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!
Fang Zhao had actually used a dog on him.
Fang Sheng was so mad he wanted to smash his bracelet, but luckily, he held back. He had just been fired. He wouldn't be receiving any income for some time. His severance pay was still being processed—it hadn't been wired to him yet. There wasn't much left of his cut from the revenue from song downloads during the new talent contest after he had bought his new apartment. The bracelet had cost him tens of thousands of dollars. He couldn't afford to trash it now.
Fang Sheng wanted to vent his anger from losing his job. He didn't dare take aim at the folks at Neon Culture. All he could settle for now was Fang Zhao, the person who had "set him up." Little did he expect Fang Zhao to not answer altogether and put his dog on instead. Was Fang Zhao mocking him?
Knowing full well that his tirade would only be answered with dog barks, Fang Sheng took a few deep breaths and hung up. He was going to bottle up his frustration and take off, but after taking two steps, he stopped suddenly to look at his bracelet.
He was so angry he had let his guard down. He reviewed what he had just said. He didn't think he had confessed to stealing the songs outright, so even if Fang Zhao had recorded the conversation, it wouldn't amount to much proof. He wouldn't lose in a court of law.
Good thing he had restrained himself. If he was thrown off by a few dog barks and confessed to stealing the songs, then it would all be over.
So that was what Fang Zhao was up to?
"You wanted to set me up again!"
Fang Sheng stared at the end of the road, eyes burning.
Fang Sheng was being paranoid. Fang Zhao knew that he wouldn't fess up to stealing the songs that easily. Here was someone savvy enough to steal the three songs without the original host of his body noticing and without leaving a trace of evidence. He wouldn't be easily duped into a confession.
There were always people who felt that they were entitled to your generosity. Even if there was a falling out and they were clearly in the wrong, they wouldn't own up to their mistakes. They would even play the victim.
Personal interest and temptation distorted the human heart.
Fang Zhao had seen so many examples and heard of so many during the end of days. Fang Sheng acted purely out of self-interest. If it were the end of days, Fang Zhao would have delivered a bullet to his head, but the rule of law prevailed in the New Era. Fang Zhao didn't want to run afoul of the law on account of Fang Sheng and squander the rare opportunity of a rebirth.
"Good job." Fang Zhao picked up his bracelet and fondled Curly Hair's head. He grabbed a handful of dog food and placed it on the dog's plate.
Fang Zhao returned to the lobby of the 50th floor after making sure the technicians had installed the gaming equipment properly.
The department was on vacation, so no one else was in the lobby. Zeng Huang and Wan Yue were spending time as a couple. They wouldn't be showing up during the vacation. Pang Pusong was traveling with his family. Song Miao was gone too. The only people left were Zu Wen and company. They gathered in their studio to game every day. If all you were doing is gaming, then you might as well live out of the office. You wouldn't have to worry about the utilities bill, and the cafeteria food wasn't that bad. It was also quite cheap.
When Fang Zhao approached, Zu Wen's group had just wrapped up a gaming session and they were deep in discussion.
Neon Culture had reached out to Zu Wen and company as well, but not through an agent. A few of their technicians knew Zu Wen and his team and put out feelers, but the Silver Wing crew rejected the overtures.
Their reasoning?
Setting aside the tremendous potential of the Polar Light project, they had landed the unlikely boss who was addicted to gaming. It didn't make sense to give that up. For folks like them, as long as they weren't in a pinch, bonus size was secondary. The key issue was whether they could partake in their preferred form of entertainment during office hours.
Why had Zu Wen stayed when the entire virtual projects department was purged last year? It wasn't that he was lazy. He was lured by the prospect of gaming all day if the department no longer received any assignments.
The group stopped talking when Fang Zhao entered the room.
"I'm going to head home for a bit. Are you guys going to stick around?" Fang Zhao asked.
"Yup. But we're going to head out later in the day to check out a gaming trade show. Will you be using the flying car, boss?" Zu Wen asked.
The department had two flying cars. Zeng Huang and Wan Yue had taken one of them and one was left.
Zu Wen and company leered at him, which gave Fang Zhao a kick. "No. I'll take public transportation. Knock yourselves out."
"Thanks, Boss!" Zu Wen hooted.
"We'll bring back some samples for you," the others said.
Fang Zhao left the office after reminding Zu Wen and company to lock the door to the 50th floor before heading out for the trade show. He didn't bring Curly Hair. All he had to do was pick up a few things from his black street apartment. He would be back first thing in the morning.
He could already afford a place in downtown Qi'an. Barring massive, extravagant properties, he could pay in cash.
But it was hard to find quality real estate in Qi'an these days. And folks who owned prime properties were reluctant to part with them. Fang Zhao hadn't been looking online because Duan Qianji had promised to introduce him to a homeowner looking to sell, a veteran composer. The composer rarely lived in his home but didn't want to sell it to a stranger either. Duan Qianji knew that Fang Zhao was in the market, so she had approached the elderly composer. But the owner wasn't in Yanzhou. He would return in a few days to handle the paperwork and meet Fang Zhao at the same time. It was only a matter of days. Fang Zhao could wait.
Evenings on black streets were still the same. Loud dance music mixed with laid-back tunes. Drunks shot the breeze in clusters. Young punks new to the life were plying their trade.
Fang Zhao bought two boxes of barbecued meat for Yue Qing, who ran the shop downstairs from his apartment, and the drug store owner, Ai Wan.
"Thanks. Not much to report. A few days ago a drunk wanted to toss a bottle at your window. I got rid of him," Yue Qing said as he took the boxes. He grabbed a piece of meat and started chewing away. "Are you moving?" he asked.
Yue Qing didn't know how the entertainment industry operated, but he had watched the music videos for the two movements. And he knew from news reports that the two songs were a big hit. Regardless of whether or not Fang Zhao was the actual composer of the two movements, judging from his official credit, he stood to benefit in a major way. It was time for him leave.
"Soon, but I'm not going to give up my apartment in the coming weeks," Fang Zhao said.
"Please make sure you give me a heads up when you move out so I can buy your apartment," Yue Qing blurted. He had been eyeing the flat above his shop for some time. Tenant records were kept electronically. Once Fang Zhao gave up his flat, it would be up for grabs. If another tenant moved in, Yue Qing wouldn't be able to buy it.
"Planning an expansion?" Fang Zhao asked.
"It's about time. I've also been in touch with the tenants on the two floors above yours. I should be able to buy those flats next year. I've been laying the groundwork for some time, haha." Now that he had saved enough, Yue Qing could proceed with his shop expansion. Naturally, he was in a good mood. Of course, folks like him couldn't compare to Fang Zhao, who could earn more than 1 million on one song alone. But average folks had their own way of life. Yue Qing was quite happy with his life right now.
"Got it. I'll give you a heads up before I give up the flat."
Yue Qing's shop was swarmed with customers, so Fang Zhao got out of the way. He left the shop and headed up the staircase.
But once he got to his apartment, Fang Zhao could tell that something was wrong.
When he lifted his head, he saw someone standing in front of his flat. Another approached from behind on the staircase. The sandwich approach signaled premeditation and professionals.
The staircase was dimly lit. To cut costs, public areas like this either had faulty lighting or were dimly lit.
Fang Zhao didn't look back and continued walking until he was two steps away from the man standing in front of his apartment.
He looked perhaps a few years older than Fang Zhao. He had a crew cut except for a crown-shaped hairdo in the middle, which was dyed half red and half blue. His right cheek sported a tattoo of a snarling beast.
Fang Zhao remembered Yue Qing mentioning once that black street thugs with a beast tattoo on their right cheek were typically hired guns and not young punks who engaged in random petty crime.
In other words, someone had paid them to show up.
When the man scanned Fang Zhao's bracelet, Fang Zhao had a hunch who their employer was.
"Fang Zhao?" The man standing in front of the door gauged Fang Zhao like a quality control inspector. His teeth were dyed neon green. The beast tattoo on his cheek became even snarlier.
A fellow resident on the second floor was about to head downstairs. He turned around immediately after noticing the impending conflict, too terrified to even fart.
Zap.
The man standing in front of Fang Zhao's door was holding an electric rod that emitted a live current. The sound echoed clearly in the corridor. He took a step toward Fang Zhao and said, "Don't be afraid. Just hand over your bracelet and we'll be outta here in no time. There's no point in blocking traffic."
But before he could finish, Fang Zhao had pulled a gun and trained it on him.
Fang Zhao could hear the trailing footsteps cease. He flashed a warm smile and told the man in front of him:
"Don't be afraid. You've made a long trip, so why don't you step inside for a chat. There's no point in blocking traffic."
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