“You’re telling me you write songs, and the ones you’ve written have already gotten the seal of approval from both Sister Shan and Director Liu? One of them wants to use it as the lead single for an album, and the other wants it as a movie theme song?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I also don’t really know what your plans are for your career, so I have no idea which one to pick. You’ll have to decide.”
Lin Shuwen was silent for a long moment before she finally spoke. “My album production is only just getting started. From the beginning of production to release, it’ll take at least three months. Director Liu’s movie comes out next month, and singing the theme song for his film would give me some extra exposure too.”
“So you’re choosing to use the song as the movie’s theme song, right?”
Lin Shuwen gave a soft “Mmhmm” in agreement.
“Alright, got it. If we haven’t swapped back by tomorrow, I’ll let Sister Shan know.”
“Then I’ll be counting on you for that.”
“And I’ll be counting on you for the investor meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best. For now, let’s hurry and go over each other’s important relationships while we have the time,” Lin Shuwen suggested.
“Sure, let’s do it!”
Lin Shuwen told Luo Ming to go to her study and grab a photo album from the third shelf of the bookcase.
The very first page of the album featured a group photo of four people.
“My work relationships are pretty simple—just these three. You’ve already met Sister Shan. The makeup artist who did my styling today is named Chen Junmiao—I usually call her Miaomiao. The last one is my driver and personal assistant, Chen Sichu. She and Miaomiao are cousins, and I call her Chuchu.
Aside from these three, it doesn’t really matter whether you know anyone else. If someone greets you, just smile and nod in response—that’s what I usually do anyway.”
Luo Ming quietly committed those three names to memory, then moved on to his own work relationships.
His were even simpler. He’d been making it on his own in Bingzhou, and his only friend was Rong Mu, whose nickname was “Wooden.” Rong Mu was also his business partner. The guy came from a family that got lucky with demolition compensation—their urban village had been torn down and replaced with a high-tech development zone and a large residential complex.
His family’s three-story house had been compensated with three apartments, plus the leasing rights to the third floor of Building C2 in the high-tech zone.
Rong Mu used that space as their studio office.
Of course, even though they didn’t have to pay rent, they still had to cover utilities, internet, property management, and heating. Neither Rong Mu nor Luo Ming had any money right out of college, and having an office space alone wasn’t enough—game distribution and promotion also cost money.
That’s why the two of them were looking for investors to fund their studio.
Luo Ming didn’t have a photo of Rong Mu, but the guy was pretty confident about his looks and often posted selfies on social media.
To be fair, Rong Mu really was good-looking. At first glance, he bore a striking resemblance to a certain Japanese star from Luo Ming’s past life—Kimura Takuya.
Even Lin Shuwen, who was used to seeing handsome faces in the entertainment industry, couldn’t help but let out an admiring sigh when she saw Rong Mu’s photo. “Your partner’s pretty handsome, huh!”
“Don’t compliment him to his face. He’s the type who gets way too full of himself with the slightest encouragement.”
After exchanging their intel, they hung up the phone.
Neither of them brought up taking a shower—they just got into bed early, hoping that when they opened their eyes the next morning, they’d be back in their own bodies.
Luo Ming and Lin Shuwen went to sleep, but Sister Shan didn’t.
As a seasoned agent who’d managed plenty of celebrities, Sister Shan wasn’t about to miss any opportunity for hype.
At yesterday’s movie press conference, a lot of people had come specifically for Lin Shuwen, and the video of her singing “Light Years Away” acapella had already racked up hundreds of thousands of views.
The hashtag “Lin Shuwen’s New Song” had quietly climbed its way onto the front page of Weibo’s trending list.
Sister Shan didn’t hesitate—she paid for some bots to help boost the buzz.
At the same time, she reached out to several media outlets and leaked the information that the song was an original written by Lin Shuwen herself.
Soon enough, a second trending hashtag appeared on Weibo’s front page: “Lin Shuwen’s Original New Song!”
Sister Shan clicked on the hashtag and was met with a flood of praise underneath:
“Wenwen sounds so good even just singing acapella—it really shows how high-quality the song is! Can’t wait for the full version.”
“I really love the lyrics to this song. They capture the contrast and tension between the vast universe and a small love story, the determination to love each other even in a chaotic and turbulent world. The lyrics are straightforward and powerful—just based on the lyrics alone, I’d give it an 80.”
“Wenwen actually has a new song, and it’s an original too! She just finished with the Golden Melody Awards and she’s already working—so diligent.”
“I actually think Lin Shuwen played it a bit too safe. Just from the melody she sang acapella, I feel like the song doesn’t emphasize the vastness of the universe as strongly as it could. Is this to fit current pop trends?”
“Why is everyone talking about the universe? Isn’t this song the theme song for Director Liu’s movie?”
“Huh? A song that fits the movie this well and it’s NOT the theme song?”
Lin Shuwen’s assistant, Chen Sichu, watched the lively discussion under the trending hashtags and laughed. “Sister Shan, smartphones are such a great thing, aren’t they? Without them, Wenjie’s performance today wouldn’t have been seen by so many people, and we wouldn’t have gotten these two trending topics. Just based on these two hashtags, I bet Director Liu’s side is getting even more anxious.”
Sister Shan shook her head in response. “Chuchu, you’re being too naive. Don’t get all excited just because we got a little benefit out of it and think that smartphone development is all good for the entertainment industry.
Think about it—as the camera features on these things get better and better, celebrities won’t just have to deal with paparazzi wielding professional camera gear anymore. They’ll also have to worry about random passersby who could pop up out of nowhere at any time.”
“Sister Shan, you’re thinking way too far ahead. Who knows how many years it’ll be before that actually happens!”
Sister Shan couldn’t be bothered to argue with Chen Sichu about this any further. Time would prove her right.
Because back before 2008, even getting a clear photo of a person with a phone camera was a struggle. And yet, in just five years, phone cameras were already capable of recording such high-quality video. Who knows—maybe in a few more years, phones and digital cameras won’t be all that different.
She shifted the topic. “For now, it all depends on what your Wenjie decides tomorrow. If she agrees to let it be used as the movie’s theme song, like you said, this time we can make Director Liu owe us a big favor.”
Both Luo Ming and Lin Shuwen had hoped that they’d wake up back in their own bodies.
But things didn’t go as planned. The next day, the first thing Luo Ming felt when he opened his eyes was the weight pressing against his chest.
“Well… looks like we’re still swapped.”
Over at the Home Inn, Lin Shuwen let out a similar sigh.
“I’m leaving my body and my life in your hands,” Lin Shuwen sent Luo Ming a message.
“Same here,” Luo Ming replied almost instantly.
After replying, Luo Ming got out of bed, went to the bathroom for a quick wash, and waited for Sister Shan to show up.
Based on what Lin Shuwen had told him yesterday, Sister Shan would come over to her place around 9 AM every day as long as there was work scheduled.
Since the use of yesterday’s song still hadn’t been decided, Sister Shan was definitely going to come by today.
Sure enough, at exactly 9 o’clock, a knock sounded at the door. Luo Ming walked over and opened it.
Sister Shan took one look at Lin Shuwen’s outfit and couldn’t help but frown. “Wenwen, why are you looking so sloppy again? You’re a celebrity—you need to pay attention to your appearance at all times.”
“But this is my home. No one’s going to see me, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? I remember someone who went out to throw out the trash in a set of pajamas with her hair all over the place, and got photographed by paparazzi and posted online.”
“I’m not going out right now…”
“Alright, alright! I can’t be bothered to argue with you. I’ll call Miaomiao over to fix you up in a bit. Anyway, back to business—have you decided how to use that song?” Sister Shan asked as she walked into Lin Shuwen’s apartment.
“Give it to Director Liu,” Luo Ming said as he closed the door.
Sister Shan’s face lit up with a smile. “That’s the right call. Director Liu’s movie comes out next month. This month, we can ride the hype train and get some promotion in. Then, when the movie hits theaters, it’ll keep you in the public eye for at least a month.
The month after that, your album should be just about ready—perfect timing to take over from there.
On top of all that, Director Liu will owe us a favor, which could open the door for more collaborations down the road.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Luo Ming agreed.
“In that case, find some time to record a demo of the song and send it to my email. I’ll forward it to Director Liu.” Without waiting for Luo Ming’s reply, she turned and left.
As soon as Sister Shan was gone, Luo Ming’s face fell.
He sang as a hobby—he’d never had any professional training. His knowledge of vocal music was limited to reading a few guitar chord charts. If he actually had to sing, wouldn’t he blow his cover?
Yesterday he could blame it on a migraine, but he couldn’t pull that excuse again today, could he?
Still, worrying wasn’t going to solve anything. He had to get it done. Luo Ming grabbed a notebook and wrote down the lyrics.
To be fair, the fact that he could remember the lyrics so clearly was one of the perks of his transmigration.
Ever since he’d crossed over, Luo Ming had noticed that his memory had gotten significantly sharper—almost to the point of being photographic. At the same time, whenever he tried to recall things from his past life, they’d appear vividly in his mind. But as time went on, those memories from his previous life were slowly starting to fade.
To preserve them, Luo Ming remembered a mnemonic technique he’d come across in his past life called the “Memory Palace.”
This technique originated in ancient Greece. The basic idea is to associate the information you want to remember with familiar places or buildings in your mind.
You imagine yourself in a specific location—like a room in your house, a classroom at school, or a building on the street—and then you connect the information you want to remember to different parts of that place.
When you need to recall it, you just mentally “go back” to that spot, and the associated information gets triggered and surfaces.
In essence, this technique takes advantage of the fact that the human brain tends to remember spatial layouts better than words or abstract concepts.
By linking information to specific physical locations, the Memory Palace method helps people remember and retrieve large amounts of information more easily.
Now that his memory had become so much stronger, and with so many memories from his past life, if he didn’t find a way to preserve them, they’d eventually fade away. That’s why Luo Ming had been thinking about building his own Memory Palace. He’d just been too busy working on his game to find the time. But now that he was living the life of a big star, he figured he might as well give it a shot.
