Zhang Kexuan practically leaped into action before Li Mu's words had fully settled. Within moments, he returned from the lounge and shoved 20,000 yuan in cash into Li Mu's arms.
"Brother Mu, take this upfront. Just say the word about that music website thing – our band brothers will move mountains for you."
Li Mu blinked in surprise. They hadn't even heard the song yet. These impulsive rich kids might actually make reliable partners, he realized.
"Hold the website plans for now. I'll loop you in once the framework's ready."
Four heads bobbed in synchronized obedience.
Chen Wan felt her worldview tilt. These four arrogant young masters who'd sneered at everyone – especially drummer Ye Tianming, son of Nanjing's property mogul – now sat tamed by an eighteen-year-old? But then again, these trust-fund babies chasing rockstar dreams were a special breed. Any of their families could easily bankroll national competitions, yet they insisted on "earning" their way – buying equipment, purchasing songs from Li Mu, but never their rankings. At least they had that much pride.
Accepting the cash, Li Mu gestured grandly: "Paper and pen. Let's start with lyrics."
Though decent with guitar chords, Li Mu lacked formal musical training. He scribbled lyrics and basic chord progressions, demonstrating the rhythm through humming and air-strumming. The band would need to master the instrumental first before tackling vocals.
Zhang studied the lyrics, brow furrowed. "Most lines make sense, but 'If I could redo life, I'd choose Li Bai' – what's that about?"
"Rhythm over meaning," Li Mu waved dismissively.
"Fair enough." Zhang shrugged. The cryptic rebellious undertones resonated with the group anyway.
Handing his electric guitar to Li Mu, Zhang became an eager student. Despite mediocre skills, the band managed basic accompaniment. As the opening chords of Li Ronghao's "Li Bai" filled the room, heads instinctively started nodding.
Chen Wan edged closer, more curious than the musicians themselves.
"Most tell me to study worldly views; I studied till dawn broke through..."
Personally, Li Mu found the lyrics contrived despite the catchy melody. But when the chorus hit, Zhang was already bouncing like an over-caffeinated kangaroo. The other three maintained instrumental discipline, though grins threatened to split their faces.
After three run-throughs, Zhang had mostly nailed it – decent pitch sense compensating for technical flaws. Now he just needed to cultivate that slacker-rock attitude.
To Chen Wan's trained ear, this pop-rock number paled compared to Li Mu's earlier folk compositions. When she questioned the stylistic whiplash, Li Mu deadpanned: "Wrote 'Li Bai' freshman year – angsty phase."
Chen Wan's eyebrow arched. Two years ago counted as "youthful indiscretion"? This boy oscillated between teenage smugness and old-soul wisdom.
By 5 PM, hoarse-voiced Zhang finally relented after twenty repetitions. Huddled in a corner, the band sent bassist Gu Wei on an errand before approaching Li Mu sheepishly.
"Brother Mu, let's finalize those two earlier tracks," Zhang said, suddenly remembering their original deal.
"Actually, just call me Xiao Mu. How about proper introductions?"
The once-arrogant drummer extended his hand first: "Ye Tianming. My earlier bullshit... forget it, yeah?"
Guitarist Xia Ji followed: "Like the season. Summer Xia."
Li Mu shook both hands firmly. "Where's your bassist?"
"Gu Wei's handling something," Zhang replied, producing freshly burned CDs in multiple formats.
Gu returned bearing a kraft envelope. Zhang slid it toward Li Mu: "60,000 yuan. Two per song feels cheap for this quality."
Li Mu waited, sensing the real ask.
Blushing, Zhang stumbled: "See... competition bands need original tracks. So..."
Chen Wan exploded first: "You want to claim his songs as yours? After everything?"
Li Mu remained calm. "So future songs would require similar... attribution?"
"Name your price!" Zhang blurted.
"Then the music website becomes your full responsibility – funding and labor. I keep full equity."
"Deal!" Zhang agreed before the sentence finished.
The handshake sealed it – artistic integrity traded for startup capital. As the band resumed practicing "their" new anthem, Li Mu pocketed the envelope. Some battles weren't worth fighting. Not when bigger wars loomed ahead.