Chapter 25: Two Songs

Su Chen handed a tissue to Qu An’an.

Qu An’an took it and apologized, “I’m sorry, Teacher Su!”

“I… I… just now…”

Su Chen shook his head.

“It’s all right. Take a moment to calm yourself.”

“We’ll start recording again once you’ve settled down.”

“But when it’s the official recording, you can’t let this happen again.”

“A singer must convey emotion, but also control their feelings.”

He could understand Qu An’an’s reaction. As a child from the countryside, the scenes in the song resonated deeply with her. Moreover, the song overlapped with much of her own life experience.

Hearing Su Chen’s words, Qu An’an quickly nodded, breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn’t blaming her.

He had expected Qu An’an might make a mistake during recording—perhaps a pitch issue due to overwhelming emotion. Unexpectedly, her performance was just right. Having just cried, her voice carried a faint hoarseness, as if she were about to break into tears, yet held back at the last moment. This brought out the song’s emotion fully—rich, but restrained.

Afterward, Su Chen listened to the playback on the studio computer. He was very satisfied. He praised Qu An’an effusively, making the girl blush bright red.

“Teac… Teacher Su…”

When the file transfer finished and all was done, Qu An’an summoned her courage to call out. But after saying his name, she hesitated for a long time, not daring to continue.

Su Chen immediately understood what she meant. This little girl—she couldn’t keep being so timid. When it’s time to fight for something, she must do it.

Seeing her falter, he sighed inwardly, but outwardly he smiled.

“What is it? Do you want to sing this song?”

At his question, Qu An’an’s face turned crimson, like a kitten whose secret had been exposed, her gaze darting away from Su Chen’s eyes.

“I… I…”

“Can I?”

It was as if she had made a monumental decision, finally voicing her urgent desire.

“Don’t be silly!”

Su Chen, recalling a line from a Stephen Chow movie in his past life, blurted it out.

Qu An’an instantly deflated, her face pale.

So, I was too naive, after all? How could I possibly deserve such a good song? Forcing a smile, she was about to speak when Su Chen continued:

“This song was written for you!”

“What?”

Qu An’an froze, her mind buzzing as if she had been struck by a lottery windfall. It all felt unreal.

She had imagined this scene countless times—being chosen by a composer to sing a song of her own. She never expected it to become reality so suddenly.

If her fondness for “White Fox” was due to its graceful sorrow and rare beauty, her feelings for “The Prose Poem My Father Wrote” went much deeper—it resonated to her core.

Because she felt it told her own story.

She wanted it so badly.

Overwhelmed, tears welled in her eyes once more.

Su Chen was dumbfounded. Why was she crying again? It was his own fault; he knew the girl was sensitive, yet he had teased her. This bad habit needed to change!

“All right, enough crying. You still need more practice with this song. I’ll send the demo to the higher-ups for review.”

“Once they confirm, when it’s time for the official recording, I hope to see an even better you.”

Qu An’an quickly wiped her tears and nodded vigorously.

“Go and bring Luo Jiaxing here.”

Su Chen smiled as he instructed her, and Qu An’an immediately agreed, hurrying out. As she left, she accidentally bumped her head on the door, making Su Chen shake his head with a wry smile.

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In the trainee practice room, a group of boys and girls were practicing vocalization under the teacher’s guidance.

Qu An’an entered, went to the vocal coach, and whispered a few words. The coach then called out the puzzled Luo Jiaxing.

“What’s going on? Why are Qu An’an’s eyes red?”

“Did she do something wrong with Teacher Su?”

“Well, it’s normal for her to be scolded, isn’t it? She’s so clueless.”

“…"

The trainees began to whisper among themselves.

“No talking! Keep practicing!” the vocal teacher rebuked them sternly.

Walking down the hall with Qu An’an, Luo Jiaxing asked, “Qu An’an, what’s up?”

Perhaps still elated from her own windfall, Qu An’an kept it mysterious: “It’s good news. You’ll see when we get there!”

She guessed that Teacher Su Chen had also written a song for Luo Jiaxing.

Luo Jiaxing, a straightforward sort, didn’t ask further.

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“Teacher Su?”

Seeing Su Chen in the recording studio, Luo Jiaxing was surprised.

“Mm, have a seat first,” Su Chen nodded.

His intention was for Qu An’an to bring Luo Jiaxing over and then return to class herself. But the girl had followed along as well. Oh well, let her stay.

“We talked before about you recording a demo for me. I want to hear your timbre, and know what kind of songs you’ve sung before.”

Going straight to the point, Su Chen began once they sat.

So the good news was just recording a demo? Luo Jiaxing was a bit confused, but answered dutifully, “I’ve recorded quite a few demos for composers—sung all kinds of songs, but mostly high notes.”

“Because I love rock music best, especially that feeling of screaming.”

“Teacher Su, you know? I can pour all my longing, dissatisfaction, even fear into it…”

“My favorite is a foreign rock singer named…”

Once he started, it was hard to stop, a direct contrast to Qu An’an’s quietness—she was reticent, while Luo Jiaxing was a chatterbox.

Did I really choose such distinct personalities?

“Stop, stop, stop!” Seeing him go off on a tangent, Su Chen quickly motioned him to halt.

“Sing a few lines for me!”

Luo Jiaxing immediately complied, performing a popular rock song.

His singing was average, with several flaws, but his emotion was full and his range high. He could sing, and dared to sing.

Su Chen signaled him to stop, then sat quietly, frowning in thought.

The two waited silently, Luo Jiaxing especially bemused—why was Su Chen so concerned about his timbre for a mere demo? For a demo, as long as it’s the right type, isn’t it enough?

Su Chen pondered for three minutes. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

He picked up a pen, flipped over the sheet music he’d given Qu An’an, and began sketching on the back.

The two watched, their eyes growing wider.

Was he… writing a song, right here?

They could hardly contain their exclamations.

They had never seen anyone compose like this—on the spot.

Ten minutes later, a complete song lay before them.

On the back of the paper were the bold words: “Boundless Oceans and Open Skies.”