Chapter Forty: Believe in Yourself

Back in May of this year, word spread that the Republic, after having held fifteen National Games since its founding, was preparing for a major overhaul. The nation's leadership hoped to transform the National Games into a grand sporting event for people of Chinese descent across the globe, to be held once every four years, as a means of uniting Chinese communities scattered throughout the world.

For the National Games, which had long struggled to capture public interest, this was certainly good news. Ever since the full professionalization of sports, the Games had rapidly lost both attention and prestige. If the proposed reforms could truly be implemented, it would be a tremendous boon for Jinghai, the directly governed city set to host the sixteenth National Games.

Come December, the Republic’s General Administration of Sport issued a proclamation to Chinese people worldwide, announcing that any outstanding athlete who met the eligibility requirements could participate in the National Games as an individual. Furthermore, Chinese-speaking communities around the world were invited to form teams and compete in the youth group events.

With the announcement, the upcoming 2016 National Games garnered immense attention. The Jinghai Organizing Committee responded in turn with a series of new announcements, one of which was a call for submissions for the official theme song.

Wang Lei took note of this flurry of news surrounding the Games. For him, though, not all of it was positive—heightened attention meant the youth basketball tournament would be fiercely contested, a daunting prospect for student teams like his own.

He also noticed the call for a theme song, sensing an opportunity. Regardless of the outcome, he felt compelled to seize the chance to boost both his personal reputation and that of his team. After all, it was hardly dignified to be forever saddled with the label of a “kept man.”

Composing a sports-themed song was no great challenge for Wang Lei. Compared to the popular music of this world, he knew that Earth had produced countless classic anthems for sporting events. While his memory was patchy, he could still hum a few tunes that had once set the world ablaze.

After some thought, Wang Lei decided he would have to trouble Old Zhang, the famed rock veteran. Still, he doubted that the old rocker would mind once he got his hands on the song Wang Lei was about to “write.”

Transcribing the melody was no easy feat, but Wang Lei’s heightened senses, the result of his unique “perception” ability, made the task manageable. Humming the tune as he went, he tried to jot down the notes. To a professional, his process might have seemed slapdash—without a piano or guitar to guide him, writing a new song is no simple matter. But Wang Lei was hardly “fighting alone.”

Once he’d finished the sheet music and carefully revised it several times, Wang Lei moved on to the lyrics. He couldn’t recall the entire song word-for-word, but thankfully, “Believe in Yourself”—the song he wanted to “write”—wasn’t overly complex. The verses were a bit hazy, but the chorus, with its repeated lines, was clear in his memory.

Guided by recollection, he filled in the lyrics, making sure to tweak a particular word. The original, written as the theme for the CBA league on Earth, contained the line “giants rise in the East,” which didn’t quite fit the spirit of the National Games. Wang Lei changed “giant” to “dragon,” highlighting a shared reverence for ancestral dragons among Chinese people everywhere—after all, they are the descendants of the dragon.

After tidying up both lyrics and music, Wang Lei snapped photos and sent them straight to Old Zhang. It was the simplest method. He also included a few notes about the arrangement. The orchestration for “Believe in Yourself” in Wang Lei’s home world was truly impressive—the soaring symphonic introduction could send shivers down anyone’s spine. It was undeniably stirring.

Meanwhile, in the capital, Old Zhang was feeling out of sorts. Wang Lei had slipped off to the hinterlands without a word, taking up a humble post as a basketball coach. Old Zhang was disappointed; with such a distinctive voice, Wang Lei could have been a sensation in hard rock. But Wang Lei’s ambitions lay elsewhere, and before leaving, he’d dumped a pile of unfinished business in Old Zhang’s lap. Because of the copyright for two previous songs, Old Zhang had lately been harassed by several music companies.

Great songs are always in demand. In this era of lightning-fast information, wave after wave of fresh musical talent constantly emerges, while veteran artists must hustle to secure or compose new material to maintain their standing. So when Wang Lei’s two remarkable songs appeared, many artists vied to include them on their albums.

When Wang Lei’s photos arrived, Old Zhang couldn’t help but curse under his breath.

“That brat, pestering me again. Didn’t even say goodbye before running off—serves him right, gnawing on lamb shank out there in the sticks.”

“What’s this? So tiny, can barely see it.”

Patiently, he enlarged Wang Lei’s poorly shot photos—and then fell silent. This piqued the curiosity of Lei Yukun, a prominent singer waiting nearby to discuss a collaboration. He wondered what Old Zhang, the legendary rocker and renowned producer, had stumbled upon.

Lei Yukun dared not voice any complaint at being ignored; he knew Old Zhang’s reputation all too well. However ill-tempered he might feel, it was he who needed a favor.

To Lei Yukun’s surprise, after a moment of studying his phone, Old Zhang immediately turned and strode into the recording studio, leaving him behind. Flushed with anger, Lei Yukun had no choice but to swallow his irritation and reach for a beer to calm himself.

“Damn it, beer in the office like it’s soda. No wonder this old rocker never hits it big,” Lei Yukun grumbled inwardly.

Inside the studio, Old Zhang tried out the song Wang Lei had sent on the keyboard, growing more and more excited. This was pure, unadulterated rock and roll—just his style. More importantly, the song’s message was refreshingly “alternative.” Compared to the themes of Old Zhang’s generation—tales of doomed love or decadent living—Wang Lei’s song was far more suitable for broad appeal.

“Hey, kid, what are you up to this time? Let me be clear: I’m taking this song. If you want me to produce it, I’m singing it myself. Any objections?”

As soon as the call connected, Old Zhang laid down his terms. Indeed, Wang Lei’s song had reignited the old rocker’s passion for the stage.