Old Zhao's execution was truly beyond reproach.

Lu Zhixian made the decision at noon, and by two in the afternoon, Old Zhao was already sitting in the office of the manager of Starlight Livehouse.

The call came back at three-thirty.

"Boss, it's done," Old Zhao sounded clearly excited on the other end.

"As soon as Starlight heard you were holding a concert, the manager cleared the best Saturday night slot for the end of next month and even proactively gave us a venue discount."

Lu Zhixian leaned back in his swivel chair, holding the phone with one hand.

"Any conditions?"

"Just one: they want to do a joint sale on their own ticketing platform and take a portion of the channels. I think it's negotiable."

"Fine, handle it as you see fit. We'll go over the contract details when you get back."

Hanging up, Lu Zhixian stood and walked over to the whiteboard.

The circle he had drawn earlier was still there.

He picked up a marker and added a few lines next to the circle.

Little Liu came in with two cups of coffee, handed one to Lu Zhixian, and leaned in toward the whiteboard with his own.

After reading just two lines, he nearly spat out his coffee.

On the whiteboard, Lu Zhixian's handwriting was messy but clear.

Line one: Full live band, no backing tracks.

Line two: No guests, one person carrying the whole show, two and a half hours.

Little Liu swallowed his coffee, his expression like he'd swallowed a fly.

"Boss... are you serious?"

"Obviously."

"But..." Little Liu chose his words carefully. "Setting aside the cost of a full live band, just finding the people is a massive undertaking. Without backing tracks, if something goes wrong on stage, there's no safety net."

He got more anxious as he spoke: "And no guests? You're singing for two and a half hours alone? Even a singer at Diva Lin's level has to arrange three or four guests to give her a breather during a concert. This is your first solo concert, Boss. What if your stamina can't keep up?"

"If it can't keep up, it can't keep up. At worst, I'll just lie on stage and sing."

Lu Zhixian capped the marker and tossed it onto the desk.

Little Liu was speechless and turned to look at Old Zhao, who had just walked in, his face screaming "Talk some sense into him."

Old Zhao put his car keys on the desk and scanned the whiteboard.

Five seconds of silence.

"Full live band, every track live..." He rubbed his chin. "Boss, I've been a show coordinator for over a decade. This kind of setup is usually something only veteran singers with over ten years of experience dare to play with. And they're in large venues with high ticket prices to cover costs. Our venue only holds three thousand people..."

"Three thousand is exactly the right size."

Lu Zhixian pulled up a chair and sat, gesturing for the two of them to sit as well.

"Think about it. In a stadium with tens of thousands of people, no matter how good the sound system is, there's loss. The audience in the back doesn't hear the same thing as the front. But a three-thousand-person Livehouse is different. The space is compact, the sound field is dense, and every detail of every instrument can reach everyone's ears."

He counted on his fingers: "With a full live band in a stadium, maybe only 70% of the advantage is perceived by the audience. But in a three-thousand-person venue, the effect is maximized."

Old Zhao opened his mouth to argue but couldn't find a good angle for a moment.

Because from a pure music perspective, he was right.

"One more thing." Lu Zhixian crossed his legs. "What do you think is the biggest problem with the concerts on the market right now?"

Little Liu thought for a moment. "Lip-syncing?"

"Not just lip-syncing. It's that they're all the same."

Lu Zhixian took the venue materials Old Zhao had brought back and flipped through them.

"Look at the domestic concerts over the last year. Eight out of ten are cut from the same mold. Fireworks at the start, a tear-jerking VCR in the middle, guests coming up to sing two songs to warm up the crowd, an encore with a classic singalong, and then it's over. The audience spends one or two thousand yuan and hears something essentially no different from scrolling through their phone at home."

"But the show I'm going to do is different."

He tapped the whiteboard.

"For the three thousand people who walk through that door, every note they hear from start to finish will be produced live on site. No pre-recorded backing, no pitch correction, no post-processing."

"If the bassist hits a wrong note, if the drummer is half a beat slow, or if I crack a note, the audience will hear it all."

"That's what you call Live."

Old Zhao and Little Liu looked at each other.

This logic didn't make sense, did it? You said yourself that if there's a mistake, the audience hears everything—doesn't that make the risk even greater?

Lu Zhixian saw their concern and smiled.

"The risk is high. But think about it—if this kind of performance actually succeeds, what level of reputation will it build?"

"When those three thousand people leave the venue, every single one of them will become a source of organic word-of-mouth."

"'Lu Zhixian's concert didn't have a single second of backing tracks, and he carried it alone for two and a half hours.' Just that one sentence getting out is more effective than spending a million on PR and promotion."

"I want everyone who enters to feel that this ticket is worth ten times its price."

The office was quiet for a while.

Old Zhao spoke first. "Alright, I understand the logic. But there's a very practical problem: where is the band coming from?"

This was indeed the biggest hurdle currently.

A full live band meant every musician had to be top-tier. Drums, bass, guitar, keyboard, strings—if one link failed, the whole show would collapse.

And it wasn't just about finding anyone who could play.

These people had to be able to handle Lu Zhixian's songs, which spanned a wide range of styles—R&B, rock, ballads, electronic—and they had to have chemistry with him to improvise on stage.

Musicians of this caliber existed in the industry, but they were mostly signed to long-term contracts by major record labels and A-list singers. They weren't easy to poach.

"I actually have an idea." Lu Zhixian tilted his head as if recalling something.

When he was rehearsing in Shanghai last time, the drummer for Lin Shiya's tour band had mentioned a name while drinking with him.

Zhou Yang.

The best person in the industry for putting bands together. No matter the style or difficulty of the performance, as long as Zhou Yang organized the lineup, it was guaranteed to be top-tier.

But this man had a notorious flaw: he was extremely picky, and his temper was both foul and stubborn.

If a project didn't catch his eye, he wouldn't take it no matter how much money was offered. It was said that last year, an idol singer with a two-million-yuan budget approached him to form a tour band, only to be rebuffed with, 'Learn how to sing before you come looking for me.'

Lu Zhixian took out his phone and scrolled to Lin Shiya's WeChat.

He dialed her.

It rang three times before connecting.

"It's been less than a day since we parted, and our Great Teacher Lu misses collaborating with me this much?" Lin Shiya's voice sounded a bit lazy, likely catching up on sleep.

"I miss your wallet," Lu Zhixian got straight to the point. "Do me a favor. I need Zhou Yang's contact information."

The other end of the line went quiet.

"What do you want with Zhou Yang?"

"I'm holding a solo concert and I need a top-tier band."

"...Are you serious?"

"End of next month, Starlight Livehouse, three thousand people."

"Three thousand is fine... Wait," Lin Shiya's voice suddenly sharpened. "You're not planning on doing a full live band, are you?"

"You guessed it. Full live, zero backing tracks, just me singing for two and a half hours."

This time, the silence on the other end lasted even longer.

A full five or six seconds.

Then Lin Shiya blurted out, "You're crazy."

Lu Zhixian laughed and didn't deny it.

Two seconds later, his phone dinged. A phone number was sent over.

"I've given you the number," there was something extra in Lin Shiya's tone.

"But let me warn you, Zhou Yang is very difficult to deal with. Half the people in the industry have been so pissed off by him they wanted to hit him. Be prepared."

"Thanks, Teacher Lin."

"Stop calling me Teacher. Just call me Shiya."

Lu Zhixian was amused. He hung up and saved the number.

Old Zhao had been listening the whole time and now leaned in. "Zhou Yang? The legendary Zhou Yang? Boss, can you actually get him?"

"I don't know, I'll try."

As he spoke, Lu Zhixian picked up the venue materials Old Zhao had brought back and flipped to the expense list at the end.

"By the way, have you calculated the budget?"

Old Zhao immediately pulled out his tablet and brought up a spreadsheet.

"I did a rough calculation. The venue rental for Starlight Livehouse plus a full set of lighting and sound equipment rental is about four hundred thousand."

"If we go with a full live band, based on the appearance fees for top-tier session musicians plus the rehearsal period, a conservative estimate for the band alone would be 1.2 to 1.5 million."

"Plus stage design, visual team, security, ticketing system, promotional materials..."

Old Zhao swiped the screen, revealing the final number.

"The total budget is roughly between three and 3.5 million. And that's a low estimate."

Little Liu silently pulled out a calculator and tapped it a few times, his face turning a bit pale.

"Boss, Starlight's capacity is three thousand. Even if every ticket sells out and we set the average price at eight hundred yuan—which is already the ceiling for a Livehouse show—the total box office would only be 2.4 million."

"Which means..." He swallowed. "If we don't get sponsors, we're looking at a loss of at least a million."

The atmosphere in the office shifted instantly.

Holding a solo concert sounded thrilling, but when it came down to the money, it was enough to make anyone's head spin.

Lu Zhixian looked at the numbers on the tablet, his fingers tapping the desk rhythmically.

"Money isn't an issue."

Just that one sentence.

Old Zhao and Little Liu looked at each other, wanting to press further, but seeing Lu Zhixian's expression, they knew he clearly had a plan.

Pressing wouldn't yield any answers.

Lu Zhixian didn't dwell on the topic and instead instructed.

"Over the next two days, get a feel for the lighting and sound suppliers. We'll push the rest once I've settled the band situation."

"Got it." Old Zhao and Little Liu nodded almost simultaneously and hurried out of the office.

After the door closed, Lu Zhixian was the only one left in the room.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the number he had just saved in his contacts.

Zhou Yang.

His finger hovered over the screen for two seconds.

He didn't call directly.

He thought about it, opened WeChat, and searched for the phone number. Sure enough, a profile popped up: a black-and-white photo of a drum kit, with the nickname simply "Zhou Yang."

The bio was blank, and his Moments were only visible for the last three days.

Lu Zhixian sent a friend request, writing only his name in the verification message.

It was accepted quickly, almost instantly.

This meant Zhou Yang at least knew who he was.

Lu Zhixian sent a message directly.

"Hello, Teacher Zhou Yang, I'm Lu Zhixian. I'd like to meet and talk about a collaboration."

After sending it, he put the phone on the desk and got up to pour a glass of water.

Before he finished drinking, the phone lit up.

He picked it up and looked.

Zhou Yang's reply was just three words.

"No. Not interested."