Chapter 360: Chapter 233 Pei: You won’t have als with anymore in the future?
The plane touched down at Xinghai International Airport.
Xu Qingyan imdiately hailed a cab to the city center, scrolling his phone in the backseat.
His head felt fuzzy as he swiped to a short video titled “Growth Rings.”
Pei Muchan had ntioned it to him a few days ago—the “Growth Rings” single was selling moderately well.
It wasn’t until Chanming Studio released a behind-the-scenes video of “Growth Rings” that, sohow, it went viral overnight, climbing to the top of the short video search rankings.
In the video, Pei Muchan was doing a sound check in the recording studio, bathed in warm light.
The cara captured a pure, gentle face with long hair tied back in a low ponytail, fair skin, black hair, and picturesque eyes and brows.
She was singing, “Three, two, one… The wild grasses of youth grow rampant, yet life goes by calmly. Instead of you, it’s the growth rings keeping company. Counting the rings around (off pitch)….. Sorry, teachers, let’s do that again.”
The video abruptly ended, freezing on Pei Muchan’s narrow and clear phoenix eyes.
Xu Qingyan watched it twice and couldn’t help but smile slightly.
The video had over one hundred thousand likes, and the comnts were quickly piling up, reaching over four thousand. He casually clicked to read them, his years of watching videos making scanning comnts a muscle mory.
The top comnt with fifty-four thousand likes read, “Thousand fans petition for an ancient costu look, stunningly beautiful.”
“Bought it, almost passed out when I saw the lyrics and composition were by Xu Qingyan, dude.”
“Just a passerby, the song is nice and the singer even prettier; can soone really be this photogenic under direct light?”
“Bitter winds blow through the desolate valley….”
After scrolling through a few comnts, he slid them away.
These people were obviously Pei Muchan’s long-term fans masquerading as casual listeners—to normal people, who cares who the lyricist and composer are.
Anything related to Pei Muchan was sure to be praised, but any ntion of him would end up comparing him to an uncouth lyricist—why would wild boars co to our Little White Cabbage.
He put down his phone and turned his gaze out the window.
It was late October in Xinghai, and the atmosphere was desolate.
The plane trees were adorned with the signs of deep autumn, and even he had to don a light jacket. Ti sprinted forward, and three months had gone by in the blink of an eye.
Since the sumr of the love reality show, things had been moving in a positive direction.
Pei Muchan hadn’t faded into obscurity, Lin Wanzhou had left Cloud Wing Entertainnt, and he, like a quiet lamp in a dark room, stood silently, the hands lifting them to higher ground.
Money was coming in faster by the day, and he estimated he’d have around 1.3 million in his account in a few days.
Composing wasn’t as profitable as live-streaming; at this rate, he’d barely scrape together 2 million after the New Year. To open a film company, that money was far from enough.
Entertainnt companies generally fell into three categories: first, agencies like Xinghai and Cloud Wing focused on talent packaging and promotion.
Second was the entertainnt MCN companies, such as Waterlon Mama, Xinyou, and Cucumber Entertainnt, typically managing social platform matrices and working in film and TV publicity.
Third were film companies, the type Xu Qingyan planned to build. With two musical divas under his belt, establishing a film division would round out his portfolio.
Attending the Spring Festival Gala was part of the play, and of course, he’d go if he could.
He didn’t exactly understand what He Guojin’s role was, but the director’s team was certainly talented, everyone speaking so charmingly—he loved being there.
Just take Gan Wenchang alone, his father was…
The jianghu didn’t revolve around violence—it was about social intricacies. From the gossip Xu Qingyan heard from Gan Wenchang’s lips, there was once an assistant director who opened his own film studio.
Not even a film company, just a studio, and solely for the experience of serving as art director under Ji Shi’an, he managed to secure an investnt of ten million.
The fantastical part was, with only this experience, investors were willing to pay up.
Scores of similar tales were not hard to co by.
Bluntly put, over ninety percent of dostic film companies weren’t in it to make good movies—they were in it for the money, a much quicker profit than writing songs.
Xu Qingyan slaved away composing like plowing fields, working day and night, unsure if he’d even reach his humble goals within a year; but films could change that.
The only barrier was experience—if he bragged about writing songs, it would still pale in comparison to saying, “I’ve been an assistant for director Ji Shi’an, that Spring Festival Gala at Chang’an branch venue…”
Society was just that pragmatic—people recognized connections, not talent. Even a rag could obscure a piece of gold, especially now that he wanted to get in the ga; it wasn’t just about having the money.
So works can’t simply be broadcasted after overcoming all difficulties—other people can air their movie, but yours cannot.
Ji Shi’an was a director at the central arts programming center of the state broadcaster, and completing his stint as his assistant director this year would surely benefit Xu Qingyan a great deal.
If he lowered his pride enough to boast, he could at least net several million in investnts.
But it wasn’t just about the money; so things held greater value. He was in a state of uncertainty, skirting the edges of the core project.
If he could get involved… even just in na, that could cover his costs for the venture.
As his thoughts wandered, the car stopped.
He headed upstairs to his ho first, sent a ssage to Pei Muchan that he had arrived. Just as he was putting down his luggage, a brief affirmative ca back, followed by “Coming to the studio today?”
Today?
Xu Qingyan pulled back the curtains and glanced at the ti—11 AM. After a nap, he should be able to make it to the studio in the afternoon.
With only a five-day holiday, if two days were eaten up by commuting and resting, the remaining three would beco incredibly tight between recording songs and eting engagents.
No need to delay until tomorrow, he sent a ssage back.
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