Chapter 79: Disdain

In fact, if it weren't for this page, Zhao Fusheng would almost have forgotten what Mu Qingqing had mentioned.

Selling songs!

It wasn't that he didn't know it could make money, but the problem was, if you want to do something, you at least need to have passion. Yet Zhao Fusheng knew well that aside from the songs stored in his memory, he understood nothing about music.

It was like a child holding a few apples—maybe he could fool people for a while, but not forever.

Therefore, Zhao Fusheng resisted the idea of entering the entertainment industry. Otherwise, with what he had in his mind, making Fan Baobao famous would be simple.

But Zhao Fusheng also knew that even if he helped Fan Baobao rise to fame, once he lost his foresight, the path she would have to walk would be even harder.

So, Zhao Fusheng would rather spend money to send her to the Central Academy of Drama than casually copy a script from his past life for her.

Of course, these were all excuses. At the end of the day, it was because Zhao Fusheng had no interest in the entertainment industry.

He had the mindset of a middle-aged man, valuing practical things. The entertainment industry seemed too虚幻 to him; in his view, it was less useful than striving to build his own career.

Just as Zhao Fusheng was about to forget about selling songs, Mu Qingqing paged him.

"My aunt has arrived. Can we meet?"

That was the content of Mu Qingqing's page, with a phone number below.

Zhao Fusheng hesitated for a moment, then took out his phone card and called Mu Qingqing.

"This is Zhao Fusheng."

"I can tell. Where are you?" Mu Qingqing's voice was as calm as ever, like a wisp of smoke.

Zhao Fusheng replied, "Dormitory."

"Okay, we'll come find you." Mu Qingqing hung up after speaking.

Holding the receiver, Zhao Fusheng shook his head. No matter what, he still couldn't refuse.

Half an hour later, a car horn sounded downstairs, and Zhao Fusheng's pager vibrated. He leaned out the second-floor window and saw Mu Qingqing standing below.

"I'll be right down," he called to Mu Qingqing, then got up and went downstairs.

Outside the dormitory, Zhao Fusheng saw Mu Qingqing standing with a woman who looked somewhat like her. The woman was about thirty, wearing a women's suit that outlined her perfect figure, with an impressively curved upper body. Her face was sixty percent similar to Mu Qingqing's, and she wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, giving her an intellectual air. Compared to Mu Qingqing's youthfulness, the mature woman's charm added a touch of sexiness. Even by Zhao Fusheng's standards, he had to admit she was nearly perfect.

"This is my aunt," Mu Qingqing introduced as Zhao Fusheng came out.

"Mu Qingwan."

The woman's voice was pleasant, faint and ethereal, but the subtle indifference at the corners of her mouth did not escape Zhao Fusheng's notice. In that instant, he felt as if he were facing Mu Qingqing again, but under this cold tone, the fleeting illusion stirred a sense of déjà vu from another life.

"Hello, I'm Zhao Fusheng."

Nodding politely to Mu Qingwan, Zhao Fusheng asked directly, "If there's something, please say it straight."

"You..."

Mu Qingwan's brows furrowed slightly. Before coming, she had heard from her niece that this classmate had a peculiar personality, but she hadn't expected it to be this extreme.

"Mu Qingqing should have explained the situation. I don't understand music; I just write songs for my own amusement. So if you want to buy them, composing might be a problem," Zhao Fusheng said calmly.

"No problem. As long as you can prove the songs are yours, that won't be an issue," Mu Qingwan replied.

Zhao Fusheng shrugged. "You don't need to ask me about that."

"Hmm?"

Clearly, Mu Qingwan didn't understand what Zhao Fusheng meant.

Zhao Fusheng smiled calmly. "A song costs a few thousand yuan. Do I need to cheat you?"

Mu Qingwan fell silent. What Zhao Fusheng said was true.

This was 1999, not 2010. More importantly, Zhao Fusheng was just an ordinary college student with no complete works to his name. In other words, in the music circle, he was a pure newcomer—the newest of the new.

So this song was worth at most a few thousand yuan, which was why Zhao Fusheng felt somewhat indifferent.

Speaking of which, Zhao Fusheng especially admired the protagonists in time-travel novels, who could trade a song for a house or tens of thousands or millions. He really didn't understand where all those fools came from, and why he never met any.

No matter how high the quality of a song, even if it was a masterpiece, before it passed market testing, it was at best a good song. Producers or singers might think it was good, but before its release, who could guarantee it would be a hit and pay a huge price for it?

More importantly, the creator of the song was a newcomer with no previous works to prove himself.

Zhao Fusheng could only say that the gap between novels and reality was that novels could write anything, but reality had to follow certain rules.

"In that case, we won't trouble you. We'll find someone to compose the music ourselves," Mu Qingwan said, giving Zhao Fusheng a deep look.

Zhao Fusheng was startled, then smiled. "Alright, since Miss Mu has a way, I won't bother."

With that, he took out a piece of paper. "Here are the lyrics."

"Good. Five thousand yuan. Pleasure doing business." Mu Qingwan took the lyrics, put them in her handbag, and pulled out an envelope, handing it over.

Zhao Fusheng was quite surprised. The price wasn't low, considering it was just a newcomer's work, and they were only buying the lyrics.

It seemed this had something to do with Mu Qingqing.

Sure enough, Mu Qingqing smiled and nodded. "Take it. No need to be polite."

Zhao Fusheng didn't say much. He took the envelope. "Thank you."

Regardless, he owed them a favor and had to express gratitude.

For the sake of the five thousand yuan, Zhao Fusheng thought for a moment and asked Mu Qingwan, "Are you sure you don't need my help with the composition?"

Mu Qingwan's brows furrowed slightly, and she looked at Zhao Fusheng with a hint of mockery. "Didn't you say you don't understand composition?"

Zhao Fusheng was taken aback, then smiled. It seemed she only liked the lyrics but didn't trust him with the composition.

In that case, he didn't need to force himself on them. Shaking his head, Zhao Fusheng shrugged. "Never mind. I spoke out of turn."

Mu Qingqing opened her mouth as if to speak, but seeing her aunt's expression, she dared not say anything.

Watching Mu Qingwan and Mu Qingqing—who looked more like sisters than aunt and niece—leave, Zhao Fusheng smiled and turned to go upstairs.