Chapter Six: Meeting the Man in Glasses Again

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The person who struck up a conversation with Zhang Qianjun was the owner of a cozy bar. Impressed by Zhang’s appearance and singing skills, he felt Zhang was more than qualified to be a resident singer at the bar and approached him for a chat. Zhang, intrigued by the idea, wanted to experience what it was like to perform regularly. He told the owner that he couldn’t stay long or come home too late since he was starting school next month. The two quickly settled on a deal: two hours a day, three hundred yuan per day, paid daily, and Zhang only needed to notify the owner if he couldn’t make it.

The owner was generous and immediately handed over three hundred yuan in cash as today’s wage. The performance would start at six in the evening and end at nine. They exchanged phone numbers, and Zhang suggested to “Glasses Brother” that they find a place to eat nearby.

Meanwhile, the points system, which had been inactive, finally showed a change:

Points accumulated: 300

Sure enough, any income earned from the entertainment industry counted towards the points, confirming Zhang’s earlier assumptions.

“Glasses Brother, although I won’t be signing with your company, I still appreciate your kindness in Qiantang. Let me treat you since we’re here. There’s a place nearby that serves Hangzhou cuisine—let’s try some local specialties.”

Perhaps weighed down by his troubles or simply because the local dishes didn’t suit a Northerner’s palate, Li Yanjing barely touched his food, while Zhang Qianjun kept eating nonstop.

“Qianjun, have you really decided not to sign with a company?”

“No. Working for a company is one thing; I could tolerate low royalties. But having to pay to sing my own songs after leaving the company—that’s unbearable. And look at the state of the domestic music scene. How much money can you make just by singing? It’s all about fame followed by commercial gigs, variety shows, and acting. Pure music-making is just a losing game.”

Seeing Zhang’s clear-headed reasoning, Li Yanjing had little to argue. Straightforward by nature and not one for empty flattery, he simply absorbed the thoughts.

But thinking that he was approaching his third critical year without achieving anything stirred a sorrow deep inside. He downed his beer in one gulp but, with his modest tolerance, was choked and began coughing.

“Hey, Old Li, don’t drink so fast—you’re choking! Let me join you. Watch, this is how you drink draft beer in one go.”

With that, Zhang Qianjun picked up his mug and downed it as smoothly as drinking water, then grabbed a chopstick full of spicy shrimp and eel to continue showing off.

“Glasses Brother, what do you think about my earlier proposal? You find me gigs, I give you a cut—standard agent rate, twenty percent.”

“It’s hard for singers without company backing.”

“But many online singers are freelancers—like ‘Lilac Flower,’ ‘Two Butterflies,’ or ‘That One Night.’”

“Those still have companies, maybe not initially, but once they get popular, companies come in. Plus, singers used to make money from ringtones—one good song could feed you. But that’s no longer viable. Think about it; when was the last time you heard a ringtone ad on TV?”

Zhang Qianjun now better understood the plight of independent singers.

“Making money is really tough—it’s not what I imagined the entertainment industry to be.”

“You’re still young. Wait until you hit your thirties. If you’re still an ordinary person then, that’s when it really gets hard.”

So Li Yanjing began to vent the hardships of an average middle-aged man on the brink of life’s crossroads.

“Enough with the gloom. We’re destined to work together. You’ll be my part-time agent. We’ll build something big and glorious! Haha, come on, don’t just drink—eat!”

After the meal, they exchanged QQ contacts. One headed to the bar to sing, the other packed up to return to the capital.

Time flew by, and over two months later, after military training ended, Zhang Qianjun rented a one-bedroom apartment near school and sent resumes to some advertising agencies nearby.

As for classmates, Zhang had never been deeply interested in the entertainment world. Besides Xiao Xue, Liu Xing, and Han Shangyan, he didn’t know anyone else—mostly unknown minor celebrities from past lives.

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During this period, other record companies had contacted him, but overall, Glasses Brother from Wheatfield Music offered the best terms.

Speaking of Glasses Brother, it had been a while since they last connected. Zhang was surprised there had been no response to his offer to be a part-time agent. After all, he had already earned over ten thousand yuan singing in Qiantang, gaining some local fame in the East Lake-side bar. Glasses Brother still hadn’t introduced any jobs—he really needed a nudge. So Zhang dialed Li Yanjing’s number.

“Hey, Brother Yanjing, it’s Zhang Qianjun. Long time no see! How have you been? I miss you since leaving Qiantang.”

“Yeah, I’m at Beijing Film Academy now. Just finished military training. No, I don’t live on campus—I rent off-campus.”

“No girlfriend, huh? No career, no woman. Right now, I’m just focused on making money.”

“Of course I’m calling you to get me gigs! Didn’t we agree to make money and grow strong together? All that spicy shrimp and eel was for nothing?”

“Alright, alright. Let’s meet at Furen Restaurant later.”

After hanging up, Zhang thought to himself that staying in touch was necessary. Sure enough, upon contact, his dining companion showed up.

After a quick freshening up, Zhang arrived at Furen Restaurant and met the long-absent Glasses Brother. A glance revealed the top of his head seemed even thinner than before. Indeed, middle-aged men grow weaker by the day.

They sat down and ordered. While pouring tea and washing cups, Li Yanjing asked,

“How’s Beijing treating you? How are you getting along with your classmates?”

“Beijing? Haven’t really explored it yet, but it’s changed a lot since I visited as a kid. As for classmates, I know their names but haven’t really interacted.”

“You should maintain good relations with classmates. The alumni network at Beijing Film Academy is quite powerful.”

“I get along naturally with those I can. If we’re not in the same circle, no need to force it. Besides, when I succeed, people will want to befriend me.”

“You’re still so blunt. That attitude will make you miss many opportunities.”

“True, but in losing some, you gain others. Enough about me—how have you been lately?”

“Same old, muddling through life.”

“That won’t do. How can you return home in glory? You said you’re from Yuzhang. I heard there’s a fierce culture of status competition among parents and wives there. How can your wife be happy with you?”

“I don’t have a damn wife. As long as I eat well, my family’s fine. Besides, I couldn’t afford a wife back home even if I wanted.”

“No wife? That’s good! In a couple of years, when you make it, you can find a post-90s girl in Beijing.”

“Ha! I’m from ’76. If I look for a 90s girl, is she blind? Is she after my age or my hometown’s land rights?”

Zhang thought to himself: Finding someone born after ’90 when you’re ’76—that’s nothing. Soon, top celebrities born in ’85 will be married, each supporting five elders, worrying about the national pension funds.

“Being unmarried means endless possibilities. Glasses Brother, trust me—you’ll make it.”

Seeing Zhang so confident and sincere, Li Yanjing smiled wryly. Maybe that’s the confidence of a rich second generation. He hadn’t even started university yet, and half a million yuan meant nothing to him.

“Qianjun, I have a friend shooting a commercial who needs a male model. I recommended you, said you’re even better looking than the God Erlang. Call this number tomorrow and go for an audition. Pay’s not much, about two thousand. Don’t be picky; I don’t have the clout to get you big gigs.”

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Zhang laughed. This guy really needed to be pushed sometimes—once prodded, the money came pouring in.

“Glasses Brother, you’re too polite. Introducing jobs is your way of caring for me. How could I complain about the money? But you’re a music agent—how do you get involved in commercials?”

“You said it yourself: pure music is a losing game. Unknown singers need other income sources, so we take whatever gigs we can get. By the way, are you still doing the bar gigs?”

Zhang shook his head.

“Bar gigs are over. Just tried it for the experience—nothing special. If there’s a commercial gig, I’m in, even if the pay’s low. Glasses Brother, we’re meant to be. Remember our first meeting? I earned my first entertainment industry money there. Now that I’m in Beijing, you’re still thinking of me. When I make money, I’ll share the profits with you.”

Li Yanjing smiled bitterly.

“Forget the profit sharing. I’m not short of money. Though I haven’t made a name for myself in Beijing, I live comfortably. It’s just that I’m getting older, no family, no career—it’s disappointing for my parents.”

Zhang said earnestly,

“How can you say forget it? We agreed on part-time agency work with standard commissions. If you don’t take a cut, how can I feel comfortable asking you to get me jobs later? Besides, Glasses Brother, if you want to settle down, you’ll need my commission even more. Maybe you’ll get so many gigs for me that you’ll earn enough to start a family. Your parents have been disappointed for years; a couple more years won’t hurt.”

Li Yanjing laughed.

“You’re good at comforting people. If you signed with a company and I were your agent, maybe I’d really take off in two years. But since you won’t sign, forget about building something big. My connections come from the company platform. Without it, I might know the people, but they might not recognize me.”

“You’re still not ruthless enough. If the company goes under, remember to come find me. I’m just starting a business and need talent like you to build it with me. Oh, by the way, introduce me to a scalper—I want to buy a company with a car license. Buying cars and houses in the capital is a nightmare. Having a company would make future investments and collections easier.”

Li Yanjing thought to himself: I told you he’s a rich second-generation playing in this circle, but he won’t admit it.

“No problem. Write down this number…”

After parting ways, Zhang returned to his apartment. He thought he should shoot a music video to get some online exposure, making it easier to get business gigs. He opened his computer, found the school forum, and posted:

“I’m recording songs and want to shoot an MV. I have funding and a male lead. Are there any senior directors or photographers from the film or photography departments interested? Compensation follows school market rates. Contact me if interested.”

Soon, a private message came through:

“What’s the total budget?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Then how about we meet at the school cafeteria the day after tomorrow at noon? Phone: 13313331xxx, Director Liu.”

“Okay.”