Chapter 111: The Movie Theme Song (Twenty Thousand Words in Two Updates—Please Subscribe)

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The idol group SPK from Chaoyin Culture released a new song and topped the Hot Songs chart.

Normally, this wasn’t a big deal—being at the top of the Hot Songs chart always meant a change was due.

However, after SPK’s new track “Sexy” claimed the top spot, numerous announcements flooded Weibo and various media platforms.

The headlines essentially read: “’Sexy’ defeats ‘Nocturne,’ claiming the top spot on the Hot Songs chart.”

Fang Xing saw these press releases and couldn’t help but laugh in frustration.

“Nocturne” had dominated the charts for four weeks straight; it was only natural for it to fall off eventually.

Yet, Chaoyin Culture was blatantly using this to promote their own song.

And it was hard to argue otherwise.

Because at that moment, “Sexy” was indeed ranked above “Nocturne” on the Hot Songs chart.

It was clear these announcements were bought and paid for by Chaoyin Culture.

Promoting a new song was fine, but deliberately belittling a competitor just felt distasteful.

Still, such tactics were common in fan circles.

Even if it was just stirring up controversy, as long as it generated buzz and got fans from both sides arguing, wouldn’t that bring in more traffic?

...

Since the finale of “Star of Tomorrow,” Fang Xing had moved out of the training camp and temporarily stayed at a hotel long-rented by Songshi Records, conveniently close to their office.

So, he could simply walk to the company.

Pushing open Liang Yusong’s office door with a stern expression, Fang Xing said, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to take him on.”

Liang Yusong’s face immediately lit up with interest.

“That night at the celebration banquet, I even asked if you wanted to compete against SPK, and you said a person shouldn’t always be competitive. So why the sudden change? Lack of restraint?”

“Just tell me if you’re in or not,” Fang Xing urged.

“Heh...” Liang Yusong chuckled amiably. “Chaoyin Culture’s company is bigger than Songshi, and He Hongtu sure knows how to put on airs in front of me.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But if you do, then there’s nothing more to say.

“However, there’s another opportunity I want you to consider.

“You know the company still wants to make money, and since you refuse commercial gigs, it’s a bit of a waste.

“The buzz from the talent show only lasts about three months.

“If you won’t do commercials, I have to find you other work.”

Fang Xing wasn’t opposed to all work—he was selective.

“What kind of work?”

“It’s more like a producer’s job. Qingniao Media is investing heavily in a movie now in post-production, aiming for release during the National Day holiday. They’re looking for someone to write the theme song.”

Liang Yusong slid some documents across the desk to Fang Xing.

“Qingniao’s budget is quite generous, but their standards are high.

“This film is their flagship project this year, starring quite a few big-name actors.

“The company sent over two demos, both rejected.

“I heard a few from Puxiang Records also tried, but their demos were turned down too.

“Qingniao demands the song fit the film’s story, which makes finding a suitable track from the company’s existing catalog quite challenging.

“We even had lyricists revise the words to better match the story, but still no satisfaction.

“I’ve listened to you sing ten songs on ‘Star of Tomorrow,’ and I’m convinced you have some unreleased material.

“Take a look at the film’s synopsis and see if you can write a theme song.

“If you get this gig, you’ll get an extra 10% producer’s share.”

Fang Xing smiled. “Is there really such a good deal?”

Although Fang Xing’s popularity was soaring—he’d been trending all summer—he hadn’t earned much from the show itself.

Before the program, he was an unknown student at Dongyin Music School.

The show catapulted him into fame, but the producers didn’t increase his appearance fees accordingly.

Only the mid-show commercials brought in big payouts.

Initially, he planned to ride the show’s momentum by accepting commercial gigs to earn well.

But he’d insisted on not taking random commercial jobs.

As a result, he still seemed financially strained even after the show ended.

So when he saw Qingniao Media’s budget for a theme song, his eyes lit up.

With a 50% split of lyrics, composition, and singing, just the upfront budget alone could net him a seven-figure sum, not counting any future royalties.

Liang Yusong cautioned, “Don’t get too excited yet. Qingniao’s standards are high, and the budget is just for buying the theme song. The final price depends on whether they’re satisfied with the song.”

“I understand.”

Fang Xing lowered his head to study the documents and read aloud the story synopsis:

“The movie is adapted from the ‘Painted Skin’ story in ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.’ This might be a bit lighter in tone...”

In this world, history before the 19th century largely mirrored Earth’s.

“Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio” originated in the Qing dynasty, so it existed here as well.

Developing ancient works into IPs was a common practice among entertainment companies.

Liang Yusong furrowed his brow. “What, you have an idea again?”

“‘Again’?”

Fang Xing shot him a glance. “I have a thought, but writing two songs is too troublesome. Why not combine them into one? We use this movie’s theme song to take a jab at Chaoyin Culture.”

Liang Yusong was momentarily confused. “You might not understand—this song is for Qingniao Media. How and when it’s used is up to them.”

“That’s negotiable. Since I’m in charge of lyrics, composition, and singing, we can try to arrange the release to fit our schedule.”

Fang Xing was firm on this point.

Liang Yusong shook his head.

“You’re still young. You might not realize Qingniao is the client here, and we’re the contractors. Their high budget means they expect our cooperation.”

Fang Xing chuckled. “Let’s record a demo and see if they like what the contractors can offer. Of course, they might reject it.”

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“That’s true. Let’s just record a demo first. If they’re interested, we’ll negotiate further; if not, we’ll move on,” Liang Yusong said, thinking it premature to assume Qingniao would approve.

“I’ll start arranging the music then.”

Fang Xing rose to leave.

Liang Yusong added, “Do your best. You know what kind of company Qingniao is—it’s a major player in film. A collaboration with them would benefit both you and the company.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Fang Xing returned to the hotel to begin scoring and arranging.

...

Meanwhile,

At Qingniao Media headquarters,

the entire company was bustling with post-production for the National Day film.

Post-production had been underway for five months, with only two months left before release.

Time was tight, so everyone was extremely busy.

The music team had nearly completed the film’s score, except the main theme song was still missing.

The plan was to debut the theme song in the second trailer.

But as National Day approached, the desired theme song remained elusive.

This issue had even sparked an argument between the producer and director.

The producer insisted on selecting a theme song from the dozen demos received.

The director disagreed.

He held very high standards for the film and, having experience in music himself from earlier in his career, demanded more from the theme song than typical directors.

In the conference room,

Producer Luo Yuheng knocked on the table.

“We’re running out of time. We need the second trailer soon to promote the National Day release. There are some good demos among these twelve; we can pick one and be done with it.”

Usually, the producer held the final say in a film project.

Of course, the director also had significant influence.

So clashes between producers and directors were common.

Usually, their disputes revolved around money.

The producer controlled the budget, while the director focused on making the film.

But filming big scenes was expensive, and directors often wanted to spend lavishly.

That’s when the producer stepped in to manage costs.

If the director spent unchecked, the budget might run out mid-shoot.

Hence, producer-director arguments often centered on finances.

But this time was different.

The dispute wasn’t over money but the song.

Director Xue Tao was dissatisfied with the theme song demos and wanted a song that better matched the film’s theme.

But Qingniao Media had already begun promoting the film for National Day.

Delays in finalizing the theme song would hamper marketing efforts.

Producer Luo Yuheng said sternly, “Enough. I’m in charge here. If you won’t decide, I will. The song ‘Starless Night’ from Fenglin Records is quite good.”

Director Xue Tao exhaled.

“Fine. You have the final say. But I don’t agree with that song. If you use it, I’ll say so publicly when reporters ask.”

Luo Yuheng shook his head.

“This public discord between producer and director doesn’t help the film’s image. It makes audiences think the film is a mess.”

Xue Tao gave a sardonic smile.

“Have you ever seen a producer and director who don’t argue?”

Luo Yuheng pondered for a moment.

“Alright. I’ll give you three more days. After that, the theme song must be finalized. We still need time for recording and post-production.”

Xue Tao remained silent. He simply didn’t know when he’d find a satisfactory song.

...

Wednesday morning.

Fang Xing was in Songshi Records’ recording studio working on the demo.

Inside, a female singer signed last year but yet to release a single was recording.

Not every singer got to release an album.

Many debuted and retired without a single song.

Newcomers often started by recording demos.

Fang Xing had already finished composing and arranging the previous day.

But this song was meant for a female voice; a male singer just wouldn’t fit.

So the demo had to be sung by a female singer.

Songshi Records naturally had singers for demo work.

However, after hearing her sing three times and feeling unsatisfied, Fang Xing shook his head and asked the recording engineer, “Does the company have any other female singers who can do demos?”

The engineer shook his head with a helpless look.

The young singer, hearing Fang Xing’s dissatisfaction, looked a bit downcast and apologized, “Sorry, Teacher Fang Xing, I didn’t perform well.”

“It’s not your fault. This song is truly difficult. I can tell you tried your best,” Fang Xing reassured her.

He pulled out his phone, opened WeChat, and after a few swipes, sent a message to Li Caiwei: “Can you help record a demo?”

Usually, demo work didn’t require a near top-tier singer.

But Li Caiwei responded quickly: “Of course. When?”

Fang Xing: “Now. At the company studio.”

Li Caiwei: “Give me five minutes.”

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Not long after, Li Caiwei pushed open the studio door and entered. She was clearly already at the company.

The young singer greeted her eagerly, “Sister Caiwei.”

“Hello,” Li Caiwei smiled in return.

Fang Xing handed over the sheet music, saying, “The pitch is a bit high; you’re the only one who can handle it.”

Li Caiwei held the sheet in one hand and softly hummed the melody along the staff with the other.

Even halfway through humming, her eyes sparkled.

Before finishing, she pressed the sheet music to her chest, smiling warmly at Fang Xing.

“How about I sing this song? The pitch suits me perfectly.”

Fang Xing waved his hand. “Well... I asked Director Liang earlier. Your fee is a bit high now.”

Li Caiwei was already a near top-tier singer. Although her career had been lukewarm due to some incidents, her talent was undeniable, and prices for film theme songs had skyrocketed after her resurgence with “The Red-Clothed Actress.”

According to Songshi Records’ external pricing, Li Caiwei now commanded seven-figure fees for a film theme song.

Of course, this was a one-time buyout with no royalties.

Fang Xing’s main goal in taking this job was to make some money.

With the producer contract splitting 50% among lyrics, composition, and singing, if the singer took too much, Fang Xing’s share would shrink.

Li Caiwei clutched the sheet music, smiling.

“What nonsense! I won’t take royalties or even a fee—maybe a token amount.”

Fang Xing frowned.

“You’re really that easy?”

Li Caiwei nodded.

“I only hummed half the song and already knew it would be a hit. Getting to sing it is enough for me.”

Fang Xing didn’t immediately agree but said, “This song is for Qingniao Media’s movie theme. We don’t yet know if they’ll accept it. Who sings it might require their approval.”

After hearing this, Li Caiwei nodded.

“I see. Well, I really like this song, and the pitch suits me. If possible, consider me. I’ll be your free singing machine.”

“Alright, I’ll try to push for you,” Fang Xing promised.

“Good. Let’s start recording.”

Li Caiwei entered the studio and after a few trials, began singing along with the lyrics and melody.

Her musical foundation was solid; she could hum from the sheet and, after several attempts, sing the entire song.

Though not perfect, the demo was excellent for its purpose.

After listening once, Fang Xing felt the demo was ready and told the engineer, “The last take was good. Mix it and send it to Director Liang.”

“Got it. Should be done today,” the engineer gave an OK gesture.

Li Caiwei came out of the studio and asked, “How is it? A near top-tier singer’s demo good enough for you, Teacher Fang?”

Fang Xing gave a thumbs-up. “Top-tier quality.”

Li Caiwei smiled gracefully.

“Remember our deal—I’m your free singing machine for this song.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best.”

Of course, Li Caiwei’s free singing wasn’t without benefits.

If the song became a hit, it would boost her career.

Also, she would gain performance rights to the song for commercial gigs.

The singing rights would definitely be granted; otherwise, it’d be unfair.

...

The next day.

At Qingniao Media headquarters, in the “Painted Skin” project office,

Director Xue Tao had spent days repeatedly listening to the twelve demos received.

He knew time was tight and wanted to finalize the theme song quickly.

So he kept listening, hoping to find one he could reluctantly accept and then request adjustments.

But none quite met his expectations.

Some lyrics sounded awkward.

This was because these songs were picked from the record companies’ catalogs and had their lyrics modified to fit the film’s story.

Since these were only demos, the lyric revisions weren’t polished, causing some jarring moments.

Other directors might have simply chosen one and moved on.

But Xue Tao, who had worked in music early in his career, had higher standards.

At that moment,

his assistant entered with three CDs.

“Boss, three more demos arrived from Puxiang and Songshi Records. Want to listen?”

Xue Tao, low on enthusiasm, waved his hand.

“Play them.”

After a day of listening, he lacked interest but didn’t mind hearing a few more.

The assistant played the CDs.

The first track’s intro filled the office. The melody was okay, but after the first line, Xue Tao waved it off.

“This one’s no good—worse than the previous ones.”

The assistant played the next track, which had the same result.

Feeling disheartened, Xue Tao stood to wash his face and refresh himself.

Just then, the assistant played the third song.

The cheerful “la la la” humming at the start caught him mid-step.

He stood still, back to the music, and listened through the chorus.

Excited, he asked, “Which record company is this from?”