Chapter Forty: Recording the Song

This class reunion, which started with such promise and ended so abruptly, left Lin Qihua with a lingering sense of regret. Even the purest feelings cannot withstand the erosion of time. With Shen Mengxue and Ma Xiaoqian in the mix, Lin Qihua and his friends were destined to clash with Gao Jie’s group. So, the next day, the brothers chose not to participate in any further activities; after breakfast, they each went their separate ways.

Returning to Yan Capital, Lin Qihua was unfazed, continuing his simple and low-key life at his own pace.

When Ah Hui learned of Lin Qihua’s desire to record songs, he wholeheartedly supported the idea and promised to find him a suitable recording studio. Having spent many years immersed in the city’s underground entertainment scene, this was an easy task for Ah Hui.

Two days later, Ah Hui took Lin Qihua to a recording studio not far from Sandao Bend.

“This is the best recording studio around, recognized by everyone. Though it’s not quite on par with the top-tier professional studios, for those of us releasing records, it more than suffices. The technical side is top-notch,” Ah Hui explained as they entered.

“With your recommendation, Hui, there’s nothing to worry about,” Lin Qihua replied with a smile. The exterior was unremarkable, but once inside, he could see that, though compact, it had everything one could need. It was every bit as good as the studios he’d seen before—certainly adequate for recording songs.

Inside the studio were two men. When they saw Ah Hui enter, both stood up to greet him. “Hui, how long has it been since you last came by?”

“Haven’t been doing too well, that’s all,” Ah Hui replied with a laugh, embracing them in turn. “This time, it’s my little brother who wants to record some songs. I’m counting on you guys to help him out.”

“Of course, that’s no problem at all,” the two replied, laughing heartily.

“Let me introduce you,” Ah Hui said, turning to Lin Qihua. “These are the top music producers in this area—Ah Shui and Brother Xiong.”

“Nice to meet you, Shui, Xiong. I’m Lin Qihua, but you can just call me Hua,” Lin Qihua greeted them, shaking hands.

“Welcome! If Hui brought you here, you must be the real deal. He’s always held to the highest standards, so just make yourself at home,” said Ah Shui, the one with long hair, smiling. “Let’s skip the formalities and get down to business.”

“You never change,” Ah Hui replied with a smile, pulling out a stack of scores. “We’ve got a lot of songs to record today, all first-rate. I’m counting on you guys to give them your best.”

“Of course, no problem,” Ah Shui replied, taking the materials. “Wow, there’s a lot here.”

Brother Xiong came over to join Ah Shui, and together they began poring over the scores.

“Come, have a seat for now,” Ah Hui said, inviting Lin Qihua to sit. “They won’t be done any time soon.”

“Alright,” Lin Qihua agreed, taking a seat and watching as Ah Shui and Xiong delved into heated discussion. Judging by their expressions, both were clearly amazed. That was to be expected; the songs Lin Qihua had brought—“A Little Happiness,” “Blue Lotus,” “Dreaming of the Tang Dynasty,” “Has Anyone Told You,” “Let’s Sway Together,” “Li Bai,” “Love Is a Happy Bullet,” “Cheers, Friends,” “Congratulations on Getting Rich,” and others—were all pieces he’d performed in bars to great popularity. The quality was unsurpassed, each one a heartfelt expression reflecting Lin Qihua’s own sentiments. After so much time performing these pieces, Lin Qihua felt confident he could deliver their full emotional power.

Ah Shui and Xiong discussed the material for a long while, their excitement evident, a trace of longing in their eyes. Lin Qihua understood: this was the thrill of producers encountering truly exceptional songs—the yearning to bring them to perfection in production.

At last, the two finished their discussion and looked at Lin Qihua with new respect. “Are all these your works?”

“Yes,” Lin Qihua nodded. “They are my own compositions, and the copyrights are all clear.” By this, he meant each song had passed official review and the rights were indisputably his.

“Incredible. You deserve a thumbs up,” Ah Shui said, raising his thumb. “I don’t know how you manage such a range of styles. That’s not an easy thing. But there’s no doubt—these are rare gems, and we’re thrilled to work on them.”

“Well then, shall we put words into action and begin?” Lin Qihua asked with a smile.

“Absolutely. Let’s get started,” both replied, laughing as they sprang into action. “What’s your take on this song?” Ah Shui asked, pointing to one of the tracks.

“I was thinking…” Lin Qihua began, sharing his ideas. As both creator and performer—with a clear concept of the arrangement in his mind—he understood these songs intimately and could immediately highlight the key elements, saving Ah Shui and Xiong considerable effort. This allowed them to swiftly craft the desired effects in their music software. This preliminary work was the most time-consuming and crucial part of the process; performance itself was almost secondary. Recording in a studio was fundamentally different from a live show: the demands were higher, the results better, but every line was polished and re-recorded dozens of times before the best takes were selected and spliced together with the rest, ensuring the finest possible result. The process was fragmented and intricate, the finished song a mosaic of countless takes. This was all in pursuit of the best sound and effect—a test not of skill, but of patience for both singer and producer.

This recording process was never accomplished in a single session; it required considerable time. Thus, in the monotonous rhythm of Lin Qihua’s life—a cycle of bar and home—there was now a third point: the recording studio. By day, he worked on recording songs; by night, he performed in the bar. Life became both fuller and more hectic. Lately, the demands of recording had even affected his performances at the bar, which was only natural; after all, recording was exhausting, and fatigue inevitably crept into his evening sets. Fortunately, Sister Mei and the others were understanding, and Lin Qihua quickly adjusted his schedule, shortening studio hours to allow time for practice and rest. Soon, his performance quality returned to its former level.

A week later, after Sister Mei informed him that Fang Yu had completed the promotional video, Lin Qihua arrived at the studio for his final recording session.

“Excellent, that’s a wrap,” Ah Shui said, leading the applause. His eyes shone with admiration. In all his years in the business, it was the first time he’d encountered a young man so talented, so courteous, and so industrious. It was clear from Lin Qihua’s bearing that he did not truly belong to this world. Through their conversations, Ah Shui and Xiong had learned more about him and realized just how bright a future awaited this young man. Perhaps, this would be a particularly memorable chapter in their own producing careers.

“Thank you, and thank you both for your hard work,” Lin Qihua said with a sigh of relief. He’d never found recording so exhausting before—back when he was part of a group, it hadn’t been so demanding. Now, working solo, he finally understood why singers dreaded the studio. With a perfectionist producer, it was true mental and physical torment. Most singers would rather perform live than record in a studio, but of course, that wasn’t an option. The studio was indispensable for capturing a singer’s best voice. No one could refuse it—pain and joy in equal measure.

The production costs were, of course, considerable. Lin Qihua had to borrow from Sister Mei to cover them, but he wasn’t worried. Once the songs went online, the royalties would flow in, and paying her back would be easy.

“These are some of the finest works I’ve had in years,” Ah Shui said with a sigh after completing the final task. “Each song tells a story, each one is a passion. To have so many great songs at once—it’s a rare thing indeed.”

“It’s thanks to both of you,” Lin Qihua replied sincerely, delighted with the results as he held the master copies. “You’ve shown me what top-level production is all about.”

“Haha, you flatter us. Our skills are only impressive in these parts,” Ah Shui said, waving off the compliment with a modest smile. “The real top producers are at the pinnacle of the entertainment industry, making hit albums for the biggest stars. Compared to them, we’re nothing—they are the true masters.”

Both Ah Shui and Xiong’s faces showed a yearning toward that distant summit, leaving Lin Qihua to wonder: were the very best producers truly so extraordinary? To him, Ah Shui and Xiong were already outstanding; he hadn’t expected them to be so modest. What, then, must those top producers be like?

But that was not a question he could answer for now. After bidding the two farewell, he went home and carefully stored away the master copies. It wasn’t time to release them yet; he needed to wait for the right moment. That moment, he felt, was drawing near.

Fang Yu arrived at the “Tang Dynasty” bar with his completed project, his face alight with confidence—clearly, he had great faith in his work.

His confidence was not misplaced. In the small meeting room, after everyone had watched the sample he brought, they broke into enthusiastic applause. Lin Qihua was among them. In his view, Fang Yu had perfectly realized the vision outlined in his proposal, employing a wealth of special effects and cinematic techniques to create a stunning music video.

“Thank you for producing such an excellent piece for us,” Sister Mei said on behalf of the bar.

“It’s nothing, just part of the job. In fact, I should thank you for giving me the opportunity to make this MV, which deepened my understanding and inspiration. I hope this work will be well received by the market.”

“We have every confidence it will. We’ve delayed long enough—it’s time to show everyone what kind of place ‘Tang Dynasty’ truly is,” Sister Mei declared proudly, a cold smile on her lips.