Chapter 51: The Rivalry Among Devoted Admirers (New Book Seeking Monthly Votes)

After finishing her conversation with Tian Sisi, Director Wen Shan began flipping through his contacts. Although he worked at the same company as Jiang Qi, they barely knew each other.

Shengshi Entertainment was a vast company with numerous departments. The film division and the singers’ division were separated by eight floors. Moreover, since the film department was newly established and Wen Shan had only recently been recruited by Shengshi, he hadn’t even met everyone in his own department yet, let alone those in the singers’ division.

Wen Shan obtained Deng Qin’s contact information from Liu Kang, the head of the singers’ division.

When Deng Qin saw an unfamiliar number calling, she instinctively answered, “Hello.”

“I’m Wen Shan,” he said without preamble.

Director Wen Shan? Why was he calling?

Deng Qin only knew that Liu Kang had been fretting over the ending song for the new film, but she wasn’t aware of the specific requirements for the ending song of “Guardian.” Matters like these were typically handled directly between Liu Kang and the songwriters, and as a manager, Deng Qin was rarely involved. Besides, Jiang Qi had been busy with her debut album recently, so the company wouldn’t have assigned her the film’s ending theme. Naturally, Deng Qin hadn’t paid much attention to the matter.

“Director Wen Shan, hello. What can I do for you?” Deng Qin replied, her tone calm. Though she felt anxious inside, she didn’t let it show—a skill honed from years as a manager.

“It’s like this,” Wen Shan began, choosing his words carefully. “A friend told me that in Jiang Qi’s livestream, a girl named He Xier sang a song. She thought it was perfect for the ending of ‘Guardian.’ Could I listen to an audio recording of it?”

Wen Shan’s voice carried a hint of urgency and hope. He’d been searching for the right ending song for far too long. Many had advised him not to be so particular—after all, it was just an ending song. But he insisted on perfection. Since this was Shengshi Entertainment’s first foray into film, it had to be flawless.

Among the many candidate songs Shengshi had submitted, quite a few were excellent, but none felt quite right—they all seemed to lack that perfect fit.

A half-finished song sung by Xier, suitable for “Guardian”? Deng Qin was dubious. The company had already produced so many candidate songs, yet Wen Shan hadn’t chosen any of them, and now he was interested in a truncated version?

Was he joking?

“Xier did sing… a song, but we don’t own the rights to it, nor do we have the complete lyrics or composition,” Deng Qin explained.

She decided she needed to talk to Teacher Jiabei as soon as possible. Even if they couldn’t sign him, they had to buy the rights to the song. Deng Qin resolved to approach Teacher Jiabei tomorrow—assuming he would agree to meet.

If the song truly fit the requirements for the ending theme of “Guardian,” then He Xier’s luck was extraordinary. Shengshi’s investment in the film was enormous, with a marketing blitz in full swing. Once the film was released, its ending song would surely become a hit. With a high-quality song and powerful promotion, He Xier was bound to become famous. Every manager dreamed of seeing their artist rise to stardom.

“If you don’t own the rights, then what—this song wasn’t written by Shengshi’s in-house songwriters?” Wen Shan asked, puzzled.

“No,” Deng Qin explained patiently. “The lyricist and composer is Teacher Jiabei—the very one who wrote ‘Bubbles’ and ‘Melancholy.’”

Wen Shan massaged his temples and left the floor-to-ceiling window to sink into the roomy lounge chair in the living room. “Is there a recording?”

“Yes,” Deng Qin replied at once. “I’ll send it to your email.”

There was a recording of the stream, kept for later editing and for sharing behind-the-scenes tidbits on Weibo.

After hanging up, Deng Qin asked her staff to extract the segment of the stream where He Xier sang and send it to Wen Shan.

“Contact Teacher Jiabei as soon as possible,” Deng Qin said joyfully. “If this song fits the ending theme of ‘Guardian,’ Xier, get ready to make your debut.”

With that, she left the room with a spring in her step.

In an apartment complex, Wen Shan received the email and opened it eagerly. The faint tremble in He Xier’s voice sent a jolt through him, as if he’d finally grasped something elusive.

“When the moon was bright in Qin times and the passes in Han remained,
A thousand miles of long march and none returned again.
If only the general of Longcheng still rode high,
No barbarian steed would cross the Yin Mountains…”

The song ended.

There was a long silence.

Wen Shan lay in his chair, hair slightly tousled, eyes weary. He hadn’t slept soundly in days, all for the sake of finding the perfect ending theme for his film.

“It’s perfect. This song was made for ‘Guardian,’” Wen Shan murmured, a smile appearing as he finally relaxed. He had waited so long for this moment.

The copyright issue was a hurdle, but Wen Shan could only trust Deng Qin to resolve it—he was no negotiator.

Soon, Deng Qin received Wen Shan’s reply: “This is the one. I want He Xier to sing it as well. Please.”

It was done.

She summoned Jiang Qi and He Xier, who had been whispering outside the door, and smiled. “Director Wen Shan chose this song. Have you managed to reach Teacher Jiabei?”

He Xier quickly answered, “Teacher Jiabei said he still has a few lines to revise, but he’ll finish writing it by tomorrow.”

She hesitated, then added, “But the song’s copyright isn’t for sale. Only the performance rights are available.”

There was a world of difference between owning the copyright and only the performance rights.

Deng Qin pondered this, weighing the pros and cons.

Soon, she stood and walked to the window, dialing Liu Kang to explain Jiabei’s terms.

Without hesitation, Liu Kang replied, “We’ll do exactly as Jiabei asks.”

As he ended the call, Liu Kang added, “If Jiabei is willing, the song’s revenue can be split, according to the level-three songwriter/composer rate at Shengshi.”

What?

Deng Qin was stunned. Revenue sharing was a benefit reserved for in-house songwriters under contract. For outside-commissioned works, the standard was a full buyout—not just at Shengshi, but throughout the industry. If a song became a hit, the royalties earned by the songwriter far exceeded a one-time buyout—especially when, like Jiabei, the lyricist and composer were the same person, meaning double the earnings.

But that wasn’t what shocked Deng Qin most. She was astonished that Liu Kang would offer Jiabei the level-three songwriter rate.

Just as there are tiers for singers, songwriters and composers are ranked as well. The division is simple: one hit song makes you level one; one song at number one on the download charts makes you level two; three number ones makes you level three; six makes you level four; ten number ones, level five. To be a “golden” songwriter, you must have written at least one classic.

The higher the level, the greater the share when splitting royalties with the singer.

Although Jiabei was popular at many companies, he only had two number-one songs—he hadn’t reached level three yet.

Boss Liu was being extremely generous this time; Deng Qin hoped Jiabei would recognize their sincerity. She relayed the company’s decision to Jiang Qi and He Xier, both of whom were astonished by Shengshi’s boldness.

The next moment, they felt it was only natural—it was Teacher Jiabei, after all. Isn’t that how it should be?

When she returned to school that night, He Xier planned to look for Li He.

He Xier would definitely make a move once she was back at school that evening… Jiang Qi sensed a deep sense of crisis.

“Xier, don’t go back to school tonight. Tomorrow we’ll go see Teacher Jiabei together,” Jiang Qi said, taking the initiative—she couldn’t risk her best friend getting ahead.

This was a rivalry between loyal fans. For the sake of Teacher Jiabei’s next song, even close friends could become rivals.

“I’d rather not. I didn’t bring anything with me, and it’s inconvenient to stay at a hotel,” He Xier replied warily.

Jiang Qi smiled, “If you didn’t bring anything, you can buy what you need. Whatever you need, I’ll get it for you.”

How shameless… He Xier realized just how persistent her friend could be.

Deng Qin glanced at them, puzzled as to what there was to argue about. After a moment’s thought, she decided, “Xier, you’ll stay in the same room as Qi Qi tonight.”

He Xier’s face immediately fell.