novelraw Chapter 36 Celestial Immortal Liu makes an exception and invites you to sing.
Chapter 36 Celestial Immortal Liu makes an exception and invites you to sing.
The phone screen quickly went dark.
Song Ze casually tossed his phone onto the coffee table.
Zhang Juan remained seated in the boss's chair, frozen in place, her breathing heavy.
Sa Dingding relented.
Lin Shishi leveraged national team resources to secure a starting position and declared she would keep an eye on things from the sidelines.
Each one of these things takes her half a day to process.
She had just taken a breath and was about to speak when the backup phone on the table suddenly rang.
The buzzing vibration was particularly jarring in the quiet office.
Zhang Juan was startled and quickly grabbed it.
The screen displayed a Beijing landline number, ending in six eights.
She composed herself and pressed the answer button.
The voice on the other end was that of a middle-aged woman, capable and assertive, getting straight to the point.
"Starry Entertainment? I'm Sister Hong from Red Star Village."
Zhang Juan covered the microphone, looked up at Song Ze opposite her, and mouthed three words—Liu Yifei.
Song Ze sat on the sofa, his fingers gently tapping his knees.
He was well aware of the weight of Liu Yifei's name; if he could bring him in, it would be like having a ready-made bulletproof vest out of thin air.
Xu Yu's methods are unclear, and he's just missing a brand that no one dares to touch easily.
Zhang Juan's mind was filled with the thought of a windfall, and she didn't have time to think about it any further.
Song Ze didn't intend to explain right now.
"Hello, Sister Hong, I am Song Ze's agent, Zhang Juan."
Zhang Juan released the microphone, her back straightening unconsciously, her tone full of importance.
Hong Jie ignored her polite words and continued talking on her own.
"Yi Fei is the female lead in the movie version of 'Three Lives Three Worlds,' and she happened to hear some behind-the-scenes footage of the TV series 'Cooling Up.' She rejected the Hollywood soundtrack team that the investors had spent 20 million to hire and specifically asked to see Song Ze."
Zhang Juan's hand holding the phone trembled slightly.
"Yi Fei means that she wants Song Ze to compose a theme song specifically for the movie version. If the finished product satisfies her, she can make an exception and personally go to the studio to sing a duet with Song Ze."
Zhang Juan felt a little dizzy, her mouth was already open, she wanted to agree immediately, and the thought of doing it for free even flashed through her mind.
Song Ze stood up, walked to the desk, and took the phone from her hand.
He turned on speakerphone and spoke calmly.
"Sister Hong, custom production is no problem. But we need to clarify the conditions first—same as before, a guaranteed minimum after tax plus streaming revenue sharing. The first release rights for the chorus audio must include my name."
Zhang Juan, growing anxious, reached out and tugged at the hem of his coat.
She was afraid that negotiating with a company of Red Starwood's caliber, and proposing such tough terms, would cause them to turn hostile.
There was silence on the other end of the phone for about three seconds.
Sister Hong gave a cold laugh.
"Song Ze, let me go and ask Yi Fei for her instructions on your conditions."
The implication was that he shouldn't be so ungrateful.
Song Ze did not retreat an inch.
"Thank you for your help, Sister Hong. Sister Yifei has always been my idol, and I'm waiting for her news."
Zhang Juan was extremely anxious.
Just as the call was about to be disconnected, a very soft laugh came from the other end.
It's not the sharp, capable voice of Sister Hong; it's more relaxed, carrying a hint of casual laziness.
Then, a woman's voice came from the speaker.
"You really won't accept even the slightest loss."
Zhang Juan was stunned—it was Liu Yifei himself.
"What price did the production manager, Mr. Wang, offer for 'Liang Liang'?"
She asked directly, without any preamble or airs.
Song Ze reported the number.
"A guaranteed minimum of three million after tax, plus a 10% revenue share from all streaming platforms."
"Okay." Liu Yifei agreed quickly, as if he had no intention of haggling at all. "For the movie, I'll give you the same price for the same contract."
She paused for a moment.
"But let me make this clear—three days. I need to hear the demo in three days. If you can't handle the core of 'Cool Down,' the investors won't accept it, and I can't protect you."
Three days.
Song Ze glanced at the calendar on the wall.
Today is Wednesday, and I'm not going to Yanjing to see Sa Dingding until next Wednesday, which is exactly one week in between.
For others, producing an industrial-grade raw vocal track for an OST in three days is a pipe dream, but he has a music library in his head that can last for ten years. As long as he has the stamina, he has enough time.
"It's a deal." He didn't hesitate. "Three days later, send the lyrics, music score, and arrangement demo to Sister Hong's email address in a package."
After saying that, he hung up the phone without waiting for the other party to add anything.
The busy signal echoed in the office.
Zhang Juan slumped in the swivel chair, completely stunned.
An artist who just got through a contract termination crisis first had Lin Shishi help him break into the national team, and now Liu Yifei has taken the initiative to come to his door and even agreed to these conditions.
She's been an agent for so many years and has never seen anything like this.
"Are you crazy?" She recovered, her voice changing. "Three days! Just the orchestral frequencies for the fantasy music alone would take you a week to work on. How are you going to deliver it?"
Song Ze picked up the marker on the table, wrote the three characters "Xu Yuyu" on a piece of white paper, and then drew a heavy red cross.
"Did you really think that anonymous phone call from Yanjing the other day was someone trying to be kind and helpful?"
He put down his pen and pushed the paper in front of Zhang Juan.
"Wen Ziliang is in jail, that's true, but the people behind him are still there. We need a backer. Hongxingwu, Liu Yifei—that's the most suitable one right now. Once we're on her side, even if those people in the Beijing circle want to touch me, they'll have to think twice about offending Hongxingwu."
He didn't say anything more.
Zhang Juan stared at the red cross, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on her back.
She understood—if she accepted this order, Liu Yifei would be her protector; if she didn't, no one could say for sure when Xu Yuyu's backers would make their move again.
"I'm booking the entire No. 1 studio at Huanyin Studio tonight, starting at 8 PM, for 72 hours."
Song Ze picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip.
"Hang a 'Do Not Disturb' sign at the door and don't see anyone for the next few days. Also, ask someone to go to a music store and buy a solid wood erhu and a cello in decent condition. The budget is 200,000 yuan."
Zhang Juan was stunned for a moment, then quickly stood up, grabbed the spare phone, and walked out.
The door slammed shut.
Song Ze sat back down on the sofa and closed his eyes.
He needs a song that can command attention.
The film is grander and more tragic than the TV series, and Liu Yifei's voice is highly distinctive, so calling it a second "Liang Liang" simply doesn't work.
We must suppress it from the root.
He quickly sifted through his memory and locked onto "Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms".
The verses are extremely restrained, the chorus is straightforward, the brass section roars straight up, and the final section with its continuous high notes and layered orchestral arrangement is just right here.
He brought up the system panel and glanced at it.
Professional-level vocals, superb music composition, and superb piano skills—the stats are sufficient.
But to create that chilling sense of oppression, I'm still one step away. I need to push myself to the limit for the next three days.
He opened his eyes, grabbed the black coat draped over the back of the chair, and pushed open the door to go out.
The work area outside was brightly lit, and people were engrossed in their work. He didn't look around much, but walked straight through the lobby downstairs and pushed open the security door of the Phantom Sound Recording Studio on the second basement floor.
The soundproof door closed behind me with a muffled thud.
In the control room, only the indicator lights on the equipment were flashing; the 72-track analog mixing console was covered with a dense array of red and green lights.
He walked to the control panel and pressed the main power button.
The monitor speakers emitted a low, resonant vibration.
He sat down, put on his headphones, opened the host software, and started a new project.
Set the BPM to 68 – a slow tempo – to leave enough room for traditional Chinese narrative.
Place your fingers on the first guide rail and push it up.
He picked up the guitar beside him, connected the effects pedal, and pressed the recording pedal.
The phone lit up again.
This time it was Xia Ziming's WeChat message, containing only one sentence:
"Are you in the shed? I'm downstairs. I brought you some late-night snacks. You don't need to come down; I'll leave them at the front desk."