Chapter Eight: Is There Another Song? The Second Original Is Released!

Zhang Xiaoli shook her head. Liu Xiaoyu and the other girls had just graduated, still carrying the innocence and naiveté of school life, and were most enamored with the idea of love. It was only natural that they would be moved by Jiang Yi’s song. After all, love songs have always been the most popular genre. Many singers’ signature works are love songs.

At this moment, Jiang Yi finished the first verse, his fingers dancing on the guitar strings, one hand forming chords while the other kept the rhythm. After a gentle instrumental, he began the second verse, the lyrics shifting and the emotions rising slightly. In this song, the lyrics of the two verses are not the same, and the emotions evoked are different as well, as though telling a story:

“Back to the very beginning,
Standing absentmindedly before the mirror…”

In the first verse, he’s looking at a photo on the table’s corner; in the second, he’s already donned a suit, preparing to attend the wedding of the girl he missed. There’s no denying that Giddens Ko’s lyric writing is truly masterful. Paired with such an excellent melody, this song, in its former life on Earth, instantly conquered the charts upon its release. It also made a star of its performer. Before singing this song, the performer was just a moderately popular singer; only after did he gain a true signature piece. It opened doors for him in TV and film soundtracks. Later, many theme songs came his way, leading to numerous subsequent works.

Yet none of his later songs ever surpassed “Those Years.”

“Donning the suit of adulthood…”
“Attending the wedding of the girl I loved most…”

Some of the young women on staff, imagining the story behind the song, found their eyes growing misty, especially those more sentimental among them.

Now, Jiang Yi reached the song’s climax, his voice rising in intensity:

“The heavy rain I missed in those years,
The love I missed in those years…”

After the second chorus, Jiang Yi fell silent, bowing his head as he played the guitar with focus. A brisk instrumental passage flowed out, leading into the song’s final lines:

“The heavy rain I missed in those years,
The love I missed in those years…”

He sang all the way to:

“If we meet again, I will hold you tight,
Hold you tight…”

With these words, even more of the young women present were visibly moved. Amid the lingering sense of regret, the boy in the song was still dreaming that, in a parallel world, he could hold that girl tightly once again…

When the last note faded, Jiang Yi strummed a few final chords on the guitar, ending the song. Looking up, he saw that everyone in the room—including the two bosses, Long Dandan and Ma Xiaohan—were staring at him in a daze.

“I’ve finished. Thank you,” Jiang Yi said after a pause, breaking the silence in the room.

Still, Jiang Yi didn’t dare get ahead of himself. Admittedly, these songs were classics. But his system was a scriptwriting system; songs were merely a side benefit. Jiang Yi was well aware of his own limitations—his singing and playing were quite ordinary. Of course, judging by the response, the charm of the song itself had clearly touched everyone.

“Bravo!” Even the big boss, Long Dandan, took the initiative to applaud. “A wonderful original! A fine love song!”

“It’s really nice!”
“I like this song!”
“I do too!” chimed in several staff members who had never heard it before.

“We finally got to hear the full version!” Liu Xiaoyu and the other girls exclaimed. “It’s moving! Who would have thought it sounds so good live? Today was worth it!”

But just as everyone was applauding, the short-haired second boss, Ma Xiaohan, poured cold water on the moment: “However, your singing and guitar still need improvement. There were a few flaws in your voice here and there…”

Jiang Yi nodded naturally. “Yes, I know my skills aren’t great, so honestly, I understand that I’m just making up the numbers here.”

Long Dandan smiled. “It’s good that you’re humble at your age…”

At this point, Jiang Yi spoke frankly, “Actually, I just wanted to get my face out there and sing a song, hoping it would help me promote my script… President Long, President Ma, having heard my song, do you have any thoughts? Would you consider looking at my script? Maybe invest?”

Like a salesman, Jiang Yi continued, “It’s about a boy and a girl who were high school classmates—the boy is a poor student, the girl a top student. They bicker and quarrel, the boy studies hard for her, and they eventually fall in love and get into university together, but ultimately, it’s a story of missed chances…”

Long Dandan was silent.

So was Ma Xiaohan.

So were all the staff.

Jiang Yi had only been testing the waters, but seeing everyone’s expressions, he knew it was hopeless. Not to mention whether a script alone could convince anyone—Long Dandan and Ma Xiaohan weren’t in the film business. Their expertise was in idol competitions.

“Your script? Sorry, Jiang Yi, we do singing competitions,” Ma Xiaohan said seriously. “We’re not familiar with scripts or movies, and we don’t plan to get involved in them.”

“Of course, don’t be discouraged. If you can go far in our show—” Long Dandan added, “then people will notice you. If your script is truly outstanding and can move investors in the film industry, you’ll succeed eventually…”

Jiang Yi nodded. “Thank you, but I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the next round. I know my abilities—compared to the professionals, I’m probably just here to make up the numbers.”

“That song just now was quite good. But we’ll have to wait for the official recording and see how the mentors and audience react,” Ma Xiaohan added.

Long Dandan said, “By the way, Jiang Yi, do you have any other songs? If you want to stay in the competition, one song obviously isn’t enough!”

Back when they worked in television, they had seen some talented original songwriters—one great song got them through, but subsequent originals didn’t measure up, and they faded into obscurity. It’s hard to go far relying solely on original music.

“I know. I’ve prepared another song. Should I perform it now?” Jiang Yi replied.

He was well aware how tough the path of an original singer could be. In the previous era, few achieved lasting fame purely through original work—only a handful like King Zhou, Lin CD, Xu Shanggou, and Wang Sulong. The first two debuted in the record era, while the latter two broke out online with the sheer quality of their songs, which was no easy feat. Many other singers had a few good originals, but then faded, forgotten by the public.

Since he was now facing the production team, he naturally had to do his best to impress them and earn more screen time in the actual show.

“Oh? You have another song? Let’s hear it,” Long Dandan nodded, though she didn’t have high expectations. For most, writing one good song is hard enough; keeping up that level is even harder.

Even King Zhou couldn’t always do it. In his previous life, the song King Zhou wrote for his wife’s film was a flop.

“Huh? A second song? We get to hear another new song from Jiang Yi today?” Liu Xiaoyu and the others’ eyes lit up.

Still, Liu Xiaoyu worried for him, “Will it be alright? If the second song is a flop, then…”