Chapter Twenty-One: Reaping What One Sows

At last, I understood how difficult it would be to keep a man in line and prevent him from straying. In the blink of an eye, you’ve already sent a Weibo post behind my back...

Ren Qian was at a loss for words. He wanted to explain himself but found he couldn't even organize his thoughts.

What kind of logic was this? Sending a Weibo post was somehow equated with cheating, and she said it with such conviction! Shouldn't she at least consider if there was any rational basis for such an accusation?

Helpless, Ren Qian could only wink at the nurse, hoping to amuse her and lighten the mood.

“I can't rely on the Diva for everything—some things I have to do myself. Or do you want your man to be nothing but a kept man?”

He felt that this was a front he had to maintain on his own.

To release an album two years later and surpass the so-called King’s legend in sales—rationally, that goal was difficult to achieve.

After all, when Wan Feng had created his miracle, it was largely a matter of timing.

Back then, the music industry was at its peak. Ancient-style songs were in their prime, and the music world stirred up public sentiment by appealing to people’s pride in their ancestral culture, causing fans to flock in droves. In those two years, all four major kings released albums, each selling over twenty million copies.

Now, however,

The industry was in dire straits, gasping its last breath. Not because of rampant piracy, but as a consequence of market forces.

The market for ancient-style songs was saturated. To stand out among thousands, one had to innovate and transform. Yet, decades of tradition meant that artists rarely considered the tastes of the general public when releasing new albums.

Simply put, today’s songs are monotonous and of poor quality, failing to inspire people to buy them—let alone collect or gift them.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Ren Qian had transmigrated into both the best and worst of times.

It was the worst of times because the Imperial Chinese music scene had become ossified; the old guard was entrenched. If he wanted to succeed, he would have to break through these established powers.

But it was also the best of times, for he possessed the vast resources of another world—enough to turn the music scene upside down.

Assuming he didn’t perish along the way.

Ren Qian didn’t believe that releasing a few popular songs would guarantee instant success, fame, and the adoration of the masses.

For example,

You must have heard songs like “Dusk,” “Window That Won’t Close,” “Lonely Sandbar,” “Ocean of Men,” and “Blue and White Porcelain.” A name might come to mind, or perhaps you can’t even recall who sings them.

Yet, it’s undeniable that Steve Chow is remarkable—a genuinely talented singer-songwriter who composed all these widely known songs himself.

People think his talent is second only to Jay Chou, but the truth is, his fame and status lag far behind. ‘Far behind’ doesn’t even capture it—‘worlds apart’ is more accurate.

Often, he’s in a situation where his songs are famous, but he himself is not—a most perplexing reality.

In China, so-called singers can ride the wave of a single hit for years; some don’t even have a great song and rely on looks alone to become overnight sensations. Yet Steve Chow, with so many good songs, remains lukewarm in popularity.

Talent is one thing; popularity is quite another. If Ren Qian hoped to sweep everything before him on talent alone, that would be unwise—he might well suffer the same fate: his songs famous, but he himself forgotten.

...

“All right, you’ve given it some thought. Whatever you decide, I’ll silently support you from behind. If you really can’t win, just retreat—no problem! I won’t look down on you. At worst, it’s like keeping a pretty boy, and I’d say it’s worth it.”

Uh, could the nurse be any more domineering?

Ren Qian felt like he was dating several different women—sometimes a mature woman, sometimes a fresh-faced ingenue, sometimes a queen. Her personality shifted so much that he was left spinning, but he liked it. If, when they lived together, she added some role-play uniforms, it would be perfect.

Ahem, his thoughts were beginning to wander.

“I’m supposed to be the man you keep—what level of sugar mama are you looking for? I’ve got billionaires, two-billionaires, three-billionaires—take your pick, I can satisfy any request. Wait, I need to take this call.”

The nurse giggled, a dimple flashing like a shooting star. Ren Qian felt a warm glow inside, but he could never accept being a kept man for real—what would be the point of this second life? All those twenty years spent tirelessly honing his skills in composing, arranging, and lyric-writing would have been wasted.

Besides, he loved singing.

He picked up the phone; it was Yan Yu calling.

“Hey! Hey! Qian, hurry up and clear my name or there’ll be trouble!”

Yan Yu sounded rushed and anxious, as if something urgent had happened. Ren Qian’s lips curved into a knowing smile. He understood immediately—this guy must have hurried to impress his date and sang “Women Are Tigers.” The moment the lyrics came out, his date’s face must have darkened.

What woman would be happy to hear herself compared so bluntly to a tiger?

“Sis, calm down. Here’s what happened: Yan Yu came to me wanting to learn a love song. I said, ‘Sure, but you can’t learn it that fast. Take some time, I’ll teach you later.’ He refused and asked if I knew any short and punchy ones. I said, ‘There is one,’ and he said, ‘Great, just teach me that for now.’ So I taught him this song…”

Ren Qian played along, feigning innocence.

So you want to show off, huh? Internet marketing genius, right? The man who turned me into a two-million-follower sensation from scratch, topped the Weibo trending chart twice with savvy word-of-mouth campaigns, and pioneered a new form of hype?

Fine, let me show you a whole new way to dig your own grave…

“Oh? Is that so? Then let me ask Qian one more question: what’s the name of this short and punchy song?”

Even through the phone, Ren Qian could feel the girlfriend’s barely contained rage. Sorry, my friend—good luck and take care. He sent a silent prayer, then replied honestly.

“The song’s called ‘Women Are Tigers.’”

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

The air on the other end of the line was certainly lively.

Ren Qian laughed darkly. His scheme had worked to perfection—not a shred of guilt, only satisfaction. A little squabbling between couples was perfectly normal, after all.

When he looked up with a wicked grin, he found the nurse’s face as cold as ice.

“I hear you wrote a new song called ‘Women Are Tigers’? Sing it for me.”

Her expression was half-smile, half-chill, but Ren Qian had no doubt: this was just a façade, and her face could turn glacial at any moment. If he wanted to escape unscathed, humility was his only hope. He hurried to explain.

“I just used it to prank Yan Yu, nothing else. It was just for fun, don’t take it to heart. Look, the food’s here—let’s eat, that’s the most important thing.”

“Sing!”

Just one word, but it brimmed with menace.

Well, Ren Qian finally understood what it meant to suffer the consequences of one’s own actions. He had no choice but to muster his courage and begin.

After all, for a handsome, mature man to sing such a song—it was utterly mortifying.