Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

Chapter 103 So what if I release eleven songs?

Back in the Peninsula Hotel's executive suite, Zheng Hui locked the door.

Outside the window, the dazzling lights of Victoria Harbour blanketed the entire sea and night sky, a breathtaking spectacle.

Zheng Hui did not appreciate the priceless night view.

He drew the curtains, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Hong Kong.

"Adults—"

"Those who struggle and flounder in the quagmire of society—"

"The moment I open my eyes, all I see is the mortgage, the car loan, and the medical expenses for my elderly parents—"

Every word Zheng Donghan said that afternoon was etched into his mind.

What would the life of a real adult, an ordinary person, be like?

A young man, fresh out of school, stands at the crossroads of a big city, backpack on his back, his eyes blazing with youthful ambition, believing he can conquer the world with his passion.

Years later, the same man, his suit worn out and his tie askew, was being berated by his boss in an office building late at night. He kept his head down, silent, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

A few years later, he got married and had children. The sharp edges of his face were completely smoothed out, and his smile became gentle but tired.

He learned to bow and scrape to people, and to chug glasses of liquor at the dinner table, all in order to sign a contract that would allow him to support his family.

Late at night, he parked his car in the underground garage of the residential complex, but hesitated to go upstairs.

He needed those ten minutes, in complete darkness and quiet, to finish a cigarette, to take off all the masks he wore during the day, to sigh, and then to put on the smiling face of a husband and father again before opening the car door.

Has he resigned himself to mediocrity?

Yes, he accepted that he was just an ordinary person.

Is he really willing to accept this?

No, in every quiet moment of the night, in every drunken stupor, that sigh of resentment is more deafening than any shout.

And parents.

Will I be their pride? Have I lived up to their expectations?

How many of the promises made when you left your hometown have you fulfilled? How much grievance and bitterness do you hide in your heart every time you call home and say, "I'm doing well here"?

He picked up a pen and wrote the prologue to the album on a blank sheet of paper.

One word—departure.

Every ordinary story begins with a journey away from home.

Then, the curtain of the first song rose in his mind.

He thought of those nights in a foreign land, gazing up at the unfamiliar moon, longing for the people of his distant hometown.

The pen tip glides across the paper.

"Drifting to the North"

"I drift north, don't ask about my hometown, the towering ancient city walls cannot hide my sorrow—"

Zheng Hui hummed softly. The melody of the song was not complicated, but the loneliness of being a stranger in a foreign land was as pervasive as mercury.

He thought of himself, coming from Fujian in his previous life to Macau, and then from Macau to Guangzhou, Hong Kong, and Beijing—wasn't he also a wanderer?

"I drift north, are my family alright? The heavy baggage on my shoulders is filled with sorrow."

This song is not written for those who succeed, but for everyone who gambles their youth and sweat on an unknown future in an unfamiliar city.

They may never be able to settle down in this city, and they may eventually have to return to where they started. But they came, they fought, and they left the best years of their lives here.

This song is for them.

Having started this journey of wandering, what's next?

What else do those who struggle in the city have besides loneliness?

It's the numbness of day after day, and the self-doubt that comes from being worn down by reality.

In Zheng Hui's mind, a chubby, somewhat dull-looking figure wearing glasses appeared—that young man named Mao Buyi. His songs always so easily touched the softest, most vulnerable part of people's hearts.

The Nameless Man.

Zheng Hui picked up his pen and began writing from memory.

"I'm just a nameless person on this street, I have no news, and no one comments about me—"

"How much self-respect does it take to lose one's innocence? We're waiting to see what happens—"

The lyrics are so plain, as plain as a glass of water. But it is this glass of water that can quench the thirst of those whose mouths are parched by the hardships of life.

It doesn't give you pep talks or offer empty platitudes. It simply tells you that you are not alone; there are millions of people like you, ordinary people without names in this world.

This gentle empathy is more powerful than any comfort.

However, a gentle sigh is not enough.

Zheng Donghan is right. These people are still holding back their anger, a roar of resentment!

They are both nameless, but they can be expressed in completely different ways!

He thought of the song that had become a legendary background music in countless film and television edits, Chen Xueran's version!

The Nameless!

"I'm just an unknown person. Who I am, who I've forgotten, it doesn't matter!"

"Who doesn't fight tooth and nail to the very end?"

"Keep chasing, whose glory isn't accompanied by tears!"

If "The Nameless Man" is a confession of licking one's wounds alone in the dead of night, then "The Nameless" is a declaration of war against the whole world!

I am ordinary, I am pathetic, I have accomplished nothing in my life, but I have not given up! I will fight to the death with this damn life.

Zheng Hui felt that the overall structure of the album was already clearly visible. The next step was to fill in the details.

He went to the liquor cabinet in the hotel suite and poured himself half a glass of whiskey.

How can the adult world be complete without alcohol?

So many unspoken words, so much bitterness that couldn't be swallowed, were ultimately dissolved in those glasses of wine.

"One cup to the rising sun, one cup to the moonlight—"

The song that defined sophisticated melancholy played in his mind.

"Sorrow".

"One cup to my hometown, one cup to the distant land; guarding my kindness, it urges me to grow."

"One cup to tomorrow, one cup to the past, supporting my body and strengthening my shoulders."

Zheng Hui seemed to see a man at a midnight street food stall, ordering a table full of dishes, but without a single friend.

He drank glass after glass, toasting this damned life, toasting the hometown he could never return to, and toasting the uncertain tomorrow.

Eight cups of wine, offered to heaven and earth, to all living beings, and the last cup, offered to myself, an ordinary and insignificant person.

This song is no longer a song; it is a modern narrative poem.

"The most absurd people are those who are clear-headed."

Yes, the most painful thing is to see everything too clearly and live too consciously.

After drinking, people often fall into deeper self-doubt.

Who am I? Why have I ended up like this?

The melody of another song seamlessly followed.

A person like me.

"Someone as outstanding as me should have lived a brilliant life, so how come after more than twenty years, I'm still just drifting in the sea of ​​people—"

This song resonates with everyone who once considered themselves extraordinary but ultimately had to bow to reality.

Who doesn't feel like they're the chosen one, the protagonist of the world, when they're young?

But why, in the end, did I become just another passerby, a mediocre background figure?

How many people like me, lost and confused, searching and aimless, have you seen?

As Zheng Hui wrote, he felt that his emotions were not quite right.

These songs are too heavy, too depressing. If the whole album has this tone, listeners will definitely develop depression.

No, there has to be an exit.

In the pain of recollection and self-reflection, there must be a glimmer of light, a touch of tender nostalgia.

What are you missing?

I miss the person I used to be.

"The You of the Past".

"I once dreamed of wandering the world with a sword, to see the world's splendor. The heart of youth is always a little impetuous. Now you call the world your home—"

The sound of guitar strumming seemed to be ringing in my ears, carrying the scent of wind and sand, and the feeling of wandering.

This song is about the passing of youth and the gap between ideals and reality. But its underlying tone is not sadness, but rather a sense of relief and composure after experiencing the vicissitudes of life.

Yes, I've grown old, I've changed, and I haven't lived the life I once imagined.

But those years of wandering the world with a sword were real. That initial desire to see the world's wonders was real.

This is enough.

Whenever I feel sad, I look at the sea alone.

Zheng Hui hummed along, feeling much more relaxed.

This song is a window for those whose edges have been worn down by life to look back on their youth. It reminds them that they once lived so passionately and recklessly.

With "Once Upon a Time You" already established, another song must also have a place.

Old Boys.

Youth is like a rushing river, once gone, it never returns, leaving only a numb me, devoid of the passion of yesteryear.

""

This song is more direct and cruel than "The You of the Past".

It leaves you no room for illusions, telling you directly that youth is gone, passion has cooled, the girl from back then has married someone else, and you are left to struggle for survival in the sea of ​​life's bitterness.

But its greatest strength lies in the fact that it gives you a glimmer of hope even in the deepest despair.

"Looking up at this sky full of stars, do you still remember the story here, the one that accompanied me back then?"

"If there is a tomorrow, I wish you well, my dear."

This is reconciliation—reconciliation with youth, reconciliation with regrets, reconciliation with the self that can never be returned to.

The nostalgia section seems to be missing something.

If "Once Upon a Time" and "Old Boy" are about looking back at the past, is there a song that stands in the present and connects the past and the future?

Have.

That song, covered by countless people, is full of poetry and imagery—

The Wind Rises.

"Walking and stopping along the way, following the traces of the boy's drifting life, I hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the station—"

"I once poured my youth into her, and I once played the notes of summer with my fingertips. Let my heart's desires take their course—"

Zheng Hui changed the sky of Nagano to the sky of his hometown, otherwise it would be inappropriate for a Japanese place name to appear in the song.

The song's imagery is so beautiful; it compares the journey of life to a breeze, sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce.

It doesn't sing about a specific event, but rather a feeling—a complex mix of regret and relief as one looks back on half a lifetime.

This song can serve as a highlight of the album, enhancing its overall artistic quality and style.

Wandering, struggling, nostalgia, reconciliation—

The image of a middle-aged man is vividly portrayed on the page.

Writing this isn't enough; the most important step is still missing.

What is it that keeps a man going through all that hardship outside, preventing him from collapsing?

It is home.

They are parents.

Zheng Hui's pen tip became softer than ever before.

He remembered Li Ronghao's song.

"Dad and Mom".

There are no fancy words, no complicated melodies.

It's the simplest, most straightforward description, the most ordinary conversation.

"My parents gave me a lot, but not too much. It's enough for me to make a living in this era."

As Zheng Hui wrote this, his eyes welled up slightly.

This line perfectly captures the love that parents in every ordinary family have for their children. They may not be able to give you mountains of gold and silver, but they have given you everything they could.

This love is simple and clumsy, yet it is the most unbreakable.

This album would be incomplete if it only contained cries for life and lamentations for youth. It needed this song as the foundation and culmination of all the emotions.

Following this sentiment towards parents, another song with even greater devastating impact was released.

"Father".

If "Dad and Mom" ​​is about warmth, then this song is about belated realization and heart-wrenching regret.

"I always took from you, but never said thank you. It wasn't until I grew up that I realized how hard you had it."

He thought of his parents who had passed away early in this life, and his father in his previous life who was always taciturn and would only say "If you need money, just say so" when he went out to work.

"How I long to hold your warm hand again, just like before, but you are not by my side. I entrust the gentle breeze to carry my wishes for your well-being—"

This song is dedicated to all those who regret not being able to support their parents in their old age, and to all men who grew up under their fathers' wings but only understood the heavy responsibility of fatherhood themselves.

Zheng Hui's emotions were completely stirred up. He was immersed in his longing and guilt for his father, unable to extricate himself for a long time.

Following this feeling, he suddenly remembered a more poetic and personal song.

"Prose Poems Written by My Father"

He chose the lyrics from Li Jian's version.

"In 1984, before the crops were fully harvested, my son lay beside me, sleeping so soundly—"

Zheng Hui wrote this sentence on the paper, then crossed it out.

His background wasn't in the countryside, but in Macau. His parents came to Macau to work illegally; they didn't own any crops.

He changed a few words.

"In 1984, before the construction site payments were settled, my son was lying next to me, sleeping so peacefully—"

In 1984, when Zheng Hui was four years old in this life, he could speak and ask for cookies.

"He had a lovely girl, and they got married. I hope they don't have such a hard life..."

Zheng Hui wrote the song in one go. It has a unique perspective, as it is written from the point of view of a father watching his son grow up and himself grow old.

The sense of powerlessness in the passage of time and the deep, restrained paternal love are vividly portrayed.

He looked at the sheets of paper scattered on the table, covered with lyrics and simple sheet music.

"Drifting North," "The Nameless Man," "The Nameless," "Sorrow," "A Person Like Me," "The You of the Past," "The Wind Rises," "Old Boy," "Mom and Dad," "Father," "Father's Prose Poems"

Eleven songs.

Each and every one of them is a classic for the future of Chinese pop music.

Each of these songs, taken alone, is enough to be the title track of an album.

Now, they are all lying here, quietly waiting to be awakened.

Zheng Hui looked at the outrageously luxurious playlist and fell into a happy dilemma.

There are too many, and they are too good; it's impossible to choose.

The standard capacity of an album is ten songs, so one should be removed.

Which song should be removed?

Looking at the list, Zheng Hui was faced with an unprecedented dilemma.

Each song is so important, together they construct the narrative of an ordinary person's life on this album. Without any one of them, the story would be incomplete.

After agonizing over it for a long time, Zheng Hui gave up and decided to forget about it.

Only children make choices; I want them all!

Who says an album can only have ten songs? I'll release eleven, is that not allowed?

Universal gave me 50 million, surely they can afford the cost of a recording studio for just one more song?

Besides, I remember there was an album with twelve songs, so what difference would it make if I added one more?

Having made his decision, Zheng Hui packed up the sheet music and said he would send an email to register the recording tomorrow.