Chapter 106: A Debt Repaid with a Debt

Hearing that Gu Cheng was willing to compose a song as a birthday gift for her, Quan Baoya’s heart instantly filled with happiness.

She had recently started learning composition, but after all, she was only fifteen years old. Having only just reached the first year of high school, it was impossible for her to quickly develop the ability to create independently.

Quan Baoya had an inexplicable trust in Gu Cheng’s abilities, as if he were omnipotent in her eyes. This had nothing to do with love; it was more like the naive admiration a junior high school girl might have for a handsome teacher.

Gu Cheng waited for Quan Baoya to regain her composure before explaining gently, “Let’s call the song ‘Winter-Love.’ It perfectly matches the title of ‘Winter Sonata.’ I’ve already discussed it with the producers at KBS Channel 2. ‘Winter Sonata’ will use this song as its theme, and the version I’m bringing to the domestic market, ‘Blue Life and Death Love’ Season One, will also adopt this song as the theme.”

Quan Baoya was thrilled. “Then let’s go find a place to stay, and I can watch you write the song.”

Gu Cheng stopped her fleeting enthusiasm. “Do you have a keyboard where you’re staying? If not, we need to buy one to test the sound; otherwise, how can we write the score?”

Quan Baoya replied, “I came to Fukuoka on short notice; there’s no way I’d carry an instrument with me. Let’s go buy one.”

The two left the ramen shop, where Miss An was already nearly asleep in the van. Gu Cheng apologized and handed Miss An several takeout snacks before instructing the driver to find a good music store.

In Gu Cheng’s mind, he already had a rough idea of what he planned to compose.

He vaguely recalled that Quan Baoya herself would eventually write a song called “Winter-Love,” but it seemed she could only do so in her twenties, after accumulating enough life experience to pen those plaintive, mature love songs. At fifteen, with youthful innocence and naivety, it was certainly unsuitable.

Moreover, Quan Baoya’s own “Winter-Love” didn’t hold much historical significance. The later Gu Cheng had only listened to it a few times and sensed that its main melody bore a subtle homage to Mika Nakashima’s “Yuki no Hana,” though it emphasized tragic love more heavily and lacked a certain serene subtlety.

This was unsurprising, as “Yuki no Hana” was arguably Mika Nakashima’s masterpiece, composed by the great Ryoki Matsumoto. Even in East Asia’s wider cultural sphere, beyond Japan, many who had never heard a single Japanese song in their lives had surely heard “Yuki no Hana”—though some might not know its title.

It was natural for later generations to pay tribute to such an awe-inspiring piece by mimicking some of its emotional nuances.

However, Gu Cheng now realized that Mika Nakashima did not yet exist in this world. Perhaps she was still hidden somewhere, not yet debuted, and thus “Yuki no Hana” did not exist either.

After clarifying this, Gu Cheng had no intention of directly plagiarizing “Yuki no Hana”—that would be too rigid and a waste of a divine work. Its melody wasn’t particularly suited to romance.

He tried to use the faint image in his mind to borrow the narrative structure of “Winter-Love,” then embellish it with the most classic, enduring melodic fragments of “Yuki no Hana,” and compose a new, fitting chorus. He aimed to transform the song into a tragic love theme suitable for “Blue Life and Death Love.”

The final piece would be neither “Winter-Love” nor “Yuki no Hana.”

Miss An drove them to the largest music store in Hakata Ward, and Gu Cheng and Quan Baoya, both wearing masks, went inside to shop.

Hakata Ward was Fukuoka City’s cultural and educational district. Being close to the harbor, facing Tsushima Island and Busan across the water, Hakata had long been a settlement for immigrants. Among Fukuoka’s 1.5 million residents, over 40,000 were immigrants from both China and Japan, mostly concentrated here.

Because of this immigrant and mobile population, coupled with the prevalence of education and culture, the area became a hub for independent musicians and aspiring artists seeking opportunities. Numerous shared apartments housed struggling musicians, painters, and photography enthusiasts who, before being discovered, worked part-time jobs while sending audition tapes to major talent agencies.

Furthermore, the other prefectures of Kyushu were relatively poor; except for Nagasaki, young people from these areas preferred to come to Fukuoka seeking jobs and opportunities. It was similar to migrant workers in China who preferred provincial capitals over moving to Beijing or Shanghai.

Inside the music store, a variety of vintage instruments and the latest electronic equipment were on display. Besides Gu Cheng, a few young women browsed instruments, lowering their caps to avoid attention.

Gu Cheng and Quan Baoya soon chose a keyboard with the most advanced mixing functions, complete with effect processors. Neither wanted to leave a credit card record, and since Gu Cheng hadn’t exchanged much yen for his impromptu visit to Japan, Quan Baoya paid in cash.

The shop owner was quite surprised to see the payment come from a young woman.

Behind them, a somewhat alternative music girl who had selected an electric guitar was waiting in line. Upon seeing Gu Cheng “squeeze” Quan Baoya for payment, she snorted disdainfully, looking down on him as if to say, “A grown man, and he lets a girl pay!”

Gu Cheng didn’t bother arguing with a stranger but couldn’t help glancing at the girl. She had slightly wavy, flaxen long hair and a relatively slender face. She was probably about his age, but her smoky punk makeup and eyeshadow gave her a much more mature aura. Her typically thick Japanese lips also detracted a bit from her otherwise decent eight-out-of-ten appearance.

In short, this girl was far less attractive than Quan Baoya but had a strong individualistic and artistic temperament.

Gu Cheng dismissed it and led Quan Baoya back to the car. Miss An found a high-end hotel nearby, booked two rooms for them, and they settled in to write songs behind closed doors.

***

They stayed up all night—from eight in the evening until eight the next morning. Gu Cheng and Quan Baoya worked late into the night, testing sounds, adjusting samples, tapping out rhythms, and astonishingly, they completed “Winter-Love.”

Since the song needed to serve as both an album track and the ending theme for the Japanese drama, and also had to be introduced to China, it would eventually require lyrics in three languages. But Gu Cheng didn’t have the time now, so he only wrote bilingual lyrics.

The subsequent arrangement would take a few days, but those were minor details.

Gu Cheng reviewed the final score, tidied it up, and facing the morning sun, warmly wished, “Happy birthday.”

“Hmm, this is the best gift I’ve ever received in my fifteen years,” Quan Baoya said, exhausted but emotionally stirred. “Accompany me on the piano; I want to sing it through once.”

“Sure,” Gu Cheng agreed, sitting back at the keyboard.

“The winter fairy sparkles, fluttering down.
With idle time, I kissed the smiling face in the photo.

We had planned to watch a movie together, but the line by the window stretched long.
The crowd surged, and you and I could no longer walk hand in hand.

Yet my heart remains with you, even if we cannot meet.
My kiss turns into millions of snowflakes, forever by your side…”

When the song ended, Quan Baoya was certain she had found the lead single for her new album.

Satisfied, she lazily flopped back onto the bed, rolling over several times.

The exhaustion and hunger from the sleepless night finally overwhelmed her, making it hard to keep her eyes open. Yet her hunger prevented her from falling asleep.

“So hungry... How about we eat something before going back to sleep? I want something hot,” Quan Baoya whimpered adorably from the bed.

Gu Cheng glanced at the time. “It’s nine in the morning; the hotel restaurant hasn’t opened yet. Want some convenience store oden?”

Quan Baoya replied weakly, “Let’s order delivery. Maybe there’s a place still taking orders at this hour. I’m too hungry to move.”

Gu Cheng picked up the phone, flipped through the directory on the bedside table, and ordered two takeout rice bowls—teriyaki chicken and curry pork cutlet—each with a soft-boiled egg.

Since they had to wait for the food and couldn’t sleep, Gu Cheng sat on the sofa, squeezing in some business thoughts.

After composing the song last night, it was clear that Mika Nakashima would never release “Yuki no Hana.” Though Gu Cheng hadn’t directly plagiarized her hit, he still felt a pang of guilt.

“By the way, didn’t Mika Nakashima debut during the last two years of the internet’s cold winter? She’s considered a representative of the ‘last solo golden era.’ Why haven’t I heard a peep from her since?”

Thinking this, Gu Cheng naturally opened the room’s computer, searched Yahoo Japan for Mika Nakashima’s name, but found nothing.

Puzzled, he called Lin Zhiling to ask if she knew of such a singer in the industry.

Lin Zhiling asked him to wait, then after checking some data, called back.

“I did find something. There’s a new female artist from Fukuoka named Mika Nakashima. Two months ago, she sent demo tapes to our labels, Chengpin Audio and Aihui Records. Her voice is quite good, but her image is too outlandish. Our agents in Japan think it’s too risky to promote someone like her, so she was rejected.”

Gu Cheng felt a stir in his heart. Out of gratitude, he instructed Lin Zhiling, “Send me the electronic demo files of Mika Nakashima. I want to listen to them personally.”

After all, since he had caused the disappearance of a masterpiece, he couldn’t be heartless toward a talented girl.

Lin Zhiling was quick to act and sent several MP3 files attached to an email within fifteen minutes.

Gu Cheng downloaded and played them on the computer. A slightly husky yet ethereal and deep female voice flowed calmly through the speakers.

“Who is this? The voice is really nice, but the composition is all over the place,” a half-asleep Quan Baoya yawned, stirred by the singing.

“A newcomer who submitted demos,” Gu Cheng replied, withholding the name until confirming her potential.

The two sat quietly in front of the computer, ready to listen more.

But before long, the doorbell rang—surely the delivery food had arrived.

Quan Baoya’s eyes lit up, her foodie spirit awakened, and she bounced over to open the door.

Outside stood the alternative girl from the music store, holding the takeout boxes in one hand and a motorcycle helmet in the other. As soon as the door opened, she professionally announced, “Your teriyaki chicken and curry pork cutlet rice bowls, plus soft-boiled egg and kelp soup, total 850 yen.”

Gu Cheng found her voice familiar and looked up—it was the smoky punk girl from the music store the night before.

“You?” he asked, amused. Wearing a mask and cap then, how could she have recognized him?

Even if she hadn’t recognized Gu Cheng at first glance, her shock was no less intense.

She trembled as she set down the food, pointing at the computer inside the room. “Why... why are you listening to the songs I submitted?”