After the discussion, Zhou You was also very happy. Once the agreement was signed, the channels for him to make big money were basically gone. The only opportunities left to pick up were these few; either he didn’t know about the others, or he couldn’t get into them because the barriers were too high. Maybe as time went on, he might discover some decent projects, but for now, this was all he could do.
With these few projects, plus some earlier investments, as time brewed, his assets would at least reach tens of billions. As these companies kept raising funds, he could cash out later. He would definitely keep some shares, though. He didn’t know how things would develop—life was still long. Maybe these companies would go bankrupt in the future, or maybe they’d grow big. Either way, it didn’t matter much to him.
After Zhang Yiming left, Zhou You lounged leisurely in the coffee shop, sipping his coffee, crossing his legs, occasionally shaking one foot, and humming some off-key tune. *“We common folks, oh, we’re so happy today.”* He used to get fooled all the time—stuff like “If you don’t manage your money, money won’t manage you,” and “You need passive income.” But then stocks got stuck, funds got stuck, while fund companies raked it in, and their shareholders made a killing. After all these years, the stock market still wobbled around the 3000-point mark. Where did all the money go?
Once his excitement settled, Zhou You swayed his way upstairs. Sun Li was still sound asleep. Zhou You sat beside her, watching. She had short hair, a bit like Guo Cai Jie, with a delicate little face, a slightly raised nose bridge, long, narrow eyelashes, and the rise and fall of her body as she breathed. He couldn’t help but think—how could someone so grown-up still have such an adorable side? Joy brightens the spirit, especially when a beautiful woman is by your side—she looked even more radiant.
He couldn’t resist reaching out to touch Sun Li’s face. She gently turned her head, and her eyes fluttered open. “Are you done with your meeting?” “Yeah, basically done. We might need to stay a few more days until they finish the contract.” “That fast? I thought it’d take a day.” “I invest quickly. If it works, I invest; if not, I don’t waste time.” Zhou You was confident about this. At least for now, with hindsight, as long as he didn’t meddle too much, he could hitch a ride. Of course, if you asked Zhou You to run things himself, he definitely couldn’t guarantee success. Too much effort, too little money—why bother?
With that, Zhou You stood up and yanked the blanket off, making Sun Li shriek. He laughed heartily and gave her a playful slap on her firm backside, only to have his hand bounce back. “Get up and eat. I just made plans with Director Teng. Later, I’ll have him introduce you to the current state of the music industry and point you in the right direction.”
Hearing this, Sun Li scrambled up and rushed to the bathroom to shower, wash up, brush her teeth, and clean her face. Truth be told, Zhou You didn’t have high hopes for Sun Li entering the music scene. The music industry now still had some strong players, and in the future, a few decent music variety shows would pop up. But good songs were getting rarer, and widely popular songs were dwindling. The music world was becoming more fragmented and divided. Aside from the songs the masses loved, most tracks ended up as self-indulgent art. Lyricists and composers weren’t getting paid what they deserved—mostly buyouts at low prices: a few hundred, a few thousand, or tens of thousands at best. Gradually, the creative market shrank, or creators simply stopped releasing songs. A singer was like a gun, but without bullets, that gun was just a fire poker.
With more entertainment options emerging, the music industry’s profitability was shrinking. Singers couldn’t rely solely on music to make a living; they’d have to turn to variety shows and endorsements. In a market that was shrinking across the board, entering the music scene now felt like joining the Nationalist army in 1949—he really didn’t know what to say. Still, she had to give it a try. She didn’t need to become a superstar or a diva; at least she wouldn’t be lonely chasing her dream. Spending every day stuck in a music shop, teaching people to play—after a while, that got pretty boring.
Life was about experiences. If you had no ability, no opportunity, then lying low was a good choice. But when you had the ability, the opportunity, and the conditions, you should still take a shot. Coming into this world wasn’t easy, and living a good life wasn’t easy either. In Zhou You’s past life, he could barely save himself—how could he help others?
Before long, Sun Li was washed up and dressed, moving quickly. She put on some light makeup. Even though she was already stunning, a little makeup made her even more dazzling. Today, Sun Li wasn’t wearing heels. She linked her arm with Zhou You’s, standing half a head shorter than him. They drew countless stares as they walked—tall and elegant, a perfect match.
Teng Huatao was already waiting downstairs. He’d been a bit surprised when Zhou You called him that morning. Entering the entertainment industry now was still better than the music scene, which was in a steep decline. But he didn’t say much—it was ultimately up to her choice.
Seeing Director Teng, Zhou You quickly walked over. After all, he was asking for a favor this time. “Sorry to trouble you, Director Teng. Since I’m already bothering you, I might as well ask for your advice again today.” “You’re too kind, President Zhou. Though I’m a director, I don’t have much contact with the music industry. I can only make introductions and give a brief overview. In the end, it’s up to Miss Sun to decide.” Teng Huatao kept his stance humble—messing this up could offend people. “Of course. Let’s eat and talk.”
They didn’t go far. They booked a small private room in the hotel and didn’t invite anyone else. Once in the room, they took their seats. Sun Li briefly introduced herself: “Hello, Director Teng. Sorry to trouble you. I started learning the flute and drums in elementary school, majored in it at Luzhou Art College, and I’m 25 now. I run a music shop and occasionally teach.” “So, what are you thinking now? Do you want to sign with a company or continue your studies? Are you leaning toward being a singer or an instrumentalist?” “Since I studied locally, even though my college major was the same, I’m not clear on the industry’s specifics. I’d like to ask you, Director Teng, to briefly explain the differences.” Sun Li genuinely didn’t know, and now she had someone knowledgeable to consult.
Teng Huatao understood. She was an instrumentalist with a degree in it. Typically, people like this ended up as teachers, running training classes, or opening instrument shops—roughly those paths. The road ahead was blocked, and there were few successors.