“You… do you know what you’re saying?”
Cheng Yang took a deep breath.
He tried to keep his voice calm, not letting his blood pressure, which was about to hit 180, skyrocket.
Gu Nanci sighed softly, knowing he didn’t believe her.
It couldn’t be helped—the original owner had a long history of misdeeds, and not everyone was like that simpleton Wen Jiuyi, who believed whatever she said.
She pulled Cheng Yang to sit down, unfolded the score for “Punishment,” and patiently explained:
“The song you picked is indeed very suitable for live performances. If performed well, it can be really exciting. However, the original singer of this song is a solo artist, and the entire song was written according to his vocal characteristics and performance style.”
Gu Nanci continued calmly, “But we’re different. We’re a group, and our stage performance isn’t just about singing. In many parts, like the first chorus, it works perfectly for him to sing it all in one go, but here we’ve split it between two people. The vocals are divided, but the instrumental skeleton hasn’t changed. If you listen carefully, it just sounds abrupt.”
Cheng Yang was stunned, unsure whether he was lost in thought or simply too shocked to react.
Moving her slender, pale fingertips, Gu Nanci pointed to the final section:
“And here, at the end, the dance choreographed by Wen Jiuyi for the singing and dancing part is very impactful, but the music clearly doesn’t match the intensity of the dance… You must have noticed it too, right?”
Cheng Yang’s pupils suddenly contracted.
Of course, they had noticed this problem.
But because the dance they had come up with on a sudden inspiration was so brilliant, and they couldn’t find a better alternative, they had to make do with it.
“Because the original song deliberately weakened the drumbeat rhythm to match the singer’s style. But if we could adapt it to our own characteristics, replacing the softer string instruments with drums and electronic sounds, the effect would be completely different!” Gu Nanci slowly explained.
Cheng Yang suddenly had a moment of clarity.
That’s what he had thought!
Why did such an amazing set of moves feel weakened when paired with the song, only delivering seventy percent of its potential intensity?
As a vocalist, his musical sense was undeniable. In his mind, he unconsciously followed Gu Nanci’s train of thought.
Instantly, Cheng Yang’s pupils contracted again.
It was true!
It was completely different!
Meeting Gu Nanci’s gaze that seemed to say, “See, I wasn’t wrong,” Cheng Yang was astonished, unable to form a complete sentence for a long time: “You… you—!”
Could Gu Nanci… really know how to arrange music?
This was even more unbelievable than the end of the world!
Yet, something that sounded utterly absurd had actually become a reality under Gu Nanci’s suggestion.
…This world had gone mad.
Watching Cheng Yang sink into a silence of self-doubt, Gu Nanci sighed, gaining a deeper understanding of her deeply ingrained reputation as a useless person in the public eye.
Sigh! The road to turning around my reputation is long and arduous!
“It’s fine. If you trust me, we can make the changes. If not, that’s okay too. Time is tight anyway, and suddenly rearranging the music would mean all the singing and dancing parts afterward would have to change. With only one day left to prepare hastily, the stage effect might not be better than if we didn’t change it.” Gu Nanci offered a very reasonable suggestion.
Hearing the word “stage,” Cheng Yang snapped back to reality. His brows furrowed tightly as he reluctantly digested the fact that the team’s pretty but useless member was actually a creative talent. He then asked in a low voice:
“Are you confident?”
“Are you kidding? Who do you think I am!”
A top-tier producer, okay!
Gu. Arrogant. Nanci expressed her disdain with a scornful look.
Cheng Yang: “…” He shouldn’t have asked!
Cheng Yang closed his eyes, suppressing a long string of censored symbols in his mind, and calmly pondered.
Gu Nanci’s point was indeed something that could not be ignored.
After revising the arrangement, they would have to take the stage the very next day.
Even if, as Gu Nanci had painted the picture, the song was rearranged to suit their style…
What good would it do?
The stage doesn’t care how much effort you put in behind the scenes. It’s cruel—just those few minutes. Whether it’s good or bad, how well you perform, is all decided in those decisive moments.
Apart from fans, no one cares how many hours of effort you’ve spent, how much sweat you’ve shed, how many wounds you’ve added, what you stubbornly held onto, or what you reluctantly gave up.
What matters is those few minutes!
And fate is decided in those few minutes too!
Therefore, overturning their previous practice might lead to better music, but if their performance ended up worse than before, it would be better to stick with the original.
Besides… Cheng Yang looked at Gu Nanci with a complicated expression as he lowered his head, scribbling and writing on the lyric sheet.
He had to admit, he really did have the air of a producer!
But to connect those three lofty words with Gu Nanci all of a sudden…
The unreality of it left Cheng Yang feeling dazed.
After thinking for a moment, Cheng Yang asked, “If it were you… how would you choose?”