Chapter 13: The Show Begins

In an instant, waves surged across the industry as news of the online singer Salted Fish breaking into the top three of the new song chart spread swiftly through major entertainment companies. Many agents were excited, activating their networks and doing everything they could to uncover information about Salted Fish.

After all, being an online singer meant he hadn’t yet signed with an agency. In this day and age, singers who can perform are not rare, but those who can compose are few and far between. Whether signed as a performer to be nurtured or as an in-house composer, it was a deal guaranteed to bring profit.

Yet, information about Salted Fish was incredibly sparse, as if he had appeared out of nowhere, leaving no trace elsewhere online. Only the official music platform knew his registration details, which were strictly confidential unless the artist chose to disclose them.

Meanwhile, in the office of the music platform’s director, a young man in his twenties rushed in clutching a document.

“Director! There’s some data you need to review.”

Yang Lan, the music platform director, was a woman in her forties, divorced, yet maintaining a graceful figure and smooth skin. She was on a voice call with her daughter, who had just entered university at eighteen and rarely called during her mother’s working hours.

Yang Lan assumed her daughter needed something urgent, but instead, she was trying to pull strings, asking about the real identity of a singer named Salted Fish. Yang Lan could only laugh and directly refused, sternly rebuking her for the attempt.

When her assistant entered, she spoke softly, “Alright, Yu Xiaoxiao, Mommy has to work now. Focus on your studies and don’t let your mind wander to these things, do you hear me?”

After hanging up, she regained her serious demeanor. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

The assistant placed the document on Yang Lan’s desk. “There’s an online singer named Salted Fish. He uploaded a song last night, and it’s already shot up to third place on the new song chart.”

Yang Lan’s eyebrows arched as she picked up the report for a careful look. After a while, she opened the platform and played “When You’re Lonely, Who Will You Think Of.”

After listening, Yang Lan mused for a moment. “Just follow the regular inspection procedure. If nothing’s amiss, give the song a B-level recommendation slot.”

According to company policy, if a song showed signs of data manipulation, an investigation would be launched, typically divided into key and routine checks. If a song was widely regarded as poor yet had exceptional numbers, a key check was triggered, involving multiple departments. For songs recognized as decent, only a routine check was needed.

Yang Lan believed Salted Fish’s rise to third place was not unexpected. Besides, the platform had maintained zero tolerance for data manipulation in recent years, effectively eliminating such behavior. The inspection procedure was now little more than a formality.

Recommendation slots on the platform were generally purchased by major companies, with the most expensive being the splash screen ads, which also delivered the best results. However, if the platform discovered particularly high-quality songs, it would proactively offer smaller recommendation slots—after all, the more downloads, the more profit for the platform.

…

Xu Ze rose from bed; with no morning classes, he indulged in a late sleep. Entering the singer backend of the official music platform, he checked his song’s release status.

Upon opening it, he gasped in amazement: his song had reached number one on the online singer new song chart and number three on the overall new song chart. Downloads had already hit 56,000, meaning he had earned 28,000 overnight.

Now that was truly income while sleeping.

Bear in mind, this was only the first day of release. If this momentum held for a month, how much would he make?

Unfortunately, the money wouldn’t be settled until next month, so he couldn’t access it yet. Right now, his card barely held two hundred yuan.

Luckily, today was the first of the month; his aunt should soon transfer his living expenses.

His parents had gone abroad to Africa when he was very young—both studied archaeology and had been shuttling between African countries for years, never returning. He grew up with his grandmother, and during high school, moved to the city with his aunt.

Just as he pondered this, his phone chimed with a transfer notification: “Your bank account received 1,000 yuan. Balance: 1,238.5 yuan.”

Xu Ze quickly opened WeChat and messaged his aunt, “Are you free? I have something to tell you.”

She replied almost instantly, “No time, no money. Don’t even think about asking for more living expenses!”

Xu Ze laughed to himself—he was already a ten-thousand-yuan earner, why would he ask for more?

He only wanted to let her know he was appearing on a show tonight, so she wouldn’t be too shocked seeing him on TV.

But since her attitude was so brusque, he decided to let her be surprised.

He was now looking forward to uploading “East Wind Break” after the show aired, curious how many downloads it would garner.

His song “When You’re Lonely, Who Will You Think Of” benefited greatly from the trending topic two days prior, which brought substantial traffic—many clicked as soon as they saw the title. Otherwise, without a company to promote him, no matter how good the song, downloads wouldn’t spike so quickly.

Even with his own traffic and the strong boost from the trending search, on the first day he only reached third on the overall new song chart, and the gap with second place was significant—a full 50,000 downloads behind, and even further from first place, nearly 200,000 downloads short.

This was the importance of having a company behind you.

…

Day passed rapidly, and at eight in the evening, Penguin Video and Mango Video began simultaneous broadcasts of “I Am a Singer-Songwriter.”

Song Xiaoqing, a clinical doctor, had endured a busy day but was staying on for the night shift, much to her dismay.

Sitting in the duty room, she opened her nephew’s WeChat Moments—still blank, nothing to see.

“This kid never posts anything,” she muttered. Song Xiaoqing wondered if she was giving him too little living expenses, depriving him of a social life.

She shook her head, “Men turn bad when they have money!”

She’d worked hard to raise him, and couldn’t let him go astray.

Night shifts were usually quiet, and she typically passed the time watching dramas. But tonight, she planned to watch “I Am a Singer-Songwriter,” a show she’d long awaited.

Mostly, she liked mentor Zhang Yingjing—beautiful and a wonderful singer, she was Song Xiaoqing’s idol.

She curled her legs on the chair, rubbed her nylon-clad feet, and opened Penguin Video, where the first episode had just been updated.

She clicked play.

The show opened with individual interviews of the four mentors.

Seeing Zhang Yingjing’s segment, Song Xiaoqing marveled, “Wow, Zhang Yingjing’s waist is so slender—how does she keep it like that?”

After the mentor interviews, the program rules were introduced.

The first round of the competition featured fifty contestants, with only twenty advancing to the next round. The show wouldn’t broadcast every contestant’s footage, only selected highlights.

Some underperforming contestants might not appear at all, their footage cut entirely.

Those already debuted and popular from major companies would get more screen time.

With the show just starting, the comment barrages were already flooded with fans typing their favorite singer-songwriters’ names.

Currently, the most popular contestants were two: Huang Minghao from Imperial Entertainment and Zhu Zhengting from Tide Entertainment. Most of the names flooding the comments belonged to these two.