I Became an All-round Artist

That evening, Lin Yuan returned to his apartment, holding a document in hand—it was the requirements for the new song order.

Though the document had several thousand words, the key point could be summed up in just one sentence:

"Compose a song tailored to the style of singer Shui Yun."

On the surface, it sounded simple, but in practice, it was far more challenging.

However, this wasn’t something that concerned Lin Yuan too much. He instinctively summoned the system, just as he had done with the previous custom compositions.

But to his surprise, this time the system didn't immediately respond to his request.

Ding!

"Due to the frequent use of the system for custom song creations, there are signs of the host becoming overly reliant. As a result, the system will temporarily open the song database for the host to select a song on their own, with the responsibility for the outcome lying with the host."

Lin Yuan was taken aback for a moment.

“You want me to choose the song myself?”

He wasn’t angry at the system’s decision. In fact, having more involvement in the process seemed like a good thing. Plus, he had recently been learning a lot from the experience of using the Yang Zhongming character card, and felt that his understanding of music composition had indeed deepened.

“So, I’m the one making the decisions now, not the system?” Lin Yuan asked.

"That’s correct," the system replied.

Lin Yuan began to think. The system had always been able to pinpoint exactly what the client wanted—choosing the perfect song was its skill. Could he select a song that met the client's requirements just as accurately?

“The song database is now open.”

Suddenly, Lin Yuan felt his mind connect to the system's vast song library. He could access and listen to any song from Earth, with all the details about each song surfacing clearly as he thought of them.

“Are you not worried that I might memorize a few songs from the library?” Lin Yuan teased.

“They will be blocked afterwards,” the system replied, leaving no loopholes.

Lin Yuan wasn’t surprised. He didn’t immediately start choosing a song, nor did he indulge in re-listening to classic hits from Earth. Instead, he sat down at his desk, turned on his computer, and began listening to Shui Yun’s past work, while also researching more about her career.

Shui Yun was primarily a singer, but she was also an actress. In an interview, she had explained why she occasionally ventured into acting:

She believed that actors have a special ability to control emotions, a skill that she found useful for singing as well.

This emotional control was part of what made Shui Yun stand out.

Like a writer choosing the right angle for a story, Shui Yun was adept at finding the right emotional approach for each song. Her voice was her pen, and through her unique style, she could convey and express emotions with precision. It was a form of mastery. Whether it was controlling her voice or the emotion behind it, she had it down to an art.

Why do some singers, despite their powerful vocal ranges, fail to move their audience? Often, it’s because they lack control; their performance becomes more of an emotional outburst rather than a meaningful expression.

Shui Yun, on the other hand, though not necessarily the most technically advanced singer, excelled in her ability to express emotions and her unique performance style.

This was a conclusion Lin Yuan reached not only through his research, but also through his own feelings as he listened to her music.

It felt different this time. In the past, the system would choose a song within a minute. Now, with the system taking a backseat, Lin Yuan had to make the decision himself. Doing his homework, like researching the artist, was taking up much more time. Luckily, with Xue Liang now fully engaged in practical projects, Lin Yuan only needed to guide him on weekends.

During the weekdays, Lin Yuan focused on honing his own skills by using the character cards. After all, using the cards on himself only took a couple of minutes a day, so it didn’t eat up too much time.

“Is there a time limit for selecting a song?” Lin Yuan asked.

“You have as much time as you need,” the system replied.

Satisfied, Lin Yuan realized there was no rush to make a hasty decision. He could afford to listen to a few more songs before settling on one. Additionally, there were specific notes in the order: while Shui Yun's new song should have some differences from her past works, it should still stay true to her unique vocal style.

Another important aspect:

The song had to be sung in Qi Province dialect.

That meant Lin Yuan could immediately rule out Mandarin songs. Otherwise, he'd also have to deal with the challenge of rewriting lyrics, something he wasn’t keen on unless the original lyrics were particularly weak.

"Alright, let’s start listening," Lin Yuan decided.

With the song library fully open, Lin Yuan was excited to explore it. After washing up, he lay down on his bed and gave a command in his mind:

"Xiao Ai, play Jay Chou."

"I’m not called Xiao Ai," the system corrected him, but it began playing Jay Chou’s songs anyway.

Jay Chou had nothing to do with the song selection Lin Yuan was working on for Shui Yun. Her style was entirely different. Lin Yuan just felt like listening to Jay Chou's music for fun.

Now, the system was like his personal streaming service, with sound quality far superior to even the most expensive headphones.

The fact that Lin Yuan had taken on a competitive order was soon known throughout the company, but it didn’t stir much discussion among the staff. Like Gu Qiangyun, they all viewed it as a sort of lottery—either they’d win or they wouldn’t, and even if they didn’t, there wouldn’t be any serious consequences.

On the other hand, Xue Liang’s new 700,000-yuan order sparked a lot more gossip in the company.

This was Xue Liang’s most expensive order to date. Before training with Lin Yuan, he had only taken on smaller jobs, typically worth around 100,000 to 200,000 yuan. Now, after learning under Lin Yuan, it seemed Xue Liang’s ambitions had grown. He dared to take on a 700,000-yuan order.

It was quite obvious.

No one believed that Xue Liang could successfully complete the order.

Even though Xue Liang had been studying composition under Lin, and had even formally become his disciple, what did that really prove?

Did they think Lin could magically transfer his skills to Xue Liang like some martial arts master in a wuxia novel?

There was no such thing.

Composition is different from skills like painting or calligraphy. Those can be significantly improved through practice—it's a visible and tangible improvement.

But composing music? It relies heavily on talent. Learning alone doesn’t necessarily lead to noticeable progress.

So, in everyone's mind, Xue Liang was still just Xue Liang. The fact that he was learning from Lin didn’t mean he had transformed into someone radically different.

That said, while Lin hadn’t turned Xue Liang into something extraordinary, he had definitely made Starlight Music a bit different.

Because, on this very night, the game Martial Lovers officially went live.

And along with the launch of this martial arts-themed game, Lin’s song “A Laugh in the Jianghu,” composed under the alias Xianyu, was also released to the public!

Many players praised the song that appeared in the game.

“Heroic and grand!”

“Perfectly fits the storyline!”

“Memorable!”

These were the immediate reactions from players after encountering the song during key moments in the game.

Unfortunately, though, the song didn’t explode in popularity the way Lin’s previous song, “Like You,” had, which had benefited from the exposure that came with the airing of the TV drama.

After all, this game didn’t have nearly the same reach as a popular television show.

However, that didn’t stop "A Laugh in the Jianghu" from being an incredibly well-executed project. Nor did it stop other clients from Qi Province from recognizing its quality after hearing it.

The client behind the game, Menglong, rated the song five stars!

Yes, in Qi Province, clients could rate the projects they commissioned, which was a unique practice there.

You definitely wouldn’t find this in Qin Province.

Qin Province, the so-called "Land of Music," didn’t rely on client orders to sustain its music market.

A five-star rating represented the highest level of client satisfaction for a project.

And in Qi Province's music industry, one of the most valued aspects was the prestige of such commissions!

There was even a dedicated music production company ranking system set up by Qi Province’s Music Association, which ranked the top 100 production companies based on factors like order value, project quality, and public reception.

The industry folks humorously referred to it as the “Contractor Ranking.”

Thanks to Xianyu’s two exceptionally high-quality commissions, Starlight Music had, for the first time in its history, entered the top 100 of the Contractor Ranking!

Well, barely made it.

Being in the top 100 still felt a little lackluster.

Even more so when you consider that Starlight Music had only managed to secure the 100th spot—the very last place on the list.

A literal tail-end.

But Gu Qiangyun couldn’t contain his excitement.

Previously, Starlight Music hadn’t even dared to glance at the rankings.

This list was essentially a giant advertisement for contractors!

Just being listed meant countless new potential orders would start coming in for Starlight Music, since many clients only sought out companies from this ranking for their projects.

It was Lin’s arrival and his completion of two high-quality commissions, including the massive 3-million-yuan order for “Like You,” that had elevated Starlight Music to this level—a status it never could have dreamed of before.

Previously, the company holding the 100th spot had been Flame Music.

With Starlight Music now taking their place, Flame Music had been pushed off the list entirely.

Naturally, the composers at Flame Music were not happy. Their internal company chat was filled with complaints dripping with bitterness.

“What the hell is Starlight Music? How did they push us off the list?”

“I checked their work—they’re nothing but a joke of a company! The only reason they pushed us out is because of some composer named Xianyu.”

“Xianyu?”

“Apparently, he’s a top-tier composer from Qin Province. Starlight Music is a branch of Starlight Entertainment from Qin Province. Seems like the headquarters sent over their ace to bail them out.”

“I know Xianyu. He wrote ‘Big Fish.’ He’s a real powerhouse. Definitely qualified to save them.”

“‘Powerhouse’ doesn’t even cover it. Xianyu’s barely been in Qi Province and he’s already completed two top-quality projects. That game order wasn’t huge money-wise, but the quality was excellent, so the client gave him a five-star rating. What’s even more impressive is the second project—a 3-million-yuan order from Thunder Company. Xianyu nailed it. The song, ‘Like You,’ the one that was playing in the coffee shop downstairs this morning—that’s the one. Also got a five-star rating!”

“So, they only made the list because of Xianyu? That’s basically riding his coattails!”

“If not for Xianyu, any one of our composers could outshine anyone at Starlight Music. But Xianyu alone is enough to outclass our entire team. What can we even say to that?”

“...”

Though they were frustrated, there wasn’t much they could do. After all, Starlight Music had the backing of its headquarters in Qin Province.

Amid the collective groans of despair in their group chat, the head of Flame Music’s composition department posted with a hint of schadenfreude:

“Now it’s up to the companies ranked close to Starlight to start feeling the pressure.”

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