Kapitel 5: New Talent Competition
Redakteur: Tennesh
What disappointed many businessmen who invested in real idols and celebrities was the fact that the virtual idols didn’t disappear completely over the years, even if their influence had waned since their peak years. Even though virtual idols lasted for a briefer period than real celebrities, they still carried significant weight in the entertainment industry.
An up-tempo melody started playing in the train, grabbing Fang Zhao’s attention once more. It was a classic piece by a superstar from many, many years ago. It was a solo instrumental performance without lyrics.
Fang Zhao closed his eyes and let the melody sink in.
The piece was often used as an upper by public transportation drivers. It wasn’t just the drivers; the passengers were also stimulated. Some joked that the melody had become an office anthem—a few listens and you would be motivated to work.
The music transmitted a fiery passion and buzz. Passengers sitting on their seats began shaking their crossed legs to the beat. The sleepy heads of the afternoon ride saw their spirits soar as their leg shakes increased in frequency.
Listening to the same song, the fellow commuters felt a sense of camaraderie.
How long had it been since he felt that way?
Fang Zhao felt the blood in his veins start to boil. He was so excited he wanted to roar.
This world -- he approved.
The train was on a circular route that looped around the city. Even though it only looped a small part of the city—and a suburban part at that, not downtown—Fang Zhao got a good sense of the geography. His new memory had almost fully integrated.
When he returned to the station where he boarded and disembarked, he was in a different mood. He was keen on blending into this world as quickly as possible—and then enjoying it.
Train fares were determined by the length of the journey. Fang Zhao started incurring a fare the moment he swiped his bracelet. Still, public transportation was relatively cheap. The trip cost Fang Zhao 50 dollars, slightly cheaper than other forms of transportation. That was a bit of a luxury considering Fang Zhao’s limited cash on hand, but he thought it was worth it.
Back at the black street, Fang Zhao picked up his dog from the drug store first. The filthy dog with knotted fur whose original color eluded him looked skinny after being shaved. His bones protruded in sharp relief beneath his skin.
The dog looked unsettled after its shave. Likewise, the owner of the drug store was also pale.
"Your dog almost jammed my clippers," the owner complained to Fang Zhao. "But since I said 50 dollars, I won’t renege."
Dog fur could be that stiff? Fang Zhao was skeptical. Because the dog’s fur was badly tied up in knots and stains, he couldn’t get a feel of its texture. Now that the owner of the drug store was complaining, he wondered if dog fur had stiffened since the apocalypse.
But the owner might not be telling the truth. He might have exaggerated a bit.
"Anyway, take your dog. I need to catch up on sleep." The owner waved his hand. On any black street, business was the best at night, so he had to sleep during the day.
Fang Zhao left in silence, carrying the shaven dog in his arms.
When the drug store owner cleaned his clippers after Fang Zhao left, he realized they didn’t work anymore. He swore he wasn’t just embellishing.
"They really broke down after shaving a dog?" The bemused owner checked the clippers again and confirmed they indeed had gone bust.
"Good thing they were cheap. I’m not shaving dog fur again," the drug store owner mumbled.
On his way home, Fang Zhao passed Yue Qing’s store and picked up some more food.
He returned to his second-floor rental. Residents of his building living on the 80th floor or higher were lucky enough to enjoy a bit sunshine, but people living in lower floors could forget about it, not to mention that Fang Zhao lived on the second floor, which was even darker. His room was even darker than when he woke up before he turned on the lights.
After tidying up the apartment, Fang Zhao scanned the display on his bracelet, which indicated 17 blocked calls.
Out of the 17 calls, three were from the Silver Media agent in charge of interns, four were from Wan Yue, and 10 were from Zeng Huang.
Wan Yue and Zeng Huang were the other two childhood friends of his body’s original owner. But unlike Fang Sheng, even though the couple didn’t spend as much time with the original owner as Fang Sheng, they were sincere. They had only drifted apart from him during their university days at the instigation of Fang Sheng. They had even less contact after he started his internship at Silver Wing Media.
No more than two minutes after he disabled his call blocking, Zeng Huang called again.
Fang Zhao tapped the connect button on his bracelet and out popped the hologram of a nervous Zeng Huang.
"You doing OK, Big Zhao?" Zeng Huang breathed a huge sigh of relief after seeing Fang Zhao. He wanted to comment on Fang Zhao’s peaceful demeanor but refrained so as to gauge his mood some more. "I was worried you were stuck in your head and would do something silly."
The silly deed has been done, Fang Zhao thought to himself.
Noticing the genuine emotion on Zeng Huang face, Fang Zhao responded, "I’m OK."
"That's great. As long as you’ve thought things through. Xiao Hong…" Zeng Huang stopped when he realized it’d be cruel to mention his ex-girlfriend so soon after the breakup. He shifted gears and said, "That scumbag Fang Sheng must be pleased with himself. Big Zhao, are you going to sue him? He could fool an outsider but not us. Those are clearly your songs. Someone of Fang Sheng’s talent couldn’t have possibly composed them."
"No need, for now," Fang Zhao said.
"If you’re worried about money, Wan Yue and I still have some savings left."
"Really, there’s no need. I don’t have time to wrangle with him now," Fang Zhao said. "The new talent contest has begun. I need to catch up."
Zeng Huang was dumfounded. He never would have thought that Fang Zhao would still make a run for it this late in the game. Two months had passed in the current season of the new talent competition. Only one more was left. Entering in June was doable, but Fang Zhao didn't have any presentable material to submit.
Zeng Huang was skeptical, but since Fang Zhao had found his mojo again, Zeng Huang didn’t want to rain on his parade. As long as Fang Zhao could survive this rough patch...
"In that case, go get ‘em! Let us know if you need anything. Do you have enough money?" After blurting out the question, Zeng Huang worried he would hurt Fang Zhao’s pride. After all, Fang Zhao hated it when people mentioned his tight finances.
Before Zeng Huang could explain himself, Fang Zhao said, "I still have a bit of cash. It’ll last me for another month or so."
"Oh… That’s great. But you have to let us know if you end up in a tight spot."
"Got it. I’m going into lockdown mode starting today."
"Lockdown" was slang favored by creative types. It meant they had to immerse in their work and tune everyone and everything out.
Zeng Huang knew that meant Fang Zhao was getting ready to compose again and that he shouldn’t intrude unless it was urgent. Fang Zhao had been in that headspace before, but when Fang Zhao gave them the heads up in the past, he sounded resentful. Now he didn’t. He just spoke matter-of-factly.
Zeng Huang was glad to see that Fang Zhao didn’t resent him and Wan Yue after Fang Sheng’s betrayal, actually seeming friendlier instead. The five of them had grown up together through thick and thin. Zeng Huang was the oldest of the group. After they were orphaned, he felt responsible for the rest of the group, like an older brother. Still, as they grew up, the five of them drifted apart.
Yet Zeng Huang had still been worried after what happened. Fang Zhao didn’t live on campus and hadn't told them where he lived. They hadn't known where to look. Fang Zhao hadn't answered his phone either, so Zeng Huang and Wan Yue had been at a loss. Now that he had confirmed Fang Zhao was stable, Zeng Huang could finally relax.
After hanging up on Zeng Huang, Fang Zhao looked up his agent Du Ang’s number and placed a call.
As soon as the call went through, a furious-looking Du Ang lashed out. "Fang Zhao, what the hell is going on? You still want to become a permanent employee? Are you giving up on the new talent contest? What’s the date, huh? It’s nearly June. June! Do you know what that means? It’s cutthroat time for this season’s new talent competition. Out of our 10 interns, six have entered the contest. Of the four who haven’t, three have already submitted their songs. They’ve finished recording and will launch their singles tomorrow. You’re the only one left. Where’s yours, Fang Zhao?"
"I’m not finished yet," Fang Zhao responded. At this juncture, any other comment was bullshit to the volcanic Du Ang. What Du Ang wanted were results. Other circumstances like whether your work was stolen or not—those didn’t fall within his purview.
Du Ang glared in disbelief and took a deep breath. In the hologram, his bulging eyes stared at Fang Zhao as if they were about to erupt.
In the end, Du Ang maintained his temper. It wasn't that he didn’t want to chew Fang Zhao out; he didn’t want to waste time.
Du Ang said emphatically, "Ten days. If you can give me something in 10 days, I’ll sign you up for the contest. I’ll save a spot for you. If not, you’re gone." He hung up before Fang Zhao could respond.
Fang Zhao wasn’t upset by Du Ang’s temper. Du Ang was furious that Fang Zhao hadn’t turned in his songs after all this time and he couldn’t get through to him by phone. He had to do his job and couldn’t pretend nothing was going on. He had finally reached Fang Zhao, but still came away empty-handed. Naturally, he couldn’t be in a good mood.
Even though Du Ang sounded harsh on the phone, Fang Zhao knew from his new memory that his agent was on his side. He had lobbied for the 10-day extension. If it were any other agent, he wouldn’t have gotten five days, let alone 10. He might have even been fired by now.
The new talent contest Du Ang referred to, its centerpiece was the New Pioneers Chart, a listing coveted by all newcomers.
Not everyone qualified for the chart. Candidates had to be signed by a record company and vetted. Most were imminent music school graduates or fresh graduates. There were also a few standouts who were signed when they were still in school.
Many companies who hadn’t signed newcomers also followed the chart closely, hoping to scavenge among the leftovers. They were hoping to bag a promising newcomer or poach one from another company.
Speaking of the New Pioneers Chart, you had to mention one more thing. The birth of virtual idols was great for composers.
Who cared about the singer? The companies that created virtual idols could engineer a voice. Any technician could turn a toad’s croak into a heavenly cry. So in contrast, record labels that focused on virtual idols placed a greater premium on their technical and creative expertise. Any virtual idol release on the New Pioneers Chart shined the spotlight on the composer.
It was a huge opportunity for aspiring composers new to the music industry.
It was a battle between newcomers as well as a battle of company resources.
Fang Zhao got online on his bracelet. Just as Du Ang had said, among the interns who signed with Silver Wing Media at the same time he did, six had qualified for the new talent contest and five had already made the top 50. As long as the company kept promoting them, their songs would become even more popular. They would end the competition ranked even higher.
Kapitel 6: Brainstorming
Redakteur: Tennesh
Silver Wing Media signed 10 interns this year, three of whom were classmates of the body’s original owner. They were all very competent. Competition was fierce.
Fang Zhao didn’t bother studying the chart further, contemplating his next move instead.
He had fewer than 10 days left. What could he do?
Reeling from consecutive blows, at his wit’s end with the new talent contest around the corner, and his record company on his case, the original owner was out of moves.
Should he scrape together a rough cut and turn it in? He would be rejected for sure.
But if that was what he did, not only would it be beneath the pride of the body’s original owner, Silver Wing Media would show no mercy and kick him out. His internship would be over.
Being kicked out by Silver Wing Media early on would tarnish his résumé forever. It would make his career all the more difficult.
"The new talent competition…"
Fang Zhao searched his new memory for information about the new talent competition. Record labels from before the near-apocalypse operated very differently. He had to adjust. Before putting pen to paper, he had to figure out what people listened to.
Pop culture shifted from generation to generation. Having endured the apocalypse and then evolved for another hundreds of years to this point, popular tastes had changed vastly. The sheer variety of new instruments and synthetic sounds was dizzying. The masses thought differently. The styles they preferred were a far cry from what passed as hip in Fang Zhao’s old world.
Even though Fang Zhao wanted to say screw it and compose by instinct and prior habit, he was not in a position to fail, or he would become homeless.
Artists were also practical human beings. They had to fulfill their basic needs first.
"A sharpened blade is no impediment to chopping wood," so the saying went. Fang Zhao sat in the corner where he worked, closed his eyes, and started meditating.
He had an idea. He pulled opened the drawer next to him and took out a notebook.
In an age when people preferred to take notes with their bracelets, the original owner of his body liked to jot down important thoughts on paper.
These were the original owner’s notes from the past six months. The first half were notes from his internship at Silver Wing. The second half contained his songs for the new talent contest. The dates indicated that he started preparing for the new talent contest early.
The three completed songs were crossed out with heavy strokes. Several pages were perforated, a sign of the tremendous force he applied. That was him venting his extreme disappointment, anger, and desperation when he realized the three songs had been stolen. But the original owner didn’t tear up the entire notebook. He kept it in his drawer, because he couldn’t bear destroying the fruits of his labor.
Fang Zhao studied the three songs. Only one of them had lyrics; the remaining two did not. He was probably planning on asking lyricists at the record label to help out.
The notes also contained an unfinished song written when the original owner broke up with his girlfriend. There was also a diary entry. He probably wanted to use it as the lyrics for the song.
The melody had been finalized. The original owner of the body probably planned on leveraging company resources to complete a proper recording after performing well in the new talent contest. After all, the song had special significance. Little did he know his songs would be stolen and that his breakup song would never see the light of day, something the original owner mourned before committing suicide.
Fang Zhao studied the incomplete song carefully and circled it with his finger. "This is it."
A fixture resembling a folding fan was attached to the shelf in the corner. Tugging it revealed a piano keyboard. It felt functional. This was what the original owner used to compose. It wasn’t top-notch, but it wasn’t shabby either.
It was Fang Zhao’s first time using a keyboard after his rebirth. He was a bit rusty at first, but the more his memory kicked in, the smoother his performance became.
Fang Zhao played a few of his old pieces, but they were fragments of incomplete songs. Fang Zhao memorized them, hoping to polish them after the new talent contest. These were treasures tucked away in his memory, gems that pulled Fang Zhao through countless rough days during the apocalypse. One day, Fang Zhao would present them to the world.
After acquainting himself with the keyboard and integrating his memory, Fang Zhao started channeling his emotions.
He wanted to experience what the original owner of his body was feeling when he composed the song. He could only finish the song when he was in the same headspace.
Over the next few days, Fang Zhao didn’t leave his apartment except for his noon tan and getting food from Yue Qing’s shop. The windows couldn’t block out the bustling nights of any black street, but the noise didn’t interfere with Fang Zhao’s process.
The noise bothered Fang Zhao the first two nights. His excessive vigilance affected the quality of his sleep. But on the third night, Fang Zhao figured out how to lower his guard. Adapting quickly was a skill he developed during the apocalypse, a quality found in many survivors.
One day, Yue Qing was dragging his chair back into the shop after his noon tan. Even though the weather was getting hotter—some sunbathers had started putting on sunblock—the black street residents still treasured this brief window. Before he entered the store, he scanned the lobby of the building and spotted Fang Zhao walking his furless dog.
"That kid’s been busy," Yue Qing mumbled to himself.
By June, the battle for the top spots on the New Pioneers Chart had reached its climax. The music industry was abuzz with discussion over who would make the top 10 and which companies they were signed to.
The higher ups at Silver Wing were also paying close attention. Du Ang was under a lot of stress. On the one hand, he had to field questions from his superiors. On the other, he had to keep an eye on his interns. He couldn’t afford to relax even with three assistants at his beck and call.
Du Ang could very well follow the standard procedure from years past: getting on the case of composers, lining up producers, recording the songs, releasing them, and then promoting them. All he had to do was give the order and his team would execute it. But this year, the bosses had a different agenda—you could tell from the fact that they recruited 10 interns. They usually only took three or four, but this year, they had expanded the program to 10 interns out of the blue.
Du Ang had also heard through the grapevine that the bosses had decided that, if all 10 did well, if they could all make the top 50, every one of them would be signed as full-time employees. No one could dissuade him from the impression that the company was betting big.
That was why the pressure from up top was greater. Du Ang was exhausted from attending to every detail. But agents like him in charge of newcomers had it easy by comparison—the agents assigned to veteran singers were worried sick.
But to think of his 10 interns and to remember the only one who hadn’t turned in a song was Fang Zhao pained Du Ang.
Du Ang sighed. "It’s tough leading a platoon."
Despite the pressure from above, he had lobbied for 10 more days for the kid. And that was because the higher ups had pinned huge hopes on this year’s interns. However, only time could tell if the kid would come through. If he couldn’t turn in something presentable in 10 days, Du Ang would have no choice but to fire him.
Du Ang refreshed the New Pioneers Chart and glared at the top two. His eyes were about to spit fire.
He was genuinely pissed.
The first place where newcomers could showcase of their talent was the New Pioneers Chart. The top two hadn’t changed hands in a week. They held on and even increased their lead on the others. If the opposition wasn’t too stiff, Du Ang would consider making another push for one of his newcomers. But once these two showed up, Du Ang gave up.
On the New Pioneers Chart,
In first place:
"Believe in Me," performed by Xue Huai, composer Xue Huai, a Tongshan True Entertainment release.
In second place:
"Rainbow Candy," performed by Fei Lisi, composer Fei Lisi, a Neon Culture release.
Both songs were both composed and performed by the same person. They had to be quite talented, no?
No.
The musicians behind the two songs were indeed very talented, but the songs were fronted by virtual idols.
When they debuted, real idols had to overcome countless hurdles. The newcomers left no stone unturned in their chart campaigns. They were worried all the time, terrified their debut single would tank, which would reflect poorly on their record company.
But virtual idols were different, especially the tailor-made ones. They were launched only after internal vetting, after elaborate planning and a major mobilization of resources. Their record labels also lavished huge budgets on them. It was the kind of treatment that real newcomers would never receive.
Behind every virtual idol was a crack team and unlimited capital.
Was it f*cking fair to even consider them newcomers?
The kind of manpower and financing big record labels threw at virtual idols—other newcomers could only dream of. Plus there wasn’t a real newcomer who could rival the two top virtual idols, and Silver Wing couldn’t possibly focus all its ammunition on taking them down. The record label wanted to save resources for their established stars, so the higher ups had already given up on the top two spots.
The virtual idols on the New Pioneers Chart were like computer bugs that grew more permanent with every passing year. Every time a virtual idol showed up in the new talent contest, the other newcomers were left biting dust.
A senior executive at Silver Wing once lobbied the global trade association for record companies to ban virtual idols from new talent contests, but he was turned down. Reminded of the rebuffed proposal, Silver Wing staff always wanted to spit blood.
Of course, the uninformed masses would wonder: "If the top two of the Big Three record companies launched virtual newcomers this year, what’s stopping Silver Wing?"
But anyone with a basic understanding of the music industry would know that virtual idols were the Achilles heel of Silver Wing. Whoever they promoted failed, one after another. None had made it. They were all flops.
The company dedicated a team to virtual idols last year. The producer in charge was mocked mercilessly by the staff at Tongshan True Entertainment and Neon Culture after his virtual idol failed to make an impression. He was still hospitalized. He was also too ashamed to face senior management and the rank-and-file staff. After all, he had promised a triumph, but now he wished he hadn’t.
The senior executives at Silver Wing also wished they had acted differently. If they knew such a dismal failure was in the works, they wouldn’t have bothered with virtual idols. Now they were the laughing stock of the industry. The money they splurged on their virtual idol project was enough to launch several real newcomers.
The project generated nearly zero returns. The senior executives at Silver Wing thought that Tongshan True Entertainment and Neon Culture launched virtual idols this year deliberately to rub salt in their wounds as they made a major push for their real newcomers.
Now that the company had banished any thought of launching virtual idols and focused their attention on real idols, the pressure shifted to the newcomers. Taking down the top two was unrealistic, but the higher ups were hoping to land a few songs in the top 10. If they could land three top 10 hits, Du Ang’s salary would double. If he could manage four, he could get promoted.
Be it a raise or a promotion, Du Ang had major incentive to do well.
How many top 10 spots could they claim?
Just as he was pondering the matter, a reminder sounded on Du Ang’s bracelet. He tapped the message.
It was a demo from Fang Zhao.
"Wow, that was quick." Du Ang felt reinvigorated.
Regardless of quality, whether Fang Zhao composed the song himself or had outside help, receiving the demo meant that all 10 of his newcomers had submitted songs. Du Ang’s work was almost done.
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