Chapter Forty-five: A Sudden Rise to Fame

“If I could start over, I’d choose Li Bai. At least I could write poetry, stir the soul, and tease the girls. If I could start over, I’d choose Li Bai. My work could reach such heights and win such adoration. If I could start over…” Li Mu had rearranged the song’s composition slightly; instead of adding a coda after the last line, “If I could start over,” he stopped all instruments at once when it was sung, ending the song abruptly.

This unexpected arrangement caught everyone off guard, leaving the audience, still immersed in the performance, surprised by its crisp, clean ending. Yet their sense of wanting more only grew, and they couldn’t help but burst into applause, the screams of the girls echoing throughout the stadium.

The judges’ faces lit with excitement, especially the music associate director from a record company in Yanjing.

Zhang Kexuan was thrilled, bowing with his three friends toward the audience, which sent another wave of screams through the girls.

The host took the stage to ask for the judges’ scores. To everyone’s delight, there were four nines and an eight, giving Simple Plan a total of twenty-seven points—the highest in the competition so far.

The judges praised the song’s melody and arrangement. The associate director from Yanjing was especially generous: “Your song is outstanding. The melody is not only beautiful but also easy to remember. I believe this song will become widely sung in the future. To be honest, before coming to Jinling, I didn’t expect to hear such a great original composition. The lead singer’s voice is excellent, and you all have great stage presence. If you have more original works of this quality, I would definitely consider signing you first!”

Zhang Kexuan and his bandmates were elated, thanking the judges and bowing to the audience again before leaving the stage.

Everyone around was still talking about Simple Plan’s performance. Such a commanding appearance had left a deep impression on them. Judging by the judges’ and audience’s reactions, it was clear that Simple Plan had made a stunning debut.

At this moment, Chen Wan leaned forward, chin in hand, gazing at Li Mu with the adoration of a starstruck fan. “You were amazing!”

Li Mu blinked. “It was nothing. Let’s go. No need to linger here in the heat.”

The four members of Simple Plan were beside themselves with excitement. After packing up their instruments, they lined up before Li Mu, with Zhang Kexuan in the lead. He took Li Mu’s right hand in both of his, then bowed deeply—more than ninety degrees.

“Brother Mu, thank you!”

Then Ye Tianming followed suit. “Brother Mu, thank you!”

Then Xia Ji: “Brother Mu, thank you!”

And finally, Gu Wei: “Brother Mu, thank you!”

Li Mu felt like a godfather being worshipped by his devoted followers.

After their show of gratitude, Zhang Kexuan, face flushed, asked, “Brother Mu, about the next song…”

“I knew you wouldn’t show such gratitude for nothing,” Li Mu replied. “Is the next round the provincial championship?”

“That’s right,” Zhang Kexuan nodded. “The band with the highest score in the next round goes to Yanjing.”

“And after Yanjing?”

“There’ll be two more rounds there. The first will narrow it down to five bands, and the second will decide the top three.”

“So, I’ll need to prepare three more songs for you?”

Zhang Kexuan looked embarrassed. “Help us see this through to the end, won’t you? Besides, we still have that music website to consider. And as for payment, whatever the songs are worth, we’ll pay you every cent.”

Li Mu waved his hand. “We’ll talk about money later. Let’s go to your rehearsal room. I’ll give you the second song.”

“You’re the best, Brother Mu!”

…

The second song Li Mu gave Simple Plan was “Sunflower,” released by Xie Tianxiao in 2005.

In later years, Xie Tianxiao would be revered as the godfather of rock and king of live rock performances in China. However, most of his songs were too noisy for Simple Plan’s style. Their music needed to lean toward pop—anything too alternative or rock wouldn’t suit them.

Yet “Sunflower” was one of Xie Tianxiao’s rare songs full of positive energy. The lyrics were uplifting, the melody was excellent, and the composition restrained—pleasant, touching, and never grating. It was a rare gem among Chinese rock songs.

When Li Mu wrote out the lyrics, Chen Wan was the first to praise them: “These lyrics are wonderful. A sunflower seed struggling to sprout in the dark earth—so concise, yet so evocative. This could easily be called modern poetry.”

Li Mu smiled. “Is it really that good? You’re too generous.”

“It is.” Chen Wan nodded seriously. “Most lyrics these days are either love stories in pop or cynicism in rock. But ‘Sunflower’ is truly an inspiring piece.”

The others agreed, especially Ye Tianming: “I think these lyrics are even deeper than ‘Li Bai.’ They have real meaning.”

“What do you know about depth?” Zhang Kexuan scoffed, then added, “But they really do have depth. I think it’s excellent.”

Li Mu said, “These lyrics are versatile—they can inspire young people, offer hope and encouragement to those suffering, and could even serve as antiwar or anti-terrorism anthems. If this song becomes a hit, you might even get on TV or have it quoted by TV stations.”

“What about the melody?” Zhang Kexuan couldn’t wait. “Brother Mu, sing it for us so we can appreciate it.”

“All right.” Li Mu picked up Zhang Kexuan’s guitar and said to Ye Tianming and Gu Wei, “I’ll sing and play the first verse myself. You guys join in on the second.”

The basic accompaniment was simple—the drummer just needed to keep the beat, and the bassist to find the root notes. That wasn’t difficult for them.

So, in Simple Plan’s rehearsal room, Li Mu sang “Sunflower” for the first time.

“The beautiful sky always seems endless,
A seed buried beneath the clouds,
Its nourishment drawn from the muddy ground,
It takes root and grows, yielding to fate…
Countless raindrops sprinkle the earth before me,
Standing here, there’s only one question:
Sunflower, if you grow only in darkness,
Sunflower, will you bloom, will you be afraid?”

Li Mu’s voice was even better than Zhang Kexuan’s, and he delivered the song with real feeling. Xie Tianxiao’s gruff, middle-aged tone could be off-putting to pop listeners, so Li Mu deliberately sang in a more pop style, making it more accessible to the general public.

Zhang Kexuan was overjoyed. With this song, he felt confident they could go straight to the finals in Yanjing as provincial champions!

Li Mu taught the song several times until Zhang Kexuan had memorized it, then explained the arrangement to the band. Only after teaching everything did Li Mu ask, “When is the next round?”

“We’ll be notified,” Zhang Kexuan replied. “There were more than fifty bands in the preliminaries, so it takes days to finish. They’ll score the bands and then let the qualified ones know when the next round is.”

Li Mu smiled. “Full score is thirty, and you got twenty-seven. You’re definitely in.”

“Of course.” Zhang Kexuan was still excited. “Highlights from the provincial preliminaries will be broadcast next Saturday on major TV stations. I wonder if they’ll show our ‘Li Bai.’”

“They definitely will,” Li Mu patted his chest. “TV stations are always looking for something to grab the audience’s attention, and Simple Plan has both the look and the sound.”

He added, “Once we get today’s performance photos, send them to me. I’ll decide which portal site we’ll use for publicity.”

“Deal!”

“PR posts and hiring internet hype teams all cost money. I’m broke, so you guys will have to cover those expenses.”

“No problem. Is a hundred thousand enough? If not, we’ll add more.”

Li Mu nodded. “A hundred thousand will do for now.”

He already had plans for the money. First, he’d get two servers—one for eting and one to set up a forum.

There were no group chat tools like QQ groups yet. If Zhao Kang was to build an internet hype team, he’d lack a platform for member management and issuing orders. With hundreds or even thousands of team members, inefficient communication would be a serious issue. Setting up an internal forum wouldn’t cost much but would easily support a team of thousands or more—it was a one-time investment with lifelong benefits.

Two servers, plus hosting and bandwidth, would only cost a few tens of thousands. The remaining fifty thousand could go to Zhao Kang as start-up funds for the internet hype team, and would also serve as a test of his organizational and management abilities.