After making the decision, Xiang Wan embarked on her new side job as a guqin teacher. Initially, Chao Xinoffered to pick her up, but Xiang Wan thought it was too much trouble and chose to take the subway by herself.
Every time the subway doors closed and the train started moving, she would gaze at her reflection in the dark window, feeling a sense of unreality.
The young lady of the Prime Minister’s family, who used to lower the curtain in her sedan chair, now stood in a stuffy, crowded space with no difference from the people going to and from work. Life pressed them together like a sandwich, making them numb to any resistance.
It wasn’t until she squeezed out of the subway car that she finally took a deep breath.
In modern society, even having one square meter of exclusive air was considered a luxury.
So she missed her old guqin as well. It had been a year or two since she arrived here, and she hadn’t experienced the leisurely and carefree times with the sound of her guqin echoing in the room, as she did before.
Xiang Wan asked Chao Xin for a month of preparation time because current sheet music was a mix of simplified notation and staff notation. Simplified notation wasn’t much different from her previous guqin sheets, but she had to learn staff notation from scratch. Fortunately, it wasn’t complicated, and she memorized it after a few days of practicing with standard pitches.
She also discovered some guqin teaching videos and figured out a simple entry-level method, prepared a few textbooks before officially beginning her teaching career.
After several visits, Xiang Wan discovered that Chao Xin wasn’t really busy; in fact, she was even more idle than herself. Chao Xin basically stayed at home on Saturdays to accompany them and then carefully prepared dinner.
So Xiang Wan wondered if the rumors that Chao Xin was hard to get in touch with were due to her making time to take care of Paipai.
However, Xiang Wan soon disproved this speculation.
During a dinner after a lesson at the end of May, Chao Xin asked her while picking up a piece of kung pao chicken, “Do you livestream?”
“I don’t,” Xiang Wan replied.
“Mm,” Chao Xin buried her head in her rice bowl.
Xiang Wan thought it was just a casual mention, but Chao Xin continued, “I thought people like you would all livestream.”
“People like you” referred to those like Xiang Wan and Su Chang.
After interacting with each other, Xiang Wan realized that Chao Xin was indeed different from them. People in the industry tend to unconsciously divide the big names into two categories: those with status and national recognition, like Chao Xin, and those with high popularity and loyal fans, like Su Chang.
The most intuitive difference might be that when talking to their relatives back home, they wouldn’t know Chao Xin, but they would know—ah, the one who voiced the female lead in “Qinghe,” right? Oh, she voiced that animation, I should buy a ticket to watch it.
Speaking of Su Chang, the younger generation would say—Who doesn’t know my wife? In “Battle of the Gods,” it took me 78 purchases to finally get her hidden voice in Sofia’s new skin. Have you listened to her latest audio drama? It broke a hundred million views and made it to the trending list, I’d die for her mellow voice.
A more straightforward difference was that during Su Chang’s birthday livestream, after repeatedly emphasizing not to send gifts, the tips she received on a single platform probably reached six figures, while Chao Xin’s tens of thousands were accumulated through several free talk live streams.
The news of Chao Xin “diving into the sea” for a baihe audio drama caused a buzz on forums for a few days. Listeners were both surprised and not, as they joked in the end—”The investor daddy gave too much.”
In reality, it was just the standard fee, Chao Xin knew.
But she accepted the role because of Xiang Wan’s tips and also because the pay for an audio drama was indeed higher than that of a TV drama with the same number of episodes and workload.
Chao Xin was not good at socializing, while Su Chang was the opposite, seemingly at ease in all circles.
Su Chang could appear in the film industry’s New Year blockbusters, become a top figure in audio drama circles, and also in games. Almost all the popular characters in national popular games had her voice, and she didn’t even need to change her voice. Listeners just loved her noble and clear voice without any substitutes.
Chao Xin didn’t have many resources in the gaming circle. Perhaps her less glamorous voice wasn’t suitable for the ACG circle, or maybe her status made game companies feel the cost-performance ratio wasn’t high enough.
They preferred to use the more popular newcomers.
So, this collaboration with Su Chang had a bit of personal interest for her. Chao Xin wanted to know the development mode of “the other kind of people” and observe how this completely different path was explored.
When the news of Su Chang ending her freelance career spread in the circle, Chao Xin had always wanted to see the “radish” Su Chang brought along.
“Radish” was a slang term in their industry, referring to newcomers backed by famous studios. Xiang Wan was the best-growing little radish in Su Chang’s studio.
“Can I learn how your studio recruits people?” Chao Xin asked Xiang Wan hesitantly while holding the base of her rice bowl.
“I met my boss at the training class of Three Sounds Studio. She was my mentor back then. I didn’t sign with Three Sounds because of my educational background, but my boss found me and signed me,” Xiang Wan said.
“As for the others, I’m not sure,” she added.
“Mmm,” Chao Xin pursed her lips.
“Why are you asking this?” Xiang Wan was curious.
“My mom also wants to start a studio.” Paipai interrupted while swaying back and forth in her seat.
“Didn’t Ms. Chao remain a freelancer after her contract termination?” Xiang Wan furrowed her brows.
Chao Xin exhaled, “There are rumors in the industry that new film and television regulations will be issued this year. Apart from foreign actors, they won’t allow dubbing.”
Moreover, since her roles had been popular for several years, many film and television dramas had sought her for dubbing. No matter how well she could change her voice, she only had one vocal tone. The audience was becoming overly familiar with it and there was a growing trend of them getting tired of it.
From time to time, comments would appear under the trailers of her new dramas, claiming that it was immersion-breaking.
These sporadic comments were like icebergs hidden beneath Chao Xin’s stable position. Only she, who was truly navigating the waters, knew that she was on the verge of running aground.
But other than dubbing, she didn’t know anything else.
She had considered transitioning to a sound team and taking on some dialogue guidance or dubbing director positions. Nowadays, there weren’t many films and television shows recorded with simultaneous sound. To speed up production, most crews wouldn’t record on set. Even if film and television actors used their original voices, post-production dubbing was still necessary. Therefore, sound teams were essential, and they wouldn’t become obsolete due to new dubbing regulations.
However, Chao Xin couldn’t handle this kind of work on her own.
Establishing a studio was no easy feat. Even with Chao Xin as a golden signboard, she would still need to attract investment. Furthermore, she wanted absolute control. She didn’t like the feeling of being controlled by investors.
Therefore, she was raising funds and might even need to borrow some.
Her monthly house mortgage payment was over 30,000, and her car loan was over 10,000. Money was spent like flowing water.
Thinking about this made Chao Xin sweat a little, but she didn’t say anything. She habitually clenched her back teeth, then casually let go, asking Xiang Wan, “Don’t you like today’s dishes? I noticed you didn’t eat much.”
“No, I bought bread before coming here, so I’m not that hungry.”
“If you want to know about the studio, I can ask my boss for you,” Xiang Wan added.
Chao Xin hesitated, then said after a moment, “Alright.”
It just so happened that Peng Xiangzhi invited the four of them for coffee the next day. They found a quiet corner on the second floor.
Sitting sideways, Xiang Wan slightly faced the floor-to-ceiling window, where swaying tree shadows outside. Her fingers rested at the bottom of her coffee cup as she calmly explained the matter.
Peng Xiangzhi, lounging on the sofa with her index finger twirling her long curly hair and her fiery red lips parting, asked, “Ms. Chao is starting a studio? I haven’t heard of her seeking investment in the industry. Is she funding it all by herself?”
Xiang Wan shook her head and whispered, “From my interactions with her, I don’t think Ms. Chao is as wealthy as you might think.”
Her delicate eyebrows knitted together slightly as she spoke.
Peng Xiangzhi glanced at her, “What’s with you? I can hear a hint of sympathy in your words. It almost sounds like you’re blaming me?”
Peng Xiangzhi was puzzled. Just because Xiang Wan had given a few guqin lessons, she was suddenly siding with Chao Xin?
This girl was quite wild. She would get along well with anyone she spent time with. Peng Xiangzhi thought she had figured that out.
Xiang Wan lowered her eyes and ignored her comment.
Seeing her attitude, Peng Xiangzhi felt a little jealous, “If you can’t bear to see it, why not let Su Chang invest in her?”
She gestured towards the opposite side, as if to say, look, there’s your ready-made sucker.
“Director Peng.” Yu Zhou called her softly, shaking her head.
She smelled the tension in the air.
Peng Xiangzhi was somewhat envious because Xiang Wan didn’t hang out with them as much lately. Whenever she had free time, she would go to her lessons. Moreover, her words were “as you might think,” as if she was implying that Peng Xiangzhi once said a few tens of thousands didn’t mean much to Chao Xin.
Peng Xiangzhi hated when people brought up old trivials.
She also hated how others thought she was a local with a decent family background and didn’t understand the hardships of life.
Everyone had to climb the ladder step by step.
She leaned back, tossing the little spoon beside her coffee cup with a crisp sound.
Damn, Yu Zhou was at a loss, “What’s going on?”
How did their conversation end up like this?
“Wanwan would never blame you,” peacekeeper Yu Zhou came online again, “What’s our relationship? Besides, we don’t really know Ms. Chao. Maybe she really has some difficulties.”
“She’s probably not doing well right now,” Su Chang whispered softly, but stopped there, not intending to discuss other people’s situations behind their backs.
Chao Xin had terminated her contract with her previous company because they had used her as a signboard to attract investment for projects while ending up telling investors she was too busy to accept them. She was deceived several times, unaware of the truth.
The contract termination was unpleasant, so it would be difficult for her to attract investment. Su Chang hadn’t known about these things before. It was only after building her own studio and dealing with investors that she had heard some rumors.
It was understandable that Peng Xiangzhi didn’t know.
Hearing Su Chang’s words, Peng Xiangzhi realized there were some hidden stories. She softened her expression, picked up the spoon and played with it while finding an excuse, “I don’t know if she’s interested in recording audio dramas now after this time. I have a few dramas that haven’t found lead voice actors yet.”
Chao Xin’s reputation was too great. In the past, they wouldn’t have dared to casually approach such a big shot. Her qualifications were indisputable so that Peng Xiangzhi didn’t feel confident directing her. Who would direct whom was still uncertain.
Xiang Wan glanced at her.
Peng Xiangzhi didn’t look at her.
“I’ll ask her later,” Xiang Wan said to Peng Xiangzhi.
“I can’t ask her myself?” Peng Xiangzhi retorted stubbornly.
“You’re busy, so I’ll help ease your burden,” Xiang Wan replied with a smile.
Hmph, Peng Xiangzhi snorted with a smirk, this little girl.
CNYuriTranslation 