My Landlord is an Idol Singer - Chapter 171

Over the next two days, they had to film two scenes. The first was the school’s Snow White stage play.

With the help of her senior, Xiaoshui, who landed the role of Snow White, looked every bit the part of a princess. And A’Liang, who often hung around the drama club, hid his emotions well beneath the surface.

That day, the male student playing the Prince came down with diarrhea and couldn’t perform. The teacher suddenly decided to let A’Liang, who was watching from the side, play the Prince instead.

And the scene they were about to film? The one where the Prince kisses the Princess awake!

It was easy to imagine how nervous Xiaoshui was, and how turbulent A’Liang’s emotions must have been. But reality wasn’t so romantic. Just as Xiaoshui nervously adjusted her movements and opened her eyes, the original boy cast as the Prince had already returned to the stage. Her A’Liang was standing off to the side again.

Startled, Xiaoshui turned pale and quickly scrambled away, only to misstep and nearly tumble off the stage. At that critical moment, A’Liang grabbed her hand. Their eyes met, and he pulled her safely back toward him.

The second scene was Xiaoshui receiving the opportunity to conduct the school’s marching band. Her hard work finally paid off. On the day of the performance, she stood proudly at the front of the formation and completed the show with an outstanding display.

At that moment, Xiaoshui truly transformed from an unnoticed ordinary girl into the dazzling focus of the crowd.

Because of this performance, her reputation at school skyrocketed. On Valentine’s Day, boys lined up to give her gifts. But what made her happiest was seeing her most longed-for senior, A’Liang, among them.

As A’Liang slowly walked toward her, Xiaoshui’s face was filled with shy blushes, though her heart brimmed with joy. Yet when he finally handed her the flowers, his expression stiffened. He muttered awkwardly that the flowers weren’t from him, but from someone else.

The smile on Xiaoshui’s face gradually faded, and A’Liang turned to walk away, leaving her standing there with the flowers, not knowing what to do.

Both scenes required strong acting skills, not only subtle facial expressions but also precise hand movements. Gu Zhinan watched from the side with great interest. He had to admit, after a month of growth, Yun Yinxue’s acting had become much more like Xiaoshui than when he had first met her.

Chen Yuze, too, was no longer shy or hesitant. His every move now captured A’Liang’s bashfulness and the emotions he tried so hard to hide. He perfectly portrayed a boy who carried a camera solely to capture the girl he loved.

These two scenes were key turning points in the story, so Lai Jingming left no room for sloppiness. It took four full days of filming to wrap them up.

On the fifth day, they finished early to give the actors some rest. None of them expected that within just one month, they would already be a third of the way through filming A Little Thing Called First Love. Both Gu Zhinan and Lai Jingming were pleasantly surprised.

They had to admit, Yu Lei’s batch of actors was excellent. Plus, everyone in the crew was cooperative. No one acted stuck-up. Even the extras from Hengdian helped move props, simply because they saw even the assistant director sweating as he carried things.

Back in bigger productions, the atmosphere had always been suffocating, they didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly. Here, though the acting standards were high, the pay was decent, and, more importantly, they gained something called respect.

They were happy.

“If things keep going like this, at the latest we’ll finish by early next month. The weather’s changing fast, and it’s good we’re in the south, but we can’t slack off. First is the budget. Second is the weather, our script doesn’t have any winter scenes!”

Sitong Hongwei analyzed. He had the habit of sitting in the office with Lai Jingming after dinner every evening, reviewing what lay ahead. Meanwhile, the staff relaxed outside, preparing for the next day’s shoot or reviewing the day’s footage.

Gu Zhinan, meanwhile, had been reduced to a tea-pourer. With the neighboring crew’s pretty girls gone, he had no excuse to wander over anymore. So apart from writing, he now browsed the directing books Lai Jingming recommended. Not that he couldn’t read them, he just found them a bit sleep-inducing.

“Want to take a walk?” Gu Zhinan couldn’t stand it anymore. With the sunset so beautiful, why not go out for a stroll and digest a little? They’d finished early today, and he could catch a glimpse of the evening streets.

Lai Jingming nodded, and the burly Sitong Hongwei chuckled and agreed. They had all been too tense these days.

After greeting their friends on the second floor, the three of them went downstairs. In the lobby, they found three people on the sofa. The young man in the middle held a guitar, flanked by his “bodyguards,” Chen Yuze and Meng Xingye.

“Hello, Director Gu! Hello, Director Lai! Hello, Brother Sitong!”

The three quickly stood and greeted them. Gu Zhinan recognized the guitarist, he was Yan Sangluo, the music arranger from Sitong Hongwei’s bridal shop, a hardworking young man.

“You guys singing?” Lai Jingming asked curiously. Lately he had seen them together quite often.

“No, I was just asking Yuze and Xingye some questions,” Yan Sangluo admitted sheepishly.

He really loved music. That was why he became a music arranger, despite not being formally trained. During free time, he studied on his own. Knowing that Chen Yuze and Meng Xingye minored in music at Beijing Film Academy, he wanted to learn from them.

“Ah! Why didn’t I think of that!” Meng Xingye slapped his thigh, then looked at Gu Zhinan with fiery eyes.

“Sangluo, don’t you have that half-finished song? Show it to Director Gu! Maybe he can help you finish it!”

“Eh?” Yan Sangluo froze, then glanced at Gu Zhinan. His eyes held hope, but more hesitation.

After all, Director Gu had composed two hit songs for Xia An’ge, and even his masked-singer performance featured original work. Maybe… just maybe, he really could help!

He had been working on this song for two years, stuck at the halfway point, unable to find the right continuation. Even after discussing it with Yuze and Xingye, they had no clue.

“Yeah, show him!”

Chen Yuze agreed, explaining to Gu Zhinan, “Director Gu, Sangluo also streams on the Douhu platform, he’s kind of an online singer too.”

“Oh?” Gu Zhinan’s interest was piqued. Who would’ve thought his crew had a hidden singer?

Sitong Hongwei chimed in, “Sangluo really loves music. When he first joined my bridal shop, I had to teach him everything. Now he teaches me! He’s only a year older than you, Zhinan, a hardworking kid.”

“Where’s the song? Let’s see it.” Even Lai Jingming was curious now.

Yan Sangluo quickly rushed upstairs, then returned with a worn sheet of paper full of edits. “This was new last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I tried to polish it more. Should I rewrite it cleanly?” He asked sheepishly.

“No need. Director Gu can read it,” Lai Jingming said.

“Read it, my ass!” Gu Zhinan silently cursed. He took the paper anyway. It was crammed with scribbles, lyrics and sheet music all jumbled together. Worse than the messy score he had once handed Xia An’ge for Summer Wind.

As he tried to decipher it, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper. Everyone else held their breath, waiting. Finally, Gu Zhinan looked up and smiled at Yan Sangluo. “Could you separate the lyrics and the music? My head hurts trying to read this…”

“Damn it!” Lai Jingming nearly shouted. He had thought this guy had gotten some divine inspiration!

Yan Sangluo scratched his head awkwardly, then hurried upstairs again with Yuze and Xingye to clean it up.

Sitong Hongwei sighed. “If you do have inspiration, help him a little. You can see he really loves music. He’s been carrying props and setting scenes this whole shoot, doing all the grunt work without complaint.”

Gu Zhinan nodded. “I’ll try. But if I can’t fix it, there’s nothing I can do.”

Ten minutes later, two fresh sheets of music were handed to him. Word spread fast, and soon the crew gathered, curious to watch.

“Don’t force yourself, Director Gu. I know my level,” Yan Sangluo said nervously.

Gu Zhinan patted his shoulder. “Everyone needs dreams. Without them, how are we different from salted fish?” Then he chuckled, looking out at the darkening night. “But with dreams, we can at least be salted fish with dreams.”

“What difference does that make? More flavorful?” Lai Jingming rolled his eyes.

“You know nothing!” Gu Zhinan kicked him, making everyone laugh.

The atmosphere lightened.

“Mind lending me your guitar?” Gu Zhinan asked. Yan Sangluo nodded eagerly.

Later that night, Gu Zhinan secluded himself in the meeting room with the cleaned-up sheets. He studied them until his head ached. He was fine composing from scratch, but analyzing? That was god-level work.

So he snapped pictures and sent them to his landlady. Then he video-called her. It took over a minute before Xia An’ge answered, her flushed little face filling the screen.

“Good evening, my landlady!” He greeted with a grin.

“…Mm.” She glanced around, making sure her door was shut. She must have run back from the living room.

“I sent you two photos. Can you help me find what’s off?” He asked sheepishly.

Her brows furrowed, but she agreed softly. She shrank the video, examining the messy lyrics and music. All incomplete. Gu Zhinan only saw her serious expression, her brows knitting and relaxing, and thought… beautiful.

Ten minutes later, Xia An’ge wrote a cleaner version, sent him a picture, then video-called again.

“This was too messy, some melodies were wrong. I rearranged it. Look,” she said.

“Professional!” Gu Zhinan cheered. “The landlady’s a goddess forever!” Her arrangement instantly cleared his confusion. The flow was smoother, the harmonies natural.

“Perfect! My landlady is the best!” He exclaimed.

Her cheeks flushed red. She shot him a glare through the screen. “Shameless! Who’s yours?”

“Is this a new song of yours?” She asked. “No, a talented young man in my crew wrote it. I’m just helping polish it.” He picked up the guitar, wanting to try it, but hesitated when he saw it was already 11 p.m. “Ah, I almost forgot the time. I shouldn’t bother you. Go to sleep, landlady.”

“…Oh.” Her eyes flashed coldly, then she hung up without warning.

“That bastard! Using me and then tossing me aside? If I answer his next video call, I’m a dog!” She almost crumpled her draft, but in the end, slammed it on the desk in frustration.

Meanwhile, Gu Zhinan shivered under her glare. Why was she so angry? Wasn’t he just telling her to rest? Maybe… she wanted to hear the song?

So he texted her cautiously. Not blocked. He tried a video call again, rejected. Tried once more. After a long ring, she finally answered, showing only her ceiling.

“Um… wanna hear this half-song?” He asked carefully.

“…Mm.” Her soft reply made him smile.

He propped up the phone, minimized her video to enlarge her cleaned score, tuned the guitar, and sang softly. When he finished the half-song, he asked, “What do you think?”

“The melody’s too simple. The lyrics require long phrasing,” she replied coolly, still not showing her face.

He fell deep in thought, trying to recall the original tune from his memory. She said nothing more, but kept the call connected. Curled up in bed, she watched him with his guitar, and quietly smiled.

Just watching was enough. It would help her fall asleep.

Eventually, her gentle breathing filled the line. Seeing the faint glow of her bedside lamp, Gu Zhinan sighed, then ended the call himself.

At dawn, Lai Jingming went to the bathroom and noticed Gu Zhinan’s bed empty. Panicked, he found him in the meeting room, curled on the sofa with his guitar, dark circles under his eyes.

“You stayed up all night?!”

“No, I slept at five,” Gu Zhinan yawned, stretching. Papers were scattered on the table, with one neat new sheet on top.

Lai Jingming’s eyes widened as he read it. “You really finished it?”

“Not really. Sangluo’s original was good. I just added polish.”

“…Monster.”

Then he brightened. “Can we use this as First Love’s theme song?”

Gu Zhinan shook his head. “The style doesn’t fit the film. Give it back to Sangluo. Let him practice today. I’m going to bed.”

Later that morning, when Sangluo saw Lai Jingming carrying his guitar and the sheet, his heart leapt.

“Here, Director Gu stayed up all night polishing it. Today, just practice. We’ll listen this afternoon.”

“You finished it?” Even Chen Yuze and Meng Xingye were stunned. No wonder Gu Zhinan had slept so deeply.

“Thank you,” Sangluo whispered, his eyes red as he gripped the sheet.

That afternoon, after filming wrapped, everyone crowded into the second floor. At the center sat Sangluo with his guitar, nervous as ever.

“Relax,” Sitong Hongwei encouraged. “We’re all friends. No one will laugh.”

Meng Xingye and Chen Yuze even volunteered to sing along. Yun Yinxue stood among the crowd, tall and graceful, smiling expectantly.

Finally, Sangluo looked to Gu Zhinan. Seeing only a calm smile, he took a deep breath, strummed the guitar, and began.

“I like the way you pout when you’re angry, I like your little stubbornness, without you, it’s like I can’t breathe…

I remember that midnight street, the sudden drizzle falling from the sky, and how I gently pulled you into my arms…”

His soft, gentle voice surprised everyone. The song fit him perfectly. As he sang through the chorus and climax, the crew sat stunned. Gu Zhinan had polished this overnight? Was he even human?

By the time Sangluo finished, the room erupted into applause. The makeup artist squealed, “It’s so good! Why were you hiding this voice from us?”

Sangluo blushed. Singing in front of friends felt so different from online streaming.

“You could release this as a real song!” Lai Jingming exclaimed.

Gu Zhinan smiled. “Why not? Music is meant to be shared. If you never share, how will anyone know you’re good?”

Everyone agreed. Even Yun Yinxue whispered shyly, “Director Gu… I also want one of your songs.”

“…What do you all think, my songs are free cabbages?” Gu Zhinan groaned, ignoring them.

Whether Natural Entertainment survived still depended on the film’s success. If it flopped, he’d just go back to writing novels, and maybe sell Lai Jingming off at the morning market while he was at it.