Chapter Thirteen: The Talented Scholar Persona

On March 17th, he flew to Taiwan. Understanding that Lin Jianlu had spent several hours on flights and transfers, the company only arranged a visit to their office and a dinner that evening. But the consideration ended there; the next day, the pace picked up.

After all, the reason they called Lin Jianlu all the way from the mainland to Taiwan was for him to promote and sell his albums!

The autograph session lasted a full three hours, with an estimated minimum of 1,500 CDs signed. Even though Lin Jianlu considered himself physically strong, by the time he finally finished, his arms felt heavy and reluctant to lift.

The fan meeting was easier—chatting and singing were no problem for someone who had spent years streaming online without relying on looks. Besides singing, he was best at conversation.

There was a charity concert and a small music festival as well.

Even easier—just sing, wave, and smile.

From his observations, besides the lead single "Cold to the Core," the Taiwanese fans seemed to love "Love Is Just One Word" and "Ten Years" the most.

Whenever he appeared, he drew huge cheers from the fans. Especially at that small music festival, where the crowd was only about two to three thousand, his sudden appearance was a major surprise. Many young fans went wild, with girls’ screams echoing continuously.

When he sang "Cold to the Core," or "Love Is Just One Word," or "Ten Years," the audience started singing along in large numbers. The atmosphere was electric.

All these events were wrapped up within two days.

March 20th was scheduled as a rest day.

But the intensity would soon increase—not just singing and interacting with fans anymore. He was about to start radio appearances and record TV variety shows, then rush to Taichung and Kaohsiung.

Although the shows had general scripts, these days programs rarely followed scripts to the letter. There were many unexpected moments, testing emotional intelligence and quick thinking. Rolling Stone feared Lin Jianlu, a young man, might struggle or make mistakes, so they let him rest for a day to clear his mind.

That very day, Li Zongsheng took the opportunity to invite Lin Jianlu to his home.

Once there, Lin Jianlu discovered that Lin Yilian had returned from Hong Kong.

Of course, Old Li had another home as well—the official family residence.

It was a small gathering of friends. Besides Lin Jianlu, Zhou Huajian, Zhao Chuan, and Chen Shuhua were invited.

Apart from Lin Jianlu, these three, along with Lin Yilian, were all artists that Old Li had helped rise to fame, so their relationships were close.

It wasn’t a lavish affair. They had servants, and Lin Yilian only occasionally checked the kitchen. Lunch was simple home-cooked dishes, and most of the time was spent chatting leisurely.

Some sipped tea, others coffee; some snacked, others smoked.

This casual gathering made Lin Jianlu feel quite comfortable.

Relaxed, unrestrained.

Everyone was very curious about him—a young man from the mainland who had just left the Communist Party, yet excelled in lyrics, composition, and singing. His resonance, breath control, and mixing skills reached top-tier levels, comparable to major Western artists. Crucially, he mastered multiple musical styles, each performed with extraordinary excellence—astonishing to all!

The mainland, a place long stereotyped as closed-off, poor, and outdated, how could someone like him suddenly emerge? It didn’t make sense!

If he was just good at writing love songs, or had a certain indescribable fashionable edge surpassing Hong Kong and Taiwanese songwriters, that was barely believable. Rock music was already well-developed in the mainland, sometimes even more so than in Hong Kong and Taiwan, so his skill there was understandable. But R&B—an art form clearly closer to Western music and barely mastered by even Hong Kong and Taiwanese artists—how could a young mainlander have already perfected it to such maturity?

Impossible!

So they just chatted and joked around.

“I don’t even know what I listened to back then. I couldn’t afford tapes, but a guy in my class came from a rich family—official or business, I don’t know. He loved music and had all kinds of foreign tapes. I borrowed them one by one, Beatles, Bob Dylan, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson. At the time, I didn’t even know who they were. There was rap and hip-hop too, but I didn’t own any. Borrowed tapes were treasures I played over and over.

“I taught myself composition.

“Guitar? Yeah, I played okay, self-taught.

“Piano? Tried, but not good.

“I just borrowed time on others’ pianos. My family couldn’t afford one.

“I don’t understand all your professional terms. I’m an amateur. I write songs by transforming what I’ve heard according to my ideas—whether it’s electronic dance music or R&B. Honestly, I still don’t know what R&B really means—Brother Zongsheng, what exactly is R&B?”

Everyone was stunned!

He relied solely on tapes, didn’t understand the lyrics, yet somehow extracted his own style from others’ melodies. That’s how he wrote “Mistaken Flower Fields,” “Xiaoxiang Rain,” “Ten Years,” “Cold to the Core”...

He found his resonance purely by listening, even taught himself advanced mixing techniques...

This was a pure, undeniable genius!

At this level, nobody could deny his talent!

The group could only marvel again and again.

...

Recording shows, visiting radio stations.

“Dragon Brothers and Tiger Siblings” was very interesting. Watching the live recording, it was clear the show was not just about a host telling dirty jokes or doing comedic impersonations, as some might have seen clips on TikTok. Zhang Fei’s effortless control over the recording pace and topics, his lighthearted jokes—this was the essence.

No wonder the show was so popular.

Only... there was some teasing, of course. Not severe, but when the script involved sensitive cross-strait or mainland hardships topics, Xue Zhongding rejected those. They only talked about music.

That was easy; Lin Jianlu was fearless talking about music.

The key was that for this era, he seemed almost all-round—repeating stories he had told Old Li and others, he could convincingly imitate Elvis and Michael Jackson, even do a little moonwalk, and sing a bit of Sarah Brightman’s “Phantom of the Opera,” impressing the Zhang brothers.

Don’t ask—he didn’t even know who Elvis or Sarah Brightman were before. He learned everything from tapes.

Remarkably, as a mainlander and former Communist, he was surprisingly open, even telling dirty jokes back to the host. By the end of the recording, the two had developed some mutual fondness, exchanging contacts seriously and planning to meet for dinner.

Then came “Chain Cannon,” “Super Sunday.”

Unlike the mainland, the Hong Kong-Taiwan entertainment industry had become fully systematized, integrated, and entertainment-focused. Singers had many channels for promotion.

Recordings usually took a full day, following the show’s rhythm.

Another autograph session.

Then straight to Taichung, then to Kaohsiung.

The MV for “Super Cool” began airing in Taiwan, surprising many who hadn’t bought the album—some found it too noisy, but most young people thought it was fun and interesting!

Then, the recorded shows started airing one by one.

That episode of “Dragon Brothers and Tiger Siblings” exploded in popularity—appearing on TV in person, Lin Jianlu was undeniably handsome, noticeably taller than the Zhang brothers, standing straight and tall like a pine tree. A true super-handsome guy. Not only did he sing and dance well, he could joke without caring about his looks. His dirty jokes were surprisingly fresh and elegant, making even the Zhang brothers laugh uncontrollably.

Of course, the show’s main focus was highlighting Lin Jianlu’s creative talent. He even performed an impromptu melody based on a few notes given by Fei Yuqing, humming a tune on the spot that sounded great. At the recording, this amazed the Zhang brothers, professional audiences, and the accompanying band. After airing, his persona as a “great talent” was firmly established.

At this time, near the end of the Kaohsiung trip, the third-week sales data arrived. As hoped, sales did not drop sharply as usual but firmly held above six figures.

170,000 copies in the first week, 260,000 in the second, still 110,000 in the third!

He topped the sales charts for three consecutive weeks.

Total sales had reached 540,000 copies—prompting Rolling Stone to immediately release a press statement: “‘Cold to the Core’ sells 600,000 copies in Taiwan within three weeks of release!”