“Xiao Lin, do you think this song suits you?”

  Lin Wanqing nodded, her rge, watery eyes fixed on Xu Nuo.

  Xu Nuo felt a little uneasy under her gaze. “I don’t have any objections.”

  Qin Bangyan cpped his hands. “Great, that settles it.”

  “Next, let’s talk about the contract. Our composition department has five contract tiers, from lowest to highest: D, C, B, A, and Master,” Qin Bangyan expined confidently. “Based on the quality of your two songs, we can offer you a B-tier contract at most. Depending on your performance ter, you could quickly move up to A-tier.”

  Xu Nuo wasn’t too concerned about the contract itself—advancing was only a matter of time. What he cared about more was how many Master-tier composers there were.

  “How many Master-tier composers does the company have?”

  “Currently, three.”

  Xu Nuo nodded, indicating he had no further questions.

  Zhao Yuan stepped out and returned with two copies of the contract.

  The contract was lengthy, and Xu Nuo read through it carefully. No one rushed him.

  B-tier contract: a monthly sary of 20,000 yuan, with song royalties negotiated separately.

  The composer retained ownership of the song’s copyright, but the company had priority usage rights.

  The contract sted three years, with a three-month probation period. Since it wasn’t a high-tier contract, there were no penalties for breach.

  Xu Nuo reviewed every cuse, then signed his name and stage name with a pen.

  Qin Bangyan watched him finish signing and let out a relieved breath. “Xiao Xu, when do you pn to start work?”

  “In a few days. I still need to rent a pce nearby and get settled,” Xu Nuo replied after some thought.

  “Alright, come by whenever you’re ready.” Qin Bangyan collected the contract. “Xiao Lin really recommended a talent to me.”

  “Mm,” Lin Wanqing responded. She didn’t seem great at small talk, nodding before heading off.

  “Xiao Xu, let’s go pick out a spot for you,” Qin Bangyan said.

  “You can sit anywhere over there,” he added generously, letting Xu Nuo choose freely.

  Xu Nuo looked around and picked the spot in the farthest corner. Not only did it offer a view of the scenery outside, but it was also discreet—perfect for scking off without anyone noticing.

  Qin Bangyan then took him on a tour of the office, introducing him to the others.

  The department staff eyed him curiously.

  “Who’s this guy? Qin’s personally introducing him?”

  “Probably has some connections.”

  “Hmph, connections won’t keep you around in this company.”

  Xu Nuo’s sharp ears caught every word. This kind of thing was normal in the workpce—envy and jealousy were human nature.

  He followed Zhao Yuan downstairs to complete the onboarding process. “Mr. Qin seems to value you a lot, huh?” she said.

  “Oh? How so?”

  “You got a B-tier contract right off the bat. Newbies usually start at D-tier, or C-tier at best. B-tier is typically reserved for people poached from other companies, and they’re usually older.”

  Xu Nuo smiled and tossed out a couple of casual replies, thinking to himself, With a cssic like That Fleeting Year in my pocket, I wouldn’t even settle for a B-tier contract.

  By the time onboarding was done, it was almost lunchtime. Zhao Yuan took a call, and as Xu Nuo was about to say goodbye and leave, she stopped him, saying Mr. Qin wanted to treat him to a meal ter.

  Huh? This enthusiastic?

  This wasn’t the vibe he got when he first arrived—back then, Qin Bangyan barely gave him a gnce.

  “See? I told you Mr. Qin values you,” Zhao Yuan said.

  “Haha, I’ll toast him a couple of times ter.”

  Xu Nuo didn’t feel right refusing, so he waited downstairs for a bit.

  The three of them had a big meal downstairs. Qin Bangyan kept praising the company, acting like he was terrified Xu Nuo might not show up.

  Back at the dorm, Yang Haonan was lounging with his feet up, flirting online.

  “You’re back. How’d the interview go?”

  “Do I even need to say? My skills speak for themselves.”

  “Tch, keep bragging.” Yang Haonan shut off his computer. “I don’t get you. Weren’t you all about starting a business? Why’d you go for an interview?”

  “The business is mostly your thing. I’ll just toss you some ideas here and there.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m breaking into the entertainment industry.”

  “With your singing skills?” Yang Haonan burst out ughing.

  “Singing can be learned.”

  “I don’t get your logic,” Yang Haonan muttered, changing into fresh clothes to head out.

  “Hey, where you off to?”

  “Driving practice.”

  “???”

  “A 20-year-old domestic model,” Yang Haonan said with a sleazy grin.

  Xu Nuo got it instantly and flipped him off. “Damn it, watch out for kidney failure.”

  In Xu Nuo’s view, the cultural heritage company they were working on targeted the lower-tier market—spreading content to the elderly and rural areas. It was a grounded, fast-paced approach, like short dramas about dragon kings or sons-in-w.

  A strategy of surrounding the cities from the countryside.

  Meanwhile, he’d aim for the entertainment industry, climbing upward. Two fronts, both blooming.

  The two didn’t conflict.

  Just then, his phone buzzed. Xu Nuo opened WeChat and saw a message from Lin Wanqing: promotion for *The Wind Rises* was starting today, with the song going live in three days.

  Xu Nuo wished her a big hit with the new song, and the chat ended there.

  Though they’d added each other on WeChat days ago, they hadn’t really talked much.

  He opened Weibo and saw Lin Wanqing had just posted a simple update:

  “*The Wind Rises*, written and composed by Nuo Yan, sung by me, will premiere on NetCloud at 12 p.m. on July 12. Stay tuned!”

  Ten minutes after posting, it shot up the trending list, and the comments exploded.

  “Ten-year fan of *The Wind Rises* reporting in uninvited.”

  “Waaaah, do you know how I’ve survived these past few days? I could only loop the video over and over. My dad almost sent me to a psych ward.”

  “To the commenter above: Welcome to Hexagon Pavilion Mental Hospital. Big brand, trustworthy.”

  “Who’s Nuo Yan?”

  Busybodies started digging for info, but aside from the name, they found nothing.

  “Isn’t that the host? He’s the one singing in the video.”

  “Very possible.”

  “The host is from our school. His name’s Xu Nuo.”

  “Case closed. That’s the truth, right?”

  “Wait a sec—Lin Wanqing’s breakout song was called Promise. Is there a connection here?” (Nuo Yan mean Promise)

  “Holy crap, where’s my knife?!”

  …

  Xu Nuo clicked in and sighed. No matter where they were from, netizens loved a spectacle. In no time, they’d dug up his identity.

  As he scrolled through comments, Lin Wanqing messaged him again: “Are you going to start a Weibo account?”

  “I’ll register one,” Xu Nuo agreed after thinking it over.

  “You could tell Mr. Qin. He could help promote it.”

  Xu Nuo set up a Weibo account under the name “Nao Yan.”

  Not long after, Haiyin Entertainment’s official account posted: “Welcome composer Nao Yun to the Haiyin Entertainment family @Naoyan.”

  Lin Wanqing retweeted her earlier post, tagging him: “Thanks to Nao Yan for writing *The Wind Rises*. It’s really good!”

  Xu Nuo watched as his account, registered less than half an hour ago, got verified and his follower count rocketed to 100,000—and it was still climbing.

  He opened his system panel. His popurity points had broken past 100,000.

  It was over 80,000 before, and now with 100,000 Weibo followers, it had only gone up by a little over 20,000 points.

  Either the followers were the same people as before, or the numbers were heavily infted.

  “System?”

  [What’s up?]

  “Can you remind me every time my popurity hits another 100,000? Otherwise, I keep thinking you’re not there.”

  [Sure.]