Chapter Fifty: Earning Two Hundred Thousand

Yan Lanxi wore an expression of disbelief. She asked, “Zhou Xuan, I certainly believe in your talent. But music, like a good essay, demands inspiration. Are you sure the songs you wrote in just a few days aren’t just a trick?”

With decades of future songs in mind, Zhou Xuan was full of confidence. He smiled and said, “Ms. Yan, who would have the mood to trick you? It’s just that I’m short on cash lately, and you happened to come looking for me, so I’ll write you a couple of songs and make some money.”

“You just won a thousand yuan in the essay competition, didn’t you? Why are you still short of money?” Yan Lanxi had heard Liu Yixue mention Zhou Xuan’s name yesterday, so she made a point to inquire about him. The professors at the Literature Academy remembered Zhou Xuan well—not only did he win first prize in the essay competition, but he was also courted by three middle school teachers, which was truly remarkable.

“Who would ever complain about having too much money? But Ms. Yan, my songs don’t come cheap. I think it’s best you don’t bring up your previous price,” Zhou Xuan said, knowing these wouldn’t be ordinary songs.

“Zhou Xuan, for a newcomer, ten thousand yuan is already a fair price. Even the top lyricists and composers charge only fifty to a hundred thousand. Are you saying you can compare with them?” Yan Lanxi felt Zhou Xuan was hard to handle. Most high school students would jump for joy at ten thousand yuan, especially since average salaries were barely seven or eight hundred.

Zhou Xuan laughed. “Whether I can compare or not, you’ll know once you see my songs. Ms. Yan, just give me your word—are we doing this or not?”

“Alright! Let’s see just how good your songs are, since you’re so confident. My best friend from college is named Fan Yixuan. After graduation, she signed with a record company and released an album, but it only sold a few thousand copies,” Yan Lanxi explained, then asked, “You’ve heard of her, right?”

“Fan Yixuan? Sorry, I haven’t heard any of her songs.” Zhou Xuan thought about it and truly had no impression. For the next decade or so, there seemed to be no information about this singer—most likely she never made it and faded into obscurity.

“I thought so.” Yan Lanxi looked disappointed upon hearing this.

“Well then, Ms. Yan, I’ll head back first. When the songs are ready, I’ll call you. By the way, what’s your number?” Zhou Xuan asked.

“Alright, my home phone is 0886xxxxxx.”

Zhou Xuan pulled out his mobile phone and, to Yan Lanxi’s surprise, stored her number.

Yan Lanxi was amazed. “I didn’t expect you to be so well-off, Zhou Xuan—even owning a mobile phone! I should jot down your number too, so it’ll be easier to find you.”

“No problem, my number is 139xxxxxxxx.”

Yan Lanxi took a notebook from her bag, wrote it down, and then said goodbye to Zhou Xuan, agreeing to wait two or three days for his call.

The next afternoon, Zhou Xuan took another day off. He went to Li Yunxi’s house to use the computer, and also to look up information about Fan Yixuan.

Fan Yixuan graduated from Yanjing Music Academy in the class of ’95 and signed with SH, a small record company. In ’96, she released an album, but its market response was mediocre, selling only a few thousand copies.

Zhou Xuan wanted to check online for Fan Yixuan’s songs, to hear her voice and pick something suitable.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Xuan was mistaken—music websites hadn’t appeared yet. He remembered that only after the next year would online Chinese music streaming sites start to emerge, and even then, most would be private sites.

Zhou Xuan had no choice but to go out and buy a cassette tape of her album. He spent considerable effort, visiting several music shops before he finally found a copy, which proved just how obscure Fan Yixuan really was.

After listening to two of her songs, Zhou Xuan felt her voice resembled that of a certain Canadian singer. That singer’s famous song “You Exist in My Song” was also one Zhou Xuan quite liked, though he wasn’t fond of the singer herself.

This song would be perfect, Zhou Xuan thought, and then decided the other song would be “It’s Not That Easy.” Both songs shared a similar style and suited Fan Yixuan well.

Not versed in composition, Zhou Xuan neatly transcribed the lyrics onto paper.

On Tuesday evening, Zhou Xuan called Yan Lanxi and asked her to come pick up the songs.

“My, Zhou Xuan, you can’t be this fast!” Yan Lanxi exclaimed in surprise over the phone.

Zhou Xuan replied, “Come and see for yourself.”

On Wednesday afternoon, Yan Lanxi arrived as promised. The two met at a teahouse by the Yangtze River.

“My, Zhou Xuan, don’t let me make this trip for nothing,” Yan Lanxi said cautiously as soon as she sat down, clearly still not fully trusting him.

Zhou Xuan smiled. “What would you like to drink, Ms. Yan?”

“A glass of lemonade, please.”

“Boss, a lemonade!”

“Zhou Xuan, where are your songs? Let me see them,” Yan Lanxi pressed eagerly.

Zhou Xuan took a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

Yan Lanxi took it and said, “Zhou Xuan, are you kidding me? There’s no music score here!”

“I’m not a music major, so I’ll leave the composing to you.” Before Yan Lanxi could respond, Zhou Xuan continued, “Wait, let me finish. I’ll sing them for you, and you can set the music based on how I sing. Given that you’re a top graduate from the music academy, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Hearing this, Yan Lanxi grew a little annoyed. “Zhou Xuan, that’s a bit unfair. Does that mean I should get a share of the song’s price?” The thought of Zhou Xuan’s songs selling for two hundred thousand made her uncomfortable.

“Ms. Yan, you’re the buyer—how could you ask for kickbacks? If Fan Yixuan found out, wouldn’t that ruin your friendship?” Zhou Xuan refused to play along.

“You! You’re infuriating.” Yan Lanxi sighed. “Tell me, how much do you want?”

“One hundred thousand per song. Two songs, two hundred thousand.”

“What! Impossible! Even the best original songs only fetch about a hundred thousand. How can a newcomer ask for so much?” Hearing the price, Yan Lanxi thought it was outrageous.

“Heh, how do you know Fan Yixuan won’t want them? If a song is guaranteed to be a hit, people would pay a million for it.” With CD players becoming popular these years, singers and record companies were thriving.

Yan Lanxi considered it. “You have a point. I’ll call Yixuan right now. Let me borrow your phone.”

Zhou Xuan reluctantly handed over his phone, saying, “Long-distance calls aren’t cheap.”

“Hmph, I didn’t expect you to be so stingy.”

Yan Lanxi spoke with Fan Yixuan for a while, then handed the phone to Zhou Xuan. “Yixuan wants to talk to you.”

Sure enough, Fan Yixuan was still a bit skeptical, but after hearing Zhou Xuan promise the songs would be hits, she asked him to sing a few lines.

Zhou Xuan sang portions of each song. After listening, Fan Yixuan didn’t hesitate—she agreed to buy the full copyright of both songs for two hundred thousand.

“All right. Let’s go compose the music,” Zhou Xuan said to Yan Lanxi after the call.

Yan Lanxi hadn’t expected her best friend to spend two hundred thousand on two songs. Could these songs really be that good?