Chapter 93: The Biggest Rival of 2001?

To be fair, there’s already a ready-made duet partner for “Drifting North”—Wang Lihong, who originally sang the hook in the song.

But Wang Lihong is under Sony, and he’s in the same competitive lane as me, so there’s absolutely no need to approach him.

Setting aside the original versions by Wang Lihong and Huang Mingzhi, the version of “Drifting North” that stands out most in Zhou Yi’s memory is the one performed by Deng Ziqi and Huang Mingzhi in a KTV.

In fact, Deng Ziqi’s voice sounds even more appealing in this song than Wang Lihong’s, to the point that many people call this KTV version the best rendition of “Drifting North.”

That way, my live solo version can follow the arrangement style of Wen Huiru, while the MV can showcase another dimension of the song—killing two birds with one stone.

As for now…

After carefully listening to these two singers’ tracks, Zhou Yi sat on his chair, pondering for a long while, and ultimately settled on Tan Jing.

The reason is simple: due to differences in timbre and emotional delivery, Satdingding at this stage still hasn’t fully found her own musical path.

Tan Jing’s voice, by comparison, better matches the vast, open feeling I need for the MV version.

“Let’s go with this award-winning artist—contact her and see. If she declines, then reach out to Miss Zhou Peng.”

After glancing at the other female singers on the list, Zhou Yi immediately demoted Satdingding to backup and promoted Tan Jing to first choice.

If the collaboration goes well, I might even pull out “A Bridge of Fate” for the next album.

“So fast? Aren’t you going to look further? I think Zhang Huimei is great too—her vocal style and power feel more suited to your song.”

Qian Jiang was stunned by Zhou Yi’s swift decision, pointing to Zhang Huimei, who ranked high on the list.

“Forget it—she’s a senior artist; no need to trouble her.”

Zhou Yi shook his head and tossed Zhang Huimei’s name straight into the trash.

Honestly, Zhang Huimei today really is suitable to duet “Drifting North” with me.

But such a fence-sitter with no integrity—no matter how good she sings, it’s useless. Wants to make money but sneaks in passive-aggressive jabs—definitely a moron.

Qian Jiang noticed Zhou Yi’s wording and gesture, and instantly added Zhang Huimei to his blacklist for collaborations.

After nearly a year of working together, he’d learned Zhou Yi’s red lines pretty well.

Senior artist?

In Zhou Yi’s vocabulary, that term is practically synonymous with dislike.

If he truly respected Zhang Huimei, he’d just say “senior.”

Sun Yanzi, who also noticed this, quietly spat out the date pit from her mouth, her expression thoughtful.

“Oh, by the way, one more thing.”

A production company from Baodao wants to invite you to star in a modern romance film series. The project is still in the planning stage, and the crew has their eyes on nearly every well-known singer in the domestic music scene—are you interested?

“Urban romance? A series film? What’s it called?” Zhou Yi’s mind immediately prickled at the long string of words.

“The tentative title is ‘Star Sunny Garden.’ If I remember right, Yanzi, you’ve also accepted the invitation, right?” Qian Jiang turned his gaze to Sun Yanzi beside him.

She snapped back to attention and nodded: “Yes, apparently it’s structured as a musical narrative drama. Not just me—Xie Tingfeng, Wang Fei, Su Youpeng, Na Ying, Zhang Yu, Zhou Jielun, and many other singers have all been invited.”

“Basically, each singer uses their own real name to tell a musical story, but presented in the form of a idol drama.”

It’s perfectly normal for such a musical-series drama to invite singers as actors.

“You got invited too?” Zhou Yi was surprised.

Sun Yanzi lifted her chin, her tone dripping with pride: “Of course.”

“...”

Zhou Yi thought hard but couldn’t recall a single detail about this drama in his memory—clear proof he’d never watched this TV series with such a star-studded cast in his past life.

Which means this drama either only aired in Baodao or flopped so hard it didn’t even splash.

“Let me think about it—I’ll decide based on my schedule.”

Zhou Yi, already set on declining, gave Qian Jiang a look as he spoke.

The latter understood immediately.

On March 15, Chen Zeshan, who had been frantic in Baodao, arrived in Xiangjiang in person, face dark, to meet Zhou Yi and Sun Yanzi, who was lounging on the sofa in the lounge, lazily snacking and chatting with Zhou Yi.

“Yanzi, I assume you’ve rested enough by now?”

Facing his two top revenue pillars—especially Zhou Yi, who could produce and sell his own hits—Chen Zeshan had to rein in his temper and politely ask the visibly flustered Sun Yanzi.

“Do you know that because of your nearly two-week break, Xiao Yaxuan and Zhang Shaohan have already pushed you down to third place?”

“Even Liang Yongqi, who just released her album ‘Amour,’ is almost catching up to you—do you even know that?”

To Sun Yanzi, who sat like a well-behaved student staring at the floor, her agent Chen Zeshan spoke with heart-wrenching frustration.

Even though he’d once helped Qian Jianhui promote Liang Yongqi’s “Short Hair” album, outsiders are outsiders—Sun Yanzi is family.

“Sorry, it’s just that work here has been really busy. Right, Zhou Yi? Zhou Yi?” Sun Yanzi frantically signaled Zhou Yi for backup, and the man, barely holding back a laugh, reluctantly chimed in.

Watching the two of them exchange secret glances right under his nose, Chen Zeshan felt his blood pressure rising.

At least pretend to keep some distance from him!

On the 16th, Chen Zeshan forcibly dragged Sun Yanzi, who was reluctant to leave her leisure, onto the flight back to Baodao.

After resting for half a month, it’s time to get back to work.

“I’m actually glad I got blacklisted in Baodao—otherwise I’d probably be running nonstop too.”

After Sun Yanzi left, facing Qian Jiang’s piercing gaze, Zhou Yi grinned, signaling he wasn’t being lazy.

“You were blacklisted, but your songs weren’t.”

“I think you should pay attention to Qiongyao’s upcoming TV drama—it’s gotten excellent internal reviews, and Gu Juji landed a song industry insiders are calling a golden hit. It might be your biggest rival this year.”

While Zhou Yi lounged comfortably, Qian Jiang, who’d just received this news from inside the industry, looked deeply concerned.

A massively popular TV drama paired with a song equals prolonged, saturated promotional bombardment—enough to catapult a singer to fame.

Zhou Yi benefited from “Young Bao Qingtian” last year, let alone Gu Juji, who’s already a famous singer with a massive fan base.

“Qiongyao’s TV drama? A threat to me? Which one?”

“‘Love in a Rainy Season’—the theme song shares the same name. But according to what I heard, it’s not their main single.”

“Gu Juji has big ambitions—he wants to use this drama and his song ‘I Really Really Want’ to beat you.”

“...”

Gu Juji’s “I Really Really Want”?

Hearing the song title, Zhou Yi raised an eyebrow.

That song is definitely familiar.

But in terms of pure quality, it can’t touch Jiangnan’s.

The only variable is the boost from “Love in a Rainy Season”…

(End of Chapter)