Chapter 63 Enthusiastic Colleagues (A Newcomer Asking for Monthly Votes)

What did I just hear?

Li He seriously suspected that while his throat might be healed, perhaps his ears had gone bad. Xiao Zhang? Did Old Qin just call the cold and aloof Zhang Yang “Xiao Zhang”? He must have, right? Li He wasn’t entirely sure. How bizarre.

Li He asked uncertainly, “Brother Qin, who’s Xiao Zhang?”

“Yang-jie, of course,” Old Qin replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Li He was bewildered. So you do know that’s Yang-jie. Is everyone at Shengshi this brash?

After a moment’s hesitation, Li He asked, “Why call her Xiao Zhang outside the office, but Yang-jie inside?”

Old Qin, who had just been about to press the elevator button, paused midair, turned around, and gave Li He a look as if he were an idiot.

“Of course I wouldn’t dare call her that in the office,” Old Qin said, feeling that Li He’s question was almost painfully naïve. Calling the boss “Xiao Zhang” right to her face—did he have a death wish? Maybe Li He had written one song too many and lost his mind.

At that moment, Li He began to wonder if joining the Lyrics and Composition Department had been the right decision. From top to bottom, everyone here seemed a bit… off.

Soon, the elevator arrived at the twelfth floor. Old Qin led Li He into the workspace. Once again, Li He was struck by Shengshi’s arrangements. The workspace was vast, but there were comparatively few people. Each working area was spaced far apart, completely devoid of any cramped feeling.

Once inside, Old Qin clapped his hands, drawing all eyes from Group F’s lyricists and composers, and introduced with a smile, “Let me introduce our new member—this is Jia Bei, our new lyricist-composer. Let’s all welcome him.”

Instantly, applause broke out. Li He bowed politely in thanks.

Old Qin led Li He to a workstation by the window. “This is your place from now on. If you have any questions, feel free to come to me.”

After expressing his gratitude, Li He sat down and discovered that this spot was truly excellent, offering a distant view of the cityscape.

Once Old Qin left, the members of Group F immediately began whispering among themselves.

“Am I seeing things? Is that really Jia Bei? He’s so young!”

“It’s not just his age—he doesn’t even look like a lyricist-composer.”

“You can tell a lyricist-composer by looks? That’s news to me.”

“Of course! Just look at him—so handsome. Now look at us… tsk, tsk.”

Suddenly, all eyes in Group F, except Li He’s, turned to the composer who had just spoken, with an expression that could kill.

If looks could kill, that guy would have been chopped into a thousand pieces.

Everyone was dumbfounded. Listen to that. “Jia Bei’s so handsome, but we… tsk, tsk.” What’s that supposed to mean?

A bespectacled lyricist laughed awkwardly, “I think I look all right, actually.”

That sealed it—no one in Group F wanted to keep talking. No point trying to chat anymore. How did our group end up with two such oddballs?

After a few awkward seconds of silence, the embarrassing topic finally passed—only for that guy to tack on another comment. The lyricists and composers of Group F were speechless.

Li He, for his part, paid no attention to his colleagues’ lively banter. All his thoughts were focused on the wretched system. He was pondering how to quickly accumulate more negative emotion points.

Ever since his eleven rounds of ten-draws had drained his negative emotion points, his earnings had been pitiful. On the novel front, readers of “Battle Through the Heavens” were gradually getting used to the author’s style; the negative emotion points they provided were dwindling. As for “Martial Movement of the Universe,” he hadn’t written much yet, nowhere near the point where a popular supporting character could be killed off to stir up emotions, so there was nothing coming in from that end either.

Even the negative emotion points generated from He Xi’er’s half-finished performance of “Bridge of Fate” had been squandered in his last lottery draw.

Sometimes, Li He was baffled by how high the bar was for generating negative emotion points from the public. Unlike the netizens of his previous life, who would vent their dissatisfaction at the drop of a hat and send negative emotion points soaring, these netizens seemed almost immune.

“This is the worst batch of netizens I’ve ever had to deal with…” Li He scoffed inwardly.

Resting his chin in his hand, he frowned slightly, his index finger tapping rhythmically on the white tabletop, filling the air with a soft “da-da-da.”

The five o’clock sun poured its last golden rays through the tall, thick windows, bathing Li He—who was racking his brains for a way to harvest more negative emotion points—in a gentle glow.

Bathed in sunset, brows gently furrowed, chin resting elegantly on his hand, perfect posture, flawless features…

The lyricists and composers of Group F were mesmerized. Even a leading man in a TV drama couldn’t look better than this.

Several of the female lyricists exchanged glances, a tacit understanding passing between them—hardly daring to believe their own thoughts: “So lyricists and composers can be this handsome?”

“Honestly, handsome people really do look different when the sunlight hits them,” a Level 4 composer whispered.

“I used to think artists had nothing going for them except their looks, but now that we have someone this good-looking, even that’s no longer their monopoly. They really have nothing left,” a Level 5 lyricist remarked sincerely.

Just then, Old Qin reappeared, still grinning, “Everyone gets off early today! We’re throwing a welcome banquet for Jia Bei, courtesy of Yang-jie.”

At this point, the cold and aloof Zhang Yang morphed back from Xiao Zhang into Yang-jie. The entire Group F cheered in unison, making Li He a little embarrassed.

In his experience, company-organized banquets, dinners, and team-building events were usually met with universal dread.

After Old Qin announced the welcome banquet, Li He discreetly observed his colleagues’ reactions. Their genuine delight was unmistakable; it was clear that they truly wanted to attend this free dinner.

On the way over, Li He voiced his confusion. Old Qin explained, “The Lyrics and Composition Department is pretty relaxed. We all have plenty of time off to spend with our families or unwind. Besides, it’s rare for the department head to treat everyone, so of course people are happy to go.”

So Yang-jie had gone from being second-in-command in the Singer Department to being head of the Lyrics and Composition Department? Did she know…? Li He grumbled inwardly. But thinking about it, she must know. Maybe she’d even started the rumor herself—she was, after all, the founder of the independent Lyrics and Composition Department.

Thanks to Old Qin’s explanation, Li He finally understood. What employees disliked wasn’t company banquets or team-building in themselves, but those events disguised as being “for the employees’ sake” that actually ate into their precious free time.

The “welcome banquet” here was different: not only did everyone get off work early, but even taking a day off here and there was easy for lyricists and composers. While not quite as free as the “lyric gods” or “composition kings,” taking five or six days off a month was rarely a problem.

As a result, no one resented the welcome banquet for Jia Bei—instead, everyone was glad for a free feast.

Shengshi Entertainment’s headquarters was in Qingcheng, a coastal city in Lu Province, and most of the signed lyricists and composers were locals.

Even those who weren’t had more or less become “sons-in-law” of Lu Province by now. Having lived here for years, they’d all absorbed the local customs, inside and out.

Alcohol was an essential part of any social gathering in Lu Province, and its popularity was only amplified here. It was a regional hallmark.

Li He, who’d spent his life sheltered in an ivory tower, had never witnessed such scenes before. He watched as Old Qin ordered three cases of beer for each table.

Three whole cases. Was anyone planning to work tomorrow?

At first, Old Qin did his best to shield Li He, using the excuse that he was still a student and shouldn’t drink too much, fending off quite a few toasts.

But once Old Qin himself was overwhelmed by Group F’s relentless onslaught, Li He’s protector was gone.

A burly middle-aged man with a friendly face (and a full head of hair) raised his glass and smiled, “Jia Bei, welcome to Group F! I’m Wu Wei. Here’s to you—welcome aboard!”

Faced with such enthusiastic colleagues, what could Li He do but grit his teeth and accept?

No sooner had Wu Wei stepped aside than someone else approached.

“Jia Bei, now that you’re in Group F, we’re all brothers. I’ll down mine, and you can drink as you wish,” said the bespectacled colleague, tossing back his drink in one go.

You’ve got to be kidding me… As soon as the man with glasses had finished, yet another person stepped up. “Sun Chen is right—Group F is one big family. We help each other out here.”

Li He’s eyes brightened. “Help each other out in times of trouble—that’s your promise now…” He turned this over in his mind, with no ulterior motives.

He stood up and gestured for everyone to quiet down.

As the guest of honor and with Old Qin out of commission, all attention naturally shifted to Li He. The moment he moved, everyone noticed.

In no time, the noisy crowd fell silent.

Li He’s cheeks were tinged with red—he’d had quite a bit to drink.

“First, thank you all for coming to my welcome banquet, and special thanks to Yang-jie, even though she couldn’t be here,” Li He said sincerely. “I’m truly happy to join Group F and honored to meet you all.”

“At this moment, inspiration strikes me. Some lyrics just popped into my head—please, let me share them with you.”

It wasn’t unheard of for someone to suddenly create a masterpiece while eating and drinking, so the naïve members of Group F didn’t suspect anything unusual.

Li He walked to the center of the room, and his colleagues gathered around, eager to witness the creative spark of the man behind “Ease My Sorrow,” “Bubbles,” and “Bridge of Fate,” and to see what new song he’d produce this time.

Some had already pulled out pen and paper, ready to take notes.

Writing materials were standard for lyricists and composers—no one knew when inspiration might strike.

Someone noticed that Li He wasn’t reaching for any paper or pen and asked, “Jia Bei, didn’t you bring anything to write with?”

When inspiration hits, you’re supposed to jot it down quickly. If you can finish the whole song in one go, that’s ideal; if not, you can always come back to it later if you have notes.

Everyone was curious. You just said you were bursting with inspiration and lyrics were popping into your head—now that we're all ready, why aren’t you doing anything?

Li He shook his head. “I’ll sing it.”

After a pause, he added, “In a moment, I’ll need your help. I’ll keep rhythm by clapping, and you just follow along.”

Why does this feel like a singer about to perform…? Although confused, everyone put away their pens, ready to clap along.

“The name of this song is ‘Friends,’” Li He said with a smile free of ulterior motives.