Huayu: Please leave me alone, I really want to retire from the entertainment industry!

Chapter 34 Audition piece: "Left Finger Pointing to the Moon"?

Song Ze dimmed the phone screen.

Article 4 of the "Detailed Rules for Audition Process" in the attachment is highlighted in red and bold: Audition pieces must have an acoustic dominance that can overwhelm the entire audience.

He leaned back in his chair.

Ordinary ballads were immediately condemned. Spanning three octaves, it blends folk singing techniques with coloratura.

"Left Finger Pointing to the Moon" was the first card in his mind.

The system panel lights up.

[Singing: Professional level, 1240/3000.]

not enough.

Such extreme vocal technique can easily turn into a car crash in front of top-notch audio equipment if there is even the slightest mistake.

His current skill level is insufficient to support this marginalized voice.

We must find outside help.

The sliding door to the neighbor's balcony opened silently.

The sea breeze ruffled the hem of her white silk nightgown.

Lin Shishi stood in the shadows, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks masking her footsteps.

"You said on the show before that you didn't want to work hard and wanted to find a rich woman."

She took a step forward. The light outlined the lines of her shoulders and neck, and the white silk gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

"What if I were that rich woman?"

Song Ze's back instantly lifted off the rattan chair back, and a thin layer of sweat appeared on the back of his neck.

This wasn't just a casual flirtation. It was a ticket to a high-stakes gamble.

Given Lin Shishi's current capital holdings, the 80 million yuan breach of contract penalty is just a matter of a word.

Top-tier business resources will come flooding in.

But what is the price?

The bombshell of Wen Ziliang was just detonated today.

He hasn't even gotten close to the capital network behind Wen Ziliang that can easily squeeze out tens of millions in public relations fees.

Lin Shishi is certain that Wen Ziliang's house collapse is related to this.

If gold bricks fall from the sky, there must be a trap underneath that will shatter them to pieces.

Getting involved with her now? That's asking for trouble.

He likes her, that's for sure.

But now, I'm far inferior to her, let alone the capital behind her, and even to her as a person.

Confessing your feelings and being together requires waiting until you've accumulated enough resources.

The entertainment industry operates on the law of the jungle.

"Sister Shishi."

Song Ze rubbed his face.

"Today isn't April 1st, so this joke isn't funny."

He placed his hands on his knees, crossed over each other.

Stop making fun of me.

Lin Shishi remained where she was.

The wind blew up her skirt, and she remained silent for two seconds.

"I observe that your resolve in the Dao seems somewhat unstable."

She chuckled softly.

"It was just a test. You passed."

After saying that, he turned around and closed the sliding door.

Only the sound of waves crashing remained on the balcony.

Song Ze picked up the glass of cold water on the table and gulped it down in one go.

The filming on Wuzhizhou Island officially wrapped up the following morning.

In front of the commercial vehicles, various teams were moving equipment.

Zhang Hao stood not far away, gritting his teeth as he watched the scene unfold on Song Ze's side—three cameramen surrounded them, even filming him carrying luggage with close-up shots.

This is the reality of the data-driven era.

Xia Ziming dragged her carry-on suitcase over.

She wasn't wearing sunglasses, and there was a faint bluish tint under her eyes.

She overheard the conversation on the balcony last night, even through a thin wall.

But she didn't mention it at all.

"Eat less seafood."

She shoved a box of lozenges containing malva nut into Song Ze's hand.

"Protect your voice."

Song Ze looked down at the box of medicine.

Thanks.

Xia Ziming opened the car door and got in, then closed the door cleanly and decisively.

Song Ze put the medicine into his pocket.

This sense of propriety, which eliminates the need for suspicion, can save a lot of trouble.

In the first-class cabin at 10,000 meters altitude, Song Ze asked the flight attendant for a black ballpoint pen and a few sheets of A4 paper.

The small table was pulled out, and the music library in my mind began to search frantically.

The stage of "I Am a Singer" is not lacking in skills or high notes, but it lacks the absolute dominance that can instantly penetrate the auditory nerve.

He writes extremely quickly.

The first line of the verse is set at A4, a very steep start. The second measure immediately rises without any transition, forcefully pushing up to C5.

In the chorus, the coloratura soprano's signature techniques are displayed in dense array, with continuous staccato notes and sustained notes.

This is an extreme test of vocal cord function, combining the ethereal quality of Tibetan opera with the impactful feel of modern arrangement.

By the end of the first chorus, the highest note reaches D6.

Song Ze put down his pen.

I can't finish writing it all.

The real killer move is in the second half, requiring an even more insane G6.

The bait must be fragrant, but not enough to fill her up.

The incomplete score is the most deadly temptation.

The flight landed in Shanghai at noon.

Song Ze didn't go back to his apartment; he went straight to the 26th floor of the Xingyao Entertainment Building.

Pushing open the door to the CEO's office, Zhang Juan was holding a coffee and reviewing business contracts.

Song Ze slammed the printed confidentiality agreement on the table.

"I've been accepted for the audition for 'I Am a Singer'."

Zhang Juan's hand trembled, and coffee dripped onto the contract.

She grabbed the stack of A4 papers, and the red official seal of the platform was clearly visible.

"Did Director Hongtao really send you an audition invitation?"

She suddenly stood up.

"At this level, top-tier singers would kill to be in the starting lineup. The first episode will be recorded in just two weeks."

Song Ze pulled out a swivel chair and sat down.

"Do one thing now."

Zhang Juan grabbed a tissue to wipe the table.

"I've already had the copyright department contact the top producers at the four major record labels. Lee Tsung-cheng, Huang Shao-chi, and Chang Ya-tung—as long as the money's right, we can definitely take down a lot of their inventory."

"We don't need them for now," Song Ze rejected.

"Why?" Zhang Juan asked anxiously. "Li Zongcheng's urban love songs have a market and a wide audience."

"What 'I Am a Singer' needs is to create a sensation."

Zhang Juan was stunned.

"What configuration do you want?"

"A person who can span three octaves and has a strong nationalistic appeal helped me back up."

"Who?"

"Satintin".

Zhang Juan stopped wiping the table.

"You're crazy."

She threw the tissue into the trash can.

"She's a top-tier singer from the national team who retired to hone her skills in Sanskrit chanting. The CEOs of the four major record companies came to invite her with blank checks, but she never even stepped into her studio. She utterly despises commercial operations and hype."

Zhang Juan walked up to Song Ze.

"You're a popular celebrity who just crawled out of a plagiarism scandal and relies on a controversial persona to stay on the trending topics. Your main profession is acting. There's no way she'd see you."

Song Ze unzipped his backpack, took out a folded A4 sheet of paper, and pushed the incomplete score sheet flat in front of Zhang Juan.

"Fax it to her studio."

He tapped the paper.

"To relay her exact words: 'No one in this world can sing that high note except for her.'"

Zhang Juan stared at the sheet music.

The notes are densely packed and the transitions are complex.

"What if she doesn't look?"

"She will see."

Song Ze leaned back.

"Anyone who knows what they're doing can't stand it if they just glance at the first paragraph."

Zhang Juan gritted her teeth, took the sheet music, and pushed open the door to go out.

In the corridor, employees from the public relations and legal departments secretly sized up the agent whose face was ashen.

Zhang Juan walked to the assistant's workstation.

"Find the publicly available business fax number for Sa Dingding Studio."

The assistant paused for a moment, then his fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Mr. Zhang, singers of this caliber don't even look at external submissions. Last time, Huayu Records brought two platinum producers' projects there, and we didn't even get a response."

"pass."

The fax machine whirred loudly, swallowing pieces of paper one by one.

A notification sound indicating successful delivery was heard.

The air pressure was low throughout the entire floor, and everyone felt it was all in vain.

Half an hour passed, and there was still no movement.

An hour passed, and the silence was unsettling.

Zhang Juan paced back and forth in the corridor, the sound of her high heels tapping on the carpet crisp yet anxious.

She felt that Song Ze's move was too risky—using an incomplete draft to try and gain favor with the national team, if the other party's production team posted it on industry groups to ridicule them, Xingyao's hard-won reputation in the music industry would collapse again.

This is gambling with the company's reputation.

She pushed open the office door, wanting him to prepare a backup plan.

Song Ze leaned back on the sofa and slept soundly.

There was a half-cold cup of coffee next to me.

Three hours later, the door was suddenly pushed open.

Zhang Juan rushed in, her chest heaving, clutching her phone tightly in her hand.

The dozen or so employees in the office area all stopped what they were doing and stared in astonishment at her distraught back.