Chapter 53: Music Bank

Once the tone of cooperation was set, the rest naturally fell to the assistants of both parties to discuss the specifics. Liao Chengping and Lin Qihua eagerly delved into the film’s content. Though Lin Qihua was unfamiliar with the details of Liao’s movie, he understood the plot featured in the music video well enough to join the conversation, giving Liao Chengping a chance to indulge his passion.

“There’s always a lingering regret in my heart,” Liao Chengping said with a sigh. “First, the title: ‘Love Song of Youth’ is too literary. During screenings, it might hinder the film’s reception, and only with a good reputation and substantial promotion can that be remedied. Second, the female lead isn’t my ideal choice. Her acting is superb and she brought the character to life, but it’s not quite what I wanted—the natural portrayal I dreamed of. The role centers on adolescence, but actresses with the skill are too old for the part, and those young enough lack the experience. I’ve always hoped to find someone who could play it authentically, but never succeeded. I had to settle for the current actress, who, thankfully, met my requirements perfectly. Still, that small regret lingers in my heart.”

“That’s the kind of thorn that stays with you,” Lin Qihua replied, fully understanding. For directors with perfectionist tendencies, every little flaw or regret gnaws at them. A name flashed through Lin’s mind, and he ventured, “I think I might have a fitting title for your film. If you like it, you can use it; if not, just treat it as a joke. What do you think?”

“Go ahead,” Liao said without much hope. He doubted Lin would surprise him, as he’d racked his brain for a suitable name.

“How about ‘My Teenage Years’?” Lin Qihua offered with a smile.

“My Teenage Years?” Liao Chengping seemed struck by lightning, stunned as he repeated the name. “Simple, clear—the audience immediately knows the film is about a girl’s youth, love, and coming-of-age.”

“If it were me,” Lin continued, “seeing that title, I’d expect a campus romance, a story about youth and first love. It would catch my interest. If I had to choose between two films, I’d pick this one. What do you think?”

“Yes, exactly!” Liao clapped his thigh and exclaimed, “This is a movie for the audience—a commercial film. The more direct and clear, the better. Thank you, brother, you’ve helped me a lot. Let’s settle on this title. Luckily, titles can be changed before release, so there’s no issue.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Lin Qihua replied warmly. It felt like a gesture of gratitude to the creators and singers of the song, letting their story and voices shine in this world too.

“You’ve really solved a big problem for me,” Liao said, delighted. “The more I think about it, the more fitting it seems.”

“In fact,” Lin Qihua added, “I have a small recommendation for the female lead, though filming is nearly finished and a change is impossible.”

“Really?” Liao’s interest was piqued. “It may be too late for this film, but I’m planning another project with more dramatic roles. If you have a recommendation, I’d love to hear it.”

“Certainly,” Lin Qihua smiled. “My suggestion is a trainee from the training camp—a younger sister at Huayi. She’s only seventeen or eighteen, right in the prime of youth. Her personality is scatterbrained and carefree, yet clever and mischievous. Her talent for acting is outstanding. The trainers concluded: if judged solely by her acting, she’s ready to debut.”

“Is she really that good?” Liao lamented. “It’s a shame filming is almost done and the role can’t be recast. She’s exactly what I’m looking for. What’s her name? I want to meet her in person. If she’s as you say, she could be the lead in my next film.”

“Zhang Zilin,” Lin Qihua replied with a smile, silently thinking: ‘Little scatterbrain, that’s all I can do for you. The rest is up to your fate and effort.’

“Alright, I’ll get in touch with Huayi immediately,” Liao agreed. “Even if I can’t fix both regrets at once, one has been resolved, and the other may be addressed in the next film. I’m satisfied. Thank you, my friend. I’m glad to have met you. Let’s stay in touch.”

“Of course. And when the time comes, Director Liao, I hope you won’t find me bothersome,” Lin Qihua replied with a smile.

“Haha, never.”

Once the assistants finished their negotiations, Liao Chengping took his leave, eager to return to his film set and declining the company’s invitation for dinner.

“He’s quite a character,” Lin Qihua mused, watching Liao’s car vanish into the distance. Perhaps only such directors achieve extraordinary results.

Turning back, he saw He Li and the others beaming with joy.

“Yes!” They raised their hands in celebration. Moments earlier, the agreement had been signed: ‘Little Luck’ would officially become the movie’s theme song, with a price tag of five million—a considerable sum. Most importantly, Xiao Xiao would be invited to perform the song at the film’s premiere. As the movie released and gained popularity, Xiao Xiao’s voice would reach millions of listeners, amplified by entertainment media, with effects beyond estimation. The benefits in fame and revenue were obvious. It was clear that Xiao Xiao’s popularity would soar as the song spread.

“Prepare well. Things are about to get very busy,” Lin Qihua said with a smile.

“No matter how busy, I can handle it. With such a great opportunity, I’d be foolish not to seize it,” Xiao Xiao replied, her radiant smile enhancing her beauty.

“Well, this is a promising start, but we’ll have to wait a while. Next up, it’s all about Lei Jing and her group.”

“Yes, they’re practicing hard now, hoping to do their best,” He Li said, smiling. “I think we can make good use of this.”

“Oh? Any plans?” Lin Qihua had full confidence in He Li’s abilities; anyone who could lead the artists’ department at such a company was no ordinary person.

“My plan is to stagger their releases to avoid internal competition,” He Li explained as they walked. “We’ll focus on one artist per week: release a single, perform on ‘Music Bank,’ aim for good results; then the next week, that artist can attend other shows, while the next goes to ‘Music Bank’—and so on. This keeps our artists on stage every week, maintaining buzz and attention, without competing with each other, ensuring continuity.”

“You’re following the big companies’ strategy,” Lin Qihua replied with a smile. ‘Music Bank’ was a famous singing program under CCTV, airing weekly and spotlighting new releases. Every singer sought its stage after launching a song. Its influence was immense—a barometer for a song’s popularity. ‘Music Bank’ began as a licensed import from South Korea, whose entertainment industry heavily influenced China’s. Many shows underwent adaptation and innovation, and ‘Music Bank’ was one such product, integrating South Korea’s chart competition format with Chinese characteristics. Now, ‘Music Bank’ had its own style, sharing roots with its Korean counterpart but standing apart. After early copyright disputes, it became one of China’s most influential music shows.

Similar programs included ‘Music Center’ from Xiangzhou TV, ‘Popular Songs’ from Blue Ocean TV, ‘Voice of Music’ from Southern TV, and ‘Battle of Voices’ from Shu TV—five shows in all, covering the nation and establishing the entertainment centers of east, west, south, north, and central China, guiding the music industry’s creative trends.

“These are happy problems,” He Li laughed. “Look at Lei Jing—you wrote three songs for her, one for the Vivi Duo, and for two newcomers: Li Dehui got one, and Zhang Xueyan another. It’s almost like a windfall. Releasing them all at once would be a waste, so let’s stagger them to maintain heat. It also gives the newcomers more time to practice—they’re still green.”

“Alright, you’re the expert. I’ll leave everything to you. Time for me to start training.”

“Good, go on. We’ll cheer for Lei Jing together at her debut.”

“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to her fresh appearance.”

With business done, Lin Qihua plunged into training. As expected, Lian Yuling became his trainer—a privilege many artists could only dream of.

But Lin Qihua didn’t feel particularly lucky. Lian Yuling set a grueling training regimen: from physical conditioning to vocal lessons, dance, etiquette, communication—cramming everything he needed into his mind. Lin already had a foundation, but as a group member and solo artist, the challenges differed greatly, and Lian’s standards far exceeded those of Huayi’s training camp. So, Lin Qihua endured both pain and joy, his spirit stretched yet noticeably improving. Lian Yuling’s skills were extraordinary. Despite her daily cold demeanor, Lin sensed her boundless talent. As He Li had said, if she’d continued as an artist, she would surely have become a superstar, a diva. Yet something had drawn her to Galaxy Entertainment, abandoning her former life.

Everyone at Galaxy Entertainment seemed to have a story—what a strange and fascinating place!