Chapter 2827 Performance Troupes

Once the conversation had reached this level of intimacy, secrets that had previously been unspeakable could now be discussed openly. Sikade revealed what amounted to a semi-public secret: using pooled capital from Jiangnan literati, Hangzhou Station had specifically established a Yangtze River Shipping company, operating routes from Jiangnan to Kaohsiung and Lingao.

"What's so special about that? Wasn't it the same when Zhaoshangju was established? Just attracting private shareholders."

"The Senate invested shares in Zhaoshangju," Sikade said. "Yangtze River Shipping—Hangzhou Station didn't put in a single cent." He spoke very quietly, even though only he and Dingding were in the room. The hushed tone served merely to convey the gravity of the secret. Then he added: "Joint ventures have enormous potential."

Dingding considered this carefully. Finding a native merchant registered in Lingao to incorporate a company and register a few ships—all of this was currently legal and above-board. Given the massive gap in shipping capacity, neither the Council of State nor Dabo Shipping as a competitor would raise any objections. From start to finish, Zhao Yingong wouldn't need to lift a finger—just have someone in his circle run through the process. Whatever share percentage he obtained would be pure profit—easy money, really.

"Brilliant, truly brilliant." Dingding raised his thumb in approval. The two men burst out laughing.

Lying on a massage bed at Ziming House, feeling the gentle pressure working across his back, Dingding's muddled mind slowly cleared. He'd drunk a bit too much at lunch, and his mood was elated. With Health and Colonial Trade's cooperation secured, plus a big shot in the Fubo Army already sorted out on his behalf, this plan could officially launch. Tomorrow he would write up a proposal, arrange the first batch of personnel for dispatch, file with the Council of State, and get things moving. On the surface, this plan didn't benefit him much directly. But viewed from another angle, this was the first time he'd led such a large plan involving so many parties. As long as it succeeded, no one could deny that Dingding had commanded the entire operation.

The qualification of having led a major project—before, Dingding hadn't recognized its importance. Now he was beginning to understand its significance.

He was still young. He still wanted to "advance." But to climb higher, such credentials became essential. As Ma Qianzhu had privately remarked to him: "Without having done practical work, without having commanded large operations involving hundreds or thousands of people, will Senators—especially those somewhat rational soy sauce Senators—feel confident voting for you?"

"Build reputation, build prestige. Maybe I won't make it in time for the next Plenary two years from now, but the one after that... hard to say," Dingding thought to himself.

By the time he returned from Ziming House to the Propaganda Department office in the "Central Administrative District" within the old Lingao county seat, it was already nearly five o'clock in the afternoon. At this moment, he was invigorated and full of energy. The instant he stepped into the lobby, a dreaded message rippled through every Propaganda Department office: "Overtime tonight!"

The Senate's administrative organs now enforced a ten-hour work system: eight in the morning to six in the evening, with one hour for lunch and rest in between—effectively a nine-hour workday.

In practice, however, Senators' work hours were often completely unpredictable. Most Senators not only worked the infamous 996 schedule but sometimes stayed in the office for days on end without going home, sleeping in the office dormitory when exhausted, then resuming work when they woke. This made life miserable for the departments they managed. If the boss didn't leave, subordinates couldn't leave either—who knew when he might suddenly summon someone for a discussion or demand certain materials?

Such complaints were originally limited to Senators' personal staff or their apprentices and students. Gradually, as Senators' power and status grew, their relentless work habits spread to entire units under their jurisdiction, making life miserable for naturalized citizens as well.

Eventually, relevant departments had to step in to regulate and limit Senators' work hours, preventing them from acting arbitrarily and disrupting everyone's biological rhythms.

Dingding arriving at the office at five o'clock meant that even with Senate restrictions in place, his subordinates probably couldn't leave until after eight at the earliest. Everyone waited in trepidation for the general affairs girl to emerge and "order dinner."

Fortunately, she didn't appear. Dingding's return to the office was more about organizing his thoughts than urgently handling any business.

The institutional restructuring hadn't greatly affected his department. Currently, he still managed the old Propaganda section. Though Hu Qingbai held the title of "Minister," he essentially didn't concern himself with non-education business.

Dingding's jurisdiction wasn't large, but it contained many organizations. Any department touching culture or propaganda fell under his command. The Propaganda Department building's lobby displayed all its subordinate departments and organizations: Radio Station, Lingao Times, Lingao Puppet Troupe, Central Experimental Art Troupe...

The dazzling array of signs was considerable, but when broken down specifically, there were really only three parts: publishing, performance, and mass arts. Correspondingly, there were three departments: Propaganda Division, Performance Management Division, and Mass Arts Division.

In the old timeline, his role would have been purely management and guidance. But in this timeline, he also had to do the actual work. It was called management, but he was really operating things too.

Take periodically published newspapers and magazines. Whether for internal distribution or public sale, everything from editing and proofreading to final proofs and distribution had initially required Senators to handle personally. Over these ten years, thanks to outstanding contributions from the education system, Dingding had managed to gradually sort out and delegate these tasks. But naturalized citizens' abilities and knowledge had their limitations. Many things still required Senators' personal attention.

Dingding's wife Penny was now stationed at Guangming-jie in Bairen Town, serving as the combined editor-in-chief of numerous publishing houses, newspapers, and magazines. As for the most crucial positions—editor-in-chief of the Lingao Times, Morning Star, and Weekly News—for prudence's sake, Dingding still held those himself.

Performance troupes were relatively less dependent on Senators. After all, the seventeenth century still had some folk performance groups—circus troupes, puppet troupes, local folk art troupes, various itinerant artists. But they commonly suffered from the same problems: small scale, low performance quality, and unsuitable repertoire. Moreover, most performers were impoverished. Without appropriate guarantees, they would mostly wander off. It was completely impossible to "keep the team together."

So despite a fondness for talking about "marketization," the Senate in the arts field ultimately had to return to the old path of "official troupes."

Neither Dingding nor the Senate as a whole liked "government-run performance troupes." Every additional troupe and project meant additional headcount and operating expenses.

But the problem was, without running them directly, many new performance forms and content simply couldn't be promoted. The currently flourishing Lingao puppet shows had largely taken off due to the abundant nourishment provided by the Senate. Otherwise, it would have remained just family troupes doing market-fair-style performances of old repertoire.

So "publicly-run troupes" snowballed into existence along with circumstances and Senators' personal interests. The oldest and most famous was naturally the Lingao Puppet Troupe. Though named "Lingao," it was actually Dingding's strongest performance group. Next came the Central Experimental Art Troupe. The art categories under this troupe were practically comprehensive: music, drama, musicals, children's theater, various singing and dancing styles. Whether conditions existed to perform or not, as long as some Senator knew even a little about a particular art form, everything was set up with professional or amateur performers selected. Whether they could actually perform was beside the point; the priority was to spread the relevant theory, knowledge, and techniques. Its subordinate Lingao Western Orchestra and Folk Music Ensemble frequently performed at various occasions, also filling in as the military band for major events. Indeed, the military band performing at every Senate parade or major activity wasn't actually composed of military personnel. Ranked last was the Lingao Opera Society, which included folk opera and folk arts excavated in this timeline, plus folk art categories transplanted from the old timeline.

Benefiting from the expansion of the salaried class under Senate rule and the improvement in farmers' living standards, common people now had a little spare money for cultural entertainment. The puppet troupe and Lingao Opera Society's overall revenue was quite good. The earthy, folksy Lingao Opera Society was especially profitable—with virtually no investment required, its profit margin was actually higher than the puppet troupe's.

Overall, Dingding wasn't too happy about having such large performance troupes under his jurisdiction. This wasn't entirely about fiscal expenditure—except for the Experimental Art Troupe, both the puppet troupe and opera society could currently sustain themselves. But he knew that any government-run troupe would inevitably develop problems and contradictions over time. According to internal reports from the "Ten Person Group," several of Wang Tao's storytelling apprentices in the Opera Society had expressed varying degrees of "strange talk."

Wang Tao had discussed this issue with him as well. He'd taken on quite a few apprentices, originally mostly "art activists" doing amateur performances in the military and enterprises. Later, when the Opera Society was established, some of the more advanced apprentices were centrally transferred over for him to train specially as professional performers.

Thanks to Wang Tao's relatively professional performance level from the old timeline, plus the massive audio materials in the Grand Library—not just traditional storytelling, but also audiobook versions of many web novels—once promoted, this art form immediately became popular. Compared to popular literature published by the Propaganda Department, storytelling had a lower audience threshold. A "storytelling craze" quickly formed, with performance invitations pouring in.

This craze was certainly worth celebrating. But with box office success came stardom for some performers. With the emergence of "star performers" and their growing drawing power, the question of "who supports whom" inevitably arose.

Of course, Wang Tao as the "founding master" could still keep them in line for now. But keeping them in line only meant "oral compliance," not "heartfelt compliance." So Dingding discussed the matter with Wang Tao and others: rather than waiting for internal problems to ferment before dealing with them, it would be better to begin restructuring now.

(End of Chapter)