Chapter 4: What Song Is This? I’ve Never Heard It
“Doesn’t feel like a newbie at all, it’s good, keep it up, I believe in you.”
This was the first book review for “Why Do Stars Care So Much About Ratings?”, a short sentence that directly triggered a lantern show for Yu Wei…
He had written web novels for so many years; wanting to make money was true, but gaining recognition from readers was his original intention when he started typing on the keyboard.
The appearance of positive reviews also marked that his book had real readers, which was a good start.
“What song should I choose?”
As an entertainment veteran, Yu Wei had listened to quite a few songs; even without the system, he could write plenty of lyrics, no need to worry about creation.
He was experienced and knew what songs could be written and what couldn’t…
Readers of singer-type entertainment novels particularly value the song selection in the novel; reading a plagiarist story emphasizes immersion—who would read niche works?
But he couldn’t blindly write mega-hits either, like Jay Chou or Legend of Sword and Fairy; readers were basically aesthetically fatigued with them—writing them well was no merit, but writing them poorly was a fault.
Internet celebrity songs were even more of a minefield to avoid; those songs were popular, but having the protagonist plagiarize them would make him seem tasteless…
In the past, Yu Wei would research song choices thoroughly, hesitating back and forth, trying to pick Mandarin classics that didn’t appear much in similar types.
But now there was no need; here, no matter what he wrote, readers hadn’t heard it.
Since they hadn’t heard anything, it meant he could write anything; this time, no need to overthink—he just wanted to write something he liked.
“I’ll write this one.”
Yu Wei quickly had an idea: Lin Junjie’s “Heart Wall”, which he often looped as a single.
This song’s guitar melody was great; he had always wanted to learn it and play it for others, but it was too hard, and he had no time to practice.
In the end, it was because his determination wasn’t strong enough; but now, Yu Wei had the perfect chance to master this song…
Honestly, he chose this song precisely because he wanted to learn that guitar melody.
The system should do exactly this—fulfilling personal needs is what a system is for; forcing the protagonist to do this and that is like a sex toy, only giving pleasure when the protagonist obeys.
He didn’t care how others wrote; anyway, Yu Wei preferred higher freedom.
The system could exist, but not steal the show; constantly giving the protagonist tasks was like a obedience test…
Like the scoring system in his book, which was essentially a guessing game—the protagonist could play however he wanted.
Glancing at the time in the bottom right corner of the desktop, Yu Wei couldn’t help but speed up his writing; he had to finish the singing plot in these two days, or it would be too late.
The last time he wrote so desperately was when saving up to assemble a computer—eyes wide open all night, fingers smoking from typing.
He was fired up!
[Zhang Shaoyang saw that Wei Yu had finally taken the bait; even on stage, he couldn’t hide the smile at the corner of his mouth. He knew this song’s award was highly controversial, but he didn’t expect this kid to really dare give it a low score publicly.
If he didn’t deal with him, someone else would!
This song’s creator, Teacher Ding, was on-site; he was notoriously difficult and petty in the entertainment industry. Wei Yu rating this song 3.6 was no different from slapping his face publicly.
If Ding Ang could stay calm, he wouldn’t be called Ding Ang…
As expected, the next second, this golden producer in the corner couldn’t sit still; with a stern face, he sarcastically said: “My song is mediocre; surely someone who looks down on it must have a better representative work.”]
Actually, Yu Wei didn’t like writing too many brainless villains; they were as annoying as flies.
But this time was urgent; to quickly lead into the protagonist singing, he had no choice but to use villains to drive the plot and increase dramatic tension.
However, the two characters he wrote did have real-life prototypes: the host was sharp-tongued, the music critic was arrogant.
It could only be said that in reality, some people were often even more brainless and annoying than in novels…
Next was the male protagonist’s turn; a better work? He really had one.
[Wei Yu looked at “Heart Wall” obtained from the earlier rating; this song in his hands should qualify for evaluation!
But he didn’t rush to show it; instead, he first declined a few times for show, to make the song’s appearance more justified.
“I do have a song, but probably not many people are interested; I won’t waste everyone’s time—maybe next time if there’s a chance.”
After his feint, those wanting to hear the song were no longer just the instigators Ding Ang and Zhang Shaoyang.
Many on-site were hooked by Wei Yu; was this song just posturing, or real?
Unclear who started, but someone egged him on to sing it; other stars, not minding the trouble, began fanning the flames to watch the fun.
They didn’t really want to hear the song; they just wanted drama, to figure out what medicine Wei Yu was selling in his gourd!
“Since so many are interested, I’ll take a few minutes of your time; this song is called ‘Heart Wall’—hope everyone likes it.”]
Writing to this point, Yu Wei skillfully cliffhanged, successfully edging the plot just before the climax, making readers increasingly anticipate the next chapter like withdrawal symptoms.
Novel cliffhangers are like video buffering at key moments—how could it stop now?
He knew teasing readers’ emotions was shameful, but it really worked; the editor taught to leave a hook at the end of chapters…
This so-called hook hooks the reader’s heart, leaving a sense of anticipation without pulling too hard, or readers would rage-quit.
But Yu Wei had his own understanding: this hook is that hook—if the chapter ends, the author’s hook is gone too!
A mature web novel author must learn to protect their own hook…
Yu Wei opened the system panel; it temporarily had no info on “Heart Wall”, just as he speculated—works must be performed in the novel plot to be redeemable.
Just having the work name wasn’t enough.
Tomorrow’s chapter was especially important; he only hoped the data needed for redemption wasn’t too high—failure was hard.
An hour after he updated the new chapter, a blunt comment appeared at the end:
“Shit.”
What a “shit”—taking history as a mirror, one can know the new by analogy; looks like this reader thought highly of him… of course not.
Getting scolded was normal; Yu Wei had written for years and was used to it, but what hurt was that the one calling his writing shit was the same person as the first positive review!
Wasn’t this fan-to-hater turn too fast?
“This is An Shi Le; the nickname fits, I remember you!”
Even if you unfollow, don’t hurt me—unfollowing and stepping back isn’t just critical damage, it’s real injury.
In just one short chapter, it changed a reader’s view of the book—was this human nature’s distortion or morality’s downfall?
Yu Wei actually knew why he was scolded.
As he said, reading a plagiarist story emphasizes immersion; he built up so much and pulled out “Heart Wall”—Blue Star readers had never heard of this song!
Never heard it, how to immerse? This wasn’t niche anymore; it was fabricating a song out of thin air…
Hyped for so long, only for the author to self-indulge; readers were clueless, not only got nothing but had their reading mood ruined.
If he wasn’t scolded, who was?
For clueless Blue Star readers, a plagiarist novel popping out an author-made-up song was no different from being fed shit.
In cultivation novels, making up a technique is fine—nobody’s really cultivated immortality, whatever you say goes…
But entertainment novels don’t work; everyone has heard real songs—you make up a thing and say it’s good, who buys it?
Writing a novel and actually creating music—diagnosed as overinflated ego.
Before bed, Yu Wei checked the backend; the latest chapter’s end already had over a dozen sharp critiques.
“What song is this? Never heard of it.”
“Author copied the wrong song, feels like it should be ‘South Wall’.”
“Author high? Even messing this up?”
“‘South Wall’ is also shit; if author really wrote this, I’ll blacklist—oh, if it’s your made-up song, blacklisted too.”
He only had about twenty follow-up reads total, yet a dozen bad reviews—shows how uncomfortable this chapter made readers.
At this rate, the remaining readers would all run…
But Yu Wei really had no method; he had to write the song, and he couldn’t easily explain it.
“This song will come out in a few days, I wrote it early”—any web novel author replying like that would be laughed to death by readers.
Writing an entertainment power fantasy and actually writing a song—don’t laugh challenge? You win.
Forget readers not believing; if Yu Wei were a reader, he wouldn’t believe either—with that skill, why write novels? Joke?
Anyway, couldn’t explain; he didn’t bother, just sincerely posted a plea for follow-up reads.
“Too many people outside earlier, I knelt for everyone—tap follow-up read, updates will come, song will come.”
Nothing more, just for familiarity.
