Before heading to CUBE, Liang Yun still informed Kim Ji-yeon.
He originally thought that Director Kim Ji-yeonwould have some reservations about this kind of ‘private visit,’ as there was competition between companies, and it seemed a bit out of line for her Producer to ‘contribute’ to another company’s artists.
Unexpectedly, after listening to his report, Kim Ji-yeon not only didn’t object but also showed an amused smile.
“(G)I-DLE’s Jeon Soyeon?” She leaned back in her office chair, her fingers lightly tapping the desk.
“Hmm, she’s a very thoughtful child. Her producing ability is in a league of its own among new-generation female idols. It’s a good thing for you to go and communicate with her.”
She paused, her gaze becoming a little sharp, as if evaluating the value of an item.
“Liang Yun-ssi, you must remember, your identity is L.Y., an independent singer-songwriter and Producer. Your talent should not be confined to Starship Entertainment. Go out more, collaborate with different people, expand your network and influence; this will benefit both you and the company. Just don’t sell our next quarter’s comeback title track to CUBE.”
The last sentence, delivered with clear teasing, made Liang Yun’s tense nerves relax.
He understood Kim Ji-yeon’s meaning.
She was playing the long game, fishing for a big catch.
A Producer who only served their own company had limited value.
But a top Producer recognized and sought after by the entire K-POP scene—his name itself was a golden brand.
And this golden brand belonged to Starship Entertainment.
This woman’s business acumen was terrifyingly shrewd.
“I understand, Department Head nim.”
“Go.” Kim Ji-yeon waved her hand, as if dismissing an unimportant subordinate.
“Just don’t embarrass our Starship Entertainment.”
The next afternoon, Liang Yun, carrying his precious martin guitar, arrived at the CUBE Entertainment building in Seongsu-dong, accompanied by his Manager, Kim Min-ho.
Unlike Starship Entertainment’s modern building, CUBE’s building looked more like a giant, square, gray box, appearing steady and low-key.
The huge blue cube logo at the entrance was its only identifier.
Kim Min-ho had contacted their Manager in advance, so they smoothly entered the company.
Along the way, Liang Yun felt countless curious glances.
CUBE’s trainees and staff seemed very interested in this recently renowned ‘genius Producer’ from Starship Entertainment.
Liang Yuncould feel those gazes hitting him like spotlights, making him uncomfortable.
He silently chanted, ‘They can’t see me, they can’t see me,’ wishing he could stuff himself into his guitar bag.
They were led to a recording studio on the basement floor.
Pushing open the heavy soundproof door, a familiar scent, belonging to musicians, wafted towards them.
Inside the recording studio, Jeon Soyeon was sitting in front of the mixing console, wearing large monitor headphones, her brows furrowed, seemingly troubled by something.
She wasn’t wearing makeup today, completely barefaced.
She wore an oversized black graphic T-shirt and gray sweatpants, her hair casually tied into a small bun at the back of her head with a hair tie.
Stripped of her powerful, domineering queen-like aura from the stage, she now looked more like a tired music student who had pulled several all-nighters to finish a thesis.
Faint red marks from the headphones were even visible on her fair cheeks, but her eyes, when she saw Liang Yun enter, instantly lit up, filled with the focused and sharp brilliance of a creator.
“You’re here?” She took off her headphones and stood up, her voice carrying a subtle hoarseness, sounding like she had been up for a very long time.
“Mm…” Liang Yun nodded stiffly.
Jeon Soyeon’s gaze bypassed Kim Min-ho next to him and landed directly on Liang Yun and the guitar on his back.
“Let me see the guitar quickly,” she said directly.
Liang Yun was startled for a moment, but still took the guitar out of its bag as instructed and handed it to her.
Jeon Soyeon took the martin guitar D-28, as if admiring a work of art.
Her fingers gently brushed over the scratches on the body from years of playing, then she strummed the strings, closed her eyes, and listened carefully to the warm and mellow resonance. You are reading on novelping dot com, the official source.
“Very good,” she commented concisely, then handed the guitar back to Liang Yun.
“Let’s go into the booth; time is short. I’ve sent you the accompaniment and the sheet music; you should have seen it, right?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“Any thoughts?”
“I think…” As soon as the topic turned to music, Liang Yun’s words flowed freely.
He was no longer nervous, and his eyes became focused.
“The bridge of this song doesn’t need overly complex arrangement. The rhythm of the verses and chorus is already very full; this section needs a ‘breather.’ Using a section of arpeggios with a flamenco feel, plus a few powerful muted strums, to create a calm before the storm, might work better than a simple melodic solo.”
Jeon Soyeon listened to his analysis, her eyes shining brighter and brighter.
She didn’t speak, just nodded heavily, then pointed to the recording booth.
Stop talking nonsense, play it for me.
Well, at least Liang Yun thought that was what she meant.
He felt as if he had met a kindred spirit.
This feeling of being able to communicate with music alone, without needing too many words, made him feel incredibly comfortable and excited.
He walked into the recording booth, sat on the high stool, and cradled the guitar.
Jeon Soyeon personally sat in front of the mixing console, put on her headphones, and made a “start” gesture to him.
Liang Yun took a deep breath, and his fingers landed on the strings.
A rapid and percussive arpeggio, like a dense drumbeat, flowed from his fingertips.
Following closely were several clean, powerful muted strums that instantly cut off the melody, creating a strong, tension-filled sense of abruptness.
He didn’t play a complete melody but instead played the guitar in an almost percussive manner.
The music was filled with the hot, unrestrained, and yet somewhat tragic fatalism of southern Spain.
After one complete play-through.
In the control room, there was silence.
Jeon Soyeon didn’t speak, just closed her eyes, seemingly still savoring the impact the music had just had on her.
A few seconds later, she opened her eyes, pressed the intercom button, and said only two words.
“Start recording.”
The next two hours turned into a frenzy belonging to two musical “madmen.”
They had almost no verbal communication; all communication was done through music.
Liang Yun played again and again in the recording booth.
He tried different dynamics, different rhythms, and even tapped the body of the guitar with his fingernail to create richer timbres.
Meanwhile, Jeon Soyeon, in the control room, like a precise surgeon, performed meticulous “dissection” and “reconstruction” on every track Liang Yunplayed.
“The muted strum in the third take, the dynamics are very good, keep it.”
“The arpeggio in the fifth take, the emotion in the latter half faded a bit, discard it.”
“Try editing the first half of the first take and the latter half of the fourth take together.”
Their minds seemed to be operating at high speed on the same frequency.
Liang Yun’s improvisation, Jeon Soyeon could immediately understand the emotion he wanted to express; and Jeon Soyeon’s editing idea, Liang Yun could instantly grasp the musical picture she wanted to construct.
They felt like two ordinary people who had stumbled into an alternate dimension, completely unable to comprehend the thought processes of these two “madmen” in front of them.
Seeing that Liang Yun was completely ignoring him, Manager Kim Min-ho simply slipped out for a smoke.
In their eyes, every take Liang Yun played was pretty much the same and sounded great.
But to those two, every take seemed to be worlds apart.
When the final perfect recording was completed, Jeon Soyeon took off her headphones, a rare, heartfelt, brilliant smile gracing her face.
“Perfect,” she said, looking at Liang Yun through the glass wall, genuinely admiring him.
Liang Yun also let out a sigh of relief, feeling his fingers tingle.
This high-intensity, completely immersive creative process left him tired, but more than that, it brought a sense of exhilarating satisfaction.
He walked out of the recording booth.
Jeon Soyeonhad already poured two glasses of ice water and handed one to him.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
The two clinked their glasses and drank them in one gulp.
“This song is called ‘Hwaa,'” Jeon Soyeon suddenly said.
“‘Hwaa’ from ‘fire flower.’ A red flower burning in winter.”
She looked at Liang Yun, her eyes carrying a hint of invitation.
“On the Producer list, I will add your name. Feat. L.Y.”
Liang Yun was stunned.
He had only come to play a guitar part, never expecting the other party to directly give him a featuring credit.
In the K-POP scene, for a Producer, this was an extremely high level of recognition.
“This… isn’t necessary, is it? I just…”
“It is necessary,” Jeon Soyeon interrupted him, her tone brooking no argument.
“Your guitar is the finishing touch of this song. It deserves a name.”
She paused, then added, her voice carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible hint of a creator’s mutual appreciation.
“And, I hope we can have more opportunities to collaborate in the future.”
Liang Yun looked at her serious eyes, and a warm current surged through him.
He nodded heavily.
“It’s my honor.”
Just then, the recording studio door suddenly burst open.
A vibrant figure in a white T-shirt with pigtails rushed in like a gust of wind.
“Soyeon! I heard you kidnapped a handsome guy?! Where is he, where is he? Let me see!”
It was Song Yuqi.
Her characteristic loud voice and her style of arriving vocally before physically instantly shattered the quiet atmosphere of the masters’ exchange in the recording studio.
When she saw Liang Yun standing next to Jeon Soyeon, looking utterly bewildered, her eyes instantly widened.
“Oh, I was wondering who it was, if it isn’t our Big Dog Brother,” Song Yuqi walked over and poked Liang Yun with her elbow, a teasing look on her face.
Liang Yun’s fists clenched again; this girl was still as familiar as ever.
He felt that the cool image of a top Producer he had just established today was shattered into a million pieces at this moment.
Forget it, whatever.