My Years as a Copyist in Taiwan

The Zhongzheng Plaza complex covers 25 square meters. With such a large loudspeaker, it's like a local internet celebrity on Douyin (TikTok) announcing a major discovery, and the discovery spreads rapidly.

Reviews were polarized – a small number of old-school music fans and conservative listeners were very dissatisfied, saying that such a great album was ruined by such a nonsensical and nonsensical song at the end, which was really incongruous.

Aunt Phoenix even directly criticized it as: unconventional, unorthodox, and nonsensical!

But young students and trendy listeners loved it, saying that the last song's unconventional and crazy energy was exactly what an eighteen-year-old should be like. Mr. Snail was playing with the contrast!

Some people found it inexplicable, while others couldn't stop listening to it on repeat, which only made the album more and more talked about.

Zhao Wen thought the initial print run of 30,000 copies would last for half a month, but in less than five days, the entire stock in Taipei, Taichung, and Kaohsiung was sold out, and even the loose stock in folk song restaurants and bookstores was completely swept away.

The record factory worked through the night at full capacity to rush production, printing 20,000 copies. As soon as they came off the production line, they were hauled away by small trucks to various locations, but demand still couldn't keep up with the supply.

By mid-May, the total shipments across the island exceeded 100,000 copies, carving out its own path amidst the overwhelming popularity of "Zhi Hu Zhe Ye".

With album sales steadily surpassing 100,000 copies, music critics in Taiwan have been celebrating a long-awaited moment.

From senior writers at the China Times to up-and-coming music critics at the Minsheng Daily, and groups of audiophiles, everyone is digging deep: putting Luo Xiaozuo's "Zhi Hu Zhe Ye" side by side with Mr. Snail's debut album, dissecting each song and comparing them section by section.

In the end, the group reached a near-unanimous conclusion—

Luo Xiaozuo is undoubtedly a game-changer. With just a guitar, he shattered the lukewarm love stories of the campus folk song era and stuffed the nostalgia of Lukang town, the confusion of the times, and the questioning of reality into popular melodies.

He redefined the boundaries of Chinese pop songs—songs can not only sing about romance, but also reflect the times with their ideas.

He single-handedly reshaped the landscape of Taiwan's music scene, paving a wider and longer road for those who followed.

However, music critics have described Mr. Snail's album as a "milestone"!

According to professional music critics, the electronic dance music technique of "Love Trap" is at least five years ahead of current Taiwanese productions, and the string arrangement of "Half Moon Serenade" is comparable to the top Hong Kong music scene!

The ten songs, spanning genres like energetic songs, ballads, and rock, are a diverse collection of stories about parting and the unconventional style of "Truly Love You." Yet, none of them feel like they were just randomly put together!

The Taiwanese music scene used to be filled with folk songs and ballads, but Mr. Snail's album set a new standard for the entire industry.

Local original pop music should have catchy commercial melodies, solid quality, and be able to capture the youthful emotions of students as well as withstand the professional scrutiny of audiophiles!

Even the controversial song "How Does a Fox Howl?" has been interpreted in a new light: the core question of the song is that everyone knows how cats and dogs bark, so how does a fox howl? The song is actually a metaphor for a certain person or a conservative circle!

Mr. Snail is the fox, and Aunt Phoenix and the others are cats and dogs.

The deeper message of this song is: No one has the right to define my creations!

Zhao Wen was stunned when he saw these comments. Wow, so being over-interpreted can feel so good...

The final conclusion was drawn from the pages of each column—

Luo Xiaozuo truly changed the landscape of the Taiwanese music scene, giving pop music intellectual weight.

However, Mr. Snail's vinyl record truly propelled Taiwanese pop music forward by leaps and bounds, making it a landmark work that bridges the past and the future.

One broke the deadlock, the other set a new standard. In the summer of 1982, the two albums came together, forcefully ushering in the golden age of the Taiwanese Mandopop scene two or three years ahead of schedule.

While Zhao Wen's vinyl records are gaining popularity in Taiwan, distribution channels in Southeast Asia are also quietly expanding.

Lijun's sister is clever; she didn't show her face at all during the whole process, leaving all the coordination and distribution to her younger brother, Deng Changxi.

This album includes one of her songs, as well as her message: "Better music deserves to be heard by more people." So, Southeast Asian fans, are you going to buy it?

Once the distribution channels were sorted out, Zhao Wen sent the profit-sharing plan to Taipei. The diva was sipping her tea when she heard Zhao Wen offer her 20% of the profits. She immediately put down her cup, raised an eyebrow, and said, "That won't do. It's just a small favor, asking Changxi to run errands. That's too much!"

Zhao Wen had anticipated her refusal: "Sister Lijun, Brother Changxi has been running around doing all this, and it all costs money. Besides, I have absolutely no connection to the Southeast Asian market. Without connections, I won't sell a single record. I don't have a record company taking a large cut; I handle everything myself, and my profits are more than enough!"

The reasoning was crystal clear; the money was absolutely legitimate. After a moment's hesitation, Teresa Teng finally gave in to Zhao Wen and nodded in agreement.

Even though the editors Gao and Lou took 20% of the profits from the earlier single "Those Years," and Lin Xinjun took 15%, I still got a net profit of about 20 yuan. This was thanks to the current tax system, where singles are priced low and they almost always go through a fast cash turnover route, with taxes of less than 1%!

But this approach doesn't work on this vinyl record.

This 12-inch vinyl record player is priced at NT$380. Distributors have to bear the high costs of inventory storage, store display, and distribution expansion. Channel revenue sharing can no longer be based on the standards for low-priced products; they must give up a reasonable profit margin.

This collector's edition vinyl record is priced at twice as high as Liu Wenzheng's record, which has been the most popular record in recent years. Although his record can only be considered a mid-range record if you really look at it, he is still a top singer.

Therefore, Zhao Wen had considered the entire profit-sharing system in his mind several times.

The fixed costs are NT$65. The channel distribution commission of 32% for record stores and regional distributors is NT$121.6. The remaining gross profit per record is NT$193.4.

Then, after deducting 10% for Lin Xinjun, who was in charge of the entire distribution, and 15% for editors Lou and Gao, the entire album entered the pre-tax net profit pool, which was NT$145.05.

According to the Taiwan Business Tax Law at that time, after deducting 22% of the comprehensive tax, Zhao Wen ultimately earned 113.14 NT dollars for every vinyl record sold on the island.

At this rate, selling 200,000 discs on the island shouldn't be a problem at all! That's over 20 million!

More than 20 million! Zhao Wen couldn't help but pull out a hard-pack Taiwanese cigarette and take a deep drag.