Chapter Seventeen: Lyric Writing, As Easy As Turning One’s Hand

Luo Xiaoyi hurriedly arrived at Celestial Star Entertainment with Chen Nian, where Zhou Lu and her production team had been waiting for quite some time.

The spacious conference room contained only a handful of people.

Chen Nian glanced around briefly. Though all the companies present were top-tier in the industry, Celestial Star Entertainment’s office building seemed inferior to Heart Trace’s. Judging by appearances alone, the two companies were not even on the same level.

“Xiaoyi, why did you come with Chen Nian?” Zhou Lu asked, puzzled upon seeing Luo Xiaoyi at Chen Nian’s side.

Back when Luo Xiaoyi first participated in a show, Zhou Lu was a mentor on that program. Although Zhou Lu hadn’t chosen Luo Xiaoyi for her team, they were at least acquainted.

“Ms. Zhou, Chen Nian is my personal assistant,” Luo Xiaoyi explained.

Since it had been Celestial Star’s staff who contacted Chen Nian, Zhou Lu wasn’t aware of the relationship between Chen Nian and Luo Xiaoyi.

Zhou Lu nodded in response. It made sense that Chen Nian would become famous at Luo Xiaoyi’s concert.

“We’ve heard your songs. They’re excellent—top-notch in both lyrics and composition.”

“It’s hard to believe that a songwriter like you is barely in your twenties.” Zhou Lu smiled respectfully as she poured tea for Chen Nian and Luo Xiaoyi.

“It’s nothing—just a bit of casual interest,” Chen Nian replied with a faint smile, utterly unconcerned.

Zhou Lu paused, then chuckled playfully.

She had been in the industry for years, but had never encountered someone quite like Chen Nian.

The other producers, however, did not share her opinion. Their expressions were grim. Making industry veterans wait this long had already soured their mood, and now he dared to make such bold statements?

What did he mean—just a casual interest? Did he really write masterpieces like “Sunny Day,” “Elopement,” and “Cinderella” merely as a hobby?

Is he trying to ruin their careers?

How were those of them who had been in the business for over a decade, without a single signature song to their name, supposed to live with this?

Luo Xiaoyi seemed to sense the tense atmosphere and gently nudged Chen Nian, signaling him to be a bit more restrained and let these producers keep some dignity.

Chen Nian merely smiled, unconcerned.

Indeed, he hadn’t even thought about debuting as an artist. Even if he did, with the creative level of these producers, what could they possibly do to him?

It was Mo Fan, ever focused on making good music, who broke the silence.

“Mr. Chen Nian, I’d like to ask, how is your preparation going for the song you’ll be collaborating on with Zhou Lu?” Mo Fan had already been won over by Chen Nian’s talent, so he spoke with genuine respect.

“If you’re not ready yet, we’ve prepared some demos here. You can listen and see what you think.”

“That’s fine,” Chen Nian replied with a smile and a nod. “I haven’t prepared anything yet. And please, you’re my senior—just call me Chen Nian, no need for ‘teacher.’”

Chen Nian’s principle was simple: he reciprocated others’ treatment of him, double. Mo Fan treated him with respect, so he would, in turn, show Mo Fan the utmost respect.

Mo Fan waved his hand lightly and said with a smile, “In our circle, seniority doesn’t matter much. If your music’s better than mine, I naturally call you ‘teacher.’”

“Xiao Yang, bring me my laptop.”

“Yes, Mr. Mo Fan.” The young producer named Xiao Yang nodded, left his seat, and returned with Mo Fan’s laptop.

The other producers, peers of Mo Fan, looked disdainfully at his reverent attitude toward Chen Nian. Some even chuckled aloud.

Seniority and status were everything in their field. To show such deference to a producer who hadn’t even debuted—didn’t they, the industry veterans, deserve some respect?

Mo Fan, well aware they were targeting him, paid them no mind.

Soon, Xiao Yang returned with the laptop.

Mo Fan inserted the USB drive and began playing their prepared demos.

“These songs were meant to be kept for the New Voice competition, to make a splash on the charts. But Zhou Lu insisted on bringing them out for your collaboration,” Mo Fan explained with a smile.

Chen Nian and Zhou Lu exchanged a smile but said nothing.

As the musical prelude began, Mo Fan and the other producers watched Chen Nian expectantly.

These songs were their magnum opus, crafted over two and a half years, waiting to explode onto the scene with New Voice.

Yet the other producers had a different agenda. “Sunny Day,” “Elopement”—so what? They intended to suppress this young upstart’s arrogance and show him just how deep the waters of the music industry truly were.

After the minute-long demo finished, Mo Fan frowned slightly. Not only was Chen Nian’s expression indifferent, it even showed a hint of impatience.

He admitted his own song couldn’t compare to “Sunny Day” and “Elopement,” but surely it wasn’t that bad?

“Mr. Chen Nian, what do you think?” Mo Fan asked tentatively.

Chen Nian pondered for a moment before replying, “Are there any others? I’d like to hear a few more.”

“Yes, of course.” Mo Fan nodded and played the other demos.

Ten minutes later, all three additional demos had been played. The disappointment on Chen Nian’s face grew more pronounced.

He knew the musical standards of this world weren’t great, but he hadn’t expected them to be this poor.

These songs were on par with Lin Xinrou’s “Unrequited Love.” If this was what they had produced after two and a half years, Chen Nian could only suggest they consider changing careers.

Watching Chen Nian’s contemptuous expression, one of the producers couldn’t hold back. He stood and said, “Don’t think you’re superior just because you’ve written a few decent songs. Believe it or not, I could say one word and make you disappear from the music scene entirely!”

“Old Jia, sit down,” Mo Fan said sternly to the middle-aged man who had stood up.

“Mo Fan, you overestimate him. ‘Sunny Day,’ ‘Elopement’—what’s so special? Give me some time, I could write those too!”

“That’s right, Mo Fan. I think your attitude is over the top. I admit his songs are good, but he’s just a junior. Is it necessary to grovel before him?”

Mo Fan frowned. “Here, it’s always been about ability. If you could write songs like ‘Sunny Day’ and ‘Elopement,’ I’d treat you the same way!”

Zhou Lu watched the group with a cheerful smile.

When producers quarreled, singers like her generally kept out of it—their livelihoods depended on these people, after all.

While Mo Fan and the others argued, Chen Nian picked up a pen and began writing something on the table.

“What are you doing?” Luo Xiaoyi leaned over curiously.

“Writing lyrics,” Chen Nian replied.

A few minutes later, as the debate raged on, Chen Nian tossed the finished lyrics onto the table.

The group paused, picked up the freshly written lyrics, and their expressions instantly froze.