Chapter 27: Let's Listen to These Two Songs First

Outside the recording studio, Kong Qishui stood with a dark expression, deep in thought. Wu Di, too, wore a cold face and kept silent. Only their agent, Bai Dehou, kept chattering nonstop.

“Director Kong, you’ve seen it yourself—his attitude is just like that!”

After Su Chen had pushed them out, the two had been furious, immediately contacting Kong Qishui, the director of the composition department. Never before at Star Orange Entertainment had they been treated this way. They had expected Su Chen to bow his head and recognize his place; instead, they were once again humiliated—a disgrace beyond belief!

Yet when Kong Qishui arrived, he too found himself shut out of the recording studio. Even he felt that today’s embarrassment was beyond measure.

Just then, the door to the recording studio opened. Su Chen, seeing Kong Qishui outside as well, was a bit surprised.

“Su Chen, what’s going on?” Kong Qishui asked, his face still dark.

“It’s nothing. I just brought two interns to record a couple of songs. We were almost done when they barged in, trying to take over the studio and interrupted the performance.”

Had it been anyone else, Su Chen wouldn’t have bothered to explain. But Kong Qishui was the composition director, so he thought it best to clarify—otherwise, who knew what this effeminate man might say about him.

Upon hearing this, Bai Dehou immediately bristled. “Who’s taking your studio? Who’s taking your studio? According to company rules, if Studios 1 through 3 are full, we’re allowed to requisition other recording rooms.” He pointed at Su Chen with a delicate, dramatic gesture—quite fitting for his persona: not only effeminate, but also feisty.

In fact, when Bai Dehou had complained to Kong Qishui, he hadn’t exaggerated. On the surface, in this matter, they had the rules on their side. There was no need to embellish.

“Su Chen, Wu Di is a senior. If it’s not an urgent matter, it wouldn’t hurt to give way sometimes.” Kong Qishui weighed his words carefully.

His attitude left Wu Di and Bai Dehou momentarily stunned. Shouldn’t he be scolding Su Chen outright? They’d come to see him put this subordinate in his place—how had things turned so conciliatory? After all, Su Chen had just refused even Kong Qishui entry!

What they didn’t realize was that Kong Qishui was in a difficult position. Su Chen had just helped the company solve a major problem and was, for now, a hero. With the “Strange Tales” film not yet released, its impact still lingered; the company and Su Chen were in their honeymoon phase. To fall out over such a trivial matter would be petty—worse, it would seem ungrateful.

So, Kong Qishui did his best to suppress his irritation, keeping his temper in check.

Su Chen nodded, understanding why Kong Qishui was being so diplomatic. It wasn’t about his own prestige—it was about the value of that song, “White Fox.”

He was certain that if not for that song, Kong Qishui would have scolded him on the spot, perhaps even fired him. After all, a newcomer who hadn’t yet proven his worth was expendable, especially when Wu Di was the company’s cash cow. The priorities were obvious.

“Director Kong, why don’t you listen to these two songs first?” Su Chen handed over the USB drive.

Kong Qishui took it, puzzled. Nevertheless, he turned to Wu Di and Bai Dehou: “Sorry, the hallway isn’t the place to settle this. Why don’t you both head back for now? I’ll give you an answer.”

Wu Di and Bai Dehou frowned but said nothing more. As composition director, Kong Qishui commanded respect, and they dared not push further.

“Very well, Director Kong. I hope for a satisfactory outcome,” Wu Di said coolly, before leaving with Bai Dehou.

Watching their retreating figures, Kong Qishui snorted inwardly. As the director of composition, he was supposed to be the master of all the singers in the artist department—most people treated him with deference. Yet Wu Di had always been a bit overbearing, respectful but with a hint of entitlement. What was she really? Riding on her relationship with the general manager—everyone knew about those little affairs.

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In Kong Qishui’s office, Su Chen sat across from his desk. Kong Qishui brewed a pot of tea, pouring a cup for each of them, his demeanor now friendly and kind.

Outside, he had put on a stern face for Su Chen, but here he felt it necessary to offer some comfort—a strategy that had never failed him.

“So, Su, how are you finding things? It’s been a week since you joined—are you settling in?”

He didn’t get straight to the point, instead starting with some small talk. Su Chen replied with polite pleasantries, and after a short while, the conversation shifted to the real issue.

“Su, you did nothing wrong in this matter. But Wu Di is a pillar of the company. Right now, nearly twenty percent of our revenue comes from her. We have to show her some respect. What happened out there was just for show—don’t take it to heart.”

He didn’t mention Wu Di’s relationship with the general manager—such things could only be discussed in private, never with subordinates. Not unless he had a death wish.

“It’s fine. I’m not bothered by it,” Su Chen replied, fully aware of Kong Qishui’s intentions.

“Good, as long as you’re not.”

Seeing this, Kong Qishui felt quietly triumphant—youths were still easy to manage.

“But since it happened, we do need to consider her feelings—she is the company’s golden goose. How about this: in a bit, you come with me and apologize to Wu Di. Don’t misunderstand—it’s just for appearances. This is a small matter; there’s no need to let things get tense, right?”

Su Chen laughed inwardly at the elaborate setup. He looked at Kong Qishui calmly and shook his head. “Director Kong, why don’t you listen to the songs first?”

If Kong Qishui thought Wu Di needed to be coddled, Su Chen would simply demonstrate his own value and let the decision rest there—a simple and direct principle, but one that was incredibly effective in the tangled web of the entertainment industry.

Kong Qishui felt a flicker of irritation—he’d made everything so clear, yet this young man was still so stubborn! Did he really want to force a confrontation?

Kong Qishui’s rule was never to burn bridges unless absolutely necessary. Though displeased, he decided to wait and see what Su Chen had up his sleeve. Bringing two interns to record songs—what could possibly come of it? Had the success of “White Fox” gone to his head, making him think he could challenge Wu Di? Wu Di had her flaws, but she brought in real profits for the company. What did Su Chen have?

He inserted the USB drive into his laptop and opened the folder: two files. One was titled, “An Essay Poem Written by Father”; the other, “Boundless Skies.” The names were unremarkable. He clicked on the first.

Qu An’an’s voice emerged:

“In 1984, the crops were not yet harvested,
My daughter lay sleeping sweetly in my arms,
No time tonight for the open-air movie,
My wife reminded me to fix the pedal on the sewing machine...”

In an instant, the song unfurled before him like a painting, transporting him back to an era of material scarcity, yet overflowing with happiness. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts drifted to the past—how many years had it been since he last remembered those things, sealed away in the dust of memory? It was as if someone had gently lifted the curtain, and suddenly, the memories came flooding back, unstoppable.

...

p.s. “An Essay Poem Written by Father” — original singer: Xu Fei; lyrics: Dong Yufang; music: Xu Fei