Chapter 105: Discussing Music and Heroism Over Wine (Combined Two-in-One)

In today’s music scene, singers are increasingly reluctant to invest heavily in promoting their albums. On one hand, the costs of publicity are difficult to recoup; on the other, if the album’s quality is lacking, the promotion won’t yield good results anyway.

Huaiyuan had the most to say about this. He had poured great effort into his last album, appearing on every popular variety show, only to be mercilessly mocked by the public: “How dare you even sell such a lousy song?”

So far, 95% of his album sales came from fans, with very few casual listeners buying it—making the promotional impact quite limited.

Meanwhile, for Zhou Miao’s previous album, *Listen*, the promotional expenses across various channels totaled over ten million yuan. If the album hadn’t been top-notch, all that money would have been wasted.

Now, as Zhou Miao’s second album, *Spacetime Intertwined*, begins its pre-release hype, Zuo Qiu did not hold back. He splurged on purchasing four minutes of prime-time advertising slots on every music radio station nationwide, debuting the first single, “Cao Cao.”

Additionally, he secured an appearance for Zhou Miao on the highly sought-after music interview show *Brewing Music Talk* and arranged for a halftime performance during this year’s CBA Finals.

These were just the initial waves of promotion. Even more impactful campaigns awaited, but those would commence only when the album’s pre-sale began—it was still too early now.

Zuo Qiu understood deeply the importance of *Spacetime Intertwined* for Zhou Miao. His debut album *Listen* had left such a dazzling impression that it had spoiled listeners’ ears. If this second album fell short in sales or acclaim, rumors would inevitably spread that Zhou Miao’s creative well had run dry.

Unable to contribute much musically, Zuo Qiu aimed to give Zhou Miao the fullest support in promotion.

In the van, Zhou Miao flipped through the program materials for *Brewing Music Talk*, a music interview show renowned for both its ratings and critical acclaim.

The host, Liang Zhu, was a seasoned music veteran known for his bluntness—he would openly criticize anyone he disliked. Each episode was filled with shocking remarks, fearless questions, and candid discussions, often leaving artists appearing on the show in awkward positions.

But Zhou Miao was unbothered. There was nothing he couldn’t say or wouldn’t say. If Liang Zhu dared to attack him, Zhou Miao was ready to show who was the real top provocateur in the entertainment circle.

Two hours later, the van stopped in front of a countryside courtyard—this was Liang Zhu’s home. The show’s informal vibe was evident; recordings took place in Liang Zhu’s own backyard.

Upon stepping out, Zhou Miao knocked on a bright vermilion door. Soon after, a slightly plump middle-aged man with long hair opened it.

“Welcome, welcome! Come in, I’ve been waiting for you for a while,” Liang Zhu greeted warmly, making a good first impression.

Inside, Zhou Miao saw many flowers and plants growing throughout the yard; a plum tree stood in the center. Strikingly, a proud rooster strolled past his feet without fear.

A man in his forties living a hermit-like life in the countryside—definitely a literary soul, and a deeply devoted one at that.

Under the plum tree was a small tea table with two rattan chairs. Zhou Miao sat down with Liang Zhu.

Liang Zhu skillfully brewed tea, while Zhou Miao surveyed the yard. “Do you live here all the time?”

“Yes, for about five or six years now. Though there’s not much entertainment out here, the air is fresh, and the pace of life is slow. Living here is very nourishing,” Liang Zhu replied.

Zhou Miao glanced at his belly and nodded in agreement—he was clearly thriving.

Without noticing the glance, Liang Zhu continued, “Once you get used to moving from the city to the countryside, you won’t want to go back.”

“I wake up every day at six, jog around the village, have breakfast at seven, then go to the village committee to play cards and chess with some old men. Lunch is at eleven-thirty, then I fish by the river in the afternoon. Dinner at five-thirty, and I’m asleep by seven.”

“After working hard all my life, I’ve only just realized this is what life really means,” Liang Zhu said, pouring tea into Zhou Miao’s cup.

Zhou Miao thanked him and drained the cup in one gulp, feeling quite thirsty after the journey.

Liang Zhu’s eye twitched but he refilled the cup nonetheless.

“I listened to your new song ‘Cao Cao.’ The melody’s good, but the lyrics are a bit poor. Though it seems like an advertising song?”

Zhou Miao nodded. “Yes, it was written for a Three Kingdoms-themed online game.”

“As an ad song, it’s passable. It’s pretty popular—nowadays, you hear it everywhere,” Liang Zhu said with a grand tone, though calling the widespread hit merely “passable.”

He had the standing to say so—once one of the most renowned music producers in the country, though he had stopped writing songs as he aged and now enjoyed a comfortable life as a variety show host.

“I’ve actually been following you since you released your first album *Listen*. Finally, a newcomer worth watching in this new generation. I used to think the Mandarin music scene was completely dead.”

Liang Zhu shook his head sadly. “Zhou Miao, do you think the Mandarin music scene now has declined compared to ten years ago?”

It was a well-worn question, with many opinions. Zhou Miao thought for a moment before answering:

“I feel it’s not so much a decline as a distorted development.”

Liang Zhu perked up. “How so?”

“Just observe carefully. Nowadays, in the entertainment industry, the work itself is becoming less important. You can be a top-tier star without any substantial work.”

“There are many examples. I won’t name names, but they’re the ones headlining major gala stages, serving as mentors on variety shows, and always at center stage on posters.”

“But if you ask what songs they have, aside from their fans, few can name more than one or two—and those songs aren’t even very popular.”

Liang Zhu pondered, realizing it was true—and such people were not few.

Zhou Miao continued, “Enjoying first-tier treatment without popular works is unreasonable and frightening.”

“They have altered the entire ecology of Mandarin pop music. Idol music, represented by these people, has crushed popular music. Their popularity far exceeds that of their works—in fact, their most famous ‘work’ is themselves.”

“Though they don’t harm anyone—fans keep to their own circles and others can’t interfere—the problem is their presence has revealed a new path to entertainment industry bosses!”

“These idol stars, built on manufactured images and marketing, are highly replicable—and their money-making ability far surpasses traditional singers.”

Zhou Miao locked eyes with Liang Zhu. “If you were a boss, seeing this successful model, would you still bother collecting great songs and nurturing a powerful singer with time and effort?”

Liang Zhu shook his head. Capital isn’t charitable. It won’t nurture ‘powerful’ or ‘idol’ singers—they only cultivate whoever can make money.

“In the end, the entertainment industry is a game of capital. Once the mindset shifts, the whole path of Mandarin music veers off course. This explains the recent surge in talent shows—mass producing idol singers faster than anything else.”

“Many blame the gap between generations in Mandarin music on the current singers not trying hard enough. But have you considered that they never intended to revive the scene? They’re here to make money. Why expect more?”

Hearing this, Liang Zhu was enlightened. Though young, Zhou Miao saw through the situation clearly.

Liang Zhu pressed on, “Is there any solution to this?”

Zhou Miao shrugged, “No. Capital makes money, the audience likes it—what can you do if you don’t like it?”

Liang Zhu sighed. “Honestly, those young pretty boys really get on my nerves. Do they even deserve to be called idol singers?”

“Twenty years ago, look at those idol singers—who didn’t have several wildly popular songs? In our day, without quality work, you were nothing!”

Zhou Miao wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth—this elder was a bit passionate...

Inside, the director watching the monitors was worried. After airing this episode, the show would surely be bombarded with criticism. Last time Liang Zhu roasted a young idol, the fans dragged the show’s rating on Douban down to 2.1.

Today, their words were even harsher, directly attacking the entire scene. It seemed *Brewing Music Talk* was on track to break the record for the lowest rating in Douban variety show history.

Liang Zhu teasingly asked, “Then why don’t you become an idol singer? Your looks are way better than theirs.”

Zhou Miao laughed. “There are plenty of idol singers already. They don’t need me.”

“Many say you’re the leading figure of the new generation in the music world. Do you think you deserve that title?”

Liang Zhu settled into a more typical interview rhythm.

“Whether I deserve it isn’t up to me. It’s the listeners who decide. Besides, I don’t think being a ‘leading figure of the new generation’ is anything special—it only shines by comparison with peers,” Zhou Miao said bluntly.

“There hasn’t been a new ‘king’ of Mandarin pop for over a decade. Do you think you have a chance?”

Hearing this, Zhou Miao laughed heartily. “It’s too early to say. My second album hasn’t even officially released yet. But yes, that’s definitely my ultimate goal.”

“Honestly, though, chances are slim. Whether you’re a king depends on the public. But the ‘public’ has mostly gone—they’re off playing games, reading novels, watching videos.”

“Music’s importance in people’s hearts keeps shrinking. Shallow waters don’t breed true dragons. Without enough listeners’ recognition, no new king will emerge.”

“So how do you solve this?”

“That’s why I’m here—to let more people hear my songs, to conquer them with my work. If one song isn’t enough, then ten; if ten aren’t enough, then a hundred. Eventually, one will touch them,” Zhou Miao said.

Liang Zhu clasped his fingers. He was growing to admire this young man: “You’re very confident.”

Zhou Miao smiled faintly. If you were a time traveler like me, you’d be even more confident.

“There’s a voice in the music world now that says all good melodies have already been written. What do you think about that?”

“Usually, that’s said by beginners—people eager to write good melodies but can’t find them. Not just domestically—look abroad, every year dozens of great melodies emerge.”

“Melody, after all, is just the arrangement of notes. Some simple patterns have been written many times over. At this point, a creator must improve their professional skills.”

“It’s like fruit pickers: when the low-hanging fruit’s gone, you need a ladder or climb up—not stand there with your hands on your hips complaining the tree’s bare.”

Zhou Miao’s down-to-earth explanation earned Liang Zhu’s agreement. The topic shifted.

“The Golden Melody Awards were announced this year. You didn’t get a single nomination. Any thoughts?”

Zhou Miao scoffed, “To correct you, it’s not that I had no nominations—they had no right to evaluate me. I didn’t even apply this year. Let them enjoy themselves.”

This year’s Golden Melody Awards were awkward. Last year, Zhou Miao’s *Listen* had swept the music scene. No other album could compare, whether in musicianship or popularity. Every one of its ten songs was a rare gem.

With that album in the mix, no award winner could satisfy the audience because the best simply didn’t attend.

Previously, the awards had covertly asked someone to pass a message inviting Zhou Miao to attend, but he flatly refused, saying he would never participate. “Go have fun without me.”

With such a classic collection of accolades, Zhou Miao knew exactly how outstanding his work was.

“I really like *Listen*. It’s a rare masterpiece. Are you confident you can surpass it?”

Liang Zhu pressed.

Seizing the promotional moment, Zhou Miao brightened. “Many say *Listen* will be my peak for life. But that’s only because I haven’t released a new album yet. My best album will always be the next one!”

...

Zhou Miao thoroughly enjoyed participating in *Brewing Music Talk*. The episode ran over two hours, and their conversation was lively. Liang Zhu knew how to keep things engaging, finding chances to slip in advertisements for Zhou Miao’s album.

After recording, they continued chatting for more than an hour until dusk. Only then did Zhou Miao reluctantly take his leave.

Liang Zhu, accustomed to rural solitude and seldom mingling with industry people, had a great time talking to Zhou Miao. He saw him off at the door, inviting him to return anytime.

Zhou Miao checked his schedule and crossed off *Brewing Music Talk*. Next, he was set to make his mark at the CBA!