Chapter 177: Treating Readers Like Outsiders?
“As long as you’re prepared, that’s good.”
Seeing Yu Wei’s calm and composed expression, Qi Luo An knew he definitely had a backup plan; the blind person eats the steamed bun, knowing what’s in his heart.
She was too lazy to ask exactly how he would operate; knowing Yu Wei had a response was enough. She was just routinely showing concern out of habit, not being a curious baby.
This guy had too many flashy operations; asking would be pointless. Better to watch his so-called native playing style with her own eyes when the time came.
“Got any tickets? I’m a student, give me one.”
Qi Luo An abruptly changed the topic and directly asked the program team’s staff for performance tickets. Yu Wei hadn’t expected her to be so direct, not even pretending.
So that’s how she got on-site tickets the previous times?
Treating the program team like sheep to shear.
Qi Luo An definitely wouldn’t come for nothing. If she just wanted to chat with Yu Wei, there were plenty of opportunities; specially getting on the bus was just for free of charge.
For anything that could be done through relationships, why spend money? She had thoroughly learned from Yu Wei…
Though Qi Luo An asked casually, the program team wouldn’t refuse when she opened her mouth. They’d given tickets the previous times, and naturally this time too.
The broadcast hall only had three hundred seats; they couldn’t make much money selling tickets. Better to do a favor that cost nothing.
Anyone with eyes could see her relationship with Yu Wei was unusual. Even setting that aside, a famous audience member was good for the program team.
“Just one ticket this time?”
Yu Wei remembered she came with Shen Yutong last time. Just one ticket this time, so the other probably couldn’t make it.
“She’s busy with creation. Proper people go into seclusion for creation.”
Yu Wei instantly understood the implication in her words. Who’s not proper?
Qi Luo An chuckled twice and said no more. After arriving at the station, she got off and left directly, not forgetting to wave goodbye to Yu Wei before going.
Actually, she had a lot more to say that she couldn’t voice. No choice, there were still a few outsiders on the bus.
She’d talk when they had a chance to be alone later. For now, better go home and watch some of Yu Wei’s short videos; she hadn’t gotten enough at the sports field earlier.
……
After getting home, Yu Wei immediately started writing. With Qi Luo An, a half-way newcomer, doing explosive updates, he really couldn’t keep slacking off.
Sakuraya Rio had no classes in the afternoon. The experience life stage of Music Blind Box was over. He planned to redeem a Japanese song early and start practicing tomorrow.
Japanese songs had a wide selection range, and Yu Wei’s playlist had plenty, enough that he could write a bunch.
But just as Qi Luo An envisioned, Japanese songs needed a certain trigger to go viral domestically. For foreign language songs, being good didn’t mean they’d catch fire.
Many Japanese songs bombed in Sakura country but were unknown domestically with few people aware—such cases weren’t rare.
Yu Wei was in the same boat now. He knew plenty of high-quality Japanese songs, but bringing them out directly wouldn’t necessarily gain everyone’s recognition.
Besides the work’s own quality, there was also the issue of cultural acceptance. Most domestic listeners subconsciously preferred native works.
Even when listening to foreign language songs, most wanted authentic imports. Chinese songs singers writing foreign language songs often lacked cultural identity from the start.
Then Chinese song listeners wouldn’t understand, Japanese song listeners wouldn’t recognize the authenticity—easy to end up in a dilemma.
Not to mention the superior niche bros; Yu Wei had seen plenty, sharing a foreign language song in Moments every few days. Say they had taste? They didn’t even understand it—commonly known as just listening to the sound…
They were listening to the song? No, listening to the taste and prestige.
In their eyes, a Japanese song written by Yu Wei, a Chinese music scene singer, was “aping the beautiful woman” regardless of quality.
For example, if Yu Wei picked a Japanese song masterpiece “XXXX”, Chinese song audience: Don’t understand, goodbye.
Japanese song audience: Not bad, but still some gap from Sakura native works. Yu Wei could go learn about it.
Niche bro niche sis: Chinese music scene is roadside fare. You understand Japanese songs? Write it then, wishful thinking? Clumsy imitation at best.
No matter the song, their talking points were impeccable. Song evaluations were quite subjective; once preconceived as bad, it was hard to reverse no matter what.
Simply put, there was no precedent domestically of a Chinese songs singer writing a Japanese song that went viral, so everyone had stereotypes.
The biggest difficulty for Yu Wei writing Japanese songs was this: stereotypes deduct three points first, no matter the song.
The situation was what it was. Reality wasn’t an entertainment novel where the protagonist copies a foreign song and everyone tears up on the spot. Due to language barriers, no one understood what was being sung.
If they couldn’t even understand, how to talk resonance and liking?
Yu Wei now had some popularity foundation, so the situation wouldn’t be that bad, but public opinion’s influence couldn’t be ignored. He didn’t like controversy.
Even if not perfect, he wanted to minimize skeptical voices as much as possible.
For this, Yu Wei’s playing style was to bring out a bilingual song—Chinese song audience and Japanese song audience both had something to listen to.
While solving the spread issue, bilingual also shifted contradictions. With two versions, each would have fans, inevitably sparking friendly exchanges.
When they started doubting each other, they naturally had no time to doubt him, even firmly supporting their favorite version…
Now you see why emperors loved playing balance—impeach each other all you want, just don’t impeach me.
After picking the song, Yu Wei quickly arranged the new song’s plot.
[The stage lights softened, a spotlight hitting the center.
Liu Ying, in a white dress, elegantly walked to the microphone. As the piano prelude slowly rose, the whole venue fell silent.
She gently closed her eyes, gripped the microphone, and sang the first line: “Later, I finally learned how to love.”
Her voice carried unique warmth and subtle tremble, as if each word bore the weight of years.
The camera zoomed in, clearly showing the tears glistening in her eyes.]
The song Later was a cover of the Japanese song To the Future. Actually, not just this one—many famous domestic works back then were covers.
Some singers’ covered works numbered thirty or forty, which would’ve gotten them scolded today since the internet wasn’t developed back then.
Though they bought copyright, having representative works mostly as covers wasn’t exactly glorious.
But compared to today’s direct plagiarism or paying after the fact, buying copyright in advance was acceptable.
Yu Wei chose Later simply because its melody and lyrics were top-notch, relatively easy to make viral domestically—something other Japanese songs lacked.
After all, it was his first time bringing a Japanese song; directly doing so wouldn’t easily gain recognition. The best method was to bring both.
The bilingual song served as a transition. Once everyone got used to it, pure Japanese songs would be acceptable later.
He couldn’t say which version was better, but without the original To the Future, there’d be no Later.
So Yu Wei decided to bring both out, under the “Japanese song” theme.
Because in his view, no matter how excellent the cover, the original singer was always the parent. Bringing it out now was perfect timing.
On the other hand, Later matched university students highly, with concrete images like “white gardenia petals” and “seventeen-year-old midsummer” directly echoing college students’ regrets and growth anxiety.
The song ranked high at graduation galas yearly; many students even called it youth’s final lesson.
Losing while growing—that’s what every college student experiences, fitting Music Blind Box’s program core.
The original To the Future expressed gratitude to mother, which was versatile enough for any situation—everyone has a mom, after all…
Though in the novel Yu Wei had a native sing this song, he didn’t arrange a star matchup but novel role infighting.
Songs for proper competitions needed a singing video released—even for native singers, he’d use AI.
This song didn’t need that. With the song released early, him singing later would diminish the effect; self-sabotaging his signboard was something Yu Wei wouldn’t do.
Plus, revealing program song choices early somewhat disrespected the program team and could affect ratings.
So he specially arranged this native infight. The song could be redeemed once written, but it was pure plot, briefly mentioned.
No real contestants, so no need for likes or voting.
Readers were puzzled by the new chapter. Native infights happened in the first round too—after all, 77 contestants in the setting, not all real stars.
Not many real stars left in the second round either; native vs native was normal. But a briefly mentioned plot revealing a song title? First time.
Per Yu Wei’s routine, exposing the song title meant the song should exist—where’s the video?
Novel roles fighting novel roles indeed didn’t need voting. Yu Wei was the author, after all; he had say in that.
No real competition, no need for real voting…
The reasoning held, but everyone wanted to hear the song. It looked good in the novel—who knew how it’d sound.
“Isn’t it a competition? I want to vote!”
“If nothing else, AI would do. I can’t hear the new song—I’m rioting.”
“Got a song but won’t let us hear? Treating brothers like outsiders?”
Just write don’t release—purely teasing people?
