Within 24 hours of its release, *The Wind Rises* surpassed 2 million sales.

  Meanwhile, *The Story of July* gged behind at 1.5 million.

  Lin Wanqing’s tense expression, held tight for a full day, finally softened.

  She hadn’t slept well the previous night.

  “Sister Liu, are my dark circles bad?” she asked.

  Liu Shun leaned in for a closer look, reaching out with a touch of envy. “Tsk tsk, your skin’s fwless—no dark circles at all.”

  The new song’s sales growth slowed, stabilizing.

  By day three, total sales hit 3.1 million, ranking 8th on the hot sales chart.

  By day four, 3.98 million, 7th pce.

  By day five, 5.02 million, 5th pce.

  After a week, *The Wind Rises* broke 7 million in total sales, nding at 3rd on the hot sales chart.

  At this pace, reaching 10 million was a sure thing.

  Qin Bangyan called Xu Nuo into his office, marveling at his sharp instincts. A debut song hitting gold status—his future was boundless.

  Qin Bangyan rambled on enthusiastically, making Xu Nuo blush a little.

  If he’d written it himself, he’d have been floating on cloud nine by now.

  He coughed to interrupt. “Uh, Mr. Qin, time to treat everyone to coffee.”

  “…” Qin Bangyan rubbed his belly, shooting him a mock gre. “You’re a millionaire now, kid, and you’re still stingy?”

  Qin Bangyan broke it down for him. “The song’s sold 7 million copies at 2 yuan each. Xiao Lin and you split 20%—that’s 2.8 million in revenue. With a 70-30 split, this one song’s already earned you nearly a million.”

  “Roughly, yeah,” Xu Nuo said, rubbing his nose vaguely.

  Qin Bangyan, the old fox, caught his expression and knew he’d miscalcuted. He probed, “What, 80-20? Xiao Lin’s taking advantage—that quality deserves more than such a low cut.”

  Xu Nuo shook his head.

  “60-40?”

  Xu Nuo shook his head again.

  “Come on, kid, don’t just keep shaking your head!”

  Xu Nuo held up a hand. “50-50.”

  “…” Qin Bangyan froze, then sighed in surprise. “Xiao Lin’s got guts, giving you half. Plenty of established composers don’t even get 50%.”

  Xu Nuo stayed quiet, thinking, Sao-nan negotiated 40-60—telling you that might freak you out.

  “Luck, luck,” he brushed off.

  “Don’t give me that. *That Fleeting Year* is coming soon, right? I’d say it’s no worse than *The Wind Rises*,” Qin Bangyan said.

  “Not yet. Waiting for this wave to pass before dropping a new one,” Xu Nuo said modestly. “Mr. Qin, I’ll go order that coffee. What do you want?”

  Qin Bangyan patted his belly, ughing. “What, think I can’t handle losing a bet? I’ll stick to my word—Xiao Yuan’ll order for everyone soon.”

  Xu Nuo grinned, not arguing. Old Qin wasn’t some average worker—with his income, coffee was pocket change.

  When the coffee arrived, Qin Bangyan made a point to tell Zhao Yuan it was because Xu Nuo won a bet with him, and the prize was treating the team.

  People soften when fed, hesitate when handed something.

  As a newbie, this scored Xu Nuo some goodwill in the office.

  It wasn’t a huge boost, but better than nothing.

  Xu Nuo quietly thanked Qin Bangyan in his heart. Old Qin clearly valued him—whether it was the contract or work, he’d gone out of his way to look out for him. A solid boss.

  What thrilled Xu Nuo more was that the song didn’t just bring him over a million in cash—it also netted him 300,000 popurity points.

  Now he had enough for four Memory Capsules. If trouble hit, he could smugly yell “Deep Blue, add points!” four times.

  Xu Nuo felt unstoppable. With six top-tier songs in his arsenal, the world was his.

  He sent Lin Wanqing a message congratuting her on the song’s success.

  She replied quickly. “I owe you a meal. This song’s incredible.”

  Xu Nuo agreed instantly. “Free food? Count me in.”

  He also sent Yang Haonan the voiceover he’d recorded in the company studio and the copy he’d written over the past few days.

  The company was coming along smoothly. Li Zhuxuan had been swamped, barely touching the ground—hiring two finance staff, an editor, and a designer.

  Per Xu Nuo’s instructions, they’d picked fresh grads with lower saries.

  The project pn was id out clearly—they didn’t need to do much, just be competent enough to get by. Skills could grow over time.

  A new company burned cash daily. Rent plus saries ran about 5,000 yuan a day, not counting Yang Haonan’s pay—roughly 150,000-160,000 a month.

  Without income, it was a bottomless pit.

  Three days ter, Yang Haonan sent back the finished proposal. Xu Nuo reviewed it top to bottom—it had the right vibe. He replied, “Looks good.”

  Daocheng’s officials responded fast, clearly eager. Graduation season was peak tourism—every minute of deyed promo meant lost revenue.

  Two days ter, they confirmed the submission was accepted. The 300,000 yuan fee was in process and would hit soon.

  The next day, Daocheng officials unched the campaign across ptforms—audio, video, and copy in full swing.

  The video, especially, took off. It opened with Xu Nuo’s voiceover paired with Daocheng’s stunning scenery, and it exploded on KuaiDou.

  Views shot up like a rocket—100,000 in an hour, 500,000 by midday.

  Daocheng officials were ecstatic. This one video’s views outstripped the total of all their previous ones combined.

  In a single day, it broke a million. Daocheng-reted search indexes spiked several times over.

  “Lovers won’t shy from high mountains or distant waters.”

  “While you’re gawking, the smart ones are already on their way.”

  Netizens posted pne tickets and hotel booking screenshots.

  Idle post-grad students and folks agonizing over vacation spots snapped awake. Booking site traffic surged.

  Major ptforms scrambled to figure out what was happening. After digging, they traced the traffic spike to that one video.

  They moved fast, spping Daocheng travel guides and hotel info on their homepages.

  Travel agencies jumped in too, rolling out Daocheng tour ads. Promo flyers flooded streets nationwide.

  On short-video ptforms, one in ten travel clips was Daocheng-reted.

  Xu Nuo’s voiceover copy started circuting online in small circles. Voice actors raced to mimic it, driving more traffic.

  “I hope there’s someone like you…” became the day’s hot phrase.

  Young folks stumped for confession lines found a goldmine, tweaking the copy for their own use.

  The success rate was surprisingly high.

  Smarter ones just took their crushes straight to Daocheng.

  Daocheng blew up!

  (End of chapter)