing a river.

Emboldened by their success, Virgin Records and Fuma Records fully cooperated with Warner’s promotional campaign for Zhou Yi, all to secure further collaborations with him.

“Think positively—at least now the outside world has already dubbed you ‘Little Queen of Pop.’”

“I don’t care. I can’t stand how relaxed you are—it makes me jealous.”

After wringing the towel, Sun Yanzi propped her chin on one hand, glancing at the sheet music in her grip, her tone languid: “Still, I didn’t realize you had such talent for writing English songs—the way you shift your thinking and perspective feels completely natural.”

As the world’s most widely spoken language, English determined that global superstars primarily built their fame through English songs.

There were people in China who wrote English songs, but due to differences in thinking and perspective from Westerners, they rarely achieved the same fluidity and brilliance as their Chinese-language compositions.

Even her teacher Li Sisong struggled to grasp the nuances of English songwriting so precisely—but Zhou Yi could switch seamlessly, which genuinely amazed her.

“This concerns whether I can earn dollars—I have to be serious about it.”

Zhou Yi snapped his fingers with a smile: “If I can use Jackie Chan’s movie to open the door and build my name, the dollars will roll in after that.”

His purpose in copying this English song was simple: only one goal—to become famous and make money.

As a Chinese person, no matter how extraordinary he was, he could never reach Jackie Chan’s Oscar-level heights, because all the songs he copied came from the West.

Moreover, Western music genres were already wildly diverse, leaving him no chance to benefit from inventing a new category by copying.

This meant that any song of his destined to become popular worldwide would inevitably be Westernized, lacking Chinese cultural depth, unable to export Chinese culture.

So Zhou Yi’s smaller goal, beyond making money, was pragmatic—to use his English albums to attract foreign fans who might then voluntarily explore his Chinese albums and learn Chinese.

Just like how, back then, Leon Lai’s popularity inspired so many Japanese and Korean girls to learn Chinese—and even marry into Hong Kong.

“When are you planning to record this song?”

“As soon as possible—I’ve got my own album coming up. Since you want to rest too, why not stay and help me record? Consider it part of your break.”

Zhou Yi, clearly seeing the fatigue on Sun Yanzi’s face, paused, then invited her.

Sun Yanzi seemed tempted, but her tone still held hesitation: “But I still have to go back for promotions…”

“A week’s rest won’t hurt. The money from your album still goes to Warner, but if your body breaks down, Warner won’t ease your suffering.”

Zhou Yi grimaced: “Chen Zeshan cares too much about marketing—he’s practically obsessed. He doesn’t understand that excessive promotion breeds public backlash.”

If Sun Yanzi hadn’t finally collapsed under Chen Zeshan’s high-pressure promotional campaign in 2003 and taken a year off, her post-comeback reputation might not have been this strong.

Even so, Chen Zeshan eventually overdid it in 2007, pushing Sun Yanzi to her limit—she broke ties with him, withdrew from the entertainment industry a second time, stopped releasing music entirely, and didn’t return until 2011.

“If you’re too shy to say it, I’ll have Qian Jiang call Chen Zeshan for you.”

Seeing Sun Yanzi’s hesitation, Zhou Yi immediately pulled out his phone from his pocket, ready to call Qian Jiang—

Sun Yanzi shot up from the sofa in one swift motion, lunged forward, and slapped both hands over his.

“?”

“I’ll do it myself.”

From her elevated position, she easily caught sight of the faint muscle lines beneath his loose pajamas. The warmth of her palms against his skin made her blink—then she flashed a wide smile: “I’ll tell him myself—he’s my manager, after all.”

PS: Next update around 11 PM.

The update times have been erratic these past two days—just because some people took early leave, so my workload’s piled up…

Sorry.

I already used up my Mid-Autumn Festival holiday the day I launched—sigh.

I wish I could fast-forward straight to October 6th, when I get my break.

(End of Chapter)