Chapter 45: A Fleeting Bloom

The receptionist switched the television’s video platform from MangoTV to PenguinTV. The show began playing again, this time without any advertisements.

Meanwhile, on PenguinTV, many viewers were voicing their complaints in the live comments.

“I just switched over from MangoTV. I don’t get why there were so many ads over there.”

“Same here. I just wanted to see Xu Ze, and the moment it was his turn, there were endless commercials.”

“I didn’t even have a PenguinTV subscription before. I actually had to sign up for a new membership.”

“From now on, I’ll just watch on PenguinTV. I’m not renewing my MangoTV subscription next month, anyway.”

“Me too.”

Suddenly, Xu Yan’s phone rang with a sharp, unusual tone.

Miao Miao laughed, “That’s quite a unique ringtone you’ve got there.”

Xu Yan felt a bit embarrassed. Of course, she wouldn’t tell Miao Miao that she’d set this special ringtone for messages from Xu Ze alone.

Xu Yan picked up her phone and saw that Xu Ze wanted to borrow the recording studio. She quickly replied that it was fine, then immediately called the receptionist at the studio.

“Hey, would you mind opening up for me? My friend needs to come record a song. I’ll pay you overtime—how does double sound?”

At first, the receptionist sounded reluctant, but upon hearing the offer of double overtime pay, she quickly agreed.

After hanging up, Miao Miao leaned over and whispered, “Xu Ze’s going to record a song?”

“That’s right,” Xu Yan replied, her own curiosity piqued. “I wonder what kind of beautiful song he’ll come up with this time.”

Then she added excitedly, “No one would ever expect that my tiny little studio has produced so many hits.”

“‘East Wind Breaks,’ ‘When You’re Lonely, Who Do You Think Of,’ ‘Do You Know, Do You Know’—all born in that little room. It’s truly amazing.”

“When I retire one day, I’ll turn my studio into a museum. I’ll tell everyone, all of Xu Ze’s legendary songs were born here. Then I’ll just sit at the door and charge admission—fifty a head, how about that?”

Miao Miao covered her face and chuckled, “Boss, you really are a little business genius.” Then she asked curiously, “But why do you think he never told anyone that he’s Salted Fish, the original singer-songwriter of ‘When You’re Lonely, Who Do You Think Of’?”

Xu Yan smoothed the too-short hem of her skirt and said, “That’s because you’re still too young. Didn’t you notice? Xu Ze’s been hurt before. Only someone who’s been wounded could write a song like that.”

“But at the same time, he’s very proud. He doesn’t want anyone to see through him, so he hides the fact that he’s Salted Fish. Just like everyone who’s been through a breakup spends some time drifting through life like a salted fish.”

Miao Miao looked unconvinced. “Xu Ze is so handsome—who would ever dump him?”

“There are always a few blind girls out there, aren’t there?”

...

Half an hour later, in the recording studio.

Xu Ze deftly adjusted the equipment, deciding not to use the Vocal Fruit this time. He wanted to try singing with his own natural voice.

After finishing a song, Xu Ze could clearly feel that his singing had improved greatly since he first started.

He’d discovered, after eating his first Vocal Fruit, that each one gave a small boost to his vocal quality and singing skills. At this rate, he thought, it might not be long before he could sing perfectly even without the fruit.

Pressed for time, Xu Ze spent only an hour composing the song—not just a demo, but the complete, finished track.

Once it was done, he packaged it up and sent it directly to Zhang Yingjing.

Afterwards, he recorded two more songs as backups.

By the time he walked out of the studio, it was nearly midnight.

The receptionist was still waiting for him. Xu Ze apologized for keeping her late.

But she just waved it off, looking entirely unconcerned. In fact, she would have been happy if Xu Ze had stayed even longer—after all, the longer he was there, the more overtime she could earn.

Meanwhile, in Zhang Yingjing’s studio.

She wore a black suit today, her long legs restlessly shifting as her exquisite face showed deep disappointment.

She had listened to the demos sent by Zhu Zhengting and Sun Na, and felt they fell far short of her expectations.

Neither song was bad, but neither stood out. They were perfectly adequate—nothing more, nothing less.

Songs like these, while not exactly a dime a dozen, weren’t exactly rare either.

If in the next round they faced weaker opponents, there might still be hope of advancing. But if they drew someone like Huang Minghao, the two of them would have little chance of moving forward.

This round of group competition was also a test of the mentors’ abilities.

If her group lost badly, everyone would blame her as the mentor.

That was something she could not accept.

“Yingjing, maybe we should ask one of the company’s songwriters for help?” her manager suggested.

“No,” Zhang Yingjing refused firmly.

The show’s rules were clear: no outside help. Only the mentor and students could work on the song together.

Her manager shook her head. “Just because you follow the rules doesn’t mean everyone else does. Take Huang Minghao, for example—do you really believe he wrote his song himself?”

Zhang Yingjing frowned. “Others are others. I’m me. I have my own principles.”

Her manager was baffled. “You’re not pinning your hopes on Xu Ze, are you?”

“Yingjing, we’ve seen plenty of contestants like him before. They might have a flash of inspiration and write one or two good songs, but once their muse and talent run out, there’s nothing left.”

“Look, you asked him to submit by eight, and now it’s almost ten. He hasn’t even sent a demo.”

“Take my advice, okay?”

Zhang Yingjing raised her eyebrows. “If Xu Ze can’t deliver, are you saying my own songwriting isn’t good enough? I can help them revise the songs myself.”

Her manager sighed. “Sure, you can, but you need something to work from. They have to give you something first before you can revise it, right?”

At that, Zhang Yingjing frowned.

What was Xu Ze doing? Why hadn’t he sent anything? Could it be that he really had nothing to show?

A heaviness settled in her heart. Maybe the hope she’d placed in him was just her own wishful thinking.

Ah, well. Geniuses don’t appear that easily, after all—otherwise, her own album wouldn’t have been stuck for so long.

In three days, the production crew would come to film their songwriting process, which would then be edited into the next episode.

Three days wasn’t much time. She’d still need to give them advice and help them revise.

“Yingjing, it’s getting late. We should head home. Xu Ze probably won’t be submitting anything tonight,” her manager urged.

“Alright,” Zhang Yingjing said reluctantly, getting up to turn off her computer.

“Ding!”

Just then, the computer chimed with a new email notification.