Chapter 24 – To Save the Chinese Music Industry

On the last night in Saipan, the people from Tianlong gathered together for a poetry recital by the winding stream—no, it was a beach barbecue party.

Facing this scene, Zhuang Lin was filled with emotions.

Zhuang Lin: “Do you remember? The first time we met was at a barbecue party at your place.”

Guan Lan: “I remember. You had your eyes up in the air, looking at me with disdain.”

Zhuang Lin: …

That slap to the face hurt a bit.

Guan Lan: “But later, you gradually became more sensible. You’ve made a lot of progress.”

Zhuang Lin felt even more frustrated. Guan Lan always spoke to him in the tone of a high school homeroom teacher addressing a favored student. I’m not sensible at all! If you could see the insensible thoughts in my head, you might jump into the sea and swim back to the country in fright!

How could he switch to the right mode? Even taking off his clothes didn’t work!

Zhuang Lin felt that this matter needed to be addressed as soon as possible. Staying in the “friend zone” for too long could easily lead to a tragic situation of being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Zhuang Lin deeply felt that his lovesickness had come too late. If he were seventeen this year, he wouldn’t be so conflicted. He’d probably get a little drunk, pretend to be crazy, and just barge in and do it. What happens tomorrow would be tomorrow’s problem. But at twenty-four, he could only indulge in fantasies in his head, having to consider the consequences of tomorrow.

The party gradually reached its climax with singing and dancing, the sound of a banjo drifting over with the sea breeze. Guan Lan had a couple of drinks and felt a soft, cloud-like drowsiness creeping into his mind, so he went back to his room.

As soon as he entered the room, Zhuang Lin followed him in.

Guan Lan: “Why are you back so early? Not staying out to have more fun?”

Zhuang Lin: “It’s not interesting.”

Guan Lan teased: “Young man, why so old-fashioned?”

Zhuang Lin: “I’m not close with anyone. What’s the point?”

Guan Lan: “No one is born close to anyone. Isn’t this a good opportunity to get to know people?”

Zhuang Lin: “I’m not like you—you’re a social type, you like crowds and excitement; I’m a loner, talking to people I’m not close to makes me uncomfortable.”

Guan Lan: “Alright, then I’ll go into the room. You can be alone.”

Zhuang Lin: “Not you. Talking to you, the longer it goes, the happier I am.”

Guan Lan looked into his dark, bright eyes and inexplicably felt a tingle in his heart.

Guan Lan: “That’s a good lyric. You should write it down.”

Zhuang Lin: “No need to write it down. I have a lot more of those in my heart. Want me to give you ten more?”

Guan Lan: “No, save them. Try to turn them into a song. Don’t waste them on me.”

Zhuang Lin: “Do you want to hear me sing?”

Guan Lan: “What?”

Zhuang Lin: “High-end hotels are different. There’s a piano in the room. I suddenly feel like singing. Do you want to listen?”

Guan Lan: “Sure, while I can still listen to you without buying a ticket.”

Zhuang Lin: “Consider it a return for the song you sang for me the other day. Although it’s not my own composition, I’ve never posted it online or sung it for anyone else. I guess that makes us even. Besides, you said I was half-country, half-foreign. I’ve remembered that—I’ll show you my sophisticated side.”

Many years later, Guan Lan would still remember the moonlight on Saipan Island and the young man who played the piano for him under the moonlight.

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras

Qu’il me parle tout bas

Je vois la vie en rose”

It was an old song, “La Vie en Rose.” French naturally carried a rich sensuality, and Zhuang Lin’s voice was two tones lower than usual, unusually gentle.

When he holds me in his arms and whispers to me, I see life in rose.

This song, Zhuang Lin had never sung it for anyone else, but he had practiced it countless times. Since his youth, on nights filled with rose-colored reveries, he had corrected each syllable, polished each note, carrying his secret romantic fantasies of love, all for the day he could sing this song to his beloved.

Under the moonlight of a foreign land, he was both unprepared and prepared for years.

“When you kiss me, Heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose”

Give me your heart and soul, and I will give you a rose-colored life.

Guan Lan felt he must be drunk; otherwise, he couldn’t explain the pounding of his heart.

The singer made him inexplicably afraid to look directly at him, yet he couldn’t look away.

In his life, he had heard many love songs, but this was the first.

The song had no dramatic highs and lows, just the whispers of a lover. Yet Guan Lan felt as if the piano keys were striking directly on his heart, each lyric stirring his aorta, making his heart beat heavier.

When the song ended with its last note, Zhuang Lin turned to meet his gaze, and all the hidden feelings and quiet tremors were laid bare under the sea breeze and moonlight.

There are two things in the world that cannot be hidden: coughing and love.

Only the song does not lie.

Zhuang Lin: “How was it?”

Guan Lan softly said: “It was beautiful.”

Zhuang Lin: “Just ‘beautiful’? When you’re a judge on TV, you’re not like this. I worked so hard; you should at least give me a hundred words of critique to do me justice.”

Guan Lan: “I was wrong before when I said your singing wasn’t moving.”

Zhuang Lin: “You weren’t wrong before, and you’re not wrong now. Before, there was no one I wanted to move.”

Guan Lan suddenly felt afraid that he would continue speaking.

Guan Lan: “We have an early flight tomorrow. Let’s rest early.”

He practically fled.

————————————————————————————

The day after returning to the country, Zhuang Lin brought crucian carp and tofu soup to Guan Lan.

He knew he was being a bit lazy, as this was the least time-consuming soup to make, but he couldn’t wait a minute longer; one night was his limit.

He felt that he had made a significant breakthrough in Saipan and needed to strike while the iron was hot.

When Zhuang Lin arrived at the company, Guan Lan was in a meeting, so Zhuang Lin sat at the door of his office, engaging in a not-so-innocent chat with his assistant.

Ren Xiaofei had already come to accept Zhuang Lin bringing a thermos as a normal occurrence.

Zhuang Lin: “How was his mood when he came to work today?”

Ren Xiaofei: “Pretty normal.”

Zhuang Lin wasn’t satisfied with this answer: “What do you mean by normal?”

Ren Xiaofei: “…Just like every day at work. I’ve worked under him for so long, and there was only one time he wasn’t normal, and that lasted for two months.”

Zhuang Lin: “What happened then?”

Ren Xiaofei: “No idea. Who dares to ask? We all guessed he was heartbroken.”

Zhuang Lin: …

Ren Xiaofei suddenly got into a gossipy mood: “During that time, there was a young singer, half-Chinese, half-Russian. My god, with that racial advantage, he was so good-looking, like an ethereal being. His singing was amazing too; he could hit eight octaves in one breath without breaking a sweat. When he sang foreign songs, it was so captivating, but when he spoke Chinese, he had this inexplicable northeastern accent. Half the girls in the department were charmed to the point they couldn’t move.”

Zhuang Lin: “…Can’t even speak proper Mandarin. What’s so charming about that?”

Ren Xiaofei: “Oh, it’s the contrast. His mom’s from the northeast, and he didn’t grow up in the country. It’s normal to have an accent.”

Actually, having been in the entertainment industry for so long, Zhuang Lin knew what a contrast charm was, but he just felt uncomfortable all over and had to pick a few faults: “Someone so talented, how come I’ve never heard of him?”

Ren Xiaofei: “He’s a rich second-generation kid. Releasing an album was just a hobby. He didn’t want to stay in the entertainment industry. After one album, he went back to Russia to inherit the family business.”

Ren Xiaofei: “At first, I didn’t think our Guan Lan had any special feelings for this guy. You know how he is. He treats every singer he likes the same way—dining together, hanging out, being considerate to the point where it seems like he’s in love with you, but he’s not trying to sleep with you or pursue you. It’s just his way of saying: ‘Young man, I see potential in you. I want to write songs for you. Are you willing to join me in saving the Chinese music industry?'”

Zhuang Lin felt like he had been shot multiple times.

What do you mean “you know how he is”? I didn’t know! Couldn’t you have told me even a month earlier?

Ren Xiaofei: “After he left, our Guan Lan was completely heartbroken. His mood was so low, and he couldn’t get his spirits up for two months. The songs he wrote were all very dark. That’s when I realized, this might be his true love.”

…Great, another foreign white moonlight!

Why is it so easy for some people to fall in love, like drinking water, while for Zhuang Lin, it’s like navigating hell?

As they were talking, Guan Lan returned from the meeting.

The moment he saw him, Zhuang Lin adjusted his mindset. Honestly, a white moonlight that would never appear again was no different from a dead person. Compared to other confirmed, suspected, or potential love rivals, this one wasn’t even worth considering.

With the fire at his heels, he had to focus on the present.

Zhuang Lin followed Guan Lan into the office and placed the thermos on his desk.

Zhuang Lin: “How was your rest last night? Did you adjust to the time difference?”

Guan Lan answered briefly: “It was fine.”

Zhuang Lin: “Aren’t you going to ask how I slept?”

Without waiting for Guan Lan to ask, he answered himself: “I slept well too, but I had a lot of dreams.”

Guan Lan: “…I’m not going to ask what you dreamed about.”

Zhuang Lin: “How do you think this trip went? I had the chance to go to Saipan when I was in the U.S., but I thought it was boring, so I didn’t go. Now I see it’s actually quite fun…”

Guan Lan: “Zhuang Lin.”

Zhuang Lin: “I regret not traveling more when I was in school. Once you start working, there’s no time. I wonder when the next trip will be…”

Guan Lan: “Zhuang Lin.”

Zhuang Lin stopped, looking at Guan Lan’s expression, and his heart slowly sank.

Guan Lan: “I’ll take the soup. Thank you. We’ll start preparing your debut album in two months. For these two months, focus on your work and don’t come looking for me.”

Zhuang Lin felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, frozen in place.