Chapter 4 – This Routine Is Problematic

After the commotion late into the night, everyone had dispersed. Guan Lan had drunk a bit of alcohol and didn’t feel like returning to the city, so he decided to stay at the villa.

He had a personal rule: he needed to listen to five new songs every day.

By “new songs,” he meant songs he hadn’t heard before—not necessarily newly released ones.

As a result, he had an enormous collection of records. This was also a requirement of his job.

Unfortunately, when he checked the records at the villa, he realized there weren’t any he hadn’t listened to yet.

So he had to go online to find some—and that’s when he thought of Zhuang Lin.

Alright, he’d listen. Tonight, he’d play the role of a judge and give this musical prodigy a score.

…

Thirty minutes later, clutching his chest—whether it was due to the alcohol or the song he’d just listened to, his heartbeat was far from steady—he dialed Li Yanyao’s number.

This made Li Yanyao extremely nervous.

Why is Guan Lan asking me for Zhuang Lin’s contact information in the middle of the night? What’s he planning?

I just scolded Zhuang Lin earlier, saying Guan Lan wouldn’t pull any shady tricks on him. Is this slap in the face coming too quickly?

While there are rumors that Guan Lan swings both ways, among his alleged harem, there are more boys than girls. Based on Li Yanyao’s years of experience in the dating scene, those few women were either decoys or accidental casualties. Guan Lan is probably just a pure gay man.

His childhood friend seems to have always been popular among gay men.

Zhuang Lin’s dislike for Guan Lan makes sense now.

What should I do? Should I give him the contact or not?

Guan Lan sensed his reluctance: “Forget it. I was being careless. Since this is a business matter, I’ll contact his company directly.”

Li Yanyao: “No, no, I was just drunk and didn’t react properly. I’ll send it to you right away.”

If they met through him, he could mediate between them. If it went through the company, there would be no control. Who knows if the company had any integrity or if they’d pimp out their artists?

After hanging up, he knelt down and apologized to Zhuang Lin: “Brother, I’ve wronged you…”

——————————

Zhuang Lin didn’t tell his manager about meeting Guan Lan, nor did he bring Li Yanyao along.

His sister’s earlier comment, “Are you a virgin bride or something?” had really stung him. If he needed to gather friends for courage just to meet someone, he’d seem way too cowardly.

He prepared a set of passionate, righteous words, ready to throw them in Guan Lan’s face when the latter made any indecent propositions, forcing him to leave in embarrassment.

He thought he was fully armed mentally and went to the meeting alone.

But he had clearly underestimated the skills of a seasoned expert in shady dealings.

Guan Lan took him to a Cantonese restaurant.

Guan Lan: “I heard you came straight to Beijing after returning to the country and didn’t even have time to go home. This restaurant is said to have authentic flavors—the owner is from Shunde. I’d like you to help me judge if it’s true.”

Zhuang Lin felt like the enemy had just dealt a critical hit, piercing through his armor.

As someone from Guangdong, what could he do? He was desperate.

Guan Lan continued: “They also serve dim sum here. If you like the food today, you can come back later.”

Zhuang Lin: “…Thank you, Teacher Guan.”

Guan Lan: “People from Guangdong usually can’t get used to the food in Beijing when they first arrive. The flavors here are heavier, with lots of oil and soy sauce. It’s hard to adapt, right?”

Zhuang Lin: “It’s fine. American food is even heavier.”

Guan Lan chuckled: “That’s true. You survived in the U.S. I’ve been to a good restaurant in New York, not far from your school. The owner’s surname is Huang. Have you been there?”

Zhuang Lin was anxious inside. He felt he shouldn’t be chatting so casually with the enemy, shouldn’t be enjoying the enemy’s food so much. But what could he do? The topics Guan Lan was bringing up were so normal and harmless. If he suddenly slammed the table and started a fight, wouldn’t that make him look like a lunatic?

This person’s tactics were truly high-level—the routine was just too deep!

Guan Lan briefly discussed food before shifting the conversation to other topics—industry gossip, current events, and the latest movies.

Zhuang Lin remained highly vigilant and restrained, refusing to engage in the conversation, only interjecting with occasional monosyllabic responses.

Having been in the industry for years, Guan Lan had seen it all. He’d dealt with niche singers and independent musicians with all sorts of eccentric temperaments. Zhuang Lin’s behavior wasn’t even enough to make him feel awkward.

Guan Lan continued effortlessly, as if performing a monologue: “Last year, there was a song called ‘Blooming’ that was quite popular—by the Cloud Band. You’ve probably heard it. During the second chorus, there’s a huge vocal crack—it’s heart-wrenching. Actually, that was a mistake; the chorus was pitched too high. They wanted to re-record it, but as a group of students, they were so poor they couldn’t afford to rent the studio again. So they released the version with the crack, and unexpectedly, everyone loved it—they thought it had feeling. Later, when they had money, they re-recorded it, this time without the crack, but the downloads and streams were far fewer than before. People still preferred the cracked version. These guys are quite interesting—oh, not all of them are guys. Their drummer, the tall one with the buzz cut who’s really handsome, is actually a girl. This girl is also quite funny. One time…”

At this point, he stopped: “Oh, we’ve been here for so long. If we linger any longer, the owner will kick us out. Let’s go. We’ll move somewhere else.”

This left Zhuang Lin feeling incredibly frustrated. What happened that one time? Why did you stop? Are you deliberately leaving me hanging?

But he couldn’t ask, couldn’t show any interest. He could only coldly respond with an “Mmm,” while internally seething.

After leaving, Guan Lan acted as if he’d forgotten the topic and didn’t bring it up again, instead starting a new conversation.

He drove onto the Third Ring Road: “Have you had a chance to explore Beijing properly? I suggest you hurry and visit all the places you want to see. Once you become famous, you won’t be able to wander the streets so freely.”

Zhuang Lin finally snapped. He felt he couldn’t continue chatting so casually with Guan Lan and retorted: “I thought Teacher Guan was very busy. It seems you have a lot of free time.”

Guan Lan acted as if he didn’t sense the tone: “When I’m busy, I’m really busy, to the point where I can’t even catch my breath. But when I’m free, I really don’t have much to do.”

He stopped at a red light, turned to Zhuang Lin, and said: “However, I wouldn’t say I’m completely free right now. After all, I’m also working.”

Zhuang Lin sneered: “Your work is inviting people to dinner and chatting with them?”

Guan Lan smiled gently: “I thought you’d have figured it out by now—I’m trying to recruit you.”

Zhuang Lin was stunned.

Wait, this routine is wrong! Shouldn’t it be, “If you sleep with me, I’ll let you sign with our company”? Why is he trying to recruit me first?

Is he recruiting me first to make it easier to sleep with me later?

Guan Lan: “I’d like you to sign a record deal with me.”

Zhuang Lin: “Sorry, I’m not interested in signing with you.”

He didn’t even give a reason, feeling he was being cool.

Guan Lan wasn’t surprised: “Don’t rush to reject me. Think it over carefully. Your debut album is important—don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.”

Zhuang Lin: “Sorry, Teacher Guan. I’ve already made up my mind.”

Guan Lan: “Alright. But to prove you’re not being emotional, I’ll ask you again in a month. Please reject me again then, calmly and rationally.”

Zhuang Lin didn’t know what kind of routine this was, but he was confident in himself. Whether it was a month or ten months, he wouldn’t budge.

Guan Lan stopped the car at a subway station: “I won’t take you back to your company. It’s two stops from here. You can take the subway or a cab.”

Zhuang Lin thought to himself: Of course! If you didn’t have ulterior motives, why would you be afraid of being seen?

Guan Lan, on the other hand, was completely innocent: I’m poaching someone from their company—I can’t be too obvious.

——————————

On the way home, Guan Lan listened to Zhuang Lin’s songs again—the ones he’d found last night.

Yesterday, while talking to NEXT about his career, he’d been interrupted by Zhou Junzhuo’s sudden arrival. If Zhou Junzhuo hadn’t shown up, he wouldn’t have known how to continue.

After the peak comes the bottleneck—of course, he could say that with his higher position, he needed to focus more on management, sacrificing some of his creative time. But he knew deep down that he hadn’t stopped creating; the quality just couldn’t compare to before.

More importantly, that effortless, inspiration-pouring state he used to have was gone, and he couldn’t get it back.

NEXT was one way he tried to break through the bottleneck. Group performances and dance tracks were a new experiment for him.

But it wasn’t enough—not enough.

Perhaps because he wasn’t professionally trained, he had a significant limitation when it came to songwriting. He couldn’t write songs out of thin air. Before writing, he needed to know the singer—their voice, their style, even their appearance and personality. He had to meticulously visualize every detail in his mind while writing.

Some singers he’d worked with had complained on talk shows, saying he was obsessive about details to the point of being a perfectionist. If a single line didn’t meet his expectations, he’d make them re-record it over and over. They said Teacher Guan had a good temper and patience—he wouldn’t yell or scold, but he’d keep you in the studio until 3 a.m.

Guan Lan didn’t want to keep people until 3 a.m., but Zhou Junzhuo had never recorded that late. If you can’t deliver the feeling I’m looking for, what can I do?

No one had ever nailed a recording in one take in his studio—not even Zhou Junzhuo.

When he listened to Zhuang Lin’s singing, within the first two lines, his mind lit up like a microwave with a “ding,” and he thought: I have to write songs for him.

There’s an ancient poem that says something like, “The jade of Kunshan shatters, the phoenix cries.” He always thought this description would fit a girl, but a male voice could also be this clear and pure without feeling out of place.

It was a very pristine youthful voice, and since the singer wasn’t actually a teenager, it also carried the emotional depth of an adult, yet without being slick, worldly, or showing the trained artificiality common among professionally trained singers.

A voice like this, once-in-a-generation, wasn’t something only he could hear. If he waited too long, someone else would snatch it up.

Zhuang Lin’s reluctance to work with him was expected. Young, from a good family, a graduate of a prestigious school, and a composer to boot—of course, he’d be ambitious, eager to showcase his talent, and probably even wanted to compete with him. Zhuang Lin was determined to be a singer-songwriter, so he’d want to write his own debut album and wouldn’t let anyone else take that opportunity. The moment Guan Lan saw him, he could sense Zhuang Lin’s defensive posture and immediately knew he’d be rejected.

But it didn’t matter—he was prepared for a long battle.

Zhuang Lin, who thought he’d won the battle and was secretly gloating, didn’t realize that from this point on, his life was about to enter a heartbreaking mode.