Chapter 1527 - The Beginning of Art
Wu Ciren hastily produced a small notebook and scribbled down "amplification equipment." He had assumed everything was ready—that only the east wind was lacking. Now that the project was underway, he realized the east wind was far too scarce.
"Voice projection and vocal training are band-aids, not solutions. For modern pop music, the equipment gap remains enormous." Liu Shuixin frowned. "And it's not just your group—Dongfang's side faces the same problem. Instrumental or vocal, without amplification equipment, the whole endeavor is practically meaningless."
"Didn't you say training could compensate?"
"Not absolutely. You know what bel canto is?"
Wu Ciren nodded.
"Most people don't enjoy bel canto. It's similar to traditional voice projection—both rely on specific vocal techniques to compensate for insufficient natural volume. But this isn't normal singing. Can you imagine an opera singer or theater actress deploying her trained technique to perform 21st Century Love Revolution?"
Wu Ciren found the image too grotesque to contemplate.
The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He stammered, too distracted even to notice the "enthusiasm" of the first singer auditioning nearby. Finally he managed: "Is there any solution?"
Liu Shuixin's gaze drifted to the girl currently delivering a "heartfelt performance" amid what could only be charitably described as a train wreck. She smiled. "I'm not from a science or engineering background—I only know how to sing and dance. What advice could I possibly offer? I'm merely pointing out that running an arts group isn't as simple as you imagined..."
"Big sister, why didn't you mention this earlier..."
"Isn't your starting point to cultivate artistic seeds? Performance results are another matter entirely. Besides, I'm happy to be working again." Liu Shuixin looked quite pleased with herself.
Wu Ciren, however, was anything but pleased. The Plaid Skirt Club project nominally fell under the Cultural Propaganda Department, but in reality it was a self-funded venture. In Lingao, any project absent from the Planning Commission's roster faced endless obstacles—problems that could only be solved by "running around to departments" and "running around to factories," consuming massive investments of time and energy.
His own Traffic Police Division was already drowning in work. The National Police's traffic cops bore no resemblance to their namesakes from the old timeline. They functioned more like the Traffic Police Corps of the Republican era: beyond managing road traffic, their primary responsibilities included protecting and patrolling highways and railways. The patrol duties for Hainan Island's ring road alone were enough to make him cough blood.
Need to find someone dedicated to handle this, he thought.
While the third-round audition proceeded in one room, in another, the long-haired arts man and the one called Okamoto huddled over several photographs, whispering about their plans.
The department officially based in this compound was the Cultural Propaganda Department's Arts Groups Management Office. In theory, all professional arts groups under Yuan Elder Court governance fell under this office. In practice, the only local professional group—the Lingao Puppet Theatre—belonged to the Mass Arts Division. As for the semi-professional, semi-amateur ensembles already established—lion dance troupes, living newspaper drama groups, choirs, and the like—they all fell under Fang Fei's management.
The so-called Arts Groups Management Office had long existed as nothing more than a name on the "institutional roster" in the Bright Office. As for private arts groups, plenty of opera troupes had visited Lingao, but troupes were itinerant—they worked a spell and moved on, with no fixed business address. All the Management Office could do was review performance repertoires and issue permits—work the Mass Arts Division had handled even before the Management Office was formally established.
This obscurity changed only when certain Yuanlao formally proposed to the Executive Committee the establishment of professional arts groups. Gradually, voices within the Yuan Elder Court on this matter grew stronger.
The driving force behind it all was none other than the long-haired arts man: former US PhD Dongfang Ke.
This particular Yuanlao, who had worked successively at the Planning Commission and the Finance Commission, was remarkably inconspicuous in Bairenfort. Beyond regular work, military drills, and general assemblies, he almost never participated in group activities. Despite being a returnee from abroad, he had never attended Otaku Faction gatherings, nor had he ever voiced opinions on the hot topics that preoccupied his fellow transmigrators—such as the maidservant question. He never posted on internal BBS announcement forums; only in a few obscure discussion groups could one occasionally spot his contributions.
At work, he had never actively sought external postings. Word had it he preferred solitude. On rest days, he would typically appear alone at the sports field to exercise, then head to the Farm Café wearing oversized headphones to sip a glass of kvass and while away the hours. He never visited the Wudaokou teahouse that served as the Finance sector's unofficial clubhouse. Sometimes he would sit reading an e-book until closing time. Even more curiously, after the Yuanlao residential district was completed, he continued living in the Bairenfort dormitory area. (When someone privately asked why, his answer was reportedly that classic line: "Because it's close!") Strangest of all, no one had ever glimpsed his life secretary. He never spoke of why he had joined the transmigration—a man with no apparent aspirations was difficult to comprehend.
Such behavior could certainly be called "cool," which naturally led to being "too cool to have friends." Yuanlao Dongfang had always been a loner in Lingao—until one particular evening.
As dusk settled over East Gate Market and the cool bay breeze swept away the day's accumulated heat, the bronze bell of the Bopu Customs Building struck six long chimes. Cadres in Bairenfort who had been busy all day set down their paperwork. At the entrance of the Finance Directorate's office building, Yuanlao departed in twos and threes, chatting about work or the cafeteria menu.
Dongfang Ke was, as usual, the last to leave. Sennheiser headphones clamped over his ears, a black CD case at his waist, hands thrust in his pockets, he strode at a rapid pace toward the Yuanlao cafeteria. The sea breeze lifted a strand of hair from his face, and this tall, thin young man in a light gray shirt and faded jeans looked like nothing so much as a college student just emerging from evening study hall.
At the cafeteria entrance, someone tapped his shoulder—clearly knowing he couldn't hear a call. It was a Yuanlao he had seen but couldn't name; in truth, aside from Executive Committee members and a few colleagues, he couldn't recall the faces of other Yuanlao. Dongfang stopped, removed his headphones, and examined the newcomer carefully. It seemed the man had worked at the Finance Commission but had been transferred after the Engine Plan. He hesitated, then asked:
"And you are? Uh, I'm face-blind as a rule—no offense."
"Ah, I'm Okamoto Shin! Also from the Finance sector—Social Security Division now—currently running the insurance company. You were at the Planning Commission before, so it's natural you wouldn't know me! Hehe!" The newcomer seemed relaxed, greeting him like an old friend.
"Right, I think I remember now. Okamoto Shin... Are you Japanese? And called... A-Shin?" Yuanlao Dongfang looked puzzled.
A helpless expression crossed Okamoto's face. "I'm not Japanese. It's... well, it's a long story. Another time."
"Mm. What can I do for you? Recruiting for the insurance company? You can just submit a report to Committee Member Cheng. Changing jobs, changing scenery, that's fine. As long as I don't have to sell insurance on the street, I can handle any Finance work."
"Ah, no no! Nothing to do with work. I've been thinking about setting up a drama troupe and orchestra lately. Quite a few people share similar ideas. But our Yuan Elder Court has too many engineering otaku and not enough people who understand music. There's a Liu Shuixin who seems to be a song-and-dance troupe performer, but she's married so it's awkward to approach her directly. I remember you replied to my discussion post on the BBS? You're an enthusiast too, right? Interested in discussing it together? Hey, why are we standing here talking? Is this convenient for you? It's dinnertime—let's find a place to chat? The Trading Post Restaurant in East Gate Market—my treat!" Okamoto invited enthusiastically.
"Mm? The Trading Post Restaurant? Seems noisy. Let's skip that. But the drama troupe thing sounds interesting—how about we talk at my dorm instead? You can have them deliver takeout there." Dongfang Ke replied, his face expressionless and tone flat.
"Huh? Uh—well... okay... that works too." Okamoto was clearly encountering someone declining a dinner invitation for the first time and seemed somewhat at a loss, nodding mechanically.
"Right then, see you later!" Before the words faded, Dongfang had already turned and strode away. After three meters he stopped and turned back: "Do you know my dorm number? Or just call my cell phone later? The number is..." He gave the number, put his headphones back on, and walked off toward the Bairenfort Yuanlao dormitory area without looking back. Tall with long legs, he walked extremely fast; Okamoto, left standing there, didn't even have time to say more. He could only raise an eyebrow helplessly and head off to the East Gate Market restaurant alone.
Half an hour later, Okamoto walked through the gates of the Bairenfort dormitory area with a restaurant delivery boy in tow. He had to process temporary entry paperwork for the delivery boy just to spare himself the trouble of carrying the food box—though all of Hainan Island now fell within the Yuan Elder Court's sphere of influence, security procedures remained rigorous. At the same time, he couldn't help grumbling about Dongfang Ke's eccentricities: why cram himself into Bairenfort when perfectly good villas were available?
Following the room number Dongfang had given over the phone, he found the dormitory room. The door was unlocked, dim yellow light leaking through. Okamoto knocked twice and pushed it open. He first directed the delivery boy to set out the food and wine, gave him a circulation voucher to send him off, then sat down across from Dongfang. Looking around, he found the furnishings extremely simple—all standard products from the Lingao Woodworking Factory. Only two small boxes atop the cabinet were unidentifiable—on closer inspection, they proved to be a pair of miniature HI-FI speakers, brand indiscernible. He was secretly astounded.