Chapter Twenty-Seven: Composing Music for "Dream of the Red Chamber"?

The diva and her father-in-law were in the midst of an emotional moment... But there were a few too many third wheels. Dozens of elderly eyes stared straight at them.

“These old fossils really don’t know how to read the mood,” Ren Qian thought, shaking his head in silent complaint. He took the lead, pulling Wen Run with him out of the room. Only then did the others finally come to their senses, hastily getting up and leaving as well.

Walking down the brilliantly lit corridors of Rolling Verse Entertainment, Ren Qian couldn’t help but feel his own presence elevated, as if he were some major celebrity. No wonder so many up-and-coming stars and artists acted so reserved, even nervous, the first time they set foot in a place like this. The atmosphere alone was overwhelming.

Take, for example, the agent who had just passed by Ren Qian; the moment he spotted Ren Qian from afar, he bowed at a ninety-degree angle. This agent was never this anxious, not even around other A-listers. But Ren Qian’s entourage was simply too intimidating—several veteran artists following behind him, like a team of bodyguards.

And what were those old artists doing? Smiling obsequiously, it seemed. Everyone knew these veterans were notoriously stubborn and often blunt to the point of rudeness, not caring if they offended the chairman or the most popular stars. For them to be all smiles now—surely, this man must be something else. Who wouldn’t bow in respect?

Ren Qian wasn’t an arrogant man; he returned the gesture. He noticed that behind the agent was a handsome newcomer, visibly so nervous his thigh was trembling.

“Are you stunned speechless by the sight of my bride price? Alas, it can’t be helped. A man as talented, handsome, and modest as myself is bound to cause a stir wherever he goes,” Ren Qian said, a playful smile on his lips. Ever since he left the music room, he’d sensed the inner conflict in his nurse girlfriend: proud of her boyfriend’s rising fame, but also frustrated that she had no leverage to keep him in check.

“Those old folks were just looking out for a junior like you, not wanting to hurt your tender heart. Yet here you are, showing off,” Wen Run retorted, rolling her eyes as they pushed open the revolving glass doors and stepped outside together.

In front of Rolling Verse Entertainment was a vast plaza. By afternoon, staff from various departments, representatives from copyright companies, hopeful young people, and agents from small agencies would all gather here. The company resembled a colossal port, processing the most cutting-edge art and talent of the entertainment world.

Amid the sea of people, three middle-aged men sat awkwardly on a bench by a flower bed, their eyes darting to the company’s entrance, clearly waiting for someone. When the glass doors swung open and Ren Qian appeared with the elderly artists, even the other agents and A-list stars stood up straight and saluted. The three men’s eyes lit up at once.

After a long wait, their patience was finally rewarded...

Ren Qian, standing at the door, wished the veteran artists would just head back inside. Yet, unable to refuse their warm company, he was stuck exchanging pleasantries at the entrance. At last, the artists suddenly remembered they had other matters to attend to, their expressions turning stern as if blaming Ren Qian for wasting their time.

Ren Qian was speechless. He pulled his nurse girlfriend away and made a quick escape.

“That’s the director! It must be Director Wang!” one of the three men exclaimed.

“Yes! Yes! No matter what, we have to intercept this big shot,” another agreed.

“Director Wang, are you sure you won’t get beaten up again like last time? And isn’t this big shot a bit too young?” the third said nervously.

“Can you not jinx it?” Director Wang snapped, adjusting his glasses. He had an old-fashioned air about him, reminiscent of Lu Xun in the textbooks—Lu Xun with glasses.

Wang was both excited and anxious. He had poured nearly everything he had into producing this TV series, only to find at the final stage that there was no budget left for a professional musician to compose the soundtrack and themes. There was no way he could afford the big names. What could he do?

His solution was to stake out Rolling Verse Entertainment every day, hoping to run into a compassionate musician. He’d been at it for a month, and it had been a grueling ordeal.

“Sir, would you spare a moment to talk with us?” Director Wang caught up to Ren Qian, putting his full acting skills to use as he earnestly made his request.

Ren Qian wanted to refuse, but Director Wang launched into his story before he could get a word in. He spoke passionately about how he had spent years adapting Dream of the Red Chamber into a TV series, pouring his heart and soul into it—so much so that he’d been left penniless and his family shattered. Now he had only one wish: to find a worthy musician who could give his life’s dream a perfect ending.

“Dream of the Red Chamber, huh? Others have adapted it before, but the results were terrible and didn’t honor the original. I’ll need to see the quality of your production first. If it’s not up to par, no matter how moving or tragic your story is, I won’t contribute a single note. Neither will anyone at Rolling Verse. So, leave your contact information, and I’ll take a look at your show,” Ren Qian replied, his tone cautious, even blunt.

“Absolutely! Sir, would you be willing to view the footage right now? We stand by the quality of our work, I assure you! Zhao, get the laptop from the bag—we’ll show it to him on the spot,” Director Wang responded, his confidence swelling as if his own child had been accepted to Jiangnan University.

“Sir?” Wen Run couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“How did you know he’s a ‘sir’?” she asked curiously.

No one paid her any mind except for Ren Qian, who held her hand. After a couple of minutes, the three men had set up the computer, their demeanor as respectful as could be.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” they said in unison, bowing deeply.

A pang of emotion struck Ren Qian. These three elders were clearly devoted to Dream of the Red Chamber, having poured all their effort into its production. Their artistic achievement might even rival the famous 1987 adaptation, yet here they were, humble and downcast, still forced to beg for help. The bruises at the corners of their eyes must have come from being unable to pay and getting roughed up by creditors.

“All right. I see how much you care for Dream of the Red Chamber. You are true artists. I, Ren Qian, will handle the soundtrack, opening, and ending themes for you. I promise the quality will exceed your expectations,” he said, clapping them on the shoulder.

“And one more thing—I’m only twenty years old, not some old sage turned young again. Still, it’s an honor to meet such passionate seniors. Tomorrow, I’ll visit your place, Director Wang, watch the series, and then compose the music as inspiration strikes.”

The three men finally breathed a sigh of relief at Ren Qian’s words. After a month of despair, they were on the verge of giving up. But perhaps this time, they’d found a musical genius—someone who could create music that would astound the world.