Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

Mr. Wang, the president of Swan Publishing House, held the photocopy in his hand, his gaze fixed on the line "One Million Two Hundred Thousand Hong Kong Dollars".

One million boxes.

Director Liu stood in front of her desk, still holding the file folder in her hands. She didn't say anything, waiting for the editor-in-chief to process the numbers.

Although the country's foreign exchange reserves have increased and broken the 100 billion mark, that is the country's money.

For self-supporting public institutions like theirs, foreign exchange remains a hard currency. Buying Sony equipment from Japan, buying recording equipment from Germany—none of these require foreign exchange.

The Hong Kong dollar, in particular, is pegged to the US dollar, making it a form of hard currency.

If this HK$1.2 million comes in, putting aside everything else, at the end of the year when you go to the bureau meeting, you can slam the foreign exchange earnings target on the table and you'll have more confidence than everyone else.

Not to mention the print run of one million copies. In recent years, the Guangzhou music scene has been sluggish, with singers moving north and south. The once bustling recording studios are now often empty. Half of the machines in the copy factory have also stopped, and the workers often gather in the yard to play cards when they have nothing to do.

With this order for a million boxes, the machines will be running non-stop, the workers will be working in three shifts, and the entire publishing house's production targets for several months will be met in one go.

"Is this person still downstairs?" President Wang asked.

"Yes, I'll tell him to wait."

"Was the recording made here?"

"Yes, Lao Zhang is in charge of shed number one."

President Wang nodded, reached for the phone on the table, and dialed the internal line: "Tell Zhang Jianguo to come up."

Less than three minutes later, Zhang Jianguo pushed open the door and came in, beads of sweat still on his forehead.

"President, you wanted to see me?"

"Jianguo, did you record Zheng Hui's album?" President Wang asked bluntly.

"Yes, I supervised the whole process."

President Wang stared at Zhang Jianguo: "How's the quality? Tell me the truth, don't try to fool me. This kid wants to print a million boxes, and that's no joke."

Zhang Jianguo was stunned for a moment, then a look of shock appeared on his face: "One million? He really dares to print that?"

After his initial surprise, he immediately remembered the president's question and replied, "Technically speaking, there's nothing to criticize. That kid is an expert; his scores are even more detailed than those of the professional arrangers in the provincial song and dance troupe. When the musicians go into the studio, they can basically get it right in one take."

As for the song... it's quite unique.

"What makes it special?"

"It's positive and energetic. It's not the kind of lovey-dovey stuff you see everywhere these days, nor is it the kind of melodramatic whining. It's pop rock, with a really strong rhythm."

I felt inspired just listening to him; students these days really like that. And his voice is so good—bright and steady.

After listening, President Wang flicked his cigarette ash and asked, "You predict it will be a hit?"

Zhang Jianguo answered decisively: "It will be a hit. As long as the promotion and distribution are up to par, this song will definitely be popular."

President Wang felt reassured: "Alright, then I'll go and meet this God of Wealth myself."

On the second floor, in the distribution department, Zheng Hui sat on a leather sofa in the waiting area, holding the Guangzhou Daily in his hand, but his eyes were not on the newspaper.

The sound of leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor came from the stairwell. Zheng Hui put down his newspaper and stood up.

President Wang walked at the front, his face beaming, and stretched out his hand from a distance: "Oh, Mr. Zheng! I've kept you waiting! I'm President Wang of the White Swan."

Zheng Hui went up to him and shook hands with him: "Hello, President Wang, just call me Xiao Zheng."

"Oh, that won't do. You're a fellow Macao resident and our partner. This place is chaotic, with people coming and going; it's not the place to discuss business. Come on, let's go upstairs to my office. There's some good tea."

Zheng Hui didn't refuse, and picked up his briefcase: "Then I'll have to bother you."

The group returned to the president's office. Once inside, President Wang invited Zheng Hui to sit on the sofa and personally poured him a cup of hot tea.

President Wang didn't beat around the bush: "I just heard from Lao Zhang that the songs you recorded this time are of very high quality. I'm a straightforward person, could I listen to them first?"

Zheng Hui put down his teacup and took out a cassette tape from his bag. This was one of the two reference tapes he had kept after recording.

"Of course, please correct me if I'm wrong, President."

President Wang took the cassette tape, got up and walked to the bookshelf, where a dual-cassette recorder was placed.

"Click".

With the tape compartment lid closed, President Wang pressed the play button.

A rapid and powerful drumbeat burst forth from the loudspeaker.

"stubborn".

"If I'm different from the world, then let me be different..."

Zheng Hui sat on the sofa, watching President Wang's back. President Wang's toes tapped lightly on the floor, following the rhythm.

After the song finished playing, President Wang didn't say anything, nor did he turn off the phone.

Next up is "Chasing Dreams with a Pure Heart".

The tearing roar echoed in the office. President Wang turned around, walked to his desk, picked up his cigarette case, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

He didn't sit down; he just leaned against the edge of the table, cigarette between his fingers, and listened.

Until the prelude to "I Believe" began.

The exhilarating synthesizer sounds, combined with Zheng Hui's high-pitched voice.

"I want to fly up to the sky and stand shoulder to shoulder with the sun..."

President Wang's eyes lit up. The lyrics, the melody.

Next year will be 1999, the year Macau returns to China.

The TV station, the bureau, and the province are all preparing various homecoming galas and celebrations. They've repeatedly emphasized that we need to find songs that are grand, uplifting, and embody the spirit of the nation.

After searching for half a year, the songs that came up were either old folk songs or weak pop songs.

But this song, "I Believe," and the song "Proud Youth" that followed.

Isn't this tailor-made for the homecoming gala?

Especially Zheng Hui's identity—a Macao youth who returned to the motherland, singing "I Believe" and "Proud Youth."

This political stance is so upright.

After the tape was rotated to both sides, the tape recorder made a "click" sound as the key was switched off, and the room fell silent.

President Wang walked over and took out the cassette tape: "Great song."

President Wang sat back on the sofa and looked at Zheng Hui: "Most of the songs are very energetic and suitable for today's young people. Especially the last two, 'I Believe' and 'Proud Youth'."

These songs have a grand vision and a righteous message. Next year, with Macau's return to China, the province will definitely be putting on a large-scale gala. I think these two songs would be perfectly appropriate to perform.

Zheng Hui smiled and said, "President, you flatter me. I didn't think that much when I wrote it; I just wanted to express my thoughts."

President Wang picked up his teacup to moisten his throat, then changed the subject: "The song is good, and the money is in place. But what are Mr. Zheng's plans for the sales?"

A million boxes—that's no small amount. It would be such a waste to let these great songs get moldy in a warehouse.

Zheng Hui didn't hide anything. He roughly explained his plan. It was an open scheme, so he wasn't afraid of anything.

"I plan to start with schools. I'll have people go to the radio stations of various middle schools and have them play my songs. Once the students hear the songs and become interested, they'll naturally buy them."

"Then there's the distribution channel. I'll go directly to the stalls in the Guangzhou Audio-Visual City and find those big wholesalers. I'll give them a wholesale price of three yuan."