A film’s post-production mainly revolved around editing, scoring, and composing.
Chi Ying’s film was a realistic drama, so it didn’t require any cutting-edge visual effects.
Normally, the editing rights for a film belonged to the production company. Wedding, Wedding was produced by Huaying Group, and since the Script Planning Center itself was the producer, the editing rights remained in Chi Ying’s hands.
Chi Ying brought Lu Wei along and hired two editors from the Beijing Film Studio to handle the work. The rough cut was assembled entirely according to her own vision.
The only troublesome part now was the music.
At the time, China’s film scoring industry was nowhere near as developed as it was overseas. There was neither a mature, professional workflow for film music nor any widely recognized film composers.
Fortunately, Lu Wei had worked at a record company for a while before, so he still had connections and resources in the music industry.
Although he had completely cut ties with the company, many of the friends he had made there were still people he could turn to.
He recommended a campus singer who had risen to fame a few years earlier, Zhou Yan.
Zhou Yan had studied at Qing University as an undergraduate. He was exceptionally gifted and incredibly intelligent. For most people, simply getting into Qing University would have been considered reaching the pinnacle of success.
But during his sophomore year, he insisted on dropping out to pursue music. His family had nearly gone mad trying to stop him, but they couldn’t change his mind. As luck would have it, his very first song became a hit, and a record company quickly signed him, allowing him to continue down that path.
In the past two years, however, Zhou Yan had developed new ambitions. He no longer wanted to make campus pop songs. Instead, he wanted to experiment with deeper, more meaningful music.
Lu Wei himself had received formal training, so while he worked at the record company, he and Zhou Yan had gotten along quite well. The reason he recommended him was because Zhou Yan was a true all-rounder. He excelled at both lyric writing and composition, and every song he had ever performed was his own original work. Lu Wei believed someone like him could definitely meet their needs.
The moment Chi Ying heard the name, she was more than willing.
In her previous life, Zhou Yan had gone on to become one of the pillars of the mainland Chinese music scene. Even after streaming services had battered the record industry beyond recognition, whenever he released a new album, countless fans still willingly paid real money to support him.
There was absolutely no question about his musical talent. Hiring him to score a single film was like using a legendary sword to chop vegetables.
Lu Wei arranged a meeting, and he and Chi Ying went to visit Zhou Yan at the small courtyard house he rented.
At the beginning, Chi Ying gave him a general overview of the film’s story and its overall style.
Then she explained her ideas for both the score and the theme song.
The first thing she wanted was a sense of everyday life, full of warmth and human presence. At the same time, she hoped for a tone that was warm yet tinged with gentle melancholy.
The male and female lead lived in a bustling metropolis. They were merely two individuals among the endless crowds, searching through the sea of people for their other half, only to almost lose each other along the way…
Chi Ying wanted to express that loneliness hidden within prosperity and liveliness. She hoped the ending theme would carry a touch of desolation, while the music throughout the rest of the film would be brighter, more cheerful, or perhaps simply warmer.
After listening, Zhou Yan still wasn’t quite sure.
“Could I watch the film first?”
“I’m really sorry. We only just finished shooting it, and editing isn’t complete yet. Would it be all right if I showed you some of the storyboards instead?”
Zhou Yan casually flipped through the storyboard script Chi Ying had brought before nodding in agreement.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been very interested in taking the job. He had only agreed to meet because he wanted to help Lu Wei.
Now that everything had been discussed, neither side was particularly outgoing or skilled at making conversation, and the room quickly fell into an awkward silence.
Zhou Yan lowered his head and continued flipping through the storyboard.
Chi Ying’s storyboards were remarkably well drawn.
One illustration showed the male and female lead meeting again on the pedestrian overpass where they had first encountered each other. The focus was on the moment their eyes met, while crowds streamed past them and cars flowed endlessly beneath the bridge…
The image struck Zhou Yan instantly.
All at once, he understood exactly what Chi Ying meant by “loneliness amid the noise.”
“I’ve been experimenting with a different kind of music lately. It’s very different from what’s popular on the market right now… One of the pieces I’ve written matches exactly what you’re describing. Want me to play it for you?”
Without waiting for an answer, Zhou Yan walked into his bedroom, came back carrying a guitar, and began playing for Chi Ying and Lu Wei.
Lu Wei didn’t react much. He was neither particularly sensitive to music nor knowledgeable about it.
Chi Ying, however, was stunned.
The melody was the very piece that had become Zhou Yan’s greatest masterpiece in her previous life.
How iconic was it?
Whenever people talked about the greatest Chinese songs of the past fifty years, this song would inevitably be mentioned.
As for Zhou Yan himself, this was the work that marked his transformation from a popular singer into a true master of Chinese music.
Some people in the industry had even revealed that the royalties from this song alone were enough for Zhou Yan to never worry about money for the rest of his life.
What a treasure she’d stumbled upon!
Chi Ying hurriedly said, “Can we use this one? I absolutely love it. I really, really do!”
As she spoke, she even tried humming part of it, matching the melody perfectly.
Beside her, Lu Wei was completely dumbfounded.
He had only known that Chi Ying had extraordinary instincts when it came to filmmaking. Who would’ve thought she was just as incredible when it came to music?
The truth was that Chi Ying knew almost nothing about music.
She simply happened to adore this song in her previous life.
Back then, during the many low points in her life, this song had given her warmth. It was like a small stream quietly flowing beneath the ice in early spring. Though cold, it was filled with hope.
As Chi Ying described the emotions the melody evoked in her, Zhou Yan was overjoyed.
He felt as though he had finally found someone who truly understood his soul. To him, he and Chi Ying were like Boya and Ziqi, kindred spirits who completely understood each other’s hearts.
The two immediately launched into an animated discussion.
The awkward silence from only moments ago vanished completely.
Ironically, Lu Wei, the one who had introduced them, now looked like an outsider. He sat stiffly off to the side with his arms folded, unable to get a single word into the conversation.
Seeing the two of them getting so carried away that they looked ready to swear brotherhood over a sacrificed rooster and burning yellow paper, Lu Wei finally coughed awkwardly to interrupt their endless conversation.
“So… if everyone thinks this works, shall we sign the contract?”
Only then did Chi Ying remember why they had come.
She had clicked so well with Zhou Yan because the confusion and frustration he was experiencing now reminded her so much of her own previous life. They had both found resonance in that song, and before they knew it, they had talked on and on.
Zhou Yan also came back to his senses.
“What contract? Just use the songs. I’ll polish this one and finish the rest within two weeks. No charge.”
Chi Ying was startled.
Even though Zhou Yan’s career was in a slump at the moment, he had once been a successful artist signed to a management company. Strictly speaking, he had no authority to simply give away the usage rights to his songs, especially for commercial purposes.
Lu Wei also felt it was inappropriate.
“No. Business is business. You can’t just work for free like this. It’ll create endless problems later. Your company and your manager would be the first to object, and our film can’t afford to get dragged into that kind of lawsuit.”
Zhou Yan smiled bitterly.
“I’m on my own now. I terminated my contract with the company.”
“What?”
Both Chi Ying and Lu Wei stared at him in shock.
Ironically, Lu Wei himself had been the one who inspired Zhou Yan to leave.
Back when Lu Wei had been viciously berated at the company, the executives had smugly used the incident as an example throughout the office.
“Everyone needs to obey. So what if you’re talented? So what if you had formal training? In the end, the boss has the final say.”
Yet not long afterward, Lu Wei had simply walked away. He hadn’t even bothered collecting his unpaid salary. Without a second glance, he left to make films.
The entertainment industry wasn’t all that big.
Although Chi Ying’s film had started quietly, word of it gradually spread.
Inspired by Lu Wei’s decision, Zhou Yan realized he should stick to his dream and create the music he truly wanted to make.
He had argued with the company before, but both the company and his manager refused to compromise. Eventually, they simply shelved him, canceling all of his activities, convinced he would eventually give in.
But after seeing Lu Wei’s choice, Zhou Yan realized he could do the same.
His contract had already been close to expiring. The company had half-jokingly warned him that if he kept this up, they wouldn’t renew it.
He simply said nothing and let time pass.
Then the contract expired.
“It really expired?” Chi Ying asked again.
Zhou Yan nodded firmly.
“That’s incredible,” Lu Wei said. Those were the only words he could find.
At the time, working independently was still highly unusual. Personal studios were virtually unheard of. No matter what profession people were in, they were generally expected to be affiliated with an organization. Five or ten years later, this would become commonplace, but for Zhou Yan to make such a choice now required extraordinary courage.
Chi Ying remembered that this song had exploded in popularity about five or six years later.
By then, she was no longer in the entertainment industry, so she didn’t know what Zhou Yan’s situation had been in her previous life. But since there had been reports that he still owned the copyright to the song himself, he had probably made much the same choice back then.
Only now, because of Chi Ying’s butterfly effect, some things had happened ahead of schedule.
“Zhou Yan, business is still business. I’m just someone doing my job. We should sign a proper contract. Our production company will receive the usage rights, while you keep the copyright. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway. Huaying is the producer of this film, so the copyright would never end up in my hands.”
Lu Wei nodded.
“Let’s follow the proper procedures. It’ll make it much easier for us to work together again in the future.”
Seeing that, Zhou Yan readily agreed.
With that, Chi Ying’s filmmaking team was finally complete.
She had every professional she needed, along with a dependable cast she enjoyed working with. From now on, when it came time to make another film, staffing would no longer be a concern.
“We’re going to help each other succeed.”
After signing the contract with Zhou Yan, Chi Ying looked at him deeply.
Zhou Yan smiled and nodded.
“We definitely will.”
“And one more thing. Let’s call that song Faraway. We should cherish the lives we’re living now, while still holding on to our dreams of poetry and distant horizons.”
Chi Ying remembered it clearly.
In her previous life, when the song was finally released, its title had been Faraway.
…
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