There's another story behind the creation of "Lonely Sandbank Cold."
Zhou Chuanxiong spent a significant amount of time in Mainland China, traveling extensively and absorbing its rich culture. Song Ci poetry held a special place in his heart.
The song's inspiration came from Su Shi's "Divination Song," a serendipitous fusion of unexpected elements.
Initially, the guitarist was simply tuning his instrument. Suddenly, Zhou Chuanxiong realized that the sitar-like timbre would create a unique atmosphere for the song, infusing it with a lonely, melancholic tone.
Later, Terence Teo, an arranger from Singapore, added lush string arrangements to Zhou Chuanxiong's original composition.
"How could we have been so foolish!" Yu Xinyue sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "We were too young to understand how much we meant to each other."
Wang Cheng's eyes reddened again, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank God for that phone call, for Shen Lang, for 'Lonely Sandbank Cold,' and most of all, for you."
They gazed into each other's eyes, embraced, and kissed, the scene brimming with happiness.
Han Li hadn't expected the song to be so moving. He nearly lost his composure and wept.
Who hasn't experienced a love reluctantly abandoned due to external pressures, only to be haunted by regret later?
Yang Lin had worked at Yanjing Music Radio for over a decade, listening to countless songs.
His appreciation for music was on par with that of so-called music critics.
The haunting melody, heartfelt lyrics, and Shen Lang's soulful vocals in "Lonely Sandbank Cold" were enough to move anyone with a story to tell.
This was the Chinese music scene of the 1990s and early 2000s, an era known as the "Battle of the Gods." In those days, the primary channels for music discovery were television, radio programs, and music magazines.
In other words, for a song to become popular, it first needed the endorsement of radio DJs, television music programs, and magazine editors-in-chief to gain wider public exposure.
Within a single day, "Lonely Sandbank Cold" had spread throughout the Yanjing Broadcasting Building, earning unanimous acclaim from all the hosts.
This news reached Wu Zhoutong first, thanks to his home phone. Han Li had called him the moment he finished work.
"The song is truly excellent, and the performance is outstanding," Wu Zhoutong sighed. "The only pity is that it's not mine."
He felt a twinge of envy toward Shen Lang, who possessed both a naturally gifted voice and exceptional songwriting talent.
Meanwhile, Wu Zhoutong, who had loved music for decades, had been endlessly revising a single song without ever completing it.
"Wait!"
Suddenly, an idea struck him.
His program might just be saved.
And the savior was none other than Shen Lang.
That evening, Shen Lang visited a fly restaurant on the outskirts of the urban village.
"Uncle Wang, the usual—egg fried rice with an extra egg."
"Coming right up! Just a moment."
Shen Lang found an empty table and sat down.
His basement didn't have a proper stove; he could only boil water for instant noodles. But he couldn't live on that alone.
Most of the time, he ate out.
The shops and stalls around the urban village were reasonably priced, well within his budget.
"Young man, your egg fried rice is ready. Could you grab it yourself? I'm the only one here tonight and I'm swamped."
"No problem, I'll get it. Uncle Wang, have you ever considered hiring me as an assistant to serve dishes?"
"You're joking, right? With your height and looks, you're destined for greater things. As the saying goes, 'A golden carp is no mere pond dweller; when it meets the wind and clouds, it transforms into a dragon.' You'll leave this dump sooner or later."
The small eatery was a mom-and-pop shop. The husband cooked, while the wife served. Despite its humble appearance, the restaurant thrived thanks to its delicious food and honest reputation.
Soon, Shen Lang returned to his table with a steaming plate of egg fried rice.
After a long day of work, his stomach was growling. He eagerly dug in with a disposable spoon, devouring the meal.
Shen Lang filled his stomach.
His thoughts drifted back to his song, "Lonely Sandbank Cold."
Has it been released?
Will anyone like it?
What are its chances of becoming a hit?
Shen Lang's mind swirled with questions.
Unfortunately, without a computer, mobile phone, or even a landline, he had no way to receive any information.
The good news was that the quality of "Lonely Sandbank Cold" was beyond doubt.
Let the bullet fly for a while.
Sha~sha~sha~
"This is Yanjing Music Radio..."
"Painting your sky with vibrant hues, filling your world with melodious joy..."
At that moment, a young woman in her early twenties tuned the shop's radio to Yanjing Music Radio.
The radio's yellowed, cracked casing spoke of its age.
Yet it remained the shop's sole source of entertainment—the elderly listened to news, while the young enjoyed music.
"Welcome to the Chinese Pop Chart! It's time for our New Song Recommendation segment."
"Today's featured track is quite special. It was written and performed by one of our own colleagues."
"Has anyone ever felt truly lonely? This song teaches us how to cope with the pain of heartbreak."
Shen Lang's hand froze, the disposable spoon hovering before his mouth.
My song!
How did it end up on a prime-time television program?
"Since you left, my heart has withered..."
Lost in thought, the melody filled the air. It was the song he'd performed on the show last night. Shen Lang desperately wanted to understand how this had happened, but for now, he was clueless.
"'Who Should I Miss on This Lonely Sandbank'—the songwriter must have loved deeply and been deeply hurt," the girl who had been tuning the radio earlier remarked, pursing her lips. She continued to herself, "It's quite catchy, though. His voice is distinctive and interesting. Turns out he's a radio DJ, not a singer."
Shen Lang, seated at the table behind her, overheard every word. A faint smile crept across his lips. This was pure passerby feedback, unfiltered, objective, and genuine.
Looks like this might actually work.
His mood soared. If he hadn't already finished eating, he would have definitely ordered another egg.
After paying, he whistled his way back to the basement.
"What's the next move? That's the question."
Leaning back in his chair, Shen Lang gazed at the flickering light outside the ventilation window, pondering his next steps.
The Wheels of History had begun to turn.
Wednesday, light rain.
Shen Lang couldn't ride his 28-inch rod brake bicycle, so he took the bus to work that morning.
"Morning, Xiao Shen."
"Morning, Sister Zhao."
"You've really become quite the sensation!"
As he reached the fifth floor, he ran into Zhao Xue, the broadcasting editor.
"Sister Zhao, please don't tease me," Shen Lang said, suppressing a smile.
"I'm not teasing you. You'll understand once you go to Brother Wu's office," Zhao Xue replied cryptically.
Shen Lang quickly stowed his umbrella at his workstation and headed to Wu Zhoutong's office. "Brother Wu, you wanted to see me?"
Wu Zhoutong greeted him with a smile. "Have a seat."
Shen Lang sat down across from him.
Wu Zhoutong looked at him and cut straight to the chase. "Besides 'Lonely Sandbank Cold,' do you have any other songs?"
"Yes, I do," Shen Lang answered honestly.
Wu Zhoutong's heart leaped with excitement. "How many?" He immediately regretted the question and rephrased, "Just give me a rough estimate."
"Double digits," Shen Lang replied truthfully.
"Roughly," Wu Zhoutong said, not pressing further. Even the minimum of ten would suffice for his plan. He immediately changed his expression, sighing dramatically. "You know the predicament our show is in. If we don't make some changes, we might face a complete reboot—or even cancellation."
Shen Lang understood the implication perfectly. "Brother Wu, just tell me what you need me to do. I'll do everything I can."
Wu Zhoutong smiled with satisfaction. His month-long efforts to nurture Shen Lang hadn't been in vain. Without further ado, he explained, "You might not know this yet, but your song 'Lonely Sandbank Cold' has become a hit. We've received hundreds of calls in the past two days. So, I've come up with an idea to boost our show's ratings."
"Here's the plan: you'll answer the last call of each episode and perform one of your own songs live. This will give listeners the feeling that the song was written just for them. That fresh element might breathe new life into our stagnant program and give it a second chance."
"Of course, whether we implement this idea is entirely up to you."
.....
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