Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

Chapter 84 The Reaction the Day After the Spring Festival Gala

The phone on the bedside table vibrated. Zheng Hui turned over, reached out his right hand, grabbed the phone, and answered it.

"Ah Hui, are you awake?" came President Wang's voice from the receiver.

"I just opened my eyes." Zheng Hui sat up straight and put a pillow behind his back.

President Wang spoke with a smile: "Your performance last night was very good. Today, although the most common song playing in the streets and alleys is 'Come Home Often,' that song is really powerful."

But your song "Me and My Motherland" is played almost as frequently as that.

"Moreover, your song received more discussion in newspapers than 'Come Home Often.' You were featured on the front page of the People's Daily and Guangming Daily."

"What did they write?" Zheng Hui asked. "They said you sang the voice of overseas Chinese." The sound of pages turning came from President Wang's end: "They also said you changed the way mainstream songs are sung. All the music critics are praising you."

Zheng Hui was not surprised by this, as this year is 1999, the year Macau returned to China.

In this special year, a song sung by a traveler to his mother resonates with the nation's biggest political issues and national sentiments.

"That's a good thing," Zheng Hui said to President Wang with a smile.

"It's more than just good news! Do you know what happened this morning? My publishing house's doors were almost torn down!"

Zheng Hui switched hands to hold the receiver: "The owners of those four major food stalls went again?"

"They're there! They were already blocking the door before dawn!"

President Wang's tone was smug: "Of the three million cassette tapes of 'Floating Life' that you ordered before the Lunar New Year, each of the four major wholesale markets took 500,000 tapes, while I took one million tapes from Baiyuntai and sold them through Xinhua Bookstore."

These three million boxes were almost sold out by early February before the Lunar New Year.

Zheng Hui hummed in agreement; this was within his expectations.

"Seeing that things weren't going well before the Lunar New Year, we asked the factory to prepare an additional three million boxes of raw materials and start production overnight."

President Wang couldn't hide his excitement: "Just now, those four bosses, Fatty Liu and General Manager Chen, with their convoy and cash, took another 2.8 million boxes out of the newly produced 3 million boxes!"

"Two million eight hundred thousand boxes?" Zheng Hui raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! Cash on delivery! They're practically robbing us! Fatty Liu even wanted to buy up the remaining 200,000 boxes, but I stopped him. I told him they were reserved for Xinhua Bookstore to restock, and that's how I stopped him."

Chen Jianguo has already counted and taken the money; it's a full 8.4 million yuan in cash. The bank just sent an armored truck to pick it up.

Zheng Hui did the math: three million boxes before the New Year, with a profit of two yuan per box, that's six million in profit.

Today's 2.8 million boxes will generate another 5.6 million in profit.

Adding to the long tail sales of their first album "Stubborn", in just two months, the revenue from the mainland cassette market alone was approaching 20 million.

"President Wang, thank you for your hard work. It's the New Year holiday and you're still keeping an eye on things at the office," Zheng Hui said politely.

"Not hard at all! What's so hard about this? Watching the printing press spin gives me boundless energy!"

President Wang laughed heartily, then his tone became serious: "Xiao Zheng, I'm planning to place another order with the factory this afternoon, to print another million boxes. The song's popularity is sustainable, and there will definitely be more sales later. What do you think?"

"You can make the decision; I trust your judgment."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then President Wang's voice became somewhat emotional, revealing a heartfelt sincerity.

"Little Zheng, I have to say thank you."

Zheng Hui was somewhat surprised: "What's wrong with you? Why are you suddenly being so formal?"

"It's not that I'm being formal, it's the truth."

President Wang sighed: "You don't know, my position as president of Swan Publishing House sounds prestigious, but I was actually ousted from the cultural sector."

A few years ago, the Guangzhou music scene declined, and all the singers left. This publishing house was a mess, a place of exile. Everyone in the bureau said that Old Wang's life was pretty much over; he'd just stay in this position until retirement.

Zheng Hui listened quietly without interrupting.

Who would have thought I'd meet you?

President Wang's voice was somewhat excited: "How much of a commotion have we made this year?"

Millions in sales, tens of millions in output value, and the foreign exchange you bring in.

Just before the Lunar New Year, the bureau talked to me. The implication was that I might be promoted around the middle of the year, maybe even half a step up. Whether I'd return to the bureau or go to Zhujiang Film Studio, we'd see how things went then.

"If I hadn't met you, I probably would have stayed in this position as president until I died."

Zheng Hui smiled and said, "President Wang, you have a keen eye for talent. If you hadn't helped me get the publishing license, contacted the channels, and promoted it on campus, I wouldn't have had such a smooth journey. We've helped each other succeed."

"Yes! We can help each other succeed!" President Wang said emphatically. "Alright, I won't keep you from resting."

"Keep busy in Beijing. When you come back to Guangzhou, your brother will throw you a celebration banquet! We'll drink until we drop!"

"Okay, it's a deal."

After hanging up the phone, Zheng Hui sat on the bed in a daze for a while.

When he came to his senses, he got up, got out of bed, and drew back the curtains.

Traffic was sparse on Chang'an Avenue, and red lanterns hung from the treetops.

After washing up, Zheng Hui changed into casual clothes, went downstairs, and went to the hotel restaurant.

The VIP Building Hotel is located right next to the Forbidden City. Besides foreign guests, those staying here are overseas Chinese who have returned to China and have some status.

The restaurant was quite crowded, with most people dressed smartly.

Zheng Hui carried a plate, picked up two tea eggs, and ladled out a bowl of millet porridge. He then found a seat by the window.

Just as I peeled the tea egg, an elderly gentleman at the next table stood up.

The old gentleman had gray hair, which was neatly combed. He wore a Zhongshan suit and glasses perched on his nose, looking like an old-fashioned intellectual.

He walked up to Zheng Hui's desk, hesitated for a moment, and asked in Mandarin with a slight Jiangzhe accent, "Excuse me, are you Mr. Zheng Hui?"

Zheng Hui put down the tea egg in his hand, took a tissue to wipe his hands, and stood up: "Hello, sir, I am Zheng Hui."

The old man's eyes lit up, and he reached out to grasp Zheng Hui's hands: "Oh my! It really is you! My wife and I looked at it for ages, and the more we looked, the more it resembled you!"

This shout attracted the attention of people at several nearby tables.

"Old man, is it really Zheng Hui?"

An elderly woman in a cheongsam from the next table also came over, her face full of excitement.

"It really is! It really is!"

The old gentleman held Zheng Hui's hand tightly, refusing to let go: "Mr. Zheng, we watched the Spring Festival Gala last night! We watched it in our hotel room! The singing was wonderful!"

"You flatter me." Zheng Hui bowed slightly.

The old man's eyes were a little red: "I'm not just being polite. I've been away from my motherland for over forty years and have been living in the United States ever since. I came back this time because I wanted to see my hometown."

Last night, when I heard you sing "My Motherland and I," especially the line "Wherever I go, a hymn of praise flows forth," I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

"We who drift out into the world are like the waves in your song. The sea is over there, and so are we. If the sea dries up, we'll be gone too."

The old man's voice choked as he spoke.

Several people nearby heard the noise, put down their breakfasts, and came over.

A woman approached Zheng Hui, pulled a notebook out of her bag, and handed it to him: "Could you sign this for me? My daughter is in Singapore, and she listens to your songs every day."

Zheng Hui put down his plate, took the paper and pen the woman handed him, and wrote his name on the paper.

"Mr. Zheng, let's take a picture together." Another man held up a Kodak camera and walked over to Zheng Hui.

Zheng Hui didn't refuse. He straightened up and looked at the camera. The man pressed the shutter, and the flash went off. More and more people gathered around; these were foreign businessmen and overseas Chinese.

A foreign businessman handed over his business card: "I own a supermarket in Jakarta, and I'd like to place your cassette tapes next to the checkout counter. Could I obtain the overseas distribution rights?"

"The overseas agency rights have already been signed with PolyGram." Zheng Hui politely accepted the business card: "You can contact PolyGram; I'll write down their phone number for you."

Another woman spoke up: "I own several restaurants in Italy and would like to play your album on repeat in them. Would that require paying royalties?"

Zheng Hui said to the other party, "You can play it in the store, you don't need to pay, as long as everyone likes to listen to it."

Another elderly man came over with a cane: "Young man, I've come back from Australia. I've heard a lot of revolutionary songs in my life, but yours is the most heartfelt."

Zheng Hui held the old man's arm and said, "You flatter me. I was just singing according to my own understanding."

The elderly man asked, "I run a Chinese school in Sydney, and I'd like to print the lyrics from your album in our textbooks so that Chinese children can learn Chinese. Is that alright?"

Zheng Hui quickly said, "This is a good thing. I'll write a note authorizing you to use it for free."

Zheng Hui shook hands with each of them and had them sign their names on the papers. Half an hour later, the crowd dispersed.

The porridge got cold, and the tea eggs got cold too.

Zheng Hui picked up the tea egg and ate it whole, then picked up the bowl and drank all the millet porridge in one go, before putting the plate back in the recycling bin.

Zheng Hui went back to the room, where Li Zongming was sitting on the sofa. Li Zongming was holding a notebook, and he stood up when he saw Zheng Hui come in.

"Boss, have you finished breakfast?" Li Zongming closed his notebook.

"I just finished eating, have you eaten?"

"I ate a bowl of noodles downstairs. Boss, my phone was ringing off the hook this morning."

Zheng Hui pulled up a chair and sat opposite Li Zongming: "Are they all here to interview me?"

"Yes, the Spring Festival Gala last night was a huge success. Your song has now become the focus of major media outlets."

Li Zongming took a stack of newspapers out of his briefcase. He spread them out on the coffee table.

"Look at the comments in the Beijing Morning Post."

Zheng Hui broke away from the grand narratives of traditional patriotic songs, using personalized emotional expression to bridge the gap between the nation and the individual.

"A commentary from the Southern Metropolis Daily."

This is a perfect blend of pop music and mainstream themes; Zheng Hui demonstrates a maturity beyond his years.

After finishing these newspaper reviews, Li Zongming took out his notebook, which contained a list of interviews: "The CCTV program 'Oriental Son' called. They want to do an interview with you."

Zheng Hui asked in confusion, "The Son of the East? Isn't that program usually only interviewing scholars and entrepreneurs?"

Li Zongming explained, "That's why your status is different now. They value your identity as a young person from Macau, as well as the social impact of your song."

Zheng Hui made the decision: "Take this interview. It's CCTV's flagship program, so if we can get on, we'll do it."

"Bai Yansong asks very sharp questions. For example, he might ask you about your views on the music scene in Mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. How would you answer?"

Zheng Hui said, "I always say that music has no boundaries, and everyone is contributing to the Chinese music scene. We shouldn't belittle one to praise another."

"Okay, I'll call them back to schedule a time later." Li Zongming drew a circle on his notebook.

"And the editor-in-chief of the entertainment section of the Beijing Youth Daily."

Li Zongming continued his report: "They want to do a full-page report on you, talking about your creative process in writing 'Floating Life'."

Zheng Hui nodded: "I can accept it. I'll be in Beijing preparing for the exams later, so accepting an interview won't take up much of my time."

"Hunan TV's 'Happy Camp' also extended an invitation; they want you to record an episode. I think you can accept it to promote your album?"

Zheng Hui did want to visit that person at Orange Isle in Changsha and also try some Hunan cuisine there. However, he still asked, "This show has high ratings, but we're currently preparing for the Beijing Film Academy entrance exams in Beijing. Will there be a time conflict?"

Li Zongming replied, "They can accommodate your schedule. You can go to Changsha to record the video a month later after you finish your exams. They will charter your flight and hotel."

Zheng Hui agreed: "Then let's agree to their request. It'll be a good time to relax after the exams."

Li Zongming closed his notebook: "Boss, there are still more than a dozen invitations from small newspapers and radio stations. I've turned them all down for you. You need to focus on preparing for the Beijing Film Academy entrance exam now."

"You did the right thing. Just accept these interviews from the major media outlets. The rest of the time, I'll go into seclusion and read books."

"Understood." Li Zongming walked out of the room.