"Brother Yang, here to record again?"
In the commercial buildings around Tingxi Square, just outside the main gate of Jiangzhou Media University, several recording studios like WYN operated. After all, this was Jiangzhou Media University, a place teeming with talent. Students and teachers often came to record demos or songs. Where there's demand, there's a market—perfectly normal!
However, these studios varied widely in quality. Cheaper ones had poor recording results and incomplete equipment. The WYN studio Yang Yi chose was one of the larger, top-tier studios with advanced, comprehensive gear. Naturally, it wasn't cheap either.
Yang Yi had been there a few times before. The owner, Wang Canghai, recognized him and greeted him right away.
"Brother Wang, I'll rent the usual recording room for a day." Yang Yi nodded at him, then pulled out money—twelve hundred yuan, counting out twelve large bills and handing them over.
"Renting for a day? That's intense!" Wang Canghai had dabbled in music himself back in the day, but never made it big. He'd switched to entrepreneurship to make a living, and after getting married and having kids, he took up smoking and drinking, leaving him with a gravelly, weathered voice.
He'd joke that he used to sing gentle, sentimental campus folk songs, but now he could only belt out rock. His so-called musical dreams had long been abandoned.
Yang Yi chuckled. "Haven't played around in a while. Can't I enjoy the feeling of recording?"
Truth be told, he was taking advantage of Xixi staying at Mo Fei's place for a few days to sneak out and record the song he'd promised to write for her. Maybe he was being overly cautious, but in his past life as a killer, he could ignore the law—but he could never afford to be careless.
Wang Canghai gave him a thumbs-up, then counted the stack of bills, pushing two back. "Summer special discount, and you're booking the whole day. A thousand is enough!"
Yang Yi smiled nonchalantly. Instead of taking the money, he pointed behind Wang Canghai. "Then swap it for some tea. Give me your exclusive throat-soothing brew!"
With that, Yang Yi grabbed the keys and headed straight for the recording room.
"Hey, that's way too much for two hundred!" Wang Canghai called after him, but Yang Yi didn't look back. He just muttered to himself and pocketed the cash.
The workload for the day was heavy—ten new songs. Yang Yi had to record instrumental tracks for different instruments and lay down demos.
Since Mo Fei knew what his voice sounded like, he'd need to tweak the demo using the studio's professional equipment before sending it to her.
So, once inside the recording room, Yang Yi wasted no time. He skillfully powered up all the gear and buried himself in work.
...
Near Liulichang in the capital, an old man in a felt hat, looking quite ordinary, walked into a small bookstore called "Five Flavors Bookhouse."
Yes, it was a modest shop—about twenty square meters, with a front that let you see everything inside at a glance. Not only was it small, but it was also an old bookstore. No fancy decor, no organized displays. Old bookshelves lined the walls, crammed so full that turning around was a struggle.
Of course, aside from books, there was nothing else in there.
The old man in the felt hat stepped inside and, out of habit, looked up at the plaque hanging on the wall behind the cash register. It was equally aged, bearing the words: "A Hundred Flavors of Life, a Mix of Five Tastes."
That was the origin of the bookstore's name. The old man had seen it countless times, but every visit, he couldn't help admiring it. Besides, the calligraphy on that plaque was the work of a true master!
"Old Chen, you're here?" A middle-aged man, tending the shop today, greeted him respectfully.
"Where's your father?" The old man, addressed as Old Chen, nodded slightly and asked.
"He wasn't feeling well a couple of days ago, so I had my wife take him to the hospital for a checkup." The middle-aged man kept working, dusting the shelves with a feather duster, and added with a smile, "Nothing serious, just some stomach trouble from old age."
Old Chen nodded, relieved, then picked up a book to flip through. "Any good books lately?" he asked casually.
In the past, the old shopkeeper would recommend books to him. The shopkeeper was a true book lover who ran his own store but was always reading and eager to share his favorites with customers.
Old Chen loved old bookstores like this. If they were like the state-run chains or big franchises, only pushing expensive books for profit or staffed by cold employees, he wouldn't bother stepping inside.
"You've come to the right person!" The middle-aged man laughed heartily. "There are two bestsellers lately that are pretty good. Hang on, I'll grab them for you!"
Old Chen frowned, displeased. "I asked for good books. Why are you handing me bestsellers?"
The middle-aged man popped his head out from behind a shelf, grinning. "Old Chen, relax. I know your habits, don't I? Of course, I'm recommending good ones!"
He brought over two books. Old Chen took them and glanced at the titles: one was *Soldier Assault*, the other *Drawing Sword*.
The middle-aged man explained, "Old Chen, don't let the popularity fool you. These books are a hit with young people and sell well, but the author writes brilliantly. Both the story and the prose are top-notch. My father got so hooked on them he forgot to eat and sleep, which messed up his stomach."
"Ha, of course, I'm not suggesting you read them and end up with the same problem." The middle-aged man caught the flaw in his own words and laughed.
The old shopkeeper liked these books too?
Old Chen's interest piqued. He took the two books over to the cash register, commandeering the spot. He set one on the counter and started flipping through the other.
The middle-aged man watched Old Chen's casual manner and couldn't help but chuckle. He shook his head, unconcerned, and continued dusting with the feather duster.
There was nowhere else to sit in the shop, and given Old Chen's status, the middle-aged man didn't think he'd do anything untoward.
Time slipped by, and soon it was nearly noon. His stomach growling with hunger, Old Chen reluctantly set down the copy of *Drawing Sword* he'd been reading and stood up.
The middle-aged man had stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. Seeing the movement, he quickly stubbed it out and came back in.
"I'll take these two books. Your recommendation is solid—you've got about seventy or eighty percent of your father's skill." Old Chen offered a rare compliment.
The middle-aged man efficiently made change, then said with a smile, "So, Old Chen, is your next TV series going to adapt these two stories?"
It turned out that this old man was Chen Fengchen, a professor at the Capital Academy of Dramatic Arts and a renowned TV drama director. Almost every year, CCTV aired one of his productions. He was a prolific director with high standards.
Many people wrote scripts for Old Chen, but he also sought out excellent works to adapt into TV dramas. In the past, the old shopkeeper had recommended a hidden gem of a book to him. Old Chen bought the rights, produced it, and the following year, it became CCTV's New Year blockbuster!
Though this story wasn't widely known, the old shopkeeper still talked about it at home with relish.
Old Chen remained stern. He glanced at the middle-aged man and said, "Who knows?"
The middle-aged man knew Old Chen liked to keep things under wraps. He smiled. "Ha, I can't help but look forward to it. Honestly, I'd love to see Li Yunlong on TV!"