Chapter 79: "Meteor" and "Yellow"!

They had just finished lunch, and the weather was stiflingly hot. In the conference room, the air conditioning was blasting; only three people sat on one side of the round table.

Liu Xiayu, Li Ronghao, and Gallen.

They were all waiting for someone—Li Qing, who had just landed and was hurrying back to the company. Gallen had never met Li Qing before, but from Li Ronghao’s brief and guarded remarks, he had detected that this man seemed both arrogant and talented. Still, he would have to meet him in person to form a true judgment. Yet, just from the three arrangements he had done, as well as his special trip to the United States for music, it was clear that Li Qing was rigorous in his approach to music.

Li Ronghao’s assistant came in for the third time, refilling everyone’s water, when Li Qing finally rushed in. As soon as he entered, he announced, “Sorry, everyone! I’ve kept you waiting!” Though the words were apologetic, there was an utter lack of regret in his tone—stiff and perfunctory, as if it were merely a habitual phrase.

He did not even bother to greet Gallen. Instead, he dropped into a chair, pulled out a stack of A4 papers from his bag, and began sorting them.

Gallen curled his lip. It seemed Li Ronghao hadn’t exaggerated—this was indeed an arrogant man who held himself above others.

“Let’s begin,” Liu Xiayu said. Li Qing nodded curtly and immediately took up the thread. “Let’s start with the song selection for the new album. Besides the three songs for which the arrangements are already done, I’ve chosen nine others from Gallen’s repertoire: ‘Beijing Night,’ ‘Chang’an, Chang’an,’ ‘Memories of Zhengzhou,’ ‘Fleeting Fireworks,’ ‘Once Yours,’ ‘Betrayal,’ ‘I Am a Little Bird,’ ‘Just Once,’ and ‘No. 18 Bund.’ We’ll aim to finish production on all of them by the end of the month and release the album by mid-next month.”

Gallen realized, with a glance, that aside from the three songs previously released on the soundtrack for “The Year We Graduated,” all his prepared songs were already included. He had come today, specially prepared with a few songs to present, but it seemed they would not be needed.

“Isn’t this selection a bit too eclectic for one album?” Li Ronghao frowned. “Folk, rock, pop, classical, rap… so many genres—will the audience be able to accept that?”

“Why couldn’t they?” Li Qing replied. “A range of styles means there’s something for everyone. If we went entirely niche, we’d lose broader appeal.”

“But—” Li Ronghao started.

“No ‘but!’” Li Qing cut him off sharply. “While the movie hasn’t yet been released and the three original tracks aren’t out, the priority is to launch the album. Besides, time is tight. Can Gallen come up with nine new songs right now?”

Li Ronghao was seething, but he had no retort. It was true—time was pressing. If they waited for Gallen to compose the rest, who knew how long it would be?

Yet, he felt a bitter reluctance. To be rebuked so rudely by a junior—where was his dignity?

Suddenly, Gallen spoke up. “Who says I can’t present new songs right now?”

Li Ronghao turned to look at him. Gallen’s face was dark, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Li Qing, not backing down an inch. Li Ronghao felt a sudden chill—could it be that Gallen really could deliver nine songs on the spot?

He recalled, in a flash, that “Memories of Zhengzhou” had been written during a bathroom break. “Chang’an, Chang’an” had been written at the Chang’an roadshow. And “No. 18 Bund” was composed and arranged overnight before the Shanghai performance, yet the show the next day went perfectly and even sparked hot discussion.

Remembering these things, Li Ronghao suddenly felt a surge of confidence; he puffed out his chest and grinned at Gallen. “Gallen, you came prepared, didn’t you? Let’s hear what you’ve got!”

Li Qing frowned slightly, his gaze on Gallen. Could he really produce nine songs right now? But then, what did it matter? Quality was what counted.

Most singers, when making an album, would discard nearly a hundred songs at the selection stage. Liu Xiayu, for example, had once sifted through thousands. However talented Gallen might be, could every song he presented be up to standard? The lead single aside, even the B-sides had to be good enough.

“I brought four today. If needed, I can write five more right now.” Gallen’s tone was half-smiling, his eyes never leaving Li Qing.

Li Qing remained unruffled. He wrote songs himself—he had nearly a hundred in reserve. Picking nine was easy. But finding nine fit for a proper album release—that was a different matter.

“Let’s listen to the four you brought today,” Liu Xiayu said, breaking the tense silence.

“Alright,” Gallen agreed without hesitation, producing a USB drive and handing it to Li Ronghao.

Li Ronghao quickly plugged it into his laptop. Soon, acoustic guitar chords rang out from the speakers, followed by electric guitar and drums—all recorded by Gallen himself at home. Ever since his home studio was set up, he spent nearly all his free time there.

The production was rough, merely a demo, far from the polished original. But Gallen was determined to learn and try producing himself, even if it meant copying others for now, rather than relying on downloaded original backing tracks—a bad habit that had to be broken. Besides, if anyone ever caught on, it would be disastrous.

Though the production was rough, as soon as the melody began, the expressions of the three listeners changed.

“I want to know how long a shooting star can fly,”

“Whether its beauty is worth pursuing,”

“Flowers in the night sky scatter behind you,”

“I have been happy for so long, it’s worth the wait,”

...

“Willing to fall into your hands,”

“Transform, into a rainbow in the night,”

“Change, into the gentle breeze of moonlight…”

At first, all three thought it was a folk song. But as the singing began, they realized—it was rock.

Gallen kept his eyes on Li Qing. As the music played, Li Qing listened intently, with no trace of disdain. In fact, his expression repeatedly showed appreciation; at one point, he even closed his eyes, lost in the music.

Gallen was suddenly unsure how to read him. Was he harsh and rude? Or simply frank and earnest?

The music drew to a close, returning to the acoustic guitar, and the final line was sung:

“I want to know how long a shooting star can fly, I have been happy for so long…”

After about ten seconds of silence, Li Qing was the first to applaud. He showed no embarrassment at being proved wrong; on the contrary, he praised the song naturally. “Not bad. This song is excellent. It’s a keeper.”

“What’s it called?” Liu Xiayu asked.

“‘Meteor,’” Gallen replied with a smile. This was just a taste—the real show was still to come.

“Meteor?”

The three of them savored the name to themselves. Li Qing immediately picked up his pen and made a note. “Then let’s use this song to replace ‘Betrayal.’ Let the whole album take a more alternative direction.”

“Next track!” he added, unable to hide his eagerness.

Li Ronghao grunted in annoyance at being bossed around again, but he couldn’t stop himself from clicking play—he too was curious what surprises might come next.

As soon as the second track began, they were all stunned. Wasn’t this the same backing track as “Meteor”?

“Did you play the wrong track?” Liu Xiayu asked.

“No,” Li Ronghao replied, glancing at the screen. Then he frowned, “Wait, Gallen, didn’t you say there were four songs? Why are there five here? Is this a mistake?”

“No,” Gallen shook his head, smiling. “This is one song, and also two. Just listen.”

The three were puzzled, but the vocals had already begun.

“Look at the stars!”

“Look how they shine for you!”

“And everything you do!”

“Yeah, they were all yellow!”

The melody was identical to “Meteor,” but now the lyrics were in English.

So that was what Gallen meant by “one song, and also two.”

Both Liu Xiayu and Li Qing had spent years in America; though English wasn’t quite as intimate as their native tongue, hearing it now filled them with nostalgia, as if transported back to those years collaborating with American musicians.

After a few verses, however, they exchanged glances, sensing something odd. This wasn’t American English, but standard British grammar, and the musical style was pure Britpop rock.

Britrock wasn’t as complex or diverse as other rock genres; it relied on the purest guitar, bass, and drums, with the guitar at its core. The whole arrangement was strummed chords, mid-tempo drumming, and an overall style that was more dreamy and melancholic than impatient or frantic.

What surprised them was that Gallen wasn’t just playing with Chinese music and original styles—he could handle foreign music just as well.

This discovery filled them both with excitement, especially Liu Xiayu.

She had long since embraced foreign musical styles. That was why, after returning to China, she only released one album every two years: it was so difficult to find a song among domestic composers that both suited her and resonated with her tastes. In the end, she had to commission several songs from foreign composers and have Chinese lyricists write the lyrics.

Now, with Gallen’s song—both the English and Chinese lyrics were superb, fresh, and utterly natural.

Liu Xiayu’s excitement stemmed from finally finding the musician she had been searching for. Her decision to trade shares for Gallen to write her an album had been a perfect one.

Li Qing, too, was excited. Besides sharing Liu Xiayu’s thoughts, he saw in Gallen a rare, uncut gem—a talent not only destined for the Chinese music scene, but, if properly honed, one that would one day shine on the world stage.