201: Chapter 206 Next Year

With the tour imminent, Chen Mo had turned down almost all work, immersing himself entirely in rehearsals, because his dancing was truly terrible.

He also turned down the Coachella CEO's offer to headline, promising them: "Definitely next year."

In April, the sun rises early in Los Angeles.

The rehearsal studio door had not yet opened. Chen Mo sat on the steps at the entrance, holding a cup of coffee that had already gone cold, with his worn-out notebook spread open on his knees.

The notebook had been brought back from Changsha. The title page was already filled with scattered notes, and now, the blank spaces were densely packed with a long list of song titles.

The tour setlist had been revised over a dozen times; each version had been circled in red by Scott, and each version had been annotated with keys and emotional curves in pencil by David.

It had to be finalized tonight.

Chen Mo was thinking about one thing: what exactly did he want to say with these one hundred tour shows?

What exactly was that slowly opening eye looking at?

When David arrived, he hadn't even unscrewed the lid of his thermos yet. He looked down at the frayed notebook in Chen Mo's hands and sat down beside him.

"When did you start living a health-conscious lifestyle?" Chen Mo asked, looking at his thermos.

David said, "I'm an old man now."

From the initial pain, to the subsequent struggle, to acceptance, to eruption, and then to peace, every song was a step toward awakening.

Starting with "Wake Up," an explosive rock track to blow the roof off the venue and tell everyone that the tour had begun.

The next song was "Stressed Out." After the third roar faded away, the lights would go completely dark, and a spotlight would shine vertically down from the dome, landing in front of the piano.

"Believer" would then cut in directly from the trailing notes of "Stressed Out."

David commented, "Pain turns you into a believer. Transitioning from the agony of the first two songs into strength—the audience will stand up."

"Drown," which was about swimming upward even when on the verge of drowning, would be the fourth song, followed by "The Other Shore" and "lovely," and then "Flowers."

Finishing with "Stay."

As for Chinese songs, Chen Mo had currently written "The World Has So Many People," "Unstoppable Love," and a rap song.

None of them had been released yet.

"Are you saving this Latin-rhythm track 'Havana' for the encore?" David suddenly asked. "I want to hear it."

Chen Mo said, "There's only a demo. We'll record it tonight, and I'll send you a red envelope for the overtime pay."

Chen Mo had adapted the Latin pop track "Havana." The original song was about a young girl's secret feelings, but he was a man.

After countless early mornings of research, Chen Mo decided to invite a woman to sing a duet with him, and the core concept was changed to the ultimate ambiguous tension between adults.

After the rehearsal ended, no one left.

Tommy the drummer put his drumsticks into his stick bag and took them out again; the bassist leaned against the wall drinking water; Susan from the string quartet put her Stradivarius into its case and opened it again—

They all knew there was still one more song to record tonight.

"Brother, you're working too hard," Tommy said, gulping down his cola.

Susan pouted and said, "He's not human, just not human."

Pushing open the door to the recording studio, he saw Selena sitting next to Jessica. This was Chen Mo's first time interacting with Selena alone.

"If you had been half an hour later, I would have thought you'd been deported by immigration," Selena joked, naturally pouring him a cup of coffee.

Chen Mo took off his hood, his hair sticking up in a messy tangle. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Wouldn't I have to treat you to one last latte before getting deported? Why does it feel like this is your place?"

Selena smiled sweetly and said, "The beat is ready. Take a listen."

With a click of her mouse, his ears were instantly filled with a lazy yet dangerous rhythm.

"The arrangement is based on Latin urban and trap reggaeton. It's the kind of rhythm that makes you want to sway your hips."

Chen Mo closed his eyes, tapping the rhythm on his knee. He ran the melody through his mind, then suddenly opened his eyes. "You don't need to force the high notes. It might be better to recite the lyrics like a spell."

Selena raised an eyebrow, took off her headphones and hung them around her neck, asking, "What do you mean?"

"Your voice is very lazy," Chen Mo said, walking to the microphone. He cleared his throat and hummed directly, "Havana, ooh na-na... See, sing it with that feeling of 'I'm seducing you, but you don't dare to get close.'"

Chen Mo frowned, carefully choosing his words. "A bit more morbid. You should be able to captivate the audience the moment you open your mouth."

Selena leaned back in her chair, took a relaxed sip of water, and then began to whisper-sing.

After finishing the verse, Selena looked at Chen Mo. They locked eyes and laughed at the same time.

David took a sip of coffee and said, "The beginning of this song is incredibly catchy. It's so unique—another track that makes people want to dance."

"And your voices actually suit each other quite well," Tommy suddenly remarked.

"This rhythm is addictive," David said, closing his eyes and nodding his head to the frequency. "You guys are going to set the stage on fire. Young people these days, truly!"

The arrangement would retain that Cuban trumpet that made people want to dance, but with a touch of jazz added to the treatment, along with new conga drum breakbeats.

For Chen Mo's verse, he could include a flamenco guitar solo to create the tension of a Spanish bullfighter.

Selena suddenly chimed in, "I think we could add some 808 bass to create a bass-bombing effect."

Chen Mo raised an eyebrow, added it in to test it, and smiled, "Now, let's start recording."

Chen Mo put on his headphones and stood behind the pop filter.

"First take, test run," David said in the headphones.

Selena closed her eyes, her voice flowing naturally. She used a lot of breathy vocals, suppressing the brightness of the original version, making it sound like a cat wandering through an alley in the dead of night.

Outside the glass window, Chen Mo suddenly looked up and shouted into the microphone, "Stop! That 'Heart' line just now, do it again! That was awesome!"

Starting over.

This time, Chen Mo joined in too; he sat outside, facing the microphone.

When Selena sang the line "Havana, aye," Chen Mo's deep voice welled in, like vines wrapping around a tree trunk, the two voices complementing each other perfectly.

"She said, take me back to the night we knew..."

Selena's voice carried an inherent sense of laziness; unlike the brightness of the original song, she was singing about midnight.

Hearing the sound in his headphones, Chen Mo's lips curled up involuntarily. He improvised a line in Spanish, whispering, "Under the neon lights, who is sighing..."

After singing the last line, Selena sat motionless. After several seconds, she let out a long breath, buried her face in her hands, and said, "I have goosebumps. Recording with you is just too satisfying!"