Chapter Three: If This Song Becomes Popular, I’ll Eat… Crap Live!

There was a professional recording studio near Jiangnan University, and most people who played music would come here to record their songs. Ren Qian had brought his band here before, so he was quite familiar with the place.

Yan Yu followed behind Ren Qian, feeling utterly frustrated. He really couldn't figure out what recording a song in the studio had to do with proving himself or fighting back. Everyone else was posting about Wei Bo's public slander, but he...

He sighed. Yan Yu didn't know how to comfort him. Perhaps Qian was just too shaken—after coughing up blood and being hospitalized, he was barely managing to take care of himself, yet still desperate to prove himself, and had no energy left to deal with Wang Si and those other three traitors.

"Qian, how about I pay for you to go travel around the Nansha Islands for a month? I'll go home and get the money!"

"No need... Don't worry, I have my own plans." Yan Yu was left speechless. He could only hope that Qian could weather this storm and get through the hard times. Still, making a comeback from such a desperate situation seemed nearly impossible.

...

The owner of the recording studio was Liang Chao, six feet tall, with well-developed biceps and a close-cropped haircut. He was a capable man—rough around the edges, but meticulous—and got along well with Ren Qian.

He was lounging on the sofa, smoking, but as soon as he saw Ren Qian arrive, he quickly stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Ah Qian, go take a walk outside first, give me ten minutes to set up the equipment! Pull up any accompaniment you need, and recording is all free for you."

Normally, Old Liang would have invited him to sit down and chat for half a day, but today, he was actively ushering him out.

"Those three... they're inside, right?" Ren Qian didn't leave; instead, he took charge by pouring himself a cup of tea at the coffee table, speaking casually.

That was just like Old Liang. Despite his rough frame, he was a true friend—if he counted you as one, he'd protect you even at his own expense.

"Yeah... I'll call you back in when they're gone. Out of sight, out of mind," Liang Chao said, rubbing his face. The plagiarism incident was causing a huge stir at Jiangnan University. Many people were criticizing Ren Qian.

But Liang Chao believed in him absolutely. He could write lyrics and compose his own music, and he got up early every day to practice his singing in the woods. Someone like that couldn't possibly be a plagiarist!

"Brother Liang..." Ren Qian felt a tinge of gratitude, but he was no longer the naïve boy he used to be.

As they spoke, the studio door opened and Wang Si and his two companions came out, chatting and laughing. They froze when they saw Ren Qian looking renewed and spirited, and then mocking smiles crept onto their faces.

"Well, well—here to watch us record? Feeling ashamed of yourself yet?"

"People need to know their place. Don't keep going down a dead-end road. You can only look up at us—you always have, and you always will."

"If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for not seeing the bigger picture. You actually disrespected Senior Wan Feng? Do you really think you can slander a superstar?"

Yan Yu raised his eyebrows. Wan Feng?

One of Mars Entertainment's veteran artists, he had risen to fame ten years ago. At his peak, it was said a third of Mars Entertainment's profits came from him, with every album selling ten million copies on average!

How did Ren Qian manage to offend a superstar? Yan Yu looked at him in confusion.

But Ren Qian was lost in thought. He remembered Wei Bo's last post was a comment about Wan Feng—something about the superstar's new album being too pretentious, lacking a natural feel, missing the rawest elements of music.

Well...

His former self truly was young and impulsive, posting such tactless comments on Wei Bo—how brainless. With millions of fans, even a random wave of trolls could bury a nobody like him. But why would the superstar himself take it personally? Ren Qian couldn't figure it out.

Not that he wanted to—given the situation, he and the superstar were clearly at odds, so there was no need to overthink it.

"Watch your mouth!" Yan Yu, visibly agitated, was stopped by Ren Qian, who motioned him aside to let the three swagger out.

"Ren Qian, you're just going to let them walk all over you?!" Yan Yu was flushed with anger. He'd already told Ren Qian over the phone that his problem was being too sentimental, which led to this setback. He hadn't expected Ren Qian to forget the pain so quickly—if anything, the wound hadn't even healed yet!

Ren Qian merely shrugged, ignoring Yan Yu's reproach.

Liang Chao, seeing Ren Qian in good spirits, realized he truly wasn’t bothered by this defeat. He smiled knowingly, then patted Yan Yu on the shoulder to calm him down.

He then busied himself adjusting the equipment. Once the accompaniment was ready, he gave a thumbs-up.

Ren Qian entered the recording booth, took a moment to settle himself, and began singing slowly:

"Today, I watch the snow drift past in the cold night,
With a chilled heart, I drift far away,
Chasing through wind and rain,
Lost in the mist, I can't see my own shadow..."

He hadn't sung for long before—

"Stop!" Ren Qian interrupted himself in frustration. There was a slight disconnect in his feeling—not a big one, but he refused to overlook any flaw.

Those old singers from the eighties called recording "pouring"—meaning you had to pour enough emotion into your performance. Old songs could move people because you could hear the sincerity in every line; you could tell the singer was pouring their heart into the song.

Many skilled vocalists would record a song dozens of times before being satisfied. Take Leslie Cheung, for example—he would repeatedly study the melody and lyrics until he was fully immersed in the song’s mood before recording. That's why his voice could enchant so many.

Ren Qian set high standards for himself—anything less would only lead to failure.

"Let’s stop for now, I can't find the right feeling," he sighed, oblivious to Liang Chao’s stunned look.

"Cantonese song, a Cantonese song! Boss Lin, did you hear that? After fifteen years, someone’s singing in Cantonese again—why couldn’t you persevere..." Liang Chao’s eyes grew moist, and his heart felt a little bitter. He looked at Ren Qian, who sat dazed in his chair. After three hours, Ren Qian finally stood up again.

"I'm ready to record," he said.

Old Liang’s apprentices looked annoyed, whispering among themselves.

"This guy plagiarizes, hasn't improved his skills, but his pretentiousness has skyrocketed."

"No idea what Master is thinking, letting someone like him waste three hours here—think how much work we could have done in that time!"

"Just wait for him to embarrass himself. I love watching idiots pretend—he won’t last long at this school!"

Liang Chao hurried to set up the booth for Ren Qian. When everything was ready, Ren Qian stood before the mic, still chilled from sitting so long.

He gathered his emotions.

Having lived two lives that now seemed but a dream, his heart was full of mixed feelings.

At the same time, it filled him with a fighting spirit.

"Today, I watch the snow drift past in the cold night,
With a chilled heart, I drift far away,
Chasing through wind and rain, lost in the mist, unable to see my own shadow..."

Liang Chao was stunned—it was as if he were back on that cold night, after his band had disbanded, wandering the streets alone with his guitar, looking for a spot to sit down and play.

Why sing alone? Because only with music burning in his heart could he drive away the cold! Under the streetlights, he chased his faint glimmer of a dream, moving forward with unwavering resolve, even if battered and bleeding.

"A masterpiece in Cantonese," he murmured, turning to look at his apprentices, who seemed to have gained some insight. But prejudice was deeply rooted—it wouldn’t change in a moment.

"They’re actually recording this trash? What a waste of time!"

"Exactly, what’s the point of making music? Only a freak like Ren Qian could write such a wailing mess. If this ever gets popular, I’ll eat... shit live!"

"Yeah, if anyone praises this song after he puts it out, I’ll eat... shit live too!"

They gossiped quietly as Ren Qian took his flash drive and left the recording studio.