Chapter 54: Speak Properly, No Whining Allowed

When Fang Wenshan was doing electrical work, his expression was as earnest as when he wrote lyrics. Although it was obvious that he disliked this job, his seriousness was summoned purely by willpower.

Yet, his skills were surprisingly good. Even Gu Cheng put aside his own tasks to watch as Fang Wenshan took out the rotary hammer to drill holes, embedded metal anchors, cut channels in the wall for pipes and wires... After finishing, he would even mix a bowl of mortar to patch up the grooves in the wall, making sure everything was solid.

This was more than just an electrician’s craft—it included the skills of a mason as well.

Gu Cheng, for the first time, realized that even watching an electrician work could feel like witnessing a piece of history.

Power on, test, confirm everything works, and the job is done.

After washing his hands, Fang Wenshan didn’t forget to point at the patch of rough mortar along the wall and say, “Let’s leave it like this—the mortar just dried, so I can’t repaint it today. When you do the overall renovation, have the painter cover it with a coat of lime.”

“All right, thank you for your hard work. I just ordered some takeout—would you do me the honor of having dinner together?” Since learning that the electrician uncle was Fang Wenshan, Gu Cheng had become noticeably more polite.

Fang Wenshan was about to decline when the food delivery arrived. Four hearty dishes plus a few cold appetizers to go with drinks—all old neighborhood specialties, mainly Jiangnan flavors with a hint of spice.

Fang Wenshan’s family was originally from Jiangxi and Gan, having moved to Taiwan in his grandfather’s generation. Their preference for spicy food had, over several generations, been influenced by local Fujian cuisine. For some reason, the dishes Gu Cheng ordered stirred a bittersweet sense of wandering in his heart, so he decided not to refuse.

After a few bites of the spicy, savory fish head tofu hotpot and a glass of yellow wine, Fang Wenshan loosened up: “So, Mr. Gu, what do you do for a living? Judging by your Mandarin, you’re from Jiangnan, aren’t you? You strike me as a man of temperament—inviting an electrician to drink with you.”

Gu Cheng sipped his wine. “I’m from Qiantang. I run an internet business on the mainland—games, audio, and video. This time, I’ve taken an interest in a singer that Alpha Records is about to debut. He’s very talented, and the most remarkable thing is that he composes his own music. I see great potential in him, so I flew to Taiwan to discuss a mainland distribution contract.”

A figure immediately appeared in Fang Wenshan’s mind: “About to debut... a singer-songwriter who writes his own music... I have a friend who sounds a lot like who you’re describing.”

“Of course, because the person I’m interested in is Jay Zhou—I saw your name in the promotional material. You wrote the lyrics for ‘Lady,’ didn’t you?”

Gu Cheng didn’t bother to hide his intentions from Fang Wenshan. That false humility of pretending to seek out talent was pointless. He laid his cards on the table: “The reason I invited you for a drink today isn’t because you installed a burglar alarm for me. It’s because I want to recruit you.”

Damn! Could it really be such a coincidence? Fang Wenshan felt as though a thousand wild horses were stampeding through his chest.

“Hell! I quit electrical work over half a year ago to write full-time for Brother Xian. If lyric writing actually paid enough to support a family, I wouldn’t have taken this job today... What are the odds!”

He lit a cigarette, sighed at the quirks of fate, but added, “But don’t think buying me a meal will win me over. Since you’re only talking about the mainland distribution for Jay, not a full management contract, if I went with you, what would happen when Jay stays at Alpha and needs lyrics from me? Am I the kind of person who’d betray a friend?”

Moved as he was, Fang Wenshan was still straightforward in declining Gu Cheng’s offer.

Yet he found himself appreciating Gu Cheng’s direct way of speaking. Had they met a couple of years earlier, he might have considered it. But now, Jay had been his benefactor—there was no way he could betray his friend.

There were many lyricists and composers at Alpha Records. Fang Wenshan wasn’t particularly senior and hadn’t made much of a name for himself. At first, he’d only submit songs occasionally, and they weren’t always accepted—like those struggling writers on certain web novel sites, not full-time authors. Perhaps his real job was just being an electrician.

His lyric style was somewhat odd and abrupt, making it hard for traditional singers to handle, and competition among lyricists was fierce. Fortunately, Jay’s composing skills were well regarded by the company. Hu Zongxian had entrusted many songs for top artists to Jay, and Jay, in turn, chose Fang Wenshan as his lyricist, gradually elevating Fang’s position in the company.

Gu Cheng wasn’t offended by Fang Wenshan’s blunt refusal. “I’m just being honest. I can’t pretend you’re not talented just because I know I can’t win you over.”

Fang Wenshan felt a little embarrassed and scratched his head before replying with pride, “Since you’re willing to show respect to a nobody like me, I’m not ungrateful. If you really value my talent, I’ll give you a lead.”

“I’m listening.”

“If you ever need lyrics, send them to me privately. I’ll write them without signing my name, and you can attribute them to whoever you like. Pay me a flat fee up front, no royalties.”

Gu Cheng thought about it, a bit surprised. “Wouldn’t that make you a ghostwriter?”

“So what? Are you after my talent or my future fame? Do you think that if the lyrics aren’t signed with my name, no one will recognize their worth?”

“Of course that’s not what I mean. If you don’t sign your name, I get a huge bargain, but your reputation in the industry won’t grow.”

“No need to worry about that. The songs I write for Jay are enough to make my name. I believe in that kid.”

With things now clear, Gu Cheng could only ask about Fang Wenshan’s current rates for lyrics, learning that Alpha Records was only paying twenty to thirty thousand Taiwan dollars per song on average.

Gu Cheng thought for a moment and said, “How about this: for any lyrics I use, I’ll pay you at least a hundred thousand Taiwan dollars per song, no byline.”

Fang Wenshan agreed readily. “Deal. I can’t leave any evidence, so let’s not sign any contracts. If you trust me, just come to me for lyrics anytime. Let’s finish this bottle and call it settled.”

The two of them each downed a bottle of yellow wine, sealing their gentleman’s agreement.

After packing his toolkit and collecting his payment, Fang Wenshan prepared to leave—this would probably be his last time moonlighting as an electrician out of necessity.

Gu Cheng, unbothered by the mess, helped carry the drill downstairs, seeing Fang Wenshan off as he rode away on his electric scooter.

On their way down, they encountered a breathtakingly beautiful woman in the hallway. Originally, Gu Cheng and Fang Wenshan were walking side by side, but since the staircase was narrow, Gu Cheng stepped aside with the drill to let the lady pass. She smiled and nodded politely at him.

Upon returning to the third floor, Gu Cheng saw the same beauty standing at the door, peering inside anxiously.

Suddenly understanding, he quickly pulled a tissue from his pocket to wipe his hands before approaching to greet her. “Miss, are you looking for... Uh, I mean, were you sent by Mr. You?”

The woman turned, her luminous eyes studying him in surprise. “You’re the boss of Eslite Audio?”

“If you insist on calling me that. The company was only registered two days ago. It’s just me—everyone else is in the mainland.”

Gu Cheng could clearly sense the involuntary wariness and skepticism in her eyes.

He’d encountered this situation before; clearly, calling himself the boss of an agency at such a young age—a handsome young man at that—was bound to make people doubt his credibility.

So he knew this was not the time to act aloof; he had to explain himself humbly, which was nothing to be ashamed of.

The woman’s chest rose and fell as she controlled her emotions, then she regained her sweet and gentle tone. “I was a little rude just now. Since you were introduced by Mr. You, you can’t be a bad person. It’s just that you’re so young, I wasn’t prepared for it.”

Gu Cheng swiped open the door with his new access card and invited her to sit in the meeting room, deliberately leaving the door open to make her feel comfortable.

Only then did he realize that the table was still strewn with disposable boxes from his earlier meal with Fang Wenshan.

And on the first day of opening, he hadn’t even set up a water dispenser.

He could only awkwardly hand her a sealed bottle of mineral water. “The company just opened; we don’t have much yet, I’m afraid. May I ask your name, Miss? And what did you do before?”

The woman’s voice was fine and soft. “My name is Lin Zhilin. I just graduated from the University of Toronto this year. I returned two months ago and haven’t found a job yet.”

“Lin Zhilin? You went to the University of Toronto?” Gu Cheng was taken aback.

He could handle the name Lin Zhilin—he knew of an auntie from Taiwan with that name in his past life—but the University of Toronto degree surprised him far more.

Coming from an era where artificial intelligence had reached its zenith, Gu Cheng knew that the true sage of AI for generations was Professor Geoffrey Hinton of the University of Toronto. Because of him, the historical standing of U of T would, decades later, eclipse all those Ivy League schools on the US East Coast.

He hadn’t expected a female artist to possess such a commendable academic background.

Lin Zhilin didn’t realize why Gu Cheng was surprised; she thought he was questioning her credentials and felt a bit discouraged.

She’d already had a rough time job hunting. Born into a wealthy family, her parents wanted her to find a respectable job, so she applied to the National Art Museum in North Taipei. Despite her matching specialty and solid academic credentials, things didn’t work out—the museum was overstaffed and there simply wasn’t any room for her, no matter how impressive her degree.

After failing to get the job, she was quite disheartened. Luckily, her family soon recognized that her major made finding work difficult and gradually relaxed their rule against her working full-time in entertainment—as long as her public exposure wasn’t excessive.

So she truly cherished the opportunity that Uncle Jiang had introduced. Facing what she thought was Gu Cheng’s skepticism, she explained gently, “Actually, I was at the Mississauga campus, not the St. George main campus. I studied economics as an undergraduate and Western art history in graduate school...”

“Miss Lin, you misunderstand. I’m not questioning your qualifications.”