Chapter 18: The Song’s Triumphant Release

Originally, Wang Mo thought that Su Xueyao would need at least four or five days to master the song. He hadn’t expected that only two days later, he would receive her call, saying she was ready to record.

Su Xueyao performed excellently—beyond Wang Mo’s expectations, in fact. If Hao Mingxing’s voice had once stunned him with its raspy charm, then Su Xueyao’s singing, while perhaps not as striking at first listen, quietly drew you in. As you sank into her music, you’d inevitably be moved by her emotional outpouring, feeling her story as your own.

When listening to music, the first thing is the melody; the second is the emotion.

Now, with Su Xueyao singing “Invisible Wings,” she had both in abundance.

The recording process went smoothly. Even with Wang Mo’s relentless pursuit of perfection, it only took a single morning to complete the entire song.

Since Wang Mo already had the full arrangement ready, post-production wouldn’t take long. He estimated that a finished product could be ready in three to five days.

…

During this time, Yuan Xiong came to see Wang Mo again.

He said that the livestream plans were nearly finalized, but the actual broadcasts would be delayed, likely starting in the latter half of September.

Although more than a month had passed since Wang Mo’s “scandal,” and online discussions had mostly died down, the longer they waited, the better for him. Otherwise, there was the risk of another backlash.

Wang Mo had no objections. He hadn’t been that hopeful about livestreaming anyway.

What could he possibly stream? He knew nothing of music, chess, calligraphy, or painting; he couldn’t sing or dance. What would he stream—emptiness?

Before leaving, Yuan Xiong suddenly asked, “Wang Mo, I heard you wrote another song and had several singers audition? You even refused He Zhi’s request?”

Wang Mo replied, “You know already?”

Yuan Xiong snorted, “Of course I do! This has upset quite a few singers in the Vocal Department. They think you’re too arrogant—picking your own singers is one thing, but refusing He Zhi is seen as a challenge to the department’s authority.”

Wang Mo shook his head with a wry smile. “It’s not that I’m arrogant—they are. I only asked for a chance at equal dialogue, but they couldn’t accept that.”

Yuan Xiong grinned, “You really want the Composition Department to stand tall?”

Wang Mo answered, “It should stand tall.”

Yuan Xiong looked Wang Mo up and down, poking at several spots on his body before exclaiming, “You’re becoming a stranger to me. You used to be so lazy you wouldn’t stand up to pee if you could do it lying down. Now you’re suddenly working hard and even hoping to change the whole industry. If you can work hard, pigs might as well fly.”

Wang Mo was at a loss for words.

…

On September 5th, Wang Mo received word that “Invisible Wings” was finished.

He listened to the final version, then immediately called Su Xueyao. “The song is ready. Go find Manager Qian now and have him contact the relevant staff to release it.”

Su Xueyao was momentarily stunned. “Brother Mo, what did you say?”

Wang Mo repeated himself.

Su Xueyao replied blankly, “Release the song now? But the September new song chart battle started five days ago!”

For new releases, the first day of the month offers the best chance of chart success. Once earlier songs gain momentum, those released later can hardly catch up—unless the singer has no hope of competing, in which case some might deliberately avoid the initial chart rush and release later.

As a signed artist of Yunhai Media, if Su Xueyao released her song on the first, she would receive the company’s full promotional support and have a shot at the charts.

But releasing on the fifth? It was like a drop of water in a vast sea, instantly lost.

Even if the company had resources for promotion, it would be futile.

Wang Mo laughed. “Go ahead and release it. Trust me.”

Su Xueyao swallowed and finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll find Manager Qian.”

After hanging up, Wang Mo stared at the audio file for “Invisible Wings” on his computer, his expression calm.

Did the timing of a song’s release really matter for this song?

How petty.

…

Half an hour later, in the office of the Vocal Department manager.

Qian Lun took off his headphones and nodded. “The song sounds pretty good to me, with some potential. But are you sure you want to release it now?”

Su Xueyao replied, “Yes.”

Qian Lun said, “Think carefully. If you release the song now, the company won’t give you any promotional resources—it would be a waste. That means you have no chance to compete on the charts. My suggestion is to wait until October.”

As he spoke, he was a bit surprised. He hadn’t expected Wang Mo, after writing “It Doesn’t Matter,” to produce another seemingly high-quality song in such a short time. Apparently, this kid did have some talent for composition.

Of course, it was only some talent. Even if the song was released in October, he didn’t believe it would make the top ten.

The top ten!

The difficulty was enormous. It required not just exceptional quality but also massive funding for promotion and a measure of luck.

For instance, in September, none of Yunhai Media’s fifteen singers managed to chart.

Fortunately, Hao Mingxing had claimed the top spot in August’s new song chart, so Qian Lun could talk calmly to Su Xueyao now. Otherwise, he would have already been summoned to higher management for a reprimand.

Su Xueyao insisted, “I still want to release the song now.”

Qian Lun frowned. “Xueyao, I don’t know why you insist on releasing in September. But you’ve already released two new songs this past year, both failing to chart. Originally, it would have been hard for you to get another song, but Wang Mo insisted on giving you this one—that’s why you have a third chance. If you don’t cherish this opportunity, your chances of debuting will be slim.

The company will never waste resources on you again.

There’s another key point: since you’ve already released songs, you’re no longer considered a newcomer and can’t compete for the newcomer chart. You’ll be up against the big names on the new song chart, which is ten times more competitive. I can assure you—even if this song is good, no one will hear it once it’s released.

It’s a waste of time.

A waste of energy.

A waste of resources.”

Qian Lun repeated “waste” three times, his tone very grim.

Su Xueyao lowered her head in silence.

Qian Lun suddenly asked, “Is it because Wang Mo insisted? You’re the singer! Why are you listening to him? This is your song—you should make your own decisions.

Wang Mo writes songs in the Composition Department just for fun. Does he really expect to make money or become famous from it?

That’s why he can release songs whenever he wants—the rankings mean nothing to him.

But you’re different!”

Still, Su Xueyao said nothing.

Qian Lun rubbed his temples in frustration.

What was going on with Wang Mo—had he bewitched both his singers into obeying him without question?

“Fine, I’ve said all I can. Do as you see fit,” Qian Lun said, waving her away with a sigh.

…

At three o’clock that afternoon, in the Composition Department, Wang Mo was drifting in his chair when—

Beep—

A voice echoed in his mind:

[Congratulations, Host. You have successfully released the song 'Invisible Wings.' A new task has been triggered.]

[Task: Get ‘Invisible Wings’ into the top three of the new song chart in September and gain more than 100,000 reputation points. Completing this task will reward you with two Bronze Treasure Chests.]

The abrupt message startled Wang Mo.

“The song’s already out?”

He nodded quietly to himself. The company was efficient—finished in the morning, released by afternoon.

Then he looked at the system’s task and frowned slightly. “Getting into the top three shouldn’t be a problem. But more than 100,000 reputation points? That’s tough.”

He calculated: in August, “It Doesn’t Matter” had brought him just over 20,000 reputation points.

Composers weren’t noticed on Blue Star; except for industry insiders, 99% of listeners never cared who wrote the lyrics or music. Even if they glimpsed the credits, it didn’t matter to them.

So, although “It Doesn’t Matter” had taken first place on the newcomer chart, he’d only received about 20,000 reputation points.

For “Invisible Wings” to earn him 100,000, it really seemed too hard.

Unless…he could make people notice the name “Wuyan” as a composer.