Chapter Thirty-Five: Filming the Promotional Video

The director Sister Mei invited was named Fang Yu, a figure of some renown. He had served as an assistant to several prominent directors, had directed a number of television dramas, and was even more prolific in shooting music videos. Within the industry, his reputation was considerable, and his works were frequently praised. Lin Qihua had heard of him as well.

At this moment, Sister Mei, Lin Qihua, and the leaders of the bands sat together in Fang Yu’s hotel suite, discussing the upcoming promotional video.

“Your vision is certainly ambitious,” Fang Yu remarked. He was a middle-aged man with piercing, lively eyes. The bar had spent a significant sum to bring him on board, which surprised him; no other bar had attempted such a venture, given the effort outweighed the reward. Yet, the “Tang Dynasty” Bar displayed remarkable boldness. Since he had accepted their payment, it was only right to do his utmost, as was customary. Fang Yu considered the task seriously. “I can guarantee a promotional video for internal viewing would be no problem at all, but promoting it on large platforms is much more difficult.”

“We’re aware of that,” Sister Mei nodded in understanding. “Initially, I wondered if we weren’t chasing impossible dreams. Each of our three bands submitted their own ideas, and after reviewing them, I thought it might be worth a try. Please lend us your expertise; if it truly isn’t feasible, we’ll keep it for internal use.”

“Oh, so you came prepared,” Fang Yu said, mildly surprised, his laughter light as he picked up the proposals to examine them carefully.

The first was from the “Standard” Band. Seeing Fang Yu begin with their proposal, the bearded lead singer showed no sign of nervousness; he knew his idea wouldn’t match the director’s vision, so worry would be useless.

As expected, Fang Yu skimmed through the proposal, then set it aside, shaking his head. “The story is quite ordinary. It’s hard to produce something satisfactory here. For internal viewing, it may suffice.”

“No problem, I’m quite self-aware,” the bearded singer replied, a hint of disappointment passing through his eyes before he smiled freely. “If we were truly talented, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

“Recognizing that is important. Your concept is interesting, just not suitable for broad promotion,” Fang Yu responded, picking up the second proposal with a smile.

This one, from the “Rose” Band, held his attention longer. After reading, he paused in contemplation before opening his eyes to speak. “It’s a fascinating story, very strong in narrative and emotion. It tells of a girl bravely pursuing her dreams, finding friendship, love, and applause in this bar. I personally like it very much; if the performance is good, it will be quite touching.”

“Thank you.” Sister Yu parted her lips slightly, pleased that the proposal, which bore her efforts, was well received.

“And now, the last proposal,” Fang Yu murmured, picking up the final document.

Everyone, including Ah Hui, turned their attention to Lin Qihua, noting his smiling composure and lack of nervousness. It struck them as odd—did he truly not care at all?

Lin Qihua did care, but he had confidence in his proposal. Besides, such matters required no excessive anxiety. Compared to the lavishly produced music videos of major companies, Lin Qihua didn’t believe he needed to be overly tense.

“Hmm?” Fang Yu’s eyebrows arched, clearly surprised. His expression grew serious. Though the proposal consisted of only a few pages, he spent nearly half an hour reading it, and even after setting it down, seemed lost in thought.

“Well?” Sister Mei inquired. Sister Yu, observing Fang Yu’s demeanor, felt a wave of despair. She understood he valued this proposal most; otherwise, he wouldn’t have deliberated so long.

“Is he truly an insurmountable mountain?” Sister Yu wondered, biting her lip as she looked at Lin Qihua’s calm face. “A person like him appearing in a place like this—it almost feels unfair.”

“Without question, this is the most suitable proposal,” Fang Yu declared, admiration written across his face as he shook his head in amazement. “I thought I’d have to rack my brains this time, but unexpectedly, I found a plan that instantly filled my mind with the entire MV’s scenes—nearly perfect. Whoever wrote this, and chose a song so perfectly matched to the bar’s theme, is truly remarkable. Would you mind introducing me?”

Everyone looked to Lin Qihua.

He smiled slightly. “I am the author of this proposal. The song is ours as well, and I thought it quite fitting, so I wrote the plan. I dare not accept such praise.”

“Young heroes indeed,” Fang Yu said, looking at Lin Qihua in surprise. “No need for modesty. I speak only the truth. Even after so many years as a director, I’ve rarely seen proposals of this caliber—ones that fill me with creative energy. Look at the theme: the dream of the flourishing Tang dynasty and the modern ‘Tang Dynasty’ Bar, two worlds merged across time. This time-warping method is inherently dramatic—a major selling point. The contrast creates a strange sense of displacement: the intermingling of camel bells and modern wind chimes, the lively scenes of the imperial palace with the present-day bar, all woven together. I can already envision the scenes and images. As an MV, it will be an excellent production; as a promotional video for the bar, it’s perfect. And is there any other song that fits the bar’s name and spirit as well as ‘Dream of the Tang Dynasty’?”

“So, your recommendation is decided?” Sister Mei asked, surprised at Fang Yu’s enthusiasm.

“It’s settled,” Fang Yu said, slapping his thigh in excitement. “This proposal will be the main focus, with the other two as support. The main plan will be promoted across all media platforms—I guarantee your satisfaction. The other two will be featured internally and on your own platforms, adding character. I can hardly wait to begin filming.”

Leaving the three proposals at the hotel, Sister Mei led the group away. Fang Yu, now fully engrossed in his creative process, had no need for their company.

“I thought we were merely offering inspiration, but it became the final plan,” Sister Mei said, beaming. “Qihua, you really shocked us all—Director Fang was clearly delighted.”

“It was simply fortunate we had such a song,” Lin Qihua replied, waving his hand and smiling modestly. “Because I wrote it, I understand its meaning more deeply. When drafting the plan, the scenes came to mind, and the proposal took shape. I don’t deserve the credit.”

“No need for modesty—what’s yours is yours,” the bearded singer said, heartily clapping Lin Qihua’s shoulder. “Maybe we’ll all benefit from your luck and get a bit of screen time in the promo, maybe even on TV.”

Everyone laughed. The proposal would showcase the bar’s unique features, and the other two bands would naturally have their moments as well.

With such grand plans in motion, no one was as excited as the band members. An expanded space, a bigger stage, upgraded equipment, and larger audiences—all of this would enhance their performances, increase their popularity, and bring more earnings and opportunities. Passion and drive were stirred; everyone pondered how to improve their act. Sister Yu had recently begun exploring new styles, aiming for breakthroughs and introducing new lead singers to display the band’s versatility. The bearded group no longer clung rigidly to their old ways, occasionally launching into heavy metal rock like “Let’s Swing Together,” creating scenes that drew laughter and applause.

Ah Hui’s greatest headache lately was Nana’s impending departure, and how to handle Lin Qihua’s eventual exit. Nana’s loss was manageable with a new member, though it meant losing a key highlight. But Lin Qihua’s departure was no small matter. Over these months, he had transformed the band, broadened their perspective and self-image. The thought of returning to the old “Hellfire” Band, entangled with rival groups, was unacceptable to Ah Hui. So, apart from performing, he was now actively searching for a suitable replacement, determined not to settle for less.

Amid all these thoughts, the neighboring venue was finally finished. The bar closed for a week, opening up both sides and erecting a new stage and facilities.

They had seen the effect in renderings, but entering the space was still a shock. The newly elevated three-tiered stands surrounded a central stage, and simply standing there was dizzying. Along each level, the designer had cleverly set up various bar service stations, each area served individually, with no sense of discord. The original bar was unrecognizable; without prior knowledge, anyone entering would think it was a concert venue.

On reopening night, patrons were stunned by the venue. Was this really a bar? Such a question arose in everyone’s mind. Yet, their experiences soon assured them they were still in the “Tang Dynasty” Bar—only everything had changed, becoming more personalized and user-friendly. Each table’s smart terminal allowed direct access to all services, from ordering drinks to sending flowers to the band, all at the touch of a button. If desired, guests could even rate the live performance through the terminal—clearly a feature designed for competitions or variety shows. Those who realized this were awed by the bar’s boldness: truly, the owner wasn’t content with merely running a bar. But I like it.