Whyte (壞特?te): The Honor Student Who Spent Nine Years in Medical School — and Pressed Pause

30-second overview: Whyte (legal name Lin Chih-yi, born 1994, from Hsiangshan, Hsinchu) won Best New Artist at the 32nd Golden Melody Awards on August 21, 2021¹⁰. That same evening, Hebe Tien won Best Female Vocalist and Dough-Boy won Best Male Vocalist. What made Whyte's acceptance speech go viral was the line she delivered to the entire nation: "Please don't be afraid."¹¹ On stage, she disclosed her own story: Hsinchu Girls' High School graduate, nine years in the medical program at the National Defense Medical Center (including one year on leave during her third year, one additional year before graduation; her two-year internship took three years due to missed shadowing), completion of internship training, and a medical degree in hand²⁹. On the most academically competitive track in Taiwan, she pressed pause mid-race: first came the year of working three jobs simultaneously while on leave⁵, then the release of her first song "Cazzo" in 2019⁷, then the album A Bedroom of One's Own in 2020⁹. At the time of the award, she was still showing up in operating rooms wearing a surgical mask²⁵. Then she didn't go back to medicine.

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"Please Don't Be Afraid": That Line on the Golden Melody Stage

August 21, 2021. Taipei Arena. The 32nd Golden Melody Awards.

Whyte walked onstage to accept Best New Artist. She wore a black blazer, black hat, and sunglasses — the same uniform she had maintained throughout an entire year of performing without letting the media photograph her face¹⁷.

She spoke these words into the camera:

✦ "I was the kind of student who kept running forward within the system — I only graduated last year, only then did I leave that system. When I was lost at twenty, when I felt trapped, I chose to take a leave of absence and listen to my own heart. That was a decision no one understood, but looking back five years later, that period of stagnation was the beginning of my change. I've lived it myself — please don't be afraid. Have the courage to look at what your heart needs. You can do it too."¹¹

That night's award list was unusually long. Best Female Vocalist went to Hebe Tien²⁶, Best Male Vocalist to Dough-Boy, Best Album of the Year to Sangpuy¹⁰. Best New Artist went to a woman who had just earned her medical degree — and was still clocking in at the operating room under a surgical mask that same day²⁹.

📝 Curator's Note
Best New Artist is one of the most heavily capitalized awards in Taiwan's music industry. Recipients are typically artists who committed to music early, backed by labels for years, targeted for debut one or two years out. Whyte's win was visually jarring: only two years since debut, a handful of songs released, signed to the indie label ChynaHouse, and she hadn't yet left the hospital internship when the award was announced. She skipped thanking her management company, skipped thanking family, and landed on a single sentence: "Please don't be afraid." She was speaking to everyone on the other side of the screen — those trapped by the system who wanted to stop but couldn't.

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The Medical School Application Her Father Filled Out

To understand that line "please don't be afraid," you have to start with the choices she didn't make.

She was born June 19, 1994, in Hsiangshan District, Hsinchu¹, the middle of three children in a family under real financial pressure. Three layers of sound played simultaneously in their living room: her father listened to Taiwanese-language songs by Weng Li-you, her mother played Mandarin ballads by Chen Shu-hua, and she herself pressed her ear to a CD player running through Chang Hsueh-yu and Chou Hua-chien²⁹. The family couldn't afford piano lessons, so they bought an electronic keyboard from a big-box store — the kind with a screen that displayed animated sheet music. With no teacher, she followed the moving prompts on screen and taught herself two pieces: "Canon" and "Minuet"²⁹. She later told interviewers: "I was very young back then, but I could remember every note and sing it back."²⁹

She attended Hsinchu Girls' Senior High School² — one of the schools where the highest concentration of academically elite girls in Taiwan ends up. But her real motivation for studying had little to do with what typical honor students imagine. In a February 2024 interview with Cheng Yi-nung, she described her situation in elementary school:

✦ "The teacher I had at the time had very traditional views. He'd say girls should grow up, girls can't be class president — he said that to me directly, because boys are better at speaking. ... The clearest memory I have is telling him, 'Teacher, sorry, my period came and I'd like to rest today,' and he said, 'How can you say the word "period" when there are people next to you? Girls need to know this is shameful — you don't say that.'"³⁹

She didn't comply. Instead, she started disassembling the rules. She realized that as long as she ranked at the top, the teacher would stop seeing her as a girl and start seeing her as "a student in the top three."

✦ "When I was studying, it was like I could find a path upward, and people wouldn't see me as male or female — as long as I was top three, the teacher would pay attention."³⁹

Studying was her escape route. She rode that path from an elementary school by the sea in Hsiangshan all the way to Hsinchu Girls' High — and then let her father fill out the university application:

✦ "Even the university application form was filled out by my dad. I had no vision of the future whatsoever — I didn't even know in the end what programs he'd applied to on my behalf."³

She ended up in the medical program at the National Defense Medical Center³. She later described her state at the time in another interview:

✦ "I was like a steamed bun, letting the adults mold me into whatever shape they wanted. Even my university application was filled out by my family."⁴

📝 Curator's Note
Having a parent fill out your university application is not unusual in Taiwan's high-achieving family culture. Many girls from Hsinchu Girls' High / Taipei First Girls' High / Zhongshan Girls' High get pushed forward and end up in medical school or top engineering programs. What's distinctive about Whyte is that her reason for studying was oppositional from the start: she studied so she wouldn't be treated as a girl. When she hit the wall at that third-year student council meeting and pressed pause, what she was actually pressing was the accumulated weight of a chain of arrangements that ran from that elementary school teacher, through her father's hand on the application form, through the whole institutional apparatus.

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The Student Council Meeting in Her Third Year

When did she press pause? During a student council meeting at the end of her second year, going into her third.

She said nothing dramatic happened at that meeting. But sitting there, she suddenly became aware that she had been "in school her whole life" — from kindergarten through university, never once leaving the classroom. She started to feel anxious — anxious enough that she couldn't continue⁴.

✦ "I had never been abroad from childhood until then — I was a girl who had gone through Taiwan's educational system her whole life. I thought, oh god, this is it, I'll just keep going like this, I'll blink and be thirty, my path is already set."⁷

She decided to take a year's leave of absence. Her parents objected. She took it anyway⁵.

✦ "I was unhappy, I wasn't at peace, I felt trapped by something, I couldn't continue. What was trapping me was my own mindset. I had to stop first and go find myself."⁴

She was twenty years old.

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The Year of Three Jobs

People who take leave from school usually go abroad, take a gap year, travel. She didn't have money to leave the country.

What she did was concrete:

✦ "In the mornings I brewed coffee at a café, in the afternoons I cut cakes at a bakery, in the evenings I ran errands and picked up takeout for a recording studio."⁵

Three jobs, one day.

The last one — picking up takeout for the recording studio — caught her. She sat in the corner watching people record vocal tracks, watching the adults make music, and signed up for guitar lessons. She wasn't looking for a teacher; she was looking for a tool to write songs with⁷.

Her guitar teacher was a woman named Li Chi-hsien³⁰. Li didn't start with chord charts — she began "from principles, taking me through listening to music, transcribing songs, training my ears and fingers." Li also put French jazz vocalist Cyrille Aimée and British soul singer Adele on her playlist³⁰. She was particularly taken by Cyrille Aimée's scat-style singing — and later covered Cyrille Aimée's collaboration with guitarist Diego Figueiredo, their version of "Just the Two of Us"³¹. She followed along, picked out harmonies, and entered the lineage of lo-fi R&B and jazz female vocalists. This thread never came up in her Golden Melody speech, but it was her actual musical awakening.

During the years she swung between medical school and music, she hit some dark stretches. She once sent Li Chi-hsien a text message asking: "What's the point of being alive?" After the award, Li told her:

✦ "Good thing you didn't do anything at that point — otherwise there'd be no Whyte today. Life is a lot of fun!"³⁰

📝 Curator's Note
She never had a dramatic scene of "deciding to become a musician." No sudden revelation, no moment of clarity. Just a girl picking up takeout in the corner of a recording studio watching adults work, and a guitar teacher who said "start from principles" and introduced her to jazz. In Taiwanese honor-student narratives, turning points are usually grand decisions. Hers were: delivering takeout, listening to Cyrille Aimée, a dark night message to a teacher.

After that year, she went back and finished medical school. But the person who returned was not the same person who left. In her final years there, she was also accumulating her own songs.

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"Cazzo" and _A Bedroom of One's Own_

Her first song wasn't something she planned.

At some point during school, she joined the jazz club at National Taiwan University and met a senior named Tower da Funkmasta (Tao Yi-chun)²⁹. She sent Tower a demo requesting a performance slot; Tower didn't respond. Those files sat on his hard drive for a good while. Later Tower opened them again and came back to ask her to make an album.

On June 28, 2019, she released her first song "Cazzo" under the name "?te," through ChynaHouse and on YouTube⁷. Cazzo is Italian profanity. The lyrics follow a girl waking up and regretting a drunken one-night connection: "this familiar story plays out in different cities every night"³¹. On recording day she brought a worn guitar that kept buzzing and going out of tune. Tower made a decision in the moment: he captured the noise and ambient sounds and layered in samples from an Italian film³¹. That was the origin of the lo-fi aesthetic that ran through her entire first album.

The stage name "?te" strings together to sound like "white"; the Chinese "壞特" (Whyte) sounds in Shanghainese like "bad to the bone." She originally wanted to collaborate with Huang Xuan (YELLOW) on "Cazzo": "his name is yellow, so I figured I'd go for a color too"¹⁶.

A few months later, her second song "睡不著 Insomnia" debuted at No. 1 on the StreetVoice charts and accumulated 200,000 YouTube views in two months⁸. The lyrics describe a 5 a.m. bout of insomnia while thinking of someone; the chorus pays tribute to six soul divas by spelling out their names in alphabetical order: Aretha Franklin, Billie Holiday, Chaka Khan, Duffy, Ella Fitzgerald, Fergie⁸. She wrote her own listening history directly into the song.

On July 31, 2020, she released her first full-length album A Bedroom of One's Own, with a physical edition out August 28⁹. The title borrows from Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own; the entire album was recorded at Tower's home while his kids ran around nearby. From the first song to the first album, she preserved the full handmade quality of the bedroom aesthetic⁹.

Her writing process matched the DIY recording: voice memos on her phone, recorded as they came; each month she'd collect a few dozen audio files; she and Tower would get together for three to four hours and assemble a song on the spot⁷. The English lyrics didn't come from nowhere either — she'd Google strings like "how to name your lover" and "how to call your lover," pull a long list of candidates and try them line by line against the melody⁷.

📝 Curator's Note
Between 2019 and 2020, she was walking the same path as many of her generation of female R&B singer-songwriters: write it yourself, sing it yourself, bedroom-grade production, lyric videos instead of full MVs, SoundCloud and StreetVoice first, then KKBOX and Spotify. Her scene overlapped with 9m88, deca joins vocalist Cheng Ching-ju, and the later Hello Nico-adjacent creative circle — different branches of the same indie ecosystem. Simultaneously, the global lo-fi wave was cresting (Joji as the Japanese-American lo-fi R&B reference point, keshi as the Korean-American Texas bedroom pop one), and Taiwan's branch flowered at the same moment.

During her final hospital years, she also wrote a song called "Seh Ah Seh"³². "Seh" is the Romanization of the Taiwanese character 踅, meaning to wander. She was "doing the same tasks aimlessly in hospital corridors, completely numbed," and wrote the song in that state — except the lyrics on the surface are about a migrant worker's exhaustion when alone after a shift. She took an intern's boredom and transformed it into a migrant worker's loneliness. This song later became her live performance number at the Golden Melody ceremony³².

From 2020, she deliberately concealed her face. Cameras caught her in oversized-brim hats and sunglasses. She said:

✦ "When I first became a singer I was still doing my hospital internship — I wanted to keep music and hospital life separate."¹⁷

In February 2021, Mirror Media tracked her down and revealed her actual appearance. She responded by posting a selfie wearing glasses on Facebook¹⁸. Her method: face it directly.

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Hearing Her Own Song in the Operating Room

On the night she won, she wasn't just a musician. She was a seventh-year medical student on extended graduation leave, still doing her internship.

She described a specific image in a later interview:

✦ "Actually yes — I even heard my own song playing while I was assisting the attending physician in the OR. Because in hospitals you always have a mask on, and during internship you rotate specialties every month."²⁵

The hospital broadcast played her song. She stood next to the attending physician with her mask on. No one recognized her.

She completed her internship training and earned her medical degree²⁹. She did not continue on to become a licensed physician.

Shortly after the award, criticism appeared online — people asking "are you comfortable letting her operate on you?" — framing her as a reckless medical student who abandoned medicine for a dream²⁷.

Her response at the time was to keep medicine as an option she might return to "in three to six years"⁶ — but the early career window in music can't be missed.

📝 Curator's Note
"Leaving medicine for the arts" reliably generates a round of old-fashioned discussion in Chinese-speaking societies: your parents invested nine years in getting you through medical school, do you owe it to them to practice? The blind spot in this discussion is the assumption that "doctor" is the final answer to your identity and everything else is selfishness. What's genuinely moving about Whyte is that when she told a national audience "please don't be afraid," she acknowledged it was a decision no one would understand. She wasn't telling people to go be musicians. She was telling people to listen to themselves.

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Taking a Course With Chen Chun-hao

After the Golden Melody win, conventional logic says she'd go mainstream: sign with a major, appear on variety shows, play big concerts, build a following. She did — halfway.

On June 19, 2023, she released her second album Way Out with Sony Music Taiwan, co-produced with Chen Chun-hao, with guest singer Hung Pei-yu¹². That same year she won Best Alternative Pop Album at the 14th Golden Indie Music Awards¹². In August she headlined her first major ticketed solo concert at Zepp New Taipei¹³. From Golden Melody newcomer to Golden Indie winner, from bedroom to Zepp — on the surface, a mainstream trajectory.

But the actual working process wasn't smooth. She liked soft, jazzy, vintage sounds; Chen Chun-hao pushed her to break out and do something different. The two pulled back and forth in the studio until she couldn't take it anymore and said: "Should we just call it after this song?"³³ Later she reframed the tension as a lesson. She said to Chen:

✦ "Hey, this is a life challenge for me — are you willing to take this course together?"³³

Chen laughed and replied: "Alright! Let's try it! You remind me of my son!"³³

That exchange matters more than the album itself. The girl who had her university application filled out by her father, pushed along by the system, told by her teacher "girls don't run for class president" — this was her first real lesson in negotiating with another person on equal terms. The song "Morning Babe" is the concrete outcome: at Chen's recommendation, she brought in Hung Pei-yu for a duet — "looking for a vocalist with a mid-tone, textured voice" — converting what was originally a solo into a duet after they worked through the song's lyrical meaning together³⁴.

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Collapse on the Other End of a Transatlantic Call

On December 28, 2025, she released her third album Boundary (界線)¹⁴. This time she didn't go the mainstream route. Instead of hiring a Taiwanese major-label producer, she took back control herself — acting as her own A&R, casting a wide net through Spotify's vast playlists, and sending out hundreds of cold emails³⁵.

The process was more draining than she anticipated. She encountered an emotionally volatile American musician who called her in the middle of the night, transatlantic, in tears and venting about life pressures — forcing her to switch exhaustedly between "producer" and "therapist"³⁵. There were others who dug in their heels across time zones. She described what she learned from those two years:

✦ "If it had been me in the past, under that kind of half-pressured situation, I probably would have said 'okay, okay, okay' and done it."³⁵

Over two years, she completed nine songs with musicians from eleven countries: Japan's TENDRE ("Let Me Be Me"), London-based Nigerian soul singer Steven Bamidele ("Won't Make That Mistake Again"), Malaysia's babychair ("Staying Up All Night"), plus collaborators from Brazil, Nigeria, Germany, Italy, and the United States¹⁴.

She wrote her own contracts, acted as her own manager and publicist, reclaiming one by one the tasks she'd previously handed to labels¹⁵.

In an OPENTIX interview, she described the shift from hospital intern to full-time creative:

✦ "Before becoming a music creator, I didn't have many choices — life was laid out for me. You had to go to the hospital in the morning, you had to do night duty. In the three years since going freelance, suddenly I have to make every decision myself."²²

And more directly:

✦ "These past few years, I've been learning to set my own limits — learning to say no, learning to express discomfort. I've slowly stopped avoiding or accumulating those small feelings."³⁶

📝 Curator's Note
The standard Golden Melody newcomer trajectory goes "increasingly mainstream": indie first album, major label for the second, big concert circuit for the third. She did the reverse: the second album brought her Sony and a lesson in negotiating with Chen Chun-hao; the third went back to self-produced, learning to tell the collapsing American musician on the transatlantic call "I don't want this." Each decision after that first pause was like pressing pause again — a second time, a third, a fourth.

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The Hip-Hop Misogyny Debate

After winning the award, she didn't become the kind of Golden Melody recipient who only drops new music and never takes a stand.

In late January through mid-February 2025, Taiwan's hip-hop scene erupted in a gender and misogyny debate, sparked by a track uploaded in November 2024 by the group "89 Textbook." The song's chorus — "I pull up in a Panamera, you're still 5-6-7-8 a single mom" — went viral on TikTok and was performed by cheerleaders at basketball games, spreading mockery of single mothers through stadiums³⁷. On January 26, 義義 posted a Story on Instagram: "Wake up, hip-hop heads! You're all worshipping foreign things — look at the Taiwan market. Views, results, performances, money is everything."³⁷ On February 1, 禁藥王 and 大法 DAFAA dropped a diss track, "義義初四," which hit 650,000 views in 19 hours and topped YouTube's trending music chart³⁷. The lyrics included lines like "fuck your girl then fuck your whole family" — positioning women as weapons in an attack on a male rival³⁷.

On February 4, Whyte posted on Threads — her first public statement:

✦ "For me, both of these songs are soaked in traditional masculine culture. As a woman, I genuinely cannot like them."²⁰

She added:

✦ "You can keep swearing at anyone you want — nobody can stop you. That's your 'freedom,' your 'choice.' But profanity almost always targets someone in a more vulnerable position."²⁰

When she was pushed back on, she didn't retreat — she made the pushback itself evidence for her point:

✦ "If the core value of hip-hop is resistance and self-expression, then when I express how uncomfortable I am — as a woman — with sexually degrading lyrics, and I get met with this much pushback and additional shaming of women, then I know I'm doing the right thing."³³

Standing alongside her were that year's Golden Melody Best Male Vocalist Dough-Boy and R&B singer Karencici, though both framed their criticism around commercial merit rather than gender. Dough-Boy posted on Instagram Stories: "How much you can earn from your own work and your own shows — that's what's worth bragging about."³³ Karencici wrote: "Numbers are fake. What the music makes someone feel is real."³³

The strongest female counter-attack in the debate came from rapper Yang Shu-ya, who had come up through NTU's hip-hop club. On February 12 she released "Rule 男 Freestyle," which shot to No. 1 on StreetVoice's overall chart the same day and crossed 100,000 YouTube views within 24 hours³³. Her lyrics included: "Real isn't your cover for misogyny / so I'm here to rule, govern that attitude of yours" / "This isn't hip-hop — just hip-hop chauvinism" / "Men claiming to respect women is like the budget being slashed." Music critic Ma Shih-fang, writers Huang Li-chun and Li Ping-yao publicly shared it; legislator Huang Chieh commented "Respect!" in three English characters³³. "Rule 男 Freestyle" later received a nomination at the 2025 Golden Indie Music Awards for Best Hip-Hop Song.

Whyte shared Yang's new song and added:

✦ "Talking about gender and the voice of the oppressed can also be a very hip-hop thing to do."³³

The debate peaked over about three weeks, but its structural aftermath extended through the end of the year. Jazz vibraphonist Debby Wang Si-ya convened 11 female musicians and writers in mid-2025 to launch "Sheflow," a series combining performances and workshops to build a gender-inclusive space, with a live session lineup including Yang Shu-ya, rapper RapShark, and Debby Wang herself on vibraphone³⁸. Blow Music's 2025 year-end recap listed this debate as one of the defining events in Taiwanese music that year.

📝 Curator's Note
A woman who had just released an album on Sony, won a Golden Indie Award, and handed full control of her third album back to herself — going public to criticize peers' work. This is unusual in Taiwan's hip-hop scene, where the unspoken rule is that you don't step on each other. She isn't a core hip-hop figure (her main work is lo-fi R&B / bedroom pop / jazz), but as a female Golden Melody songwriter, she chose to step up to that line. The more her critics came at her, the more certain she was that she was doing the right thing. That is the same response pattern she has been practicing since the elementary school teacher who told her "you can't say the word period."

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Salt-Frequency: The Night of December 28, 2025

Mapped onto a physical scene, that opposing line leads to Zepp New Taipei on December 28, 2025. She performed her Whyte 2025 Live Concert Boundary there — for the first time as an all-female band format¹⁵.

In a preview interview with Blow Music before the concert, she said:

✦ "Over these years I've gotten into a lot of spiritual and mind-body practice, so I'll be incorporating chanting, focusing on arrangement for calm frequencies — with a bit more rock flavor — and the Chill Hop and Neo Soul people know and love."³⁹

✦ "What I hope to create is a performance that comes from inside me, genuine expression, that can carry energy — on the premise that I can't be too tired or too drained. That's also something I've been practicing."³⁹

In the early 2024 interview with Cheng Yi-nung, she described how she thinks about the "Whyte" persona⁴⁰:

✦ "It's a girl who wears glasses and a hat — that character. When I take off the glasses and hat, we're basically two different people. But everyone is working together on this character, building an image, so that people who might need healing can get something from it."⁴⁰

In the same interview, Cheng asked: "After you start to feel like you can control everything yourself, does it get more exhausting?" She answered⁴⁰:

✦ "At the beginning it was exhausting plus scary. ... At first you don't know what you want, so when you're trying to communicate, the other person doesn't know what you want either. Then you feel like you should go along with them, or like... as if you're the one who's wrong. But slowly, bit by bit, through practice, I think you become more and more confident. It's a process of growing into your confidence. You get more sure of who you are. And in that communication, the other person might be very forceful — but you're no longer afraid."⁴⁰

She also defined her creative work in that same session:

✦ "My own interpretation is that I seem to be creating a lot of rooms where people can come in and lie down and get comfortable inside. That's how I define what my work is."⁴⁰

As of April 2026, no formal critical write-ups of that December 28 concert have landed online, and the setlist hasn't been officially compiled. What is confirmed: that night was the evening when, after pressing the third and fourth pauses, she put salt-frequency arrangements, chanting, Neo Soul, and an all-female band — four things she had slowly learned over two years — together on a single stage.

📝 Curator's Note
"Arrangement for calm frequencies" and "I can't be too tired or too drained" sound like technical descriptions. But beneath those phrases is a 31-year-old who has just learned to say "I don't want this," stating her design requirements for her own stage. This thread traces back to the same source as "you can't say the word period" in elementary school and "I studied so people wouldn't see my gender" at Hsinchu Girls' High. After pressing pause, what she's been doing has gone beyond song selection and producer choices; she's been redefining what performing energy should look like.

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She Hasn't Actually Closed That Door

In 2026 she's still releasing songs, still performing, still sending cold emails. She hasn't fully given up her medical credentials — she says "I might go back in three to six years"⁶. She hasn't locked that door.

From "the girl whose father filled out her university application" to "the producer who sends hundreds of cold emails to strangers across the world" — these are two ends of the same person. The most pivotal moment between them happened in a student council meeting in her third year: the instant she sat there saying nothing, and suddenly realized she had been in school her whole life. She didn't drop out and travel the world, didn't go make a documentary, didn't write a book. She went to a café to brew drinks, a bakery to cut cakes, a recording studio to pick up takeout. In the corner of that studio, she found Li Chi-hsien. In the years that followed, she wrote "Insomnia," "Seh Ah Seh," "Cazzo."

She's never said out loud why she writes songs. She's only said one thing:

✦ "I have to face my own feelings properly — I have to find a way to take care of the child inside me."²⁸

During her hospital years, working shifts on the ward with chaotic energy, she used writing songs to drain those emotions³⁰. She didn't "leave medicine for the arts" — she used one path to hold what the other path couldn't give her.

When she said "please don't be afraid" to the Golden Melody audience, most of them probably couldn't follow through on it. Taiwan's honor-student track is too stable, pressing pause looks too risky. The whole system has buried the pause button deep — to find it, push it, and carry the years of incomprehension from family and friends that come afterward takes real force. She did it. And then she didn't go back to medicine. And the music she didn't turn into a career either — she says all she wants is to keep writing songs.

"I've already become part of Japan's low-desire generation — I just hope I can keep writing songs."²⁸

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Further Reading

• Taiwan Indie Music — the same-generation ecosystem of bedroom pop / lo-fi R&B in 2019–2020
• Hebe Tien (田馥甄) — Best Female Vocalist at the same 32nd Golden Melody Awards, representing nineteen years of career between the two ends
• Chen Chien-chi (陳建騏) — another lineage in the contemporary Mandopop producer genealogy

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References