Chapter Forty-One: Shooting the Music Video

The next morning, Yang Yan drove the nanny van and brought Zhou Miao to the filming base. Since they needed to shoot some scenes of early morning martial arts practice, they arrived on set before six o’clock.

However, Zhang Yichuan and the rest of the crew were already there even earlier. Upon arrival, Zhou Miao went straight to makeup. Zhang Yichuan pulled up a stool next to him and began explaining some important details about the day’s shoot.

“Today’s scenes are fairly simple—just martial arts practice. In a moment, the action director will teach you a few moves. Make sure to perform them with strength and flair—they need to look good.”

Zhou Miao nodded, but the makeup artist quickly held his head steady. “Don’t move, I’m attaching the braid.”

Once makeup was done and he had changed into a black martial arts uniform, a valiant young practitioner appeared before everyone’s eyes.

Zhang Yichuan looked him up and down with a touch of regret. “You really look the part. It’s a pity if you don’t act in films.”

He then called the action director over to teach Zhou Miao the moves. In fact, Zhou Miao had always been curious about how kung fu movies were shot.

But when filming began, he realized it was nothing like he’d imagined.

All the moves were choreographed in advance. The actors only needed to follow instructions, just like learning a broadcast calisthenics routine.

Zhou Miao had an excellent memory—he grasped the moves after one demonstration. His coordination was good as well, and his martial arts moves looked quite convincing.

“Remember, you need to exude presence. You are Huo Yuanjia—the most formidable man in Tianjin!” Zhang Yichuan kept repeating, trying to put Zhou Miao in the right mindset.

After a few trial runs, Zhou Miao gestured that he was ready. Zhang Yichuan cleared the set, and formal shooting began.

“Action!”

Zhou Miao stood tall in the courtyard, his posture upright as a pine tree, face calm as still water. Each move was crisp and powerful, not a trace of hesitation.

Soon enough, the set was complete. Zhang Yichuan called, “Cut! Not bad, we’ve got a good take. Let’s go again.”

Since these were all action scenes with no dialogue or emotional acting required, Zhou Miao simply had to perform the movements accurately, and the shoot progressed swiftly.

In the music video, he played the young Huo Yuanjia, practicing martial arts in various locations.

Once these scenes were edited together with the film’s climactic battles where Huo Yuanjia defeats all challengers, the final effect would be that of a meteoric rise—a reputation earned through long, hard effort.

Over the next few days, Zhou Miao moved from set to set, learning to handle a variety of weapons: long swords, twin sabers, floral spears, and three-section staffs, thoroughly indulging in the fantasy of being a master martial artist.

“Cut!” Zhang Yichuan watched the playback, then smiled and announced, “That’s a wrap!”

Zhou Miao swung the three-section staff and asked, “Can I keep this as a souvenir?”

“Go ahead, it’s not worth much,” Zhang Yichuan replied, clapping Zhou Miao’s shoulder and asking once more, “I really think you’re suited for acting. Do you want to reconsider? I’ll save a great role for you in my next project, how about it?”

Zhou Miao tapped his sore back with the staff and replied somewhat helplessly, “Director Zhang, you’ve asked me this so many times. I’m honestly not interested in acting. If I can do well in music, that’s enough for me.”

“You kid, don’t know what’s good for you. Others beg to be in my films and I don’t even bother with them,” Zhang Yichuan grumbled, giving Zhou Miao a light smack on the back of his head.

“Ah, it’s not that I mean to refuse you, I just don’t have the ambition for it. But if you ever need another theme song, I’ll give you a discount,” Zhou Miao joked.

“Pfft, as if I care!”

After filming, the MV still needed editing and audio synchronization, which would take another two or three days.

With the MV work complete, Zhou Miao turned his full attention to preparing for his exams.

During this period, he had learned a great deal from Guan Yu, and recently he’d even started experimenting with adapting songs from his previous life, achieving promising results—this only fueled his passion for learning even more.

This kind of study, where you can clearly see your own progress, is truly addictive—much like leveling up in a game.

A week later, the Huo Yuanjia soundtrack and MV were released simultaneously. The theme song, touted as the most expensive in domestic history at a price of ten million, instantly attracted countless listeners.

The film’s distributor and Rainbow Records collaborated, pushing all promotional channels to the max—subways, bus stops, elevator ads—everywhere was filled with the film and its theme song.

Within ten minutes of its official release, the song shot straight to the top of all major music charts, instantly dethroning both “Rice Fragrance” and “Chinese Language,” which had been fiercely competing for first place.

A musical storm called “Huo Yuanjia” swept across the internet, sending netizens into a frenzy.

“Damn! This is amazing!”

“Bowing to Brother Miao! This song is just too electrifying!”

“That operatic section sent shivers down my spine. It’s the first time I’ve heard someone incorporate dramatic vocals into a pop song—absolutely stunning!”

“Zhang Yichuan must be grinning ear to ear. Ten million for this song is a bargain.”

“This song is truly incredible!”

“Composed by Zhou Miao, lyrics by Zhou Miao, arranged by Zhou Miao—Brother Miao is just too strong!”

“Apologies to Brother Miao. How could I have doubted whether his song was worth ten million?”

At that moment, Ada Jin, a renowned music producer and music director at Flying Fish Records, reposted the song on Weibo, adding: “Of all the talent in the world, Zhou Miao alone possesses nine-tenths, leaving only a tenth for the rest of us. He makes me feel utterly defeated.”

Following Ada Jin, countless other musicians voiced their opinions, all expressing their admiration without exception.

The song was just too formidable. Few others had ever been able to blend technique, depth, and mass appeal to such a degree as “Huo Yuanjia.”

Ordinary listeners only knew that it sounded good, but not why. Only professionals understood the dizzying level of craftsmanship behind the song.

Some even predicted that, even for Zhou Miao himself, it would be impossible to write another song in his lifetime that could surpass “Huo Yuanjia.”

On Douban Sauce, over one hundred thousand people rated the song an astonishing 9.5 out of 10!

The “Huo Yuanjia” MV dominated the top spot on all major video platforms for several consecutive days.

As for whether Zhang Yichuan’s ten million was well spent? Just look at the overwhelming buzz online—the answer was obvious. He’d struck gold.

Seeing the song far exceed expectations, Zhang Yichuan immediately called the cast for a press conference, officially announcing that “Huo Yuanjia” would premiere during the Spring Festival season.

At the press conference, a reporter asked, “Director Zhang, what made you decide to approach Zhou Miao, a newcomer, to write the theme song?”

“Well, before finding Zhou Miao, I’d already approached many producers and commissioned many songs. They were all good, but my take on Huo Yuanjia is a bit unique—I wanted a younger, fresher emotional expression. At that time, ‘Chinese Language’ was a hit, so I found Zhou Miao and asked him to give it a try.”

Zhang Yichuan smiled. “As for the final result, you’ve all seen it. I’m extremely satisfied!”

“Director Zhang, after you chose this song, was it Zhou Miao who asked for ten million?” another reporter suddenly asked, bringing up a rather sensitive subject.

Everyone perked up at the question. If Zhou Miao had indeed named the price himself, it would certainly be seen as an audacious demand—almost shameless.