Chapter 35: The Battle for the New Song

Faced with Zhou Miao’s stubborn refusal, Zuo Qiu truly found herself at her wits’ end. Helplessly, she dragged a chair over and sat beside him, her face etched with weariness.

“Xiao Miao, let me be honest with you. The company’s financial situation isn’t good right now—we’re running at a loss every month. I even dream at night about how to make our artists earn money.”

“Just help your sister out, will you?” As she spoke, Zuo Qiu clung to Zhou Miao’s arm and shook it, putting on a pitiful, pleading expression.

Zhou Miao pulled his arm back with a blank face. “That’s not what you said last night. Weren’t you trying to sell me off for twenty million?”

Zuo Qiu was startled by his words. Did she really say that last night? She hurried to clarify, “Absolutely not! When other companies offered me a price, I refused right away. You’re Rainbow’s most precious one—I wouldn’t sell you for anything.”

Zhou Miao snorted. He didn’t believe a single word this woman said; he’d already made a mental note of what happened last night.

“What’s this?” Zuo Qiu suddenly noticed several sheets of music on Zhou Miao’s desk, but before she could pick them up, he snatched them away and carefully folded them into his pocket.

He’d only taken out these songs because he wasn’t familiar with Li Qin and the others’ vocal styles, so he’d chosen one in every genre—not because he intended to hand them all over at once.

“Those are all songs Zhou Miao wrote. You have no idea—every one of them is amazing, no worse than ‘Chinese Language’!”

Ziran couldn’t help but exclaim, “Before this, I never believed in the existence of geniuses. Now I do! To write so many high-quality songs at sixteen or seventeen years old—I’m convinced!”

Zuo Qiu had never doubted Ziran’s professional judgment. If he praised those songs, they must be truly outstanding.

“Little brother—” Zuo Qiu’s eyes sparkled as she adopted an unbearably saccharine tone that made Zhou Miao’s skin crawl.

He looked at her in utter distaste. “Don’t even think about it. If all the trainees here sing at KTV level, you’d better find someone else to write songs for them. Having them sing my songs is nothing short of an insult.”

Seeing Zhou Miao’s iron resolve, Zuo Qiu felt deflated. She turned to Ziran. “Are our trainees’ vocals really that bad?”

Ziran shook his head and sighed. “Not bad—nonexistent. Li Qin and Zhao Li are already among the better ones. As far as I know, hardly anyone attends our vocal classes. But the dance classes? Packed every session.”

What was she supposed to do now? Zuo Qiu felt a headache coming on.

Zhou Miao glanced at the time, got to his feet, and headed back to the dormitory—he still hadn’t finished the homework Guan Yu assigned him.

Zhou Miao left, but the problem remained. Zuo Qiu called the vocal coach to get a sense of the trainees’ abilities, and the result was simply appalling.

There was no choice but to call in the few trainees with relatively better vocals to try out.

After several trainees came for auditions, the news couldn’t be kept secret any longer: Zhou Miao had written an incredible song for Li Qin and Zhao Li, but their vocals were too poor and he’d rejected them. Now they were looking for someone with real skill to perform it!

A song by Zhou Miao! The “Scent of Rice” he wrote was still riding high weeks after its release, praised by celebrities and musicians alike as the year’s top hit!

For Rainbow’s trainees, this was a heaven-sent opportunity. Suddenly everyone scrambled to audition. The previously deserted vocal classes were now packed to overflowing; the classrooms could hardly contain them all.

The vocal coach sighed helplessly. These fair-weather followers—wherever the company wind blows, that’s the way they go. Unbelievable.

Some even resorted to sneaky tricks. In the dead of night, a pretty young girl wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her hair still dripping, went to Zhou Miao’s door to borrow a hair dryer.

How could he say no?

Five seconds later, outside the firmly closed door, the girl stood clutching the hair dryer, plunged into deep self-doubt…

Because of this, Zhou Miao realized he needed to move out; otherwise, similar incidents would keep happening.

He called Yang Yan, asking her to help find him a place near the company—the best available, price no object. After all, he had plenty of money; his two-million signing bonus was still untouched in his account.

With a crash, a golden piggy bank shattered, scattering pink bills all over the floor.

Zhao Li gathered up the money and counted: over five thousand—should be enough.

“I still have more than two thousand on my card, and some credit left,” Li Qin said. “That should cover it, right?”

“It’s enough. We don’t need to learn anything too advanced—just need to get the feel for rap,” Zhao Li replied, stuffing the cash into her little purse, feeling a stab of pain at the thought of spending it.

After their initial disappointment and heartbreak, they realized they couldn’t just sit back and accept defeat. They had sacrificed so much for the dream of debut—dropped out before finishing high school. If they couldn’t become stars, they wouldn’t even be able to find a job.

So they decided to pool all their savings and sign up for a rap class, giving it one last shot.

What was lost—they were determined to reclaim with their own hands!

After much deliberation, Zuo Qiu decided to follow the example of Korean entertainment companies and implement assessments and class divisions for all trainees, conducting comprehensive evaluations in vocals, dance, appearance, and physique.

Only those rated “A” would be eligible to debut. Most distressing for the trainees was that vocal ability would account for a whopping fifty percent of the score!

They’d spent so long practicing dance, and now they were told that only strong vocalists could debut?

But regardless of their complaints, after the new rules were put in place, everyone had to work hard on their vocals. The first assessment would be held in a month, and without an “A” rating, the next chance wouldn’t come for another half year.

During that period, all debut opportunities would pass them by. Suddenly, the practice rooms on the first and second floors resounded day and night with wailing and howling as everyone trained their voices.

Li Qin and Zhao Li worked even harder—practicing vocals in the day, and studying rap with Teacher Rao at night.

But none of this concerned Zhou Miao. He was the most leisurely person in the company—attending classes, doing his homework, playing with cats. The assessments didn’t involve him; he had signed an artist contract, not a trainee contract.

And even if he were assessed, he had nothing to worry about. Aside from being hopeless at dance, which area was he lacking in?

Amid this tense atmosphere, a month passed quickly. On assessment day, Zuo Qiu insisted on dragging him along to sit in and see if anyone was suitable to sing that song.