Chapter Sixty-Two: I Believe

In a secluded café near the Central Academy of Drama, Gu Zhi and Tang Wei sat in the farthest corner, chatting and laughing quietly.

It seemed that every university campus had its own café nearby, for reasons unknown—perhaps because these pseudo-literary places were exactly the kind of ambiance that students with a touch of bourgeois taste liked to pursue.

Gu Zhi didn’t care for coffee at all, but it couldn’t be helped; in this area, the café was the only spot with fewer people, a quieter place where he and Tang Wei could sit down and really talk.

Given their current fame, if they went anywhere crowded, it would quickly turn into a scene out of a zombie apocalypse.

Besides, the café was warm and cozy. Before they’d been seated for long, the clothes Gu Zhi had soaked in the snow were already dry.

At that moment, he was gazing at Tang Wei, a look of disbelief flickering in his eyes.

Tang Wei grew a little self-conscious under his stare, nervously picking up her hot coffee and sipping it, trying to mask the flutter in her heart.

Seeing her flustered, Gu Zhi started the conversation.

“When did you become so thoughtful, even caring about complex issues like gender equality?”

Tang Wei smiled gently and replied, “When I don’t have classes, I spend time in the library reading. Lately, I’ve read quite a bit on these topics, so maybe I’ve had some reflections.”

“And I don’t want Sister Xiao Wan to look down on me. I admit it was you, Gu, who made me famous. But I also want to prove that I’m not just a pretty face—I can help you too.”

After saying this, Tang Wei felt she might have been a bit too bold and buried her head in embarrassment, drinking her coffee in silence, though she still stole glances at Gu Zhi.

She didn’t catch the way Gu Zhi nodded solemnly just then, but she heard him say, “Of course. I believe in your ability and potential. In the future, you’ll definitely help me, just as I’m helping you now.”

Then, catching her off guard, Gu Zhi suddenly reached over and gently pressed her head so that her little mouth dipped right into the coffee.

When she lifted her head again, a ring of brownish foam circled her rosy lips; her beautiful eyes glared at Gu Zhi, full of indignation.

“Be good, let me wipe it for you.”

Gu Zhi barely held back his laughter as he pulled out a napkin and dabbed at her lips, taking the opportunity to touch her fair little face.

“What are you doing... Now my whole mouth is...”

“I saw you kept your head down, wouldn’t even look up—I just couldn’t resist, haha.”

“You’re so mean!”

“My fault, my fault. But please, don’t start talking in that syrupy accent—it’s too much for me.”

After their playful teasing, Tang Wei asked what had brought him there today, and only then did Gu Zhi remember his real purpose in seeking her out.

“I came to see you, of course. If I hadn’t shown up in time, President Li would have whisked you away.”

“Who... Who did she whisk away? I never agreed to sign with Rongxin. Besides, you’ve been gone for so long, I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

Tang Wei still harbored some resentment about this. Gu Zhi figured if he’d been two or three days later, she really might have been lured away.

People’s minds wander when they have nothing to do. Luckily, he’d come prepared this time; otherwise, he’d have had to make more empty promises.

“I couldn’t help it; I’ve been so busy on set lately, working seven days a week. I can’t slack off while everyone else works hard. Today I finally managed to get a day off, so I came to find you right away.”

Tang Wei stirred her coffee absentmindedly with a small spoon, her voice tinged with slight reproach. “You think I don’t know? You didn’t take the day off for me—it’s for your movie, isn’t it?”

Caught out, Gu Zhi’s face showed not a trace of embarrassment. In this life and the last, if he’d gained nothing else, his skin had certainly become twice as thick.

“How did you know I came to ask you to sing the theme song for my movie?”

Tang Wei replied with feigned annoyance, “Didn’t you say it yourself? That you wanted me to sing a song. You’ve been filming lately; if it’s not a song for your movie, what else could it be?”

As she said this, Gu Zhi recalled that a few hours ago, when he’d first met Li Xiaowan, he had indeed mentioned it.

“I didn’t realize you’d gotten so much smarter in just a few days.”

He praised her as he reached out to pat her head.

“You probably know the movie’s name—it’s ‘My Sassy Girl.’ It needs a song for the insert and ending theme. I’ve already written it; it’s called ‘I Believe.’ All that’s left is for you to sing it.”

With that, he took a sheet of lyrics and music from his pocket and handed it to Tang Wei.

In the original timeline, with the popularity of “My Sassy Girl,” the song “I Believe” had swept across Asia as an instant classic of love songs. Its catchy melody had been re-lyricized and covered by singers throughout the mainland, Taiwan, and Hong Kong.

What stuck most in Gu Zhi’s mind was the version covered by Sun Nan, a mainland singer. Since he only understood the phrase “I Believe” in the original, he’d always hummed just that one line.

Sun Nan’s cover, with new lyrics, fit the rhythm of Chinese singing much better, making it easier for mainland audiences to accept.

The version Gu Zhi had written was based on Sun Nan’s arrangement. He’d thought of inviting Sun Nan to sing it, but by now Sun Nan was one of the hottest male singers in the country, and who knew how much it would cost to hire him.

Even without Sun Nan, the song would become popular with the film’s release, so he didn’t want to spend a fortune on something redundant.

That left Gao Yuanyuan, who played Song Mingxi, as the second choice to perform “I Believe.”

At first, Gu Zhi hadn’t thought much of it, figuring Gao Yuanyuan was a perfect fit. But then, remembering Tang Wei, he felt guilty for leaving her aside for so long.

Now that Tang Wei had a certain level of popularity, having her sing the theme song could both reassure her and serve as good publicity—why not?

“But I can’t sing. I’ve never learned. What if I do a terrible job?”

Tang Wei picked up the score, the notes looking as indecipherable as a foreign script. She was ready to give up right then.

Gu Zhi quickly reassured her, “It doesn’t matter if you haven’t learned. How many singers these days have formal training? Most people start with TV dramas or films, and once they’re famous, they release albums and singles—it’s a whole package deal.

“Even those who can’t carry a tune can have their voices fixed. You’ll be fine. Besides, this melody is very simple—you’ll pick it up in no time.”

“Then... where should I learn it?”

“I’ve arranged everything. After lunch, we’ll go to Huayi. They have a professional recording studio and vocal coaches—they’ll help you record the song, and an afternoon is all it will take.”

“Huayi?”

“Yes, Huayi owes me a favor. One song for one role—it’s a fair trade.”

“Um... I’m still a bit nervous. Huayi is such a big company, I...”

“Don’t worry—I’ll be right there with you.”