Chapter 71: That Was Close, Good Thing I’m Quick-witted
“Settled so quickly?”
When Yu Wei came out, Qi Luo An hadn’t even finished one Match-3 Game, but with only three moves left to clear six ice blocks, it was probably hopeless…
Are business deals closing this fast now? Couldn’t even sign the contract in these few minutes.
“Couldn’t settle, Shura field.”
Rough words but sound logic. These two game companies: one like a rich young lady, generous but just playing around; the other like the girl next door, tight on cash but sincere.
The question is, is there a sincere rich young lady?
“Why are you looking at me?”
Qi Luo An was baffled. This guy was so weird—he went out, spaced out for a bit, then gave her a meaningful look. What, getting stuck on Match-3 Game makes me bad at it?
“Let’s go, record the song.”
The demo for this song was crucial—not just a sample for the game company, but also his guarantee for tomorrow’s new chapter data.
Time for another follow-up read unlock reward…
Hearing “record the song,” Qi Luo An instantly lost interest in asking more. She remembered the last singing and playing short video clearly. This time she could watch on-site? Such a good thing?
Came here today for real.
She was curious too—what was Yu Wei’s wuxia song like? She remembered lots of wuxia works from childhood, but as years passed, this genre seemed rarer.
She wasn’t a wuxia fan, but compared to those groundless special effects immortal-demon romance blasts, those fast-paced jianghu stories of gratitude and enmity were way better.
“Little Yu here to record again.”
Hong Hui wasn’t too surprised to see Yu Wei. Lately, he was the artist entering the recording studio most often, recording every few days, practically living in the music department.
He wanted to chat more, but then spotted a pretty girl popping up behind Yu Wei. She looked unfamiliar, clearly not from the company.
So bold—his own wife kept nagging to visit the company, but he never dared. This kid was young and accomplished…
“Guest from the variety show recording, needs to chorus, brought her along to test the sound.”
Yu Wei explained simply. As for whether Old Hong believed it, that wasn’t up to him. If rumors worked, there wouldn’t be so many CP fans.
“I need to test the sound too?”
Qi Luo An thought she’d just watch and clap, didn’t expect the hands-on part so soon.
“Of course, or why’d you think I brought you?”
“I thought… never mind, test it is.”
Hong Hui watched their back-and-forth, his gaze growing weirder, but his hands didn’t stop—he opened the sampler and started recording.
Yu Wei entered the recording studio, put on in-ear monitors, and began recording the song. Nearby, Qi Luo An wasn’t idle either—she had to help record a short video.
This kid wanted to tease the readers’ appetite again.
Standing before the huge sound-absorbing panel, Yu Wei’s figure was slightly thin, but the moment his fingertips touched the microphone’s metal shell, it was like everyone saw a sheathed sword.
Qi Luo An watched closely: Yu Wei closed his eyes, took a deep breath, Adam’s apple rolling. When he opened his eyes, his clear pupils suddenly sharpened—completely different from his usual state.
“Where does my sword go, love and hate hard to choose alone
My blade tears the long sky, right and wrong I understand yet don’t.”
The first a cappella line burst out, voice taut like a bowstring, ending note with metallic tremor slicing the silence. Even through the glass wall and console, Hong Hui and the sound mixer clearly felt this sharpness.
Yu Wei’s previous songs built up gradually before powering on, but this one went full power right away—the style shift so big they didn’t react.
This on-site group, including Qi Luo An, knew Yu Wei’s music style best, yet his opening still surprised them.
Changing style is one thing; switching style and singing it well is another…
But what surprised Qi Luo An most was these two lines: opening with sword and blade to set the theme—weapons as portraits of a knight-errant’s jianghu beliefs.
This flavor was spot on. Many current ancient style songs treat blades and swords like show-off tools, no knight-errant flavor at all.
Knight-errant is the inner heart choice at a dead end. Yu Wei’s first line nailed it: where to go is mental confusion, tearing the sky is action choice.
“I drunk in haze, grace and grudge illusion or void
I wake from spring dream, life and death all turn void.”
Four neat lines—by Hong Hui’s evaluation, the song’s opening was grand. Four lines, eight camera shots, orderly wuxia world rushing at you, full of jianghu narrative poetry.
Just the opening grandeur and shock outclassed current market ancient style songs.
Qi Luo An hadn’t finished thinking about the lyrics when she saw Yu Wei clench his fist hard, knuckles whitening against his pants seam, like gripping an invisible hilt.
“Come hasty, go hasty, hate can’t meet
Love hasty, hate hasty, all follows wind
Mad laugh once, long sigh once, live freely one life
Sorrow one life, who with me shares life and death.”
After the last line, the voice hung in the absolutely quiet studio for three seconds. Yu Wei finally unclenched his jaw, chest heaving violently, like he’d just survived a life-death duel.
Outside the soundproof glass, Hong Hui nodded slightly at the console, itching to shout “great!” right there. These lines were hearty and satisfying—he almost forgot his job.
This feeling only from childhood listening to opera in the troupe: high-spirited, jianghu heroism, blood boiling…
He wouldn’t analyze music pretentiously. In short, one word after listening: awesome!
“Recorded?”
Until Yu Wei spoke, Qi Luo An realized her eyes were burning, gaze still stuck on his sweat-dampened bangs and his panting face with a raised smile.
She nodded stiffly, as if echoes of the singing lingered in her ears.
“Your turn, just meow a couple lines to test.”
Qi Luo An was still hiding her feelings when her fingertips touched the microphone he quietly passed—still warm from his body.
Before the blush at her eyes fully showed, she hurriedly turned to the mineral water in the corner, sipping awkwardly.
“Gotta moisten my throat first.”
Close call, good thing I’m quick-witted!
Yu Wei was puzzled. Drinking water, fine—but why turn away? Afraid I’d steal her water?
Seemed kinda thirsty now…
Qi Luo An dawdled, drank over half the bottle before stepping up to test. She picked “Heart Wall”—nothing special, just heard it a lot, could sing it casually.
Her performance was unexpected. Hong Hui, handling the recording, was shocked. Where’d Yu Wei find this monster? Technique average, but voice conditions amazingly good.
Many child star singers mess up in voice change period from overuse damaging the voice, but Qi Luo An’s eight years away from singing helped her pass it safely.
Quit the game during account ruin phase, returned still strong.
“Try a high note?”
Yu Wei really felt like he’d dug up treasure. If not for pulling Qi Luo An from the reader pit, such a talent monster would’ve been buried.
Wonder why she quit back then—twelve years old unbeatable, too high to stay, then retired? Too far-fetched.
Qi Luo An’s high note ability was good too, giving Yu Wei lots of song choices. Maybe pick a high-note one to humble her…
Hong Hui agreed—highly malleable singer, but technique rusty, needs time to get familiar.
After recording, Qi Luo An seemed in low spirits, barely spoke all the way out of the company—like she’d lost her soul.
“Next book about you as protagonist, ‘Said Ten Years Senior, Child Star Debut What the Hell’. Protagonist gets old senior system—guide newcomers to get stronger. But system checks seniority not age, protagonist child star debut only eighteen.”
“Eighteen-year-old senior trains domestic entertainment, how’s that?”
Yu Wei’s sudden brain hole made Qi Luo An crack. That title, that development—true to an entertainment failure…
Teased like this, her mood settled a lot. The listening earlier was probably just coincidence.
“Right, I wanted to ask you.”
Yu Wei pulled out his mobile phone, showing the video Qi Luo An recorded. “Why’d you keep zooming on my face, enlarged several times—afraid readers say I’m lip-syncing?”
“Maybe system auto-focus…”
Qi Luo An’s voice grew weaker, fully aware.
