novelraw Chapter 17 The Moment the Music Began
Chapter 17 The Moment the Music Began
Zhang Juan said, "We can't let him come."
She looked up, her chest heaving violently.
"Wen Ziliang is up to no good. Who in the industry doesn't know his methods? He's a smiling tiger."
Song Ze glanced at the screen and snatched the phone directly from her hand.
Press the voice button precisely with your right thumb.
"Welcome, Professor Wen! This is such a timely help!"
He bent over suddenly, his mouth almost touching the microphone hole.
"You absolutely must come tomorrow and give me your feedback. See you tomorrow morning!"
Release your thumb, and with a "whoosh," the message is successfully sent.
Zhang Juan stood there, stunned.
"Are you out of your mind?"
She took a sudden step, and her purse bumped against the edge of the mixing console.
"We're willingly bringing this plague home? We've only worked one night to start all over again, and post-production mixing is meticulous work. He brought Boss Wang to nitpick; how are we supposed to explain ourselves?"
Song Ze threw his phone onto the table, the back of which made a crisp sound as it hit the table.
His back straightened instantly, his jawline became taut, and his previous fawning demeanor vanished completely.
"Not letting him come is like handing the knife to him."
He pointed to the digital clock on the wall—1:15 a.m.
"If the investors come to check on the progress in the middle of the night and we turn them away, it means we're guilty and that the project is hopeless. When we meet tomorrow, they won't even need to listen in person; they can just whisper something in the producer's ear, and the project will be off."
The glass door of the soundproof cabin was pushed open, and Lin Shishi walked out in high heels.
You're oversimplifying things.
She stopped behind Song Ze and lowered her voice.
"During the day at Yujingtai, his probing never stopped. He wasn't just there to listen to your songs; he was there to put you on the spot. You haven't been in this industry long enough to know how easily capital can crush a small-time artist. Your little act of feigning madness won't last a single round against him."
Song Ze turned around, his back arching in an exaggerated curve, and his hands rubbed together rapidly in front of him.
"Sister Shishi, you don't understand."
He grinned, revealing all his teeth.
"Our big spender is coming to inspect our work; how could we possibly turn away such a benefactor? He even said he wanted Sister Na to sing the chorus for me. This is a godsend; I have to cling to him even if it means breaking my back!"
Lin Shishi was speechless. She stared at him for two seconds, then turned and walked out.
She paused for a moment when she reached the corner of the corridor.
Before Song Ze turned around, she caught a glimpse of his hand out of the corner of her eye—his fingers were steadily tapping on the shortcut keys, saving the project and backing up the audio tracks, methodical and without a trace of panic.
Which of this person's statements is true, and which is false?
The next morning at 10:00 AM, at the "Phantom Sound" recording studio in Shanghai.
Song Ze leaned back in his ergonomic chair, his black suit perfectly tailored, his white shirt and tie neatly fitted, and his hair slicked back, exuding the aura of a top-tier superstar.
Zhang Juan looked him over and said, "That's more like it."
Song Ze loosened his tie: "Clothes make the man. I'm an original musician now, so I need to stand up for myself."
Just then, the soundproof door was pushed open.
Wen Ziliang walked at the front, wearing a light gray casual suit with a turtleneck underneath. He was holding a small piece of sandalwood in his hand, exuding a gentle and refined air, and naturally radiating the aura of a superior.
Two burly assistants followed behind him, and a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses walked to his side and behind him—he wore a navy blue jacket, had a slightly protruding belly, and carried a briefcase under his arm.
Mr. Wang, the chief producer of "Three Lives Three Worlds".
The person in the production crew who truly controls the money and has the power of life and death.
Wen Ziliang stopped in front of the mixing console, fiddling with his prayer beads.
"Xiao Song, let me introduce you to a distinguished guest. Mr. Wang heard that you finished the demo overnight, so he made a special trip to listen to it."
Song Ze jumped up and grabbed President Wang's hands with both hands, shaking them forcefully.
"Mr. Wang! I've heard so much about you! My humble abode is truly honored to have you here today!"
Mr. Wang took a step back in disgust, then withdrew his hand and rubbed it against the side of his jacket twice.
Wen Ziliang stepped forward and patted Song Ze on the shoulder.
"Xiao Song worked overtime until late last night, and I love that kind of drive."
He turned to General Manager Wang, his tone as gentle as if he were helping a junior out of a predicament.
"However, Mr. Wang, there's something I need to say upfront. Xiao Song isn't formally trained in this field, he hasn't worked on large projects before, and he was brought in at the last minute to rush the project, with only one night to finish. It's inevitable that the mastering process will be a bit rough and messy. We mainly want to hear the melody and get a general idea."
Zhang Juan felt a chill down her back.
Untrained, inexperienced, rushed, and with a poorly made master tape—before even hearing a sound, the dirty water had already been poured out.
If there's even the slightest flaw, Mr. Wang's patience will run out.
Mr. Wang pulled out the sofa and sat down, tapping the dial of his watch with his left hand.
"I have an online video conference at 10:30 to connect with the broadcasting platform. It only lasts ten minutes."
He looked over the top of his glasses at Song Ze and tapped the table with one finger.
"If that doesn't work, just use the backup plan. Use the song that Huayu Records sent. Ten minutes, let me hear the results of your work tonight."
Song Ze bowed and nodded repeatedly.
"Mr. Wang, your request is really pushing my luck. Brother Ziliang is kind and always smooths things over for me. I know my own limitations perfectly well; this is just a hodgepodge of ideas. If it doesn't suit your taste, please feel free to criticize and correct me!"
He rambled on as he turned to face the fifty-channel Niff mixing console.
Mr. Wang leaned back on the sofa, crossed his hands in front of his stomach, and closed his eyes.
I have no expectations.
Wen Ziliang stood diagonally behind him, the prayer beads stopped spinning, and everything was under control.
Song Ze turned his back to them, his finger hovering for half a second.
With his left hand, he precisely positioned himself on the eight main pushers and pushed them upwards with a powerful thrust.
The pusher slides across the track and stops at the precise output mark.
Press the space bar with your right hand to start playback.
The bamboo flute emanated from the monitoring array, with extremely clear high frequencies, without any background noise or muddiness from any frequency band overlap.
Mr. Wang suddenly separated his crossed arms and opened his eyes wide.
As the zither's strumming sound begins, the delay in the left and right channels completely widens the sound field.
The bass drum has an extremely deep low-frequency extension, steadily supporting all the strings.
Mr. Wang sat up straight.
He has participated in six large-scale period drama projects and has reviewed a large number of completed pieces.
The frequency separation and spatial sense of the arrangement in front of him completely exceeded his cognitive standards.
He turned to look at Wen Ziliang.
Wen Ziliang's hand froze, and the sandalwood prayer beads made a crisp sound.
The master tape quality was already evident after just twenty seconds of prelude—the accuracy of the frequency band equalization and the release time of the dynamic limiting were both at a high level.
This completely deviates from his entire understanding of "rushing to finish a project".
Lin Shishi's dry vocals, layered with reverb, enter the main vocal part.
"As night falls and the air grows cooler, fallen petals turn to frost—"
Mr. Wang stood up, the hem of his jacket being pulled up.
He stopped looking at his watch; the 10:30 video conference was already forgotten.
Song Ze stood in front of the mixing console, his left hand in his trouser pocket and his right hand on the mouse, clicking in sync with the bass drum rhythm.
The person who had been bowing and fawning just moments before has disappeared.
At this moment, he manipulated dozens of audio tracks with effortless ease, as if the console were an extension of his own body.
Wen Ziliang clenched his jaw, and his masseter muscles bulged.
The two assistants took a step back simultaneously.
Zhang Juan leaned against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.
The chorus is coming.
"The cool night sky makes my longing for you flow like a river—"
The human voice gradually fades at the end, smoothly transitioning to silence.
The progress bar stopped at the last second.
The only sound in the recording studio was the faint whirring of the air conditioning vents.
Song Ze turned around and removed his finger from the mouse.
Facing President Wang, he slumped his shoulders and rubbed his hands in front of his stomach.
"Mr. Wang, the timing is perfect."
He grinned, revealing two rows of teeth.
"Can this hastily made work even be considered usable?"