Chapter 104: Different Meanings, Indeed

There was no need to look up the contacts; even reciting from memory, he could accurately dial those ten digits. He glanced at the watch on the table to check the time—it was four in the afternoon. After a moment’s thought, Ye Zhao went ahead and dialed the number.

The call was answered quickly, and the gentle voice of Izumi Sakai came through the receiver. “Ye-kun?”

“Sorry for calling out of the blue. Just wanted to check—Izumi-san, you’re awake now, right?” He asked, mindful of her nocturnal lifestyle.

“Of course.”

“That’s good.” Ye Zhao nodded slightly, raising his voice just a bit. “Here’s the thing—I’ve prepared a song I’m somewhat confident about. Considering you just released a new single and might be resting, I wanted to confirm whether I should leave the song at the company or send it to your agency?”

“Actually, I’m at the agency right now.”

“Oh? I thought you might have gone traveling again.”

“There’s a new single scheduled for release at the end of August, so I’ll be busy for a while. Only after that will I consider taking time off.”

Since meeting Izumi Sakai, her schedule mostly revolved around recording sessions, so Ye Zhao was no longer surprised. After all, he himself had become part of this era of prolific releases.

Upon hearing this, Ye Zhao’s mood lifted. “Looks like I’ll be working with you for a while longer. When I met with President Nagato a few days ago to discuss the new album, he mentioned the new single. It was confirmed just this morning—the song ‘Singer’s Love Song’ will be released as a single, scheduled for late August.”

“I remember that song vividly,” Izumi Sakai teased, “and your strong opinion about ‘absolutely drawing the curtains.’”

“Please, just let me live that down,” Ye Zhao smiled wryly. “I really struggle with expressing emotions in the middle of a song. Before debuting, I auditioned for a commercial and appeared in one for a pager, playing a student confessing to a girl. The confession scene took five takes to get right; I almost thought I had no acting talent at all. It wasn’t until I guest-starred on a drama set recently that I realized it’s just emotional scenes I’m not good at.”

Izumi Sakai listened quietly before chuckling softly. “How interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah.” Though over the phone, Ye Zhao could imagine her nodding gently. “Like a top student who’s terrible at sports, or a strong person shedding tears, or someone who looks fierce but tenderly feeds stray cats—doesn’t that contrast make things more fascinating?”

“To be honest, I don’t quite get it. But… I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Of course,” Izumi Sakai laughed. “You usually come across as very composed, handling everything with ease. While that reliability is good, hearing you talk about your weaknesses like this makes your image feel more three-dimensional.”

“Now that you say it, I think I understand,” Ye Zhao replied. “It’s like how I used to think of you as someone unreachable, but now that distance feels gone.”

“Did I do something to disappoint you?” she asked.

“No, not at all!” Ye Zhao hurried to explain. “It’s just that you seemed so distant before, but now that feeling has vanished.”

Having seen her serious during recordings, awkward in social situations, playful in casual chats, and even her homemade crafts, the image of Izumi Sakai in his mind finally became vivid—not just the fragile figure from brief interviews and live footage.

Ye Zhao’s earnest tone made Izumi Sakai laugh. “I get it, you were joking. And hearing that the distance has disappeared makes me happy. I was never some ‘unreachable person’ to begin with.”

After some light conversation, they returned to the topic of the song.

“Since you’re heading back to the studio soon, should I just wait to give you the song when we meet next?”

Izumi Sakai paused, then asked, “Ye-kun, do you have time soon?”

“I’m free today.”

“Well,” she invited, “how about meeting up? I’m really curious to hear the song after what you said. Also, we haven’t seen each other for a while, right?”

“Of course, no problem,” Ye Zhao agreed gladly. “Where shall we meet?”

“If you don’t mind, come to the company’s recording studio.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

...

Izumi Sakai wore a cherry-colored chiffon blouse today, the soft, flowing fabric lending her a slightly mature yet modest charm that suited her perfectly. When Ye Zhao arrived at the studio, she was seated on the sofa, casually strumming a ukulele with a focused expression.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Izumi-san,” Ye Zhao apologized for his tardiness.

“No worries,” she stood, “it only takes five minutes from the agency to here.”

Ye Zhao settled into the single sofa beside her. Izumi Sakai picked up the ukulele she had just set down. “Do you play this?”

“Of course.” Ye Zhao took it from her and began to play effortlessly. In his previous life, the ukulele had suddenly become wildly popular, and he had picked it up during that craze.

“Impressive,” Izumi Sakai said, watching him play almost playfully. “Ye-kun, this is a gift for you.”

“Huh?” Ye Zhao looked up.

“I have a friend from my modeling days who now lives in the countryside of Chiba with her husband. A few days ago, I was invited to a BBQ at their home. While we were playing, her husband suddenly opened the car trunk to show us a dozen ukuleles he’d bought on a trip because he found them charming. When we said goodbye, he gave one to each of us. I’m not very good at the ukulele, so I thought maybe you could use it. That’s why I brought it.”

“That’s an amazing gift, thank you so much, Izumi-san.” Ye Zhao set the ukulele aside contentedly, then pulled a CD player from his bag and handed it to her. “Listen to this.”

The song he planned to include on his album was a 2006 single called “FLY” by the band MONKEY MAJIK.

MONKEY MAJIK was a fascinating group. Although they were an R&B rock band, the main songwriters were Canadian brothers. With foreigners leading the writing, their style lacked typical R&B flavor and featured a mix of Japanese and English lyrics, making them quite distinctive.

Their music blended Western and R&B, rock and soul, and even carried a hint of Chinese elements—the band’s name, after all, came from the then-popular R&B TV drama “Journey to the West,” whose theme song was titled “MONKEY MAJIK.”

The lyrics of “FLY” were almost entirely in English, making it perfect for Izumi Sakai to rewrite in Japanese. Even so, Ye Zhao sang a rough demo in the original English before the official lyric-writing process—a common practice among singers, including Izumi Sakai herself.

After listening, Ye Zhao asked, “How does it sound?”

“Not much like J-POP,” Izumi Sakai responded perceptively, “but the melody flows smoothly as always. It’s a good song. Your English pronunciation is quite good, too.”

Ye Zhao recalled that she had graduated from an English department.

“In that case, Izumi-san?”

“I understand. If it’s alright, I’d like to take the demo home and work on the lyrics slowly. I’m a bit slow when it comes to writing, so it might take some time,” she smiled.

“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”

“Actually,” Izumi Sakai toyed with her headphones, “your own lyrics are quite good. You’re not a rookie trying to create buzz, so I don’t quite understand why you specifically asked me to write lyrics.”

“Because the meaning is different,” Ye Zhao replied quickly, his tone leaving it unclear whether it was mere politeness or something deeper. Without waiting for her response, he pulled another CD from his bag and handed it over. “Izumi-san, please listen to this one as well.”