Chapter Fifty-Three: Album Preparation

After finally settling his debt to Zhao Weiming, Zhou Miao found himself completely at leisure. Just as he was enjoying the peace, a call came from home informing him that the acceptance letter from the Central Conservatory had arrived. In a few days, they’d be hosting a celebratory banquet for his college admission and wanted him to come back when he could.

Hu San had also smoothly received her acceptance letter to Beijing University of Science and Technology, and she invited him to her own celebration as well. Besides her, many other classmates sent invitations to their banquets. Since they had all shared the classroom together, Zhou Miao thought he might as well go, if time allowed.

Before returning home, however, Zhou Miao first stopped by the company. The debut album for Summer Foam was missing only the lead single, and those two had been pestering him endlessly on WeChat with all sorts of hints—driving him mad!

Entering the recording studio, he found Li Qin and Zhao Li inside, trying out a song. After half a year of training, their demeanor had changed considerably. Simply put, they now had a trace of that star quality. Zhou Miao greeted Ziran, picked up a headset, and listened in. After a year of performing at commercial shows, the two had improved their vocal skills—at least enough to meet Zhou Miao’s standards.

He flipped through their album’s tracklist—a decent quality, but nothing truly outstanding. The melodies were somewhat forgettable, but that was a common ailment in the music industry these days. Many musicians lamented that all the catchy tunes had been written already.

Li Qin and Zhao Li emerged from the studio, their faces lighting up with delight at Zhou Miao’s arrival, greeting him with cries of “Brother Miao” over and over.

Zhou Miao rolled his eyes. “You’re both older than me by several years.”

“Heh, but talent makes the elder, right?” Zhao Li said obsequiously, pouring Zhou Miao a glass of water. Ziran looked at his own empty cup and sighed—new friends had made them forget the old.

Not keeping them in suspense, Zhou Miao pulled out a stack of papers from his bag. Li Qin’s eyes sparkled. “Are these all for us?”

But Zhou Miao merely drew out a single sheet. “What are you thinking? Only this one is yours—the rest are songs for my own new album.”

Though they eyed the stack greedily, they knew it was just wishful thinking. Best to focus on mastering the song they were given.

For his debut album, Zhou Miao was meticulous. Each song was carefully chosen: “Lovely Woman,” “Simple Love,” “Nunchucks,” “Ninja,” “Love’s Flight Diary,” “Stubborn,” “Sun and Moon in My Heart,” “Sweet,” “If Only I Were Young and Promising,” and “Rice Fragrance”—ten songs in all.

The song “Hero Huo Yuanjia” would be released as part of a film soundtrack, so it wasn’t included. “Leaving Earth” and “One Night in Beijing” Zhou Miao intended to release later as a mini-album under the Countdown Band.

Looking at this tracklist, Zhou Miao was certain this was destined to be one of the greatest albums in the history of Chinese pop music. “One of,” because he intended to keep releasing more.

But Ziran, seeing the songs, nearly questioned the meaning of life itself, followed by a wave of heartache. “Are you sure you want to include all these in one album? Every single one is lead-single material! Isn’t that a waste?”

He could hardly imagine the impact if all ten songs dropped at once—a royal flush, impossible for anyone else to compete.

Zhou Miao laughed. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m already doing it. I’ll be heading home for a while—there’s that banquet. Some of these songs have rather complex arrangements; I don’t want to use midi. Help me find someone to record the arrangements first. I’ll handle the piano and guitar myself.”

Ziran nodded helplessly. If Zhou Miao didn’t care, what else could he say? Such is the privilege of talent.

Meanwhile, Li Qin and Zhao Li were delighted with the song Zhou Miao had written for them—“Love Ya Love Ya.” The melody was catchy and memorable.

That afternoon, Zhao Li posted a photo from the recording studio on Weibo: “The lead single Brother Miao wrote for us is finally here—I love it! Don’t worry, everyone, the album will be out soon!”

Li Qin shared Zhao Li’s post, adding, “Another piece of good news—Brother Miao has finished writing all the songs for his debut album. Recording will start soon—please look forward to it!”

Two twenty-year-olds calling an eighteen-year-old “brother”—their fans couldn’t help but laugh.

“Kids who call him 'brother' will have songs to sing!”

“If not for this post, I’d have forgotten you two were singers.”

“They’ve found the secret to success—just flatter Brother Miao!”

The news of Zhou Miao’s impending album drew much attention. Immediately, many top idols decided to compete with him—if you release, I’ll release too!

Where did their confidence come from? Was it the quality of their songs? No—it was popularity.

Top idols nowadays often see terrifying sales numbers when releasing albums. Fans easily buy hundreds or even thousands of copies, not for listening, but to boost sales figures and create hype.

This has led to a strange phenomenon: veteran singers who spend seven or eight years, or even longer, crafting an album often see sales that don’t even approach a fraction of what these idols manage. Over time, who would still have the heart to make music?

They wanted to teach this young upstart Zhou Miao a lesson through overwhelming sales.

Suddenly, the industry sprang into action. The production team at Wave Entertainment held emergency meetings through the night, and Huiyuan pulled out all the stops—even if it meant losing money, he was determined to outdo Zhou Miao in sales.

Meanwhile, Zhou Miao arrived at Guan Yu’s home carrying some specialty treats. Guan Yu glanced at him, then turned back to the television.

“The acceptance letter arrived. My family is holding a banquet, so I’ll be heading home tomorrow. I thought I’d drop by today to see you,” Zhou Miao said, dropping onto the sofa and casually grabbing an apple to munch on, showing no restraint whatsoever.

Guan Yu didn’t respond—he simply pulled out the rest of the fruit from under the coffee table. Zhou Miao looked at him and asked, “Haven’t you found it lonely, living alone all these years? Never thought about finding a companion?”

Guan Yu knocked his knee with his knuckles. “What’s so lonely about it? I think living alone is great—peaceful.”

It’s often said that artists are a little eccentric, and Zhou Miao found this true in Guan Yu’s case. Stubborn, withdrawn, lazy, and always sharp-tongued, Zhou Miao crossed his legs and grinned. “Or maybe you just can’t find anyone.”

At that, Guan Yu shot him a glare. “Nonsense! I’m a professor at the Central Conservatory’s Composition Department—you think I can’t find a wife?”

He was getting riled up, but Zhou Miao just smiled with a hint of mischief, his demeanor infuriating Guan Yu even more.

Guan Yu lost interest in arguing, distractedly flipping through channels. “Mind your own business. Every time I go online, I see news of you arguing with people. And your Weibo—are you doing stand-up comedy there?”

Zhou Miao burst out laughing. “That guy was being passive-aggressive with me—of course I had to tear his mask off, or everyone would think I’m easy to bully.”

“You, you’ll trip up one day,” Guan Yu said, shaking his head in resignation.