Chapter Twelve: What Woman Would Not Be Moved

Chapter Twelve: What Woman Would Not Be Moved

Zhang Le was not troubled by the fact that Yang Xin'er had uploaded those four songs onto the platform; instead, he found himself deeply intrigued by her starring role in her first major film. As for the matter of the theme song, he paid it little mind. If he had a fitting song in his repertoire, he would gladly offer it; if not, it was of no consequence. He had never considered pursuing a career in music, nor did he care to prove anything in that field.

Yet after hearing Yang Xiner's brief account of the movie’s story, Zhang Le felt as if a herd of llamas galloped through his mind. The plot, astonishingly, was reminiscent of a song from his previous life—one so sorrowful that it was rumored to have driven listeners to despair, and thus was banned.

“Is the story behind the film inspired by ‘Records of the Buddhist Temples of Luoyang’? Could you let me have a look at the screenplay?” Zhang Le suddenly asked, after some thought.

“You know this story? Seeing the script shouldn’t be a problem, but let me check with Director Chen first,” Yang Xin’er replied.

The film was titled "Waiting for Return."

Its narrative was quite straightforward: During the Southern and Northern Dynasties, an officer under Emperor Wen of Song meets a young woman by chance, and they fall in love at first sight, pledging themselves to each other in secret. But the officer is soon summoned to the frontiers to fight, and amidst years of chaos, the imperial capital of Luoyang is reduced to ruins. The woman, faithfully awaiting his return in vain, finally shaves her head and becomes a nun. When, after much hardship, the officer finally returns and seeks her out at the ancient temple where she has taken vows, he finds that she has already passed away.

All that remains for him is to listen to the rain outside the temple, recalling the envy their love once inspired, and lamenting the impermanence of life—so fleeting and fragile, like fireworks that quickly cool and fade.

Of course, the story seemed simple: the woman waits, the man returns. Yet the script was written with such dramatic twists and turns that Zhang Le could not help but admire the screenwriter’s talent. Moreover, he sensed that the film was not merely about the sorrow and longing of love lost; it also contained satire toward decadence and reflections on the rise and fall of nations.

The song "Fireworks Cool Quickly," by Zhou Dong, undoubtedly captured the melancholy between the film’s main characters. But the deeper themes of the movie would be harder to convey. Zhang Le was unsure if this song would satisfy the filmmakers, for he did not know whether the director’s focus was on the lovers’ story or on the broader ideas the story implied.

“So? Do you have any inspiration?” Yang Xin’er watched Zhang Le’s shifting expressions—sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning—and couldn’t help but ask.

“I have some ideas. I just don’t know if they’ll be to their liking. But I can give it a try,” Zhang Le replied after a moment’s thought.

Even if "Fireworks Cool Quickly" couldn’t serve as the theme song, it would surely fit as an interlude. If Zhang Le were directing, he would emphasize the main characters’ story, given that the film leaned towards the commercial genre.

After all, love is an essential element of any commercial film. Reflections on the fate of the nation are rarely highlighted in such movies.

To invest heavily in a film only to produce an art piece would be self-defeating.

Writing the song was easy; Zhang Le essentially borrowed it wholesale. Arranging and recording, however, took considerable effort. There were many versions of "Fireworks Cool Quickly," but Zhang Le chose the original. Besides his preference for it, its deep, resonant style suited the film best.

The version by Lin Zhixuan was certainly pleasant, yet Zhang Le felt Zhou Dong’s rendition had more flavor—perhaps simply because it was the one he heard first.

While Zhang Le was occupied with the movie’s theme song, he was unaware that the internet had gone wild over the four songs Yang Xin’er had uploaded.

When "I Like You," a Cantonese song, was released, skepticism only grew. Zhang Le was not from Guangdong, nor had he ever visited, so for him to write such a classic Cantonese song seemed hard to believe.

Nonetheless, the song brought Zhang Le some gains. As the entertainment industry in the mainland developed, Mandarin songs came to overshadow the once-glorious Cantonese music. Yet Cantonese songs still had a vast audience. Nowadays, classic new Cantonese tracks were rare.

The arrival of "I Like You" filled this gap and satisfied countless fans of the genre. Zhang Le thus gained many new supporters.

But when listeners heard "The Moon Represents My Heart," "I’m Willing," and "Love Even If It Kills Me," many critics were won over. Even those who specialized in bashing Zhang Le were at a loss for words, unable to find grounds for ridicule beyond questioning whether Zhang Le was really the author.

The power of classic songs is unimaginable. Combined with Yang Xin’er’s four love songs, the public seemed to witness the fall of a goddess.

Regardless of whether the skepticism faded or intensified, the four songs performed by Zhang Le caught fire—blazing hot. Within less than a day, they spread through streets and alleys. In particular, among couples, if a man hadn’t sung at least one of those songs to his woman, it could only mean both were behind the times.

“Magic Songs for Wooing!” “Goddess-Killer!”

The internet was flooded with posts about the four songs and about Zhang Le, one of which was reposted by countless people, titled: What Woman Would Not Be Moved?

Zhang Le, a nobody with nothing to his name, how did he win the goddess?

His weapon, naturally, was his own talent! No woman could resist a man of such brilliance. Any man who wrote so many touching love songs for a woman and sang them with such emotion—how could that woman not be moved?

Not only Yang Xin’er—any woman would fall.

A talented man is always the most charming!

The four songs were a hit, and Zhang Le was too. The day after they were uploaded, Zhang Le received numerous invitations to perform commercially. He turned them all down.

He truly had no intention of pursuing music, especially as he was busy composing the theme song for Yang Xin’er’s film.

With the movie about to be released, it had entered the early stage of publicity. As the lead actress, Yang Xin’er was also busy, recording many programs with the crew.

“Director Chen, Brother Zhou! He’s finished the song,” Yang Xin’er said to Chen Ke and Zhou Run.

This time, they were recording the most popular variety show in the country, a key part of the film’s promotion, so both the director and Zhou Run were present.

At that moment, they were backstage, preparing.

“Oh, so soon? How’s the song? I suppose it must be good!” Zhou Run was briefly surprised by Yang Xin’er’s words, then smiled.

Chen Ke said nothing, but frowned slightly. The short turnaround made him suspect Zhang Le was being perfunctory. It was hard to imagine anyone could write a good song in just two or three days.

“He just sent it. I haven’t had a chance to listen yet!” Yang Xin’er replied, regretting her impatience and blaming herself for not listening first.

“Then let’s hear it! We have time anyway,” Zhou Run said, glancing at Chen Ke.

“Alright,” Yang Xin’er nodded, but felt nervous.

Music began to play. A deep voice sounded:

The bustling world’s voices vanish into emptiness, breaking the spell over mortals,
The dream grows cold, a lifetime spent, debts of love piled high.
If you acquiesce to wait beyond life and death,
Waiting, year after year, as the wheel of time turns.

The pagoda crumbles layer by layer, severing whose soul?
Pain rushes toward a lone lamp at the fallen mountain gate.
Let me wait once more for history to turn,
Wait for the wine to mature, for you to play the guzheng.

Rain pours in the old hometown, grasses grow thick,
I hear you are always alone.
The mottled city gate is entwined with ancient roots,
On the stone slabs echoes the sound of waiting.

Rain pours in the old hometown, grasses grow thick,
I hear you still guard the lonely city.
The sound of shepherd’s flute falls in the wild village,
Fate takes root here—it is us.

Listening to youth welcome laughter, envied by many,
The chronicles’ gentle words refuse to pen what’s too cruel.
Fireworks cool quickly, life’s affairs easily part,
And you ask if I am still earnest.

A thousand years later, how many lifetimes of deep love are left waiting,
And how could history not record truly—the Wei chronicles, Luoyang city.
If you marry in a past life,
Follow the dust, follow me wandering through a lifetime.

...

Listening to the rain at the temple, longing for eternity.