Chapter 1577 - Date
Even in another spacetime, televised singing performances were typically sweetened by studio mixing—idol stars and crossover celebrities often sounded dreadful live. Only those with genuine vocal prowess dared to perform at live concerts.
After considerable deliberation, the Checkered Skirt Club's managers reached a decision: record the songs first, apply post-production mixing, then have the performers lip-sync during the actual show with their microphones muted. This approach would at least guarantee a passable performance.
But therein lay the problem. The club boasted plenty of members well-versed in idol culture and Japanese entertainment, yet not a single person understood music production. Recording required a whole suite of professional techniques—arrangement, mixing, post-production—and Liu Shuixin, their sole arts consultant, was equally clueless about such matters. Consequently, rehearsals had proceeded with nothing but backing tracks, without a single lip-sync run-through.
With the official performance looming closer by the day and the recording still in limbo, the managers grew anxious. After an emergency meeting, they dispatched Zhang Berlin to humbly seek Nan Gonghao's guidance.
Zhang Berlin—an "Iron-Blooded Officer" of the Young Officers' Club whom critics labeled a "Germanophile and Yellow Nazi," forever trumpeting big cannons while occasionally spouting "politically incorrect" remarks from the old spacetime—was, secretly, a senior idol otaku. That these two attributes could coexist in one person seemed almost paradoxical.
The folk orchestra's rehearsal was winding down, yet Zhang Berlin remained nowhere in sight. Wu Ciren began to fidget. He had stolen away for half a day to cheer on the girls at the venue—if those Senators in the National Police caught wind of it, they would certainly lambaste him for neglecting his duties. The National Police and Lingao Telecom were jointly conducting a crackdown on telecommunication line theft. His absence from directing operations was already problematic enough, to say nothing of the mountain of documents awaiting his review.
Just as his impatience peaked, Zhang Berlin came sauntering back, positively beaming with satisfaction. The negotiations had clearly gone well.
"What? He agreed?"
"Yes." Zhang Berlin adopted an exaggeratedly mournful expression. "He promised to start tonight—but I paid a tremendous price, I'll have you know."
"The way you say it, one would think you sacrificed your body." Wu Ciren's good mood loosened his tongue. "I'll procure you some lotion..."
"Don't push that BL nonsense on me—I'm no fujoshi." Zhang Berlin waved dismissively. "Nan Gong was actually quite amenable. Agreed the moment I brought it up—no hesitation whatsoever. I thought he'd harbor prejudices against us like Okamoto and Dongfang..."
"Think about it—AKB was once considered heresy too. Let them despise our idol group if they want. That way, we'll have a sob story to sell later." Wu Ciren's eyes gleamed. "A good sob story is an idol group's capital. If conditions were different, I'd have them out on the streets handing out flyers already."
"Zhang Yunmi should be the one handing out flyers." Zhang Berlin's imagination caught fire. "We pick the worst weather—cold rain, empty streets—then film the whole thing. Later, when we make the documentary: 'the first-generation ACE distributing flyers through the bitter wind and rain'..."
"Enough fantasizing." Dongmen Chuiyu arrived and cut short their reverie. "I think we should have them practice with the recording first. Otherwise, they won't even recognize the melody when they step into the studio."
"All three songs we chose are in Japanese. How are they supposed to sing along?"
"Have Liu Shuixin record a guide track first." Dongmen Chuiyu was already turning to leave. "Let's divide up the tasks and move quickly. The General Staff has a mountain of work waiting."
Outside Lingao Gymnasium's main gate, the Art Troupe was unloading equipment, instruments and gear of all sizes heaped across the ground. The rising morning sun painted Okamoto and Nan Gonghao's faces in shades of crimson, though their expressions remained far from bright.
"That Dongfang! Where is he? How can he miss a major event like the on-site rehearsal!" Okamoto complained, though his exasperation was familiar—he had long abandoned hope of reforming his chronically lazy deputy. Still, watching the Garrison Battalion soldiers finish helping with the equipment and prepare to depart, he couldn't help but grow anxious.
"Probably overslept. You know how he likes to sleep in." Nan Gonghao remained calmer. "I do too." He punctuated the observation with a cavernous yawn. He had spent all night handling post-production for the idol girls.
"Head, Nan Gong—the orchestra members have assembled. Let's go in first. Setting up the stage equipment will take time anyway." Liu Shuixin, who had been absent for some time, approached them.
This "Flower of the Senate" wore a light linen floor-length dress of starched silk-linen blend. Its style was simple yet elegant—at first glance, one might mistake it for something from the old spacetime, though it was clearly newly made. A bright silver brooch offered a subtle clue: the Gothic-script "Liu" supported by two treble clefs arranged in a V-shape, gorgeous with an artistic flourish.
This was certainly not from the General Office's special supply store. Dongfang knew that much—the clothing there ran simple, nearly uniform-like. Nothing with even a hint of style existed on those shelves.
I must find out where she got that. The thought flashed through his mind.
"Very well, let's go in first. We can use the telephone inside to call the Bairen dormitory area and check if Dongfang has woken up." Okamoto led the way.
Lian Nishang walked briskly, morning breezes lifting the hem of her white sportswear. Few pedestrians were out along the Wenlan River at this hour, and the road to the gymnasium was emptier still. She could already see the square before Lingao Gymnasium.
Suddenly, she stopped. Zhuo Yifan had materialized beside a lamppost ahead, smiling at her with something in his hand.
"Hmm? You arrived so early? I thought it would take you a while to find the place on your own!"
The forthright young policewoman displayed her characteristic "Naturalized Citizen Superiority" once again, as if Young Hero Zhuo were incapable of navigating without her guidance.
Zhuo Yifan smiled without responding. Privately, he thought that with such a magnificent building and such a wide road, getting lost would bring shame upon his entire sect. He spoke softly: "I woke early with nothing to do, so I took a stroll. I've long heard of Lingao Pancakes at the morning market. I happened across a vendor and bought some." He raised the paper bag. "Have you eaten? If not, perhaps you'd care to try these?"
The bag contained multi-grain pancakes wrapped around deep-fried dough sticks, dressed with rich spicy sauce and sweet soybean paste. Eggs were costly due to scarcity, so most pancakes came without them, making them somewhat less flavorful than the original version. Still, they had proven popular among naturalized citizens and locals alike. The consensus was: filling and satisfying—even better with a bowl of tofu pudding or soy milk.
As a pampered young master, such menial tasks as buying breakfast fell beneath his station. Yet Lian Nishang was one of his few reliable sources of local intelligence. His peers agreed she warranted careful cultivation. When the Huashan Sect's chief disciple employed such tactics of ingratiation, he managed to look quite natural about it.
Lian Nishang froze for a moment, then lowered her gaze. "Thank you for your trouble, Young Master. I've already eaten. Keep them for now. Ah—Zuo Yami should have arrived already. Let's go in quickly." She quickened her pace, and Zhuo Yifan followed contentedly.
Gymnasium Office
"What? Confirmed that Senator Dongfang just left the dormitory area? Good, good—that's good! Thanks!"
Okamoto replaced the telephone receiver, looked up with a long exhale, and turned to Nan Gong. "Well, that layabout hasn't changed one bit! Fortunately, he's already on his way. We won't wait—let's do a sound check first."
The gymnasium remained open to visitors. First, because the Art Troupe's rehearsal needed only the central basketball court. Second, the Senate's propaganda department hoped exposure to "mainstream culture" would benefit naturalized citizens. Minister Ding Ding had specifically dispatched reporters to document the event, and the Lingao Times had been running articles on "Australian Arts" for weeks. All units publicized and encouraged their people to observe the Cultural Festival rehearsals. Indigenous people were not barred from entry—they simply weren't permitted near the Senators.
Zuo Yami had arrived at the gymnasium early. Though the Checkered Skirt Club's rehearsal was scheduled later, after the Art Troupe's instrumental ensemble, her close friend Lian Nishang had invited her to practice martial arts together.
Of course, had Young Master Zhuo's handsome face not left such a deep impression during their brief first encounter, the young policewoman might not have sacrificed her morning sleep so readily.
She sat on a bench, fishing out a pack of Lingao-produced purple sweet potato strips to snack on while humming along to the club's accompaniment. Her eyes wandered with interest to the "music band" as the Chiefs directed the placement of dazzling "Australian instruments" onto the temporary stage.
At that moment, a burst of chattering noise erupted from the entrance. A teacher led a group wearing Fangcaodi school uniforms into the venue—the "Outstanding Student Art Observation Group," hand-selected by the Education Department from the Fangcaodi Drama Club. They had come expressly to absorb the advanced culture of Australian Song.
Fangcaodi had switched to summer uniforms. The boys wore white short-sleeved shirts and navy trousers; the girls wore white sailor collar pullovers with red scarves and blue pleated skirts—a scene that delighted the Senators' eyes.
Not to mention the indigenous spectators—even among naturalized citizens, this procession elicited impressed murmurs and clicking tongues. Some young women's eyes practically blazed with envy.
Even Zhuo Yifan, who cared little for "Australian customs," found himself drawn to the group. This kind of orderly beauty brimming with youth was something he had never witnessed before.
He and Lian Nishang found themselves blocked by this procession at the end of the passage. The Huashan hero studied the "juvenile Fake Australians" before him with keen curiosity—not merely their strange Australian-colored clothing, but more strikingly, how extraordinarily lively these boys and girls appeared, radiating health, their stature notably taller than their peers in Great Ming.