"This song is a bit…" Niu Jiangxue struggled to find a tactful word.
"A bit of a bubblegum pop song," Lao Qian supplied bluntly.
"But I don't see a problem with it," Lao Qian continued. "Look at that girl and Xiao Wang's reactions—this is lethal to fans."
Niu Jiangxue glanced over. Wang Yuan and Ning Mixue's eyes were practically sparkling with admiration. If love made ordinary people see their beloveds as peerless beauties, then fans saw their idols through an even thicker filter. To them, their idol meowing adorably was pure fan service!
"No, this isn't right." Instead of confronting Chu Zhi directly, Niu sent him a WeChat message:
"Did Ninth Brother not put much effort into writing this song?"
This was the most diplomatic way she could phrase it.
When Chu Zhi received the message, his first instinct was to refute it—"How could she say I didn't put in effort? Fabrication! Slander!" After all, he had painstakingly "transplanted" this song, spending Personality Coins to obtain it.
But Chu Zhi's thought process was peculiar. His next question was: "What would make Niu Niu send such a message, knowing it might offend me?"
Yes, he had written the song in ten minutes. And yes, it was undeniably lowbrow—but it was infectiously lowbrow. With Taiyang Chuanhe's backing and Douyin's platform, this nursery-rhyme-like melody would spread like wildfire, just as it had in its original world.
Hadn't Xue Mao Jiao (Learn to Meow) blown up so massively on Earth that even foreign celebrities covered it?
And wasn't it perfect for a movie promotional trailer? The logic was sound…
Then it hit him like a soccer ball to the head—cough—like a stroke of genius.
It was about his image. If some unknown musician or internet personality had written this song, no one would bat an eye. But coming from him?
It damaged his brand.
25117 Possibilities had earned critical acclaim as a pop-rock album, even praised for its innovative arrangements. His Dream of the Red Chamber livestream had solidified his reputation as a leading creative force of the new generation.
And now… Learn to Meow?
It wasn't career-ending, but if the wrong people seized on it, it could become ammunition for mockery.
"Have I grown too complacent?" Chu Zhi inwardly scolded himself. "In an industry more treacherous than imperial harems and brothels combined, how could I be so careless?"
Chu Zhi had a mild case of paranoia—ironically, it was this trait that had helped him navigate the dangers of entrepreneurship and financing in his past life.
He needed to switch songs.
It couldn't be too complex—after all, he was supposed to have improvised it in ten minutes. But it needed slightly more sophisticated chords while still being catchy. Preferably within the same theme.
The problem? He couldn't think of one off the top of his head.
"Brother System," he mentally called out, "we're brothers in this life. You can't abandon me in my hour of need. I know asking for a free song is unreasonable, but I still have one Song Voucher and four Personality Coins left. I won't make it hard for you—just recommend a suitable song, alright?"
His tone implied that refusal would make the system the villain.
[Searching for songs based on requirements… Search complete. Suitable match: Goodnight Meow, an insert song from the animated series The Legend of Hei.]
"Good brother! Next time, drinks are on me."
He used his voucher to obtain Goodnight Meow, wincing at the loss of a potential trump card. But it was a necessary lesson—better to catch a mistake before it became a disaster.
After familiarizing himself with the song, Chu Zhi found that while Goodnight Meow was still simple, it was at least respectably simple. Without The Legend of Hei's context, it was just a pleasant children's tune—far more palatable than Learn to Meow.
"Good morning meow, good afternoon meow, goodnight meow meow meow…" He silently hummed the lyrics.
Two minutes later, he announced:
"Director, let's switch songs."
"Huh?" Guo Xun, who had been discussing promotional strategies with the producer, looked baffled.
"I feel Learn to Meow has some issues. A better song just came to me," Chu Zhi explained.
If there was a better option, why not take it? They'd already spent five million—what was a little more time?
Still, Guo Xun thought Learn to Meow was perfectly fine—catchy and promotional.
"So… is this one scrapped?" he asked.
The producer, seeing an opportunity, chimed in: "If it's scrapped, we'll pay an extra 200,000 for the rights to have our lead actors perform it as a duet."
"It is a scrapped draft," Chu Zhi confirmed.
"Since it's just a draft… about the price… our budget's tight," the producer said, slipping into his poor pitiful us routine.
"Oh, so just because you're broke, I should lower my price? Is this like those secondhand buyers who go 'I'm a student, can you discount?'"
But pricing negotiations were Niu Jiangxue and Lao Qian's expertise. After a brief but fierce back-and-forth, they settled on 800,000 yuan. Even a discarded draft couldn't be sold cheaply—not when Chu Zhi's name was attached.
Lao Qian could've pushed for a million, but Niu conceded on one condition: "When using the song, you must clarify that it was a discarded draft composed by Chu Zhi."
With the delay, Goodnight Meow would have to be recorded the next day. Guo Xun's earlier question—"Are we improvising today or tomorrow?"—had turned prophetic.
"Is this what it's like when talented people do whatever they want? Just toss out a perfectly good song?" Guo Xun marveled to the producer.
Though they hadn't recorded the second song yet, Chu Zhi had written the lyrics and melody in front of everyone in minutes.
"No idea. But Learn to Meow… those lyrics are sticky," the producer admitted. That was why he'd shelled out for it.
"Let's learn to meow together, meow meow meow meow~" Guo Xun started singing, utterly oblivious to how mismatched his gruff voice and unkempt appearance were with the cutesy lyrics.
"Ahem—Lao Guo, spare us. We're on the same side here," the producer begged.
"What? I sound bad?" Guo Xun looked genuinely shocked. "People call me 'Little Heavenly Voice,' you know."
The producer didn't dignify that with a response.
("Little Heavenly Voice" was a drunken joke from years ago—someone had slurred that Guo's singing was almost heavenly. But drunk words were just hot air. Who took them seriously? Guo, apparently.)
As the director continued mumbling Learn to Meow, the producer sighed inwardly: "What karma did I earn to endure this?"
Everyone left the studio in high spirits—except one person.
Ning Mixue, the female lead of Cat Pet, was heartbroken. Her chance to duet with her idol had vanished.
"I thought Learn to Meow was pretty good…" she muttered under her breath.