Chapter Eleven: The Chaotic Film Crew

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The ten songs for the album were finally complete. Xiao Siqi, being both the producer and the original creator of what he saw as his breakthrough work, held exceptionally high standards for the quality of the songs. Naturally, submitting all ten tracks to the record company for review went smoothly. Following that, the record company arranged for the orchestration, recording, and a series of related tasks.

As the album entered production, the record company assembled a full team for Xiao Siqi. Since he was the original lyricist and composer, he had the deepest understanding of the songs. Additionally, as the producer with arranging skills, he was involved not only in the vocal recordings but also in the preliminary arrangements and the subsequent mixing of each track.

Shen Yinan, a seasoned composer, arranger, and producer at Huayu Records, had collaborated with Xiao Siqi multiple times before. He had arranged and produced Xiao’s first two albums, and the third was a joint effort between them. Shen was quite familiar with Xiao’s musical style, but when he received the scores and lyrics for the ten new songs, he noticed that three of them were notably different. Whereas Xiao’s previous works were mostly melancholic love songs, this time two tracks embraced a sweet and upbeat style, while another plunged from mild sadness into profound grief. Even more curiously, Xiao Siqi, who always insisted on independent creation, now had two songs co-credited with others. Previously, there were occasional collaborations where Xiao composed and others wrote lyrics, but these two songs bore joint credits for both lyrics and music.

“Whoever got you, stubborn as you are, to change your style and agree to co-write must be quite a character,” Shen Yinan said, holding up the two lyric sheets. “Xiao Qi, tell me, who exactly is this XY?”

“Well... Teacher Shen, it’s a secret,” Xiao Siqi said, scratching his head awkwardly. He had already been grilled once each by Xu Ting and the record company’s artistic director, and had barely managed to deflect their inquiries. Now Shen was pressing him again.

“You little rascal, growing wings, huh? Keeping secrets from me too?” Shen Yinan rolled up the sheets and lightly tapped Xiao’s head. At over fifty and with decades in the industry, Shen was not only Xiao’s superior but also his music production instructor, so he had the right to treat him this way.

“It’s not that I want to keep secrets from you,” Xiao Siqi smiled wryly, rubbing his head where he was tapped. “XY asked me to keep their identity confidential, and I promised. A person must keep their word. I’m not targeting you, honestly—I kept quiet even when Director Cheng and my manager Xu teamed up to interrogate me. I’m still hoping to collaborate with XY in the future.”

Hearing that even the company’s top artistic director and his close manager didn’t know this mysterious person’s identity eased Shen’s mind somewhat. He also knew that if those two hadn’t forced Xiao to reveal it, no amount of his own questioning would make the stubborn kid budge.

“Alright then, tell me about the creative process behind these two songs. How did you collaborate? Which parts did you write, and which parts did XY?”

“That, too, XY wants confidential,” Xiao Siqi replied cautiously.

“You...” Shen raised the rolled papers again, and Xiao quickly covered his head with both hands. Seeing the comical sight, Shen couldn’t help but laugh. Finally, he sighed and said, “Go on, get into the studio and start recording!”

Feeling as if granted a pardon, Xiao Siqi slipped into the recording room, his mind drifting to the instigator, Xiao Yao. He wondered what Xiao Yao was doing with his father, Xiao Chengru, at that moment.

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At this moment, Xiao Yao was at Hengdian Film and Television City in Zhejiang Province, leisurely blending in with a television drama crew alongside Xiao Chengru.

Because Xiao Siqi was heavily involved in the album’s production and had many tasks to handle, he had little time to care for Xiao Yao. Naturally, when difficulties arose, Xiao Siqi’s first thought was to turn to his own father.

Xiao Chengru was more than willing to take care of his grandson. Xiao Yao didn’t mind either; he had expected to spend his time with Xiao Chengru much like six months ago—mornings practicing boxing, afternoons practicing calligraphy. What surprised him was that this time, Xiao Chengru had taken on a role in a television drama and proposed bringing Xiao Yao along to Hengdian Film City in Zhejiang Province to shoot together.

Although Xiao Chengru hadn’t been with Xiao Yao for the past few months, he kept well informed about the boy’s routine: boxing, calligraphy, music theory, and instrument practice filled nearly every day. While pleased by Xiao Yao’s diligence at such a young age, Xiao Chengru also worried that the boy was pushing himself too hard.

At his age, Xiao Chengru rarely took leading roles anymore. The current drama cast him as the protagonist’s father, a significant but supporting role. Though important, his screen time was limited to roughly a third of the episodes. With plenty of downtime and the filming location in warm southern Zhejiang, he decided to bring Xiao Yao with him to work and explore.

Thus, Xiao Yao found himself at the film city. When Xiao Chengru was filming, Xiao Yao would quietly stay in a corner of the set. On days when Xiao Chengru had no scenes, he took Xiao Yao to nearby scenic spots to enjoy the lush greenery of southern winter.

Most people are naturally curious about filming, and Xiao Yao was no exception. Though he hadn’t had the chance in his past life, now that he was on set, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. While Xiao Chengru was acting, Xiao Yao’s body and mouth might have been still, but his mind and eyes were busy absorbing everything—the crew’s operations, the distinct roles and cooperation, even the actors’ performances and camera setups fascinated him. Whenever Xiao Chengru came his way during breaks, Xiao Yao bombarded him with questions.

Having worked in the industry for nearly forty years, Xiao Chengru had vast experience on countless sets. Beyond his acting expertise, he understood the workings of cinematography, lighting, costumes, makeup, props, directing, and script supervision. At first, he answered Xiao Yao’s questions effortlessly and thoroughly. But as the boy’s inquiries became deeper and more technical, Xiao Chengru found himself overwhelmed and had to awkwardly bring Xiao Yao to ask each department head—always during breaks to avoid disturbing their work.

Xiao Chengru was the most senior figure on set, commanding respect from everyone, who addressed him as “Old Xiao” or “Teacher Xiao.” When he brought his grandson to consult with the crew, they felt honored and, encouraged by Xiao Yao’s charming sweetness and childlike antics, were more than willing to share generously. Over time, as the crew grew fond of the boy’s politeness and cleverness, some even dared to let him handle their precious equipment to try it firsthand.

Eventually, even when Xiao Chengru had no scenes and didn’t need to go to the set, Xiao Yao insisted on tagging along. During filming breaks, he eagerly plunged into the company of his new “uncles,” “aunties,” and “older siblings.” Previously, Xiao Chengru could still take him out for a walk or playtime, but now Xiao Yao was fully absorbed by the set environment. Seeing his grandson so delighted, Xiao Chengru realized his plan to let the boy relax and forget studies had utterly failed. This trip had only expanded the boy’s knowledge.

“One, you seem interested in every aspect of the crew. Do you want to work in this field when you grow up? Maybe as a director?” One evening, seeing Xiao Yao’s enthusiasm, Xiao Chengru finally asked.

“Director? They seem to have to manage everything in the crew. Sounds exhausting and troublesome,” Xiao Yao shook his head. That was his honest impression of directing so far.

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“Then what do you want to do when you grow up?” Xiao Chengru pressed earnestly. Usually, children at this age ask such questions in jest, but Xiao Yao’s intellect far exceeded that of ordinary kids, so Xiao Chengru expected a sincere answer. If the boy had a goal, it would warrant targeted guidance and training to nurture his exceptional talents.

“Not sure yet... Actually, I haven’t even thought about it. I’m still little,” Xiao Yao replied nonchalantly. “If something interests me, I’ll learn it. If not, I won’t. I haven’t even started elementary school yet—isn’t it too early to think about a career?”

Hearing this, Xiao Chengru wore a strange expression. Although Xiao Yao was indeed still young, hearing him say “I’m still little” so confidently was oddly unsettling. The boy’s reasoning was sound, but coming from a four-year-old, it felt paradoxically unreasonable.

Fortunately, Xiao Chengru was used to Xiao Yao’s exceptional nature by now. He sighed and resignedly said, “Fine, do whatever you want, learn whatever you want, just don’t cause trouble.”

“Really?” Xiao Yao asked again.

Seeing Xiao Chengru nod, Xiao Yao immediately added, “Yesterday, when I was chatting with Tian Tian, the actress playing your daughter, she said that when she studied at film school, they had morning exercises every day. She practiced something called ‘three-resonance’ during those exercises. It sounds different from the vocal warm-ups Dad taught me in the morning. Is that right?”

“Of course it’s different. Actors practice speaking lines, singers practice singing,” Xiao Chengru smiled. “One is talking, the other is singing—how could they be the same?”

“Then teach me this ‘three-resonance’ too,” Xiao Yao grinned. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll do morning exercises together, and after that, I’ll practice boxing.”

Xiao Chengru was speechless.