Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

September 1st, Tuesday. At the gates of universities in Guangzhou, students in various school uniforms flooded into the campuses like a tide.

After a summer of silence, the campus was once again filled with the sounds of desks and chairs being dragged along and the noisy voices of teenagers.

At 10:00 AM, the bell rang to signal the end of the second period.

At Guangzhou Zhixin Middle School, the iron gate to the broadcasting station was pushed open. Teacher Li, who was in charge of broadcasting, held an unopened cassette tape, which she had just retrieved from the gatehouse that morning.

The cassette tapes were delivered along with sample copies of the textbooks and supplementary materials, and the packaging bag was printed with the name of the Swan Publishing House.

In Guangdong's education sector, the name "White Swan Publishing House" is synonymous with prestige. From elementary school Chinese textbooks to high school mock exams, over 80% of the province's teaching materials and supplementary resources originate from here.

Their relationship with various schools goes beyond mere buying and selling; it involves in-depth collaborative teaching and learning.

Teacher Li glanced at the official letter that came with the cassette tape, which bore the red seal of the publishing house's distribution department and read "Recommendation of Excellent Inspirational Songs".

Since it was recommended by the White Swan, its political orientation is definitely not a problem. Teacher Li casually stuffed the cassette tape into the radio cassette player, turned on the fader, and pressed the play button.

"Sizzle—"

After the electrical hum, the loudspeaker on the playground vibrated.

At this moment, in the classroom of Class 3, Grade 11, several boys were gathered in the back corner.

The tallest boy was named A-Qiang, and he was holding a Sony Walkman in his hands as if it were a precious treasure.

"That's it! It was on the radio last night!" Ah-Qiang lowered his voice and shoved an earphone into his deskmate's ear: "Listen, it's absolutely amazing."

My deskmate listened for a moment, then his eyes widened: "Holy crap, that drumbeat! Who's singing it?"

"Zheng Hui! Remember this name, Zheng Hui!"

Ah Qiang looked smug, as if he had written the song himself: "I bought it this morning at the cassette tape store near the school gate for eight yuan!"

When the boys around heard it was eight yuan, they all gathered around.

"Eight yuan? Authentic?"

Ah-Qiang spread the beautifully printed lyric booklet out on his desk: "Nonsense, look at the packaging, look at the lyric booklet, can a pirated copy be printed this clearly?"

Just then, the loudspeaker outside the classroom suddenly blared.

The sound of the guitar strumming was clear and powerful, instantly drowning out the noise of people playing in the hallway.

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

Ah Qiang's Walkman was still on, and the sound from the headphones overlapped with the sound from the radio above his head, creating a strange echo.

The student on duty, who was wiping the blackboard, stopped what he was doing, and chalk dust danced in the sunlight.

The boy who was catching up on sleep on the table looked up, his face still bearing the red marks from his cuff.

The girl who was copying homework stopped writing and tilted her head to listen to what was happening outside the window.

"For me, perseverance means using strength to overcome strength."

"If I compromise with myself, if I lie to myself."

Even if others forgive me, I cannot forgive them.

The lyrics struck a chord with students who had just finished their summer vacation and were not yet fully adapted to the high-intensity study pace.

There was no preaching, no grand principles. There was only one voice telling them: Don't give up, don't compromise.

After the song finished playing, the radio didn't stop; it immediately played "Proud Youth."

"Run, proud young man, for in your young hearts lies unwavering faith..."

Before the whistle for morning exercises even blew, the playground was already packed with people. Unlike the usual dawdling, today the students held their heads high, their steps keeping time with the drumbeats broadcast over the loudspeaker.

The same scene unfolded in Guangya Middle School, Guangdong Experimental High School, No. 6 Middle School, and hundreds of other middle schools in the Pearl River Delta.

The distribution network of Swan Publishing House permeates every school like capillaries. With just a phone call or an official letter, this cassette tape occupies prime time slots in middle schools across the province.

The situation is quite different in the university districts of Shipai and Wushan.

On the tree-lined paths of Sun Yat-sen University and in the canteens of South China University of Technology, the White Swan Hotel clearly prefers songs recommended by these university radio stations that are more artistic and sentimental.

The Brightest Star in the Night Sky.

"Whenever I can't find meaning in my existence, whenever I'm lost in the darkness..."

Downstairs in the girls' dormitory, several boys with guitars were practicing chords.

The song has a beautiful melody, and the lyrics, which carry a touch of sadness and anticipation for the future, resonate with the feelings of college students who are trying to force themselves to express their sorrows.

Meanwhile, in the girls' dormitory, "The First Dream" and "Nothing Is Different" were playing on Walkmans.

"If pride isn't coldly slapped down by the sea of ​​reality, how will we know how hard we have to work to get to where we are?"

A senior female student took off her headphones, her eyes slightly red. She had just failed her postgraduate entrance exam and was preparing for a second attempt. This lyric seemed to have been written specifically for her.

On this day, from middle school to university, from Guangzhou to Shenzhen, the entire student population in Guangdong was surrounded by these ten songs.

At 5:30 p.m., the school bell rang.

This should have been the time for students to rush to the cafeteria or go home, but today, the music and video stores near the school became the most crowded places.

A small shop called Qiangji Audio-Visual in Yuexiu District, with a store space of less than 20 square meters, was packed with customers.

"Boss! Do you have Zheng Hui's cassette tapes?"

"Boss! Bring me a copy of 'Stubborn'!"

"Me too! Give me two plates!"

The shopkeeper, Lao Zhang, was standing behind the counter, sweating profusely as he dealt with the outstretched hands. Some hands held crumpled five- or ten-yuan notes, while others clutched large handfuls of loose change.

"Don't push! Don't push! There are plenty!" Old Zhang shouted hoarsely, then turned around and pulled out cassette tapes from a cardboard box under the shelf.

He just received fifty trays of goods yesterday, and he originally thought they would sell for a week or two. After all, he's a newcomer, and although the radio station promoted him, who knows if he'll become popular?

As a result, twenty trays were sold by noon. Now, with the last thirty trays sold out after school, it was like magic; they were gone in just a few minutes.

"That's all! Sold out!" Old Zhang dumped the empty cardboard box onto the counter and spread his hands.

"Huh? That's it?"

"Boss, are you even capable? You're ordering so little stock!"

"I'll go check next door!"

Seeing the students turn to leave, Old Zhang panicked; that was money for their trip.

"Don't go! Tomorrow! There will definitely be stock tomorrow! I'll call and restock right now!"

Old Zhang picked up the phone and dialed the wholesaler's number.

"Hello! Is this Boss Liu? This is Qiang Ji! Give me another two hundred... no, five hundred tapes of Zheng Hui's tapes!"

What? You're out of stock too? You're on your way to get more? I don't care, if I don't see any stock by tomorrow morning, I'll block your stall!

The same scene played out in every record store.

Whether it's a chain store selling genuine products or a small shop near a school that also sells stationery, wherever those black-and-white cassette tapes are displayed, the shelves are emptying at a visible speed.

Some shop owners are clever; they simply circle the "suggested retail price of 8 yuan" on the poster in red and stick it at the entrance.

Eight yuan.

For students who are used to buying stolen copies for three yuan or gritting their teeth and saving up to buy genuine copies for ten yuan, this price is very attractive.

It's not much more expensive than a stolen one, but the feel of holding it in your hand, the clear anti-counterfeiting label, and the sense of superiority of supporting the genuine product are things that a cheap three-yuan plastic case can't provide.

Girls, in particular, are more willing to spend a few extra dollars to buy a keepsake of their youthful memories.

Many students who originally only planned to buy one copy to listen to ended up buying two copies after hearing "My Sky" playing in the store.

"One for listening, one for collecting."

"Give this to Afang from the next class; she'll definitely like it."

A few of them, who had extra cash, even slapped down a fifty-yuan bill: "Boss, give me five trays, one for each of us in the dorm!"

Throughout the Pearl River Delta region, the same scenario is playing out in any audio-visual store near a school.

The local market in Guangzhou can barely cope. Large chain stores have White Swan supermarkets to replenish their stock, and small shops have wholesale stalls to make up for the shortfall. Boxes of replenishment are sent over, and they are quickly sold out.

(Small shops buy in small quantities and mostly source their goods from wholesalers at stalls; reputable businesses like White Swan rarely do this kind of business.)

But outside of Guangzhou, the supply to second-tier cities that rely on logistics and distribution was completely cut off.