Chapter 43: Serendipitous Indeed
Editor: Tennesh
The person Song Shihua wanted to poach the most was the actual composer behind the two movements. Initially, he had suspected it was the newcomer Silver Wing listed in the credits, but after figuring out Silver Wing's true intentions, he reversed himself. Silver Wing couldn't possibly have assigned such an important project to a newcomer.
Song Shihua studied the credits at the end of the two music videos again and again. He also ordered his underlings to research everyone listed. His conclusion: the list of project team members was incomplete. Silver Wing had left out the most important name.
More than a few people shared Song Shihua's thinking.
Industry practice was to only identify the producer of the virtual idol project at the outset. The producer was the equivalent of the director of a TV show or movie. As for the composer, the arranger, the mixer, and the actual performer, they were never named. Any other names that would draw attention away from the virtual idol were held back. Only when the virtual idol became a bona fide star, when the timing was right, would the label provide a detailed division of labor.
Even though everyone wanted to know who had composed the two movements and who had mixed and arranged them, you couldn't tell from the list of credits at the end of the music videos. Most people believed that the names listed were merely technicians and that Silver Wing had held back the names of the composer, arranger, and mixer. They were probably afraid these folks would get poached.
Inside a sanatorium in Yanzhou's coastal city of Jinggang.
Famed musician and virtual idol producer Glifetz was sitting by the window in his room as usual, except he hadn't been in the mood to enjoy the bright sunshine for days now. All he did was stare at his tablet. He looked pale and frowned increasingly harder.
He wasn't faking it this time. He was really sick. On the day the second movement, "Cocoon Breach," was released, Gliftez was nearly transferred to intensive care.
His humble hopes for a comeback were dashed with the release of the second movement. Ming Cang's comments put him in an even tougher spot. The more attention Polar Light got, the worse his situation, and the dimmer the prospects of his comeback. Quite a few colleagues were already poking fun at him, saying he didn't even measure up to a newcomer.
"Still no luck?" Glifetz asked the three people standing next to him. They were all disciples of his. Two of them had been purged from Silver Wing's virtual projects department last year.
Glifetz's voice was hoarse and muffled, but his tone was pointed. He spoke slowly, making for a creepy delivery. It sounded like a set of rusty gears struggling to rotate, giving his three students the goosebumps.
"Not yet," one of the students said, his head drooped.
The other two students shriveled, wishing they were somewhere else.
Glifetz had asked them to identify the composer who wrote the two movements. The composer was the key to Polar Light's success. The three students tried on their own and worked some of Glifetz's connections, but they still came up empty-handed.
It wasn't just them. Most of the folks at Silver Wing only knew that the project was assigned to Fang Zhao, but they didn't know who the actual composer was.
"No?" Glifetz sounded like he was responding and talking to himself at the same time. He had a desperate look in his eyes.
Glifetz paused briefly, then waved his hand, signaling his students to leave.
A tremendous weight lifted from their shoulders, and the trio bolted, not bothering to ask any follow-up questions.
Glifetz was the only person left in the quiet room. The afternoon sun was quite strong, flooding the entire room with light. The flowers in the vase were still lush, adding a touch of brightness to the room. But the room was so quiet you could hear Glifetz breathe, and a sense of chill prevailed.
Glifetz switched his tablet to encrypted mode and dialed a number. The person on the other end answered after about 15 seconds.
"What is it?" The person sounded cautious. He lowered his voice and, before Glifetz could speak, blurted out, "If you're calling about the Polar Light project, I can't tell you anything. Duan Qianji is watching everyone like a hawk. I don't want to get kicked out."
The person on the other end was a senior executive at Silver Wing who had a history with Glifetz. He benefited quite a bit from Glifetz's help in the past.
"It's OK. I know I'm putting you in a difficult bind. All I want to know is who the actual composer behind the first two movements of the Polar Light project is."
"..." The senior executive went silent for a few seconds. "Duan Qianji issued strict orders not to tell."
"I just want to know for myself. I won't tell anyone else." Glifetz knew his source had to be careful, so he added, "I swear I won't tell anyone else."
A longer silence on the other end. Hesitation.
Glifetz didn't dial up the pressure. He just waited patiently.
After a minute's silence, the person said in a muffled voice, "It's Fang Zhao."
"Come again?" Glifetz was so shocked he got up abruptly and almost fell before struggling to regain his balance.
"You know, the newcomer."
"Impossible!"
"Believe it or not."
"How come... That doesn't make sense. Why would Silver Wing trust a newcomer with such an expensive project? A newcomer couldn't possibly have composed..." Glifetz was in disbelief.
"I'm warning you, just keep this to yourself. Don't tell anyone, otherwise we are both finished. You know what Duan Qianji is capable of," the source said before hanging up.
In the warm and bright room, Glifetz collapsed onto his deck chair, limbs sprawled, and dropped his tablet. He lay paralyzed, a corpse waiting to be fossilized.
A sudden shiver. Glifetz felt the chills.
Fang Zhao?
The newcomer he'd researched, the one who had joined Silver Wing just this year?
He remembered that fellow. A fresh graduate in his 20s. Fang Zhao wasn't even a third his age.
A little punk had all but hammered the final nail into his coffin.
If only Fang Zhao knew what Glifetz was thinking. He would have responded, "I'm your daddy, not the other way around."
__________
Regardless of what other people thought, regardless of the fact that some industry publications were clamoring for the name of the composer behind Polar Light, Fang Zhao was in no mood to deal with the media. He stuck to Silver Wing's new protocol of not leaving the building unless it was necessary. He wanted to game.
The gaming equipment he'd requested from Duan Qianji had finally been set up.
There were about a dozen prop guns that were nearly identical to the real thing. These were hard to come by. They looked so realistic that they were more tightly regulated than the prop guns used by the label's film division. Duan Qianji's husband was a military official and she had her own connections. If they wanted to, they could probably procure a sizable batch of real firearms, let alone prop guns.
Some of Silver Wing's security staff were licensed to carry.
Duan Qianji gave the virtual projects department 20 days off. Fang Zhao planned to devote the bulk of this period to gaming.
Fang Zhao's bracelet rang as he watched technicians install the gaming consoles in a dedicated room.
It was a number he didn't recognize.
He walked into his office and selected voice transmission.
"Hello? Is it Fang Zhao?" It was the voice of a male stranger.
"Speaking." Fang Zhao walked to his window and examined the flying car traffic below the 50th floor.
"My name is Beavis. I'm a B-level agent at Neon Culture. Are you interested in working at Neon Culture? Don't worry about the fine for breaking your Silver Wing contract. We can take care of that. As long as you're willing to jump ship, we'll sign you right away. You'll be treated as a level B star. Your work will be given priority release during your first year. We'll also assign a master composer to mentor you. And if you want anything else, we're all ears."
Beavis was quite confident. His offer was better than what most newcomers could manage. He was thinking that Fang Zhao was just a figurehead at Silver Wing's virtual projects department. He was better off jumping ship to Neon Culture, where he would enjoy real perks. He had other enticements up his sleeve, but he wanted to gauge Fang Zhao's reaction first. He would continue with his sales pitch if Fang Zhao was interested.
Neon Culture? Fang Zhao had thought Tongshan True Entertainment would approach him first. He hadn't expected Neon Culture to beat them to the punch.
Fang Zhao knew what Neon Culture was up to.
Since they couldn't find out who had composed the first two movements, then they would poach a few known staffers from the project team. As the project's producer, Fang Zhao was naturally first on the list. While Song Shihua was still debating whether or not to make an offer, Neon Culture reached out first.
"Beavis from Neon Culture? How did you get my number?" Fang Zhao asked. The original owner of his body had gotten a new number when he'd moved to his black street after graduation. It was different from the number in the school directory. Only a few people had the number.
"Now that you mention it, it's quite serendipitous. One of our newcomers is from the same hometown as you are. I think you know him."
"You mean Fang Sheng?"
"Exactly! What a coincidence, right? Haha!"
When he was digging into Fang Zhao's background, he had noticed that Fang Zhao shared a hometown with one of Neon Culture's new composers. They went to the same primary school and high school. He asked around—it turned out they did know each other.
Fang Sheng turned pale when Beavis asked him for Fang Zhao's number, but Beavis didn't think much of it. He thought Fang Sheng was just jealous and didn't dwell on the matter.
"Serendipitous indeed." Fang Zhao chuckled as he stared into the glint from a passing flying car. "Why don't you ask who the real composer of his first three songs was first?"
He hung up before Beavis could respond.
Chapter 44: Such a Bully
Editor: Tennesh
Even though Beavis was mad that Fang Zhao had hung up on him, he was more intrigued by Fang Zhao's comment before he hung up.
"Why don't you ask him who the actual composer of his first three songs was?"
Which three songs? The actual composer? So Fang Sheng hadn't written them after all?
Beavis wasn't in charge of newcomers. He wasn't on top of the inner workings of the newcomers department. He merely scanned the list of newcomers Neon Culture had recruited this year. If his bosses didn't want to poach people from Silver Wing, he wouldn't have bothered studying the list.
But even though he wasn't familiar with the workings of the newcomers department, he could deduce from Fang Zhao's parting comment.
A gloomy Beavis sat in his office pondering the matter for some time. Then he got in touch with newcomers department and requested Fang Sheng's personnel records. He gave them a careful look. The more he read, the angrier he got.
If he was 70 percent skeptical of Fang Zhao's allegations, then after reading the personnel files, that figure dropped by 20 or 30 percentage points.
Fang Zhao had graduated from the Qi'an Academy of Music, probably the best music school in Yanzhou, while Fang Sheng had graduated from a so-so school. That didn't necessarily make a difference. During the recruitment process, graduating from a top school wasn't a prerequisite. Even if you attended a low-ranked university and flunked all your classes, as long as you had musical talent of some kind, if you shined in some way, you would be considered.
In other words, setting aside your educational background and connections, the key was real skill and talent.
The reason Fang Sheng had caught the eye of Neon Culture's newcomers department and was signed was because of the three songs he'd submitted.
Nothing stood out in Fang Sheng's files. He wasn't a stellar student and he'd never won any prizes. But the three songs still won over the newcomers department. The songs weren't top-notch, but they were slightly better than what the average newcomer produced. One of the three also placed well on the newcomers' chart. The label actually wanted to promote Fang Sheng, but he hadn't submitted any new songs since.
Beavis summoned Fang Sheng and his agent. He scanned both of them with a vicious gaze. Beavis usually smiled, but he looked scary when he got serious.
Fang Sheng's agent was still a bit pissed and disgruntled about being summoned by Beavis. Even though he managed newcomers, he had managed B-level stars before. He had also spent more time at Neon Culture than Beavis. Beavis's tone was downright rude, hardly befitting the respect he deserved as a senior employee. But now that he saw Beavis's expression, he could tell something was wrong.
"Is something wrong?" Fang Shang's agent asked. He knew Beavis had looked over Fang Sheng's files, but he still didn't know why Beavis had asked to see them.
Beavis ignored Fang Sheng's agent and stared at Fang Sheng hard, as if launching a flurry of daggers. "What I want to know is: who actually wrote the three songs you submitted when you joined the label?"
Already a bit fidgety at the outset, Fang Sheng's heart leaped when he heard the question, and he broke into a cold sweat. The muscles by his mouth twitched, but he didn't know what to say. He remained silent but clasped his hands nervously. When his agent cast him a questioning look as well, he knew there was nowhere to hide. He tried hard to mask his guilt, somehow managing to eke out a smile. "Did someone say something? Don't believe them. I wrote those three songs myself."
"Oh?" Beavis didn't press on, looking at Fang Sheng's agent instead. His gaze seemed to say: "You signed the guy. It's your move."
The agent stared at Fang Sheng with piercing eyes. He had managed dozens of artists. Even though he might not be as competent as Beavis, he could still spot a liar. The subtle changes in expression on Fang Sheng's face hadn't escaped his notice.
Panic. Guilt. Fear. Lack of confidence.
Once Fang Sheng's agent became suspicious, everything made sense. The arranger of the three songs had told him in private that Fang Sheng had a poor grasp on the three pieces. His understanding was hazy and incomplete. Initially, the arranger had chalked it up to the usual inexperience of a newcomer and thought a bit of training and guidance would do. But Fang Sheng hadn't produced any new songs since the three he'd entered in the new talent competition. Again, he'd thought Fang Sheng had simply been running low on inspiration. But it had been so long that it was becoming a problem.
The three songs may very well have been stolen.
He didn't want to believe that he'd signed someone like this. He had heard of similar cases of theft or plagiarism. Some were exposed and some were kept secret. The final outcome depended on company policy and individual finesse. Of course, the safest practice was to avoid folks like this. The bigger the label, the more it cared about its reputation. So he had the manpower and resources necessary at his disposal for a cover-up. But he'd never thought something like this would happen to him.
Even if he had made the mistake of signing the man, the mistake couldn't be made public. To do so would be slapping himself in the face. It might also create unnecessary hassle for the label at this critical juncture.
He had to get rid of Fang Sheng as soon as possible.
Even if Fang Sheng's theft was exposed, they could prepare in advance and take the backlash in stride.
Fang Sheng was signed to a three-year contract. His contract stipulated that if he was fired without cause, he was entitled to severance totaling three times his income during his employment.
This wasn't an unjustified firing, but the label couldn't reveal the real reason behind the dismissal. They also had no proof that Fang Sheng had stolen the three songs. Fang Sheng would never admit to it.
Based on the number of downloads the three songs had generated, Fang Sheng's severance would amount to more than 10 million dollars. That was an expense the label didn't want to incur. Even though the amount was nothing to Neon Culture, they didn't want it spent that way.
So after "amicable" negotiations that were stick-and-carrot in reality, Neon Culture agreed to a severance pay of 1.5 million. Fang Sheng was terminated effective immediately.
Fang Sheng's agent conducted the negotiations on his behalf. Beavis stayed mum, giving his tacit approval to the deal. So Fang Sheng stole someone else's songs, most likely Fang Zhao's. Even if they confirmed the theft, if Fang Zhao was a nobody and Fang Sheng had potential, they wouldn't have fired Fang Sheng. They might even have helped cover up the theft. They were businessmen, after all. Their financial interests came first.
But Fang Zhao was a rising star with the full backing of his label, while Fang Sheng wasn't an asset worth protecting. His firing was a no-brainer, and it had to be done fast. They had to get rid of him before the scandal broke and the finger-pointing began.
If people asked, they would just say that Fang Sheng had poor character.
"Poor character" was a catch-all term in the industry. It could refer to personality issues—an inability to get along with colleagues or a foul temper that affected morale. It could also refer to specific behavior, like theft or plagiarism. The former wasn't a big deal. As long as the person in question was talented, personality wasn't an issue. But the latter was a problem.
There were no secrets in the industry. If they pried enough, prospective employers would find out about the "poor character" assessment in Fang Sheng's personnel files at Neon Culture even if he tried to hide it. That was enough to make him off-limits for most record labels in the industry.
Fang Sheng was kicked out of Neon Culture's headquarters half an hour later.
He struggled to maintain his composure as he got all sorts of looks from the people around him. He didn't linger.
He ran to an empty corner and quietly cursed to himself. His eyes were bloodshot. Lord knew how long it had been since he had rested properly. His face was paler than Zu Wen's after two straight days of gaming.
As for the 1.5 million in severance pay, the old Fang Sheng would have counted his blessings. But after enjoying the adoration and the easy money the three songs had generated, the 1.5 million was a pittance. But he didn't want to lock horns with Neon Culture.
If he'd stayed at Neon Culture, he would have earned much more.
He was entitled to much more.
After taking a few deliberate breaths, Fang Sheng turned his attention to his bracelet and looked up Fang Zhao's number.
It was just a matter of time before he could buy another song from a music student desperate for cash. But Beavis had to tear into him now and interrupt his plans.
How had Beavis found out he stole the three songs?
Fang Zhao.
The raw hatred gushed like a raging current when the call went through. "Fang Zhao, you son of a b*tch! You said you considered me a brother, but you had your bases covered all along, right? You've got quite a few songs up your sleeve besides those three songs, right? Nicely done. Slick move." He was so agitated the veins on his neck were bulging.
He rambled on for nearly three minutes until his voice went hoarse. But no response came from Fang Zhao.
"You're mute now?" Fang Sheng screamed at the top of his voice.
Two second later.
"Woof! Woof!"
The other end answered with a series of barks. They were real barks, not simulated ones. The barks were followed by clear sound of panting.
Fang Sheng: "..."
He had just delivered a three-minute tirade to a dog.
Fang Sheng was so pissed his body shook. He felt like spitting blood.
Such... such a bully!
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