Chapter 20: Promoted to Senior Composer

Su Chen was napping at his desk when his phone started buzzing incessantly. Annoyed, he picked it up—hadn’t he already set it to Do Not Disturb? Why were notifications still coming through?

He checked the group chat. Someone had mentioned him again, and there were over 999 unread messages. Did these celebrities really have nothing better to do all day?

He tapped on the mention.

“Lu Yuanqing: Then let’s welcome our new member, @KindergartenBoss. Change your name and introduce yourself to everyone!”

What was this about? He scrolled up through the chat, skimming for important messages.

Finally, he pieced things together: yesterday, Jiang Yan had added him to the group by mistake. Ha, was this woman really so worried he’d have designs on her? The real kicker was that even after realizing the mistake, the others still insisted on keeping him in the group, suggesting—veiled or not—that they wanted to interact with a regular person for a change.

Curiosity—he could understand that. Still, it irked him a little. What did they mean by “getting in touch with reality”? Did celebrities really see themselves as a cut above the rest?

But annoyance aside, they hadn’t been rude, so there was no point in lashing out. Lu Yuanqing was a superstar singer, and there were other well-known public figures in the group too. If he got to know them, these connections could be valuable in the future.

So be it—he’d stay.

With that thought, he followed Lu Yuanqing’s suggestion and changed his group nickname to Su Chen. Then he sent a message:

[Su Chen: Hello, everyone. I’m Su Chen!]

Responses came in almost immediately.

[Jiang Jing: Wow! New member, post a selfie! Age, height, measurements, occupation—spill everything!]

[Ji Xiangyang: @Jiang Jing, what’s this? Are you competing with Jiang Yan? I don’t think you stand a chance!]

[Jiang Jing: @Ji Xiangyang, get lost!]

[…]

Celebrities seemed to have a peculiar curiosity about ordinary people—especially someone like Su Chen who’d unexpectedly joined their little circle. When several others asked about his job, he replied again.

[Su Chen: I’m currently working as a composer at a company.]

[Jiang Jing: Oh? So you’re half an insider already. Looks like Jiang Yan didn’t add the wrong person after all!]

[Jiang Jing: Welcome, welcome!]

[Ji Xiangyang: Welcome, welcome!]

[Luo Zhe: Welcome, welcome!]

[…]

After a while, the conversation devolved into meaningless chatter, and Su Chen closed the group chat window.

-------------------------------------

That afternoon, news finally arrived from the “Strange Tales” film crew. The demo for “White Fox” had passed their review, and Director Li Chengnian was extremely pleased.

It was all within Su Chen’s expectations, but still, he felt a slight sense of relief that nothing had gone awry.

General Manager Wang Yan, Director of Composition Kong Qishui, and Team 2 Leader Liu Wenxiong, on the other hand, were visibly excited. This was a battle between Xingcheng Entertainment and Xinghai Media—and this time, Xingcheng had won! It was their first victory in ages, a much-needed turnaround.

“Haha! I’d love to see the looks on Jing Xiuwen and Lao Jie’s faces at Xinghai Media right now!”

“So what if they have gold-medal composers?”

“So what if they’re Xinghai Media?”

Wang Yan laughed heartily in the meeting room, utterly unrestrained. When his laughter subsided, he took a sip of tea, beaming at Su Chen.

“Xiao Su, Director Li Chengnian called me personally to thank you! He also said he’d like to invite you to the film’s premiere.”

Wang Yan’s demeanor now was a far cry from the imposing air he’d had during their first meeting—he seemed approachable and friendly. The other two wore broad smiles as well, especially Liu Wenxiong, who, as a middle manager, was usually the strictest with staff. Now, his attitude was excellent.

“Thank you, Director Wang, I was just lucky,” Su Chen replied modestly.

Wang Yan looked even more pleased at his humility.

“That’s not the way to see it. If it were just luck, why couldn’t others come up with a satisfactory piece after two weeks? This isn’t simply good fortune—it’s talent and capability!”

After the praise, Wang Yan got to the main point.

“Next is recording the official song. We might have a bit more time—the crew has given us a week. Still, I think we should wrap this up as quickly as possible. Tackle the hard part first, then relax.”

Su Chen nodded in agreement. Besides the recording itself, they also had to account for possible revisions the film crew might request, so it was wise to leave some buffer time.

“As for who should sing the song, do you have any suggestions?” Wang Yan asked.

Su Chen shook his head. He knew he could offer his opinion, but the final decision wasn’t his to make. Only after he’d gained enough influence or demonstrated sufficient value would the company cede some decision-making power to him. Wang Yan’s question was already a gesture of respect.

“All right, then we’ll choose from within the company,” Wang Yan said, opening his computer as he spoke.

“Currently, excluding trainees, we have twenty-two artists who’ve debuted, eight of whom are singers. Among them, five are female. Most are out on jobs and can’t make it to the studio right away. I’ll play some of their previous recordings for us to review and decide who’s the best fit.”

Since they didn’t need to listen to full songs, it didn’t take long to settle on a candidate. The chosen singer was Qin Pei, a third-tier artist with a husky, magnetic voice—tinged with world-weariness and a hint of sorrow—which suited the song perfectly.

“Good. It’s settled then. Old Liu, reach out to Qin Pei’s agent and have her come back as soon as possible. Xiao Su, you’ll be involved in the recording session.”

With everything arranged, Wang Yan smiled at Su Chen.

“One more thing, Xiao Su—regarding the reward for this project. Everything we promised before will be honored! The project’s eighty-thousand-yuan bonus might take a while, since we have to wait for the film crew’s payment. But your promotion to Senior Composer can happen right now.”

“Also, when the film is released, the song will go live on music platforms at the same time. You know how the royalties work for songs uploaded to these platforms, right?”

Su Chen nodded. He was familiar with the process—before joining an entertainment company, a composer would sign agreements concerning copyright and profit sharing. If the company held the copyright, the composer would receive a higher share; if the composer retained the copyright, the company’s share would be larger.

Some composers who just wanted to coast along would assign copyright to the company for a bigger payout. But Su Chen had faith in his own work and had chosen to retain independent copyright.

According to the agreement, for independently copyrighted songs, the revenue split depended on the composer’s rank. For ordinary composers, the company took eighty percent; for senior composers, it dropped to seventy percent, with the remaining thirty percent split between composer and singer, in proportions determined by their respective ranks and mutual negotiation.

For silver-level composers, the company’s share was sixty percent. Once someone became a gold-level composer, the company’s cut fell sharply to forty percent, since gold-level composers had their own following and required fewer promotional resources, so the company was willing to offer a bigger share.

This was what Wang Yan was getting at.

“Qin Pei is a third-tier singer. Based on your new status as Senior Composer, the two of you would split thirty percent—you’d each get fifteen percent. But today, I’m making an executive decision: how about you take twenty percent?”

Su Chen nodded slightly. Given his current rank, that was already a very generous percentage.

“Thank you, Director Wang!”