From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 340: Shanghai

Shun Li did not sleep that night.

Even after rehearsal ended and the venue lights went dark, he was still moving, still checking, still confirming. He walked the halls like a man guarding a secret, headset on, tablet in hand, stopping every few steps to speak to stage hands, translators, security heads, and production managers. He was not doing it for show. He was doing it because Shanghai was not Korea, and Shanghai was not forgiving. If anything went wrong here, the internet would not call it a mistake. They would call it weakness.

Dayo watched him from the side for a while, then finally walked up.

Shun Li looked up immediately, like he had been expecting him.

"Everything is set," Shun Li said in Mandarin, calm and confident. "Sound, lighting, cues, the stage lift, the backup plan for the lift, security lanes, crowd control, the outside screen for the fans without tickets. Even the emergency exits have staff assigned."

Dayo exhaled, slow.

"I really owe you one," he said, also in Mandarin.

Shun Li’s mouth curled.

"You already said that," he replied. "And you already paid me back the day you gave me that World Cup stage and made me look like a genius in front of people who never noticed me before."

Dayo smiled, the memory coming back easily.

He remembered the chaos back then, the pressure, the last minute changes, the way Shun Li had held it together without shaking. He remembered thinking, in that moment, that Shun Li was the kind of person you kept close, not because he was famous, but because he was reliable.

Still, Dayo insisted.

"If there is anything I can do for you, tell me." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Shun Li paused for a beat, then leaned slightly closer like he was about to whisper a secret.

"There is one thing," he said.

Dayo’s brows lifted.

Shun Li’s expression remained serious, but his eyes had mischief inside them.

"After this," he said, "you stop disappearing for months like a ghost. You send one message. One. So I know you did not forget you have people in your corner."

Dayo laughed quietly.

"Fine," he said. "I will."

"That is all," Shun Li replied, then turned back to his headset like the conversation was done, because for him, it was. The work was always louder than emotions.

Behind them, the rest of the machine was already in motion.

Min Jae had been coordinating with the Japan side and the next stops, sending confirmations, receiving venue layouts, approving security ratios, and making calls that sounded casual but carried weight. The Asian world moved differently when Min Jae spoke. People did not argue. They adjusted this was due to the reach he had created for about four years now.

JD Label under him has reached across all of Asia having artist who stand their ground with season artist.

Jang Wook was the opposite. He looked like a man surviving on adrenaline and cold water, scrolling through schedules, checking ticket platforms, confirming transport lanes, and rechecking the artist lineup like he expected reality to change its mind.

It was late, but nobody acted like it was late.

Because tomorrow was Shanghai and everything had to go smoothly.

In the hotel, Dayo gathered the performers in a private room. Not a long speech but to encourage and hear them out as the past week has been stressful.l and would continue to be. Just a steady voice in a quiet space, the kind of tone that made people breathe again.

A few of the invited JD Label artists were there, faces known across Asia, this were artist under jD label in China and Korea together many who have become top figures in the industry due to JD Label.

Yuri sat slightly apart at first, hands clasped, shoulders tight.

It was still new to her.

She was not a seasoned celebrity who had lived inside cameras for ten years. She was someone who had been living an ordinary rhythm not too long ago, she just won a national competition and then suddenly found herself on a project that turned into an international storm. Even in Korea, when performing the nerves had been manageable because the culture felt familiar and the language was something she could lean on.

Here was different.

Different air, different faces, different energy and a different language. So she was a bit scared would the crowd love her energy or would they reject it ?

Dayo noticed her without calling her out.

He spoke to everyone, but his words landed softly on Yuri too.

"I know some of you are tense," he said. "I know some of you are thinking about the language and the crowd and the pressure."

He paused, then smiled, small and real.

"Music does not have borders," he continued. "Music does not care where you come from. It does not ask what passport you carry. It only asks one thing."

He looked around the room.

"Are you honest when you perform."

Silence held for a moment.

Then he added, calm and firm.

"You are here because you earned it. You were chosen because you can hold a stage. So stop thinking about everything outside your control. Stop measuring yourself against noise. Tomorrow, we perform, and we let the crowd do what crowds do."

Yuri’s shoulders loosened slightly.

Not because fear disappeared, but because she remembered something simple.

She was not alone.

After that, Dayo stepped closer to her, voice lower, private without making it a big scene.

"You are ready," he told her.

Yuri swallowed.

"I do not even understand what I am inside," she admitted softly. "Yesterday I was nobody. Now I feel like the world is staring."

Dayo nodded.

"That feeling never fully goes away," he said. "You just learn to walk with it."

Yuri gave a small, shaky laugh.

"I will try."

"You will do more than try," Dayo replied. "You will deliver."

The next day arrived like a drumbeat.

From the morning, the city felt like it was vibrating. Outside the venue, lines formed early. Inside, security moved in layers. Staff checked badges twice. Cameras waited like predators. Fans gathered with banners, light sticks, printed album covers, and signs written in Chinese, Korean, English, and a mix of everything.

Even people without tickets came anyway.

Because Shun Li had made sure there was a massive screen outside, and speakers positioned so the outside crowd could still feel the bass in their bones. When fans realized that, some of them looked genuinely touched, like they had been seen, like they were not being thrown away just because they were unlucky.

Then, minutes before the show, the air inside the stadium shifted.

Not because anything happened.

Because everyone could feel it.

That moment when noise becomes expectation. When expectation becomes electricity.

And then the lights went out.

The stadium did not become quiet. It became loud in a different way. The kind of scream that climbs the spine. The kind that makes your chest tighten even if you have performed a thousand times.

A single spotlight cut through the darkness.

High above, a platform began to descend slowly.

Dayo stood on it, steady, one hand gripping the rail, the other lifted slightly, not waving yet, just letting the moment breathe. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp with focus.

As he lowered, the scream doubled.

"OMG JD

DAYO

JD

JD

JD

By the time his feet touched the stage, it felt like the entire stadium had turned into one living creature.

Dayo stepped forward.

He smiled.

Then he spoke into the mic in clear Mandarin, smooth enough that it did not sound like someone reading a script.

"Good evening, Shanghai."

The response was violent.

A wave of sound hit him so hard it felt physical.

Dayo lifted the mic again, laughing quietly like even he could not fully believe what he was hearing.

"Thank you," he said in Mandarin, slower now, more intimate. "I know you have many things to do. I know life is not easy. So for you to come here, for you to stand with me tonight, I am grateful."

He made a small bow

The fans screamed again, and a chant started in Chinese, then mixed with Korean and English, then turned into something that was not even words anymore, just pure energy.

Dayo stepped back, nodded once, and the band kicked in.

From the first song, it was not gentle.

Hit after hit, the crowd moved like they rehearsed it. They sang the hooks they could pronounce, and even when they could not pronounce them, they shouted anyway, because emotion does not need perfect pronunciation to travel.

The invited JD Label artists came out one by one.

A roar for each entrance.

Old favorites, faces the fans had missed, artists who had been quiet for years then suddenly returned under this tour’s spotlight. The stadium reacted like people being reunited with a part of their youth. Cameras flashed. Names were screamed. Tears showed in places people tried to hide them.

When Yuri stepped out, the reaction surprised her.

For a second, she hesitated, eyes widening slightly, like she did not expect Shanghai to know her name.

But they did.

Not all of them, but enough.

Enough to make her breathe in sharply and steady herself.

She glanced back once, and Dayo nodded at her.

That was all she needed.

She stepped into the light.

And she sang.

At first, her voice trembled slightly, not because she lacked skill, but because she was standing at the edge of a dream she never planned for. Then the second line came, and her confidence locked in. By the chorus, she was fully inside it, holding the note like she belonged there, like the stage was her home.

The crowd loved her for it.

Not politely.

They loved her loudly.

They sang back what they could. They screamed after every line. They treated her like she was already part of the movement, not an extra.

When the show finally slowed near the end, Dayo stood center stage, sweat on his neck, chest rising and falling, eyes bright under the lights.

He looked across the stadium like he was taking a picture with his mind.

Then he spoke again, soft but clear.

"Shanghai," he said in Mandarin. "Thank you for making tonight real."

He paused, then smiled wider.

"This is only one stop."

"Next we go Belgjim

The roar that followed sounded like the stadium might crack.

After the last song, Dayo did what he always did.

He stayed.

He signed.

Not in a rushed, annoyed way. In a deliberate way, walking toward the edge of the stage, taking albums, posters, markers, hats, anything fans stretched out to him. Security tried to manage it, but Dayo kept gesturing for patience, kept nodding, kept acknowledging faces, because he understood something that many celebrities forgot.

A fan never forgets the first time you make them feel seen.

By the time he finally left the stage, his hand ached, his shirt clung to his skin, and his body felt like it had been drained.

But the stadium was still roaring behind him, like the sound refused to accept that the night was ending.

Backstage, Shun Li was waiting, headset still on, eyes calm.

He didn’t praise. He didn’t overreact.

He only said, in Mandarin, simple and satisfied.

"No hiccups."

Dayo laughed quietly.

"You’re too good," he said.

Shun Li’s mouth curled again.

"You owe me one," he reminded.

Dayo nodded.

"I know."

Then he walked toward the exit, surrounded by his team, the night air waiting outside, the next city already calling in the distance.

For now, though, he let himself do one thing.

He breathed.

And he called it a night.