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3.55% Superstars of Tomorrow / Chapter 18: Longxiang Tianluo

Chương 18: Longxiang Tianluo

Biên tập viên: Tennesh

War heroes from the Period of Destruction couldn't be casually appropriated as virtual idols. When virtual idols were first introduced, a few companies modeled their idols after war heroes, but they often distorted the real person, which infuriated the descendants of the heroes. They banded together to clamp down on the trend.

Virtual idol companies were banned from basing their designs on real-life war heroes from the Period of Destruction or even using their names. When exceptions were made, they required extensive vetting. Violators faced legal action.

There was no way he would use a fellow veteran’s likeness, and Fang Zhao never considered drawing himself. He was right there in the flesh. If he wanted to do anything, he could do it himself. There was no need for a virtual version of himself.

But Fang Zhao still preferred to draw from people and events that had left a deep impression on him. If real people from the end of days were off-limits, then he would find inspiration elsewhere.

Fang Zhao worked for two days straight, taking breaks only to eat and sleep. He labored in his corner, drafting and redrafting before completing a prototype. He wasn’t a visual artist—his sketching skills were limited. He would leave it to the professionals to polish his design. He just needed to come up with a rough draft.

Another noon arrived. It grew brighter and brighter outside.

A draft sketch appeared on the piece of paper sprawled on the desk in front of Fang Zhao. Even though it wasn’t very detailed and refined—no more than a rough outline—anyone could tell it was the image of a tree.

Fang Zhao took a deep breath. He didn’t know if it was the right decision, but this was what came to mind.

"Longxiang Tianluo."

The Longxiang Tianluo was a common plant during the apocalypse. No one knew what it looked like before the end of days, but judging from its size, it was probably descended from a regular, widespread species found across the world. Many species died during the end of days, which saw a massive round of extinctions, but some plants survived after undergoing mutations. The Longxiang Tianluo, for example.

The name Longxiang Tianluo, which roughly meant powerful and sprawling, was coined by a botanist. Unfortunately, the botanist died in the early days of the apocalypse. No one remembered his name, but the name Longxiang Tianluo survived.

At a time when most plants withered, this species of tree survived the end of days. It was one of the rare plants during the apocalypse that wasn’t poisonous and actually had medicinal value. During the apocalypse, many types of medication were derived from the Longxiang Tianluo.

When designing his prototype, Fang Zhao recalled a conversation he'd had with a few old friends.

"Old Zhao, don’t you think the three of us kind of take after the Longxiang Tianluo? We were just ordinary folks before the end of days—I was a prison guard and Su Mu tended to his cattle…"

"Old Xi, you got it wrong. I was a shepherd," Su Mu corrected.

"Same thing. See, Old Zhao—a shepherd, a teacher, a prison guard, and a composer. All regular people. The apocalypse changed everything. It’s not just us. No one who has survived looks like they used to. It wasn’t for the fame—it was all in the name of survival, no matter what we became."

During the end of days, he used quite a few wooden tools made from Longxiang Tianluo. Vaccines were also extracted from the tree. You could say that the Longxiang Tianluo and mankind had survived the apocalypse hand-in-hand.

Someone once joked that the Longxiang Tianluo was another comrade.

Fang Zhao tucked away his drawing, washed his face, and headed downstairs.

After seeing Fang Zhao for the first time in three days, Yue Qing and Ai Wan both approached to chitchat.

"You’ve been holed up working the past few days?"

"Yeah." Fang Zhao bought some more food from Yue Qing’s shop. He ate while getting a tan.

"It’s not easy being a creative type. Takes up a lot of brain power," Ai Wan said.

Fang Zhao chatted briefly with Yue Qing and Ai Wan. When the sun faded, he returned to his apartment to tidy up, then picked up his briefcase and headed to Silver Wing headquarters. He went straight to the 50th floor.

He wondered if Zu Wen had pulled another all-nighter gaming in his office. His sole staffer only responded after several shouts.

"Who are you? Oh, right, the new producer." Zu Wen was still in a daze. He'd almost forgotten that Fang Zhao had been assigned to the virtual idol department. Thankfully, he caught himself in time.

"You’ve decided on a prototype?" Zu Wen asked with a yawn.

"I’ve finished a draft." Fang Zhao opened the notebook and laid it before Zu Wen.

Zu Wen stared at the page and went blank for two seconds. He rubbed his eyes and took another careful look. After a long silence, he blurted out, "Either I’m not entirely awake or you’ve gone nuts."

Zu Wen’s first reaction was disbelief. Are you f*cking kidding me?

"Uhm, if I’m not mistaken, you drew a… tree."

Zu Wen had been wondering for the past two days what Fang Zhao would come up with. He'd even wondered whether Fang Zhao would cherry pick features from various virtual idols like previous virtual idol designers had done—this nose, those eyes, this face, and that body. It'd never occurred to him that Fang Zhao would hand over a tree.

There had been all types of virtual idols—humans, animals, fairies, and demons. But as a veteran virtual idol designer, Zu Wen had never seen a plant.

If it was going to be a plant, so be it. But it had to be a unique plant, no? Cuter than usual, more attractive than the average plant, or more colorful. Otherwise, how were you going to attract a following? But Fang Zhao was a renegade.

Brother, are you shooting to become the basket case of the modern virtual idol industry?

Zu Wen stared at Fang Zhao, who nodded firmly. His world collapsed.

"What kind of tree it?" Zu Wen asked, pointing at the drawing. He wanted to rip it to shreds.

"Longxiang Tianluo."

"What?"

"Basically what you know as the Tianluo tree."

"Since when were Tianluo trees called ‘Longxiang Tianluo'?" A skeptical Zu Wen started typing on his computer.

"Also known as the Longxiang, the Tianluo is a product of the Period of Destruction. It was a giant among plants from the end of days." Zu Wen read verbatim from the research he'd looked up without an iota of embarrassment. "Sorry, I flunked botany. It’s the first time I’ve heard the name."

"You really want to do this? I mean, have you run it by Boss Du?" Zu Wen asked.

"Boss Du is busy," Fang Zhao responded.

"Understood." Regardless of whether Du Ang was actually busy, he didn’t want to have anything to do with the virtual idol project for sure, so Fang Zhao was calling the shots.

"How long do you need to create a detailed virtual image?" Fang Zhao asked.

"Based on your prototype, probably a week. Don’t think I’m a slow worker—it’s just me, after all. A week is pretty quick."

The prototype was like a draft sketch, the first step in deciding the look of a virtual idol. Revisions and fleshing out the design were still to come.

Virtual idols had the upper hand over real idols in that imagination was the only limit when it came to their aesthetic potential.

But how pretty could a tree look? Even an anthropomorphic tree wasn’t that attractive.

A cartoonish design could make it cuter.

Zu Wen was brainstorming how to improve the prototype when he heard Fang Zhao say, "We’ll have to prepare a music video to go with the launch."

"That’s the standard procedure. Oh, speaking of which, you need to get ready for soul casting," Zu Wen said.

Finalizing the look of the virtual idol was only the first step. Next came the more important process of soul casting.

Soul casting referred to the process of injecting life into the virtual idol, coming up with a back story, adding a voice and personality and so on.

Deciding the virtual idol’s personal history, where it came from, and how it behaved.

The point was to allow fans to better understand it.

That’s what soul casting was all about.

The launch of a virtual idol was usually associated with a music video. For example, Neon Culture and Tongshan True Entertainment released music videos when they entered Xun Huai and Fei Lisi in the new talent contest.

Typically speaking, the first music video of a virtual idol in the New Era gave a personal history and introduced its personality.

Launching a virtual idol also involved storytelling. Maybe nobody paid attention at the beginning, but if the idol became a star, you’d have to extend the story line.

Virtual idol teams planned well in advance before taking their first step.

If you only wanted to pass muster, you could fool around and keep things simple, but if you wanted to do a good job, that involved a lot of preparation.

That’s why virtual idol projects were so costly. There were too many details to consider.

"I can take care of the look of the virtual idol. You need to start looking for a voice and start recruiting other technicians. It will take an expert to engineer a professional voice. That’s not my expertise. Hiring more technicians is a must. I’m not going to be able to manage on my own much longer. Whether you make new hires or loan staffers from other departments, the sooner you decide the better. As for a starter voice, we have so many singers signed to our label. Just pick one," Zu Wen added.


next chapter

Chương 19: Professional Extra

Biên tập viên: Tennesh

Fang Zhao was beginning to understand why an entire team made a virtual idol. He and Zu Wen were working themselves to death but were still making little progress.

Recruitment.

Everyone avoided the 50th floor like the plague. No one wanted to get sucked in.

Their budget was limited, so new hires were unrealistic. Fang Zhao could only loan staffers from other departments.

After deciding on the initial look of the virtual idol, Fang Zhao had to source a starter voice and land a technician who could engineer the voice.

Technicians on loan would simply charge by the hour. They were not hard to find. It could wait until after he decided on a starter voice.

Zu Wen had suggested Fang Zhao land one of the singers signed to the label. The company also had dubbing talent, but it wasn’t a large pool and they were already busy with existing assignments. Even if they could be transferred, they wouldn’t be cheap. Many of the staffers had dubbed for big stars and might not bother with a virtual idol project. It might be easier to hire an unassigned singer. A second-tier singer would be cheaper. Even though they all worked for the same company, the pricing was fixed.

Fang Zhao first tried the newcomers. Du Ang was his boss, so he was Fang Zhao's first stop.

Du Ang’s eyelids had been twitching non-stop since he got up. Somehow, he had a hunch that something bad was going to happen, so he reviewed his pending and completed workload to make sure he didn’t miss anything—items he had taken care of, projects that were ongoing, and upcoming tasks.

Fresh assignments for his newcomer singers had been issued. The project proposals submitted by agents he had just been put in charge of looked OK.

The new composers were doing OK. No problem there.

Arrangements for his newcomers’ upcoming releases—he had delegated to that demon Ya Erlin. That wasn’t part of his portfolio.

He had completed the minutes for yesterday’s meeting.

What else?

There seemed to be one department that he had skipped…

Ding!

A reminder for an internal message. It was his assistant.

"Boss Du, Fang Zhao is here to see you."

F*ck.

Du Ang felt his eyelids twitching even more violently.

It was the first time Du Ang felt more nervous meeting an underling than a superior.

He drank a glass of water to calm himself down.

After taking a deep breath and soothing himself, Du Ang cleared his voice and said with the authoritative tone of a boss, "Send him in."

As soon as Fang Zhao entered Du Ang’s office, he could sense that something was wrong. Even though he looked serious and calm, Fang Zhao’s well-honed instincts told him that Du Ang was tightly wound, as if Fang Zhao were a time bomb.

Fang Zhao pretended he hadn't noticed and cut to the chase. "Boss Du, do you want an update on the virtual idol project?"

"I’ve been busy. Didn’t I tell you to use your own discretion on the virtual idol project?" Du Ang made the point of gesturing at his full screen.

Fang Zhao nodded, pretending that he hadn’t seen the "completed" label at the bottom of the screen.

"I’ve decided on the look of the virtual idol. Zu Wen is refining the prototype. We’re quite short-staffed. I need to pick a starter voice. I also need actors, judging from the project proposals from previous years. I can poach a few technicians after other key personnel are in place, but the starter voice can’t wait. Can you check if any of the newcomer singers are available?"

When he heard Fang Zhao say he had decided on the look of the virtual idol, Du Ang was about to say, "Let me see." But when he heard Fang Zhao’s request, he swallowed the comment. He cared more about his newcomers than the look of a virtual idol that was going nowhere. He had already lost Fang Zhao. He couldn’t afford to lose more people to the death pit.

"They’re all busy. I’m not bullshitting you. Bei Zhi and company were sent to training camp the day before yesterday. I can’t say for sure when they’ll be back."

There was some truth to Du Ang’s response. It was true that the newcomer singers were dispatched for specialized training. Even though they performed OK in the new talent contest, their vocal skills could use improvement. To better prepare them for their careers, Du’s agents had tailored training sessions to their weaknesses. Du Ang had signed off and the singers were off-site. They couldn’t be tracked down.

But Du Ang had lied about the timing of their return. How could he not know, considering he had signed off on the training sessions?

Fang Zhao stared at Du Ang when he responded. He noticed the twitching in his eyelids pick up a notch.

Du Ang scrambled to switch topics. "None of the newcomers are available. You can try the rehearsal studios on the 51st floor. Our singers like to train there when they’re free. It’s only one floor above your office, a stone’s throw away."

The virtual idol department used to also take up the few floors above and beneath the 50th, but as the department’s fortunes declined, every floor except the 50th was reallocated.

For example, the 51st floor was turned into a public rehearsal area.

After leaving Du Ang’s office, Fang Zhao headed straight to the 51st floor. All full-time employees were allowed without exception, but not interns or contractors. They had to get special approval.

Fang Zhao was now a permanent employee and the producer for the virtual idol project, so naturally, he had clearance.

After scanning his ID, Fang Zhao crossed the threshold. A buffer zone was located just inside the entrance, where employees could relax and store their personal items.

When Fang Zhao showed up, there were seven or eight people engaged in conversation. When they saw Fang Zhao, they eyed him curiously. The regulars on the floor all knew that Fang Zhao was a stranger.

Looks-wise, Fang Zhao was OK, but pretty and handsome faces were the norm in a company stacked with idols, so even his above-average face didn’t stand out.

But the virtual idol project was a hot topic on internal message boards as of late, so people remembered what Fang Zhao looked like.

Someone who hadn’t recognized Fang Zhao was getting ready to say hello before a neighboring friend whispered in his ear and shut him up. Some of the folks pretended they hadn't seen Fang Zhao, others nodded and smiled, their smiles apologetic and awkward. Fang Zhao didn’t mind and smiled politely in return before stepping into the official rehearsal zone.

He walked through a door. When he opened the second, a cacophony of sounds gushed toward him, which sent him briefly into a dizzy spell.

But Fang Zhao had endured worse noises during the apocalypse, so all he did was frown slightly before finding a seat on the side of the rehearsal zone.

The singers who rehearsed here weren’t big shots. Singers who were either talented or connected would train on other floors that had individual booths. This was a public area.

Everyone wore headsets and minded their own business.

Fang Zhao scanned the crowd. There were about 80 people or so. Not all of them were singers. Some were regular employees who wanted to vent. The building was equipped with karaoke rooms, but they were off-limits to the rank-and-file, so singing in the pubic rehearsal studio was a good alternative. And it was free.

Some of the singers recognized Fang Zhao. They pointed him out to friends in their vicinity and started gossiping, giving Fang Zhao the occasional glance. They probably figured out why Fang Zhao was there.

For many, serving as producer of the virtual idol department was a toothless position that promised neither riches or power, so even if they recognized Fang Zhao, they didn’t bother to approach him.

Fang Zhao paid no heed to what people were saying or the way they looked at him. He had been focusing on the voices since he entered the room. In scouting a starter voice, all that mattered was the voice—looks, age and experience were irrelevant.

Even though he could tinker with the starter voice, Fang Zhao was hoping to find one that met his requirements right off the bat.

His eyes wandered and his ears started filtering the different voices in the room. Suddenly, he focused his gaze on a spot in the room.

The room was too crowded and cluttered furnishings blocked his line of sight, so Fang Zhao couldn’t immediately identify the source of the voice. He got up and headed toward the voice.

The people who were gossiping about Fang Zhao were intrigued and moved toward him.

Fang Zhao followed the voice to a corner where he found a young man who looked like a fresh graduate. He was shorter than the people around him. That’s why Fang Zhao couldn’t see him.

His looks were so-so, the type that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. If you had to choose an identifying feature, his neck was a bit short. Good thing he wasn’t fat. If he were fat, you wouldn’t have been able to see his neck.

The other singers stayed away from the young man. The singer closest to him was at least 10 meters away, headsets on and ears covered.

Fang Zhao noticed the young man was wearing a contractor tag on his chest. People like him usually served as background vocalists or sang in choruses in a pinch. They weren’t official Silver Wing employees. They enjoyed no benefits and were considered even lowlier than interns.

Folks like him were also known as professional extras. They were marginalized and lacked job security, not knowing what two-bit gig lay ahead.


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