Chapter 128: A Good Name Is Truly Important

Asai Haruna returned to her companions in a daze, clutching the signed book. Ye Qing winked at Ye Zhao and teased, “I never knew Big Brother had fans.”

“If you take out the words ‘never knew’ and ‘had,’ you’ll still be my dear little sister.”

Before Ye Qing could say anything else, the café owner approached and asked, “What do you think of my little shop, Mr. Ye?”

“It’s very good. The coffee has an authentic flavor.”

“In that case,” the owner said, “would you be willing to sign something for me? I’ll keep it safe and hang it on that wall over there.”

“Of course. It would be my honor.”

After Ye Zhao left, the owner placed his autograph in the most conspicuous spot in the café. Students who came to the area to spend their free time soon spread the word, drawing quite a number of his fans to the shop on pilgrimage.

…

After saying goodbye to his mother and sister, Ye Zhao entered the station and boarded a train bound for Tokyo.

There were not many people traveling from Yokohama to Tokyo at that hour; even the first-class carriage was less than a third full. Ye Zhao had been seated for barely five minutes when the train pulled out of the station.

When he got off at Shibuya Station, it was 4:40 in the afternoon.

He left the bustling station, took a taxi back to his apartment in Sangenjaya, and sat in the rear seat watching the scenery slip past outside the window. He could not help thinking that he really ought to find the time to learn how to drive. Otherwise, whenever he wanted to go anywhere, he had no choice but to take a taxi, ride the train, or rely on someone else to drive him.

The taxi stopped beneath his apartment building. Ye Zhao paid the fare, got out, and took the elevator up to the twelfth floor.

Before going to meet Ayako, he needed to take a shower and change his clothes. In any case, wearing the same outfit to a date two days in a row was somewhat inappropriate.

After showering, drying his hair, and changing into a clean shirt and pair of jeans, he finished getting ready at exactly 5:15. He picked up his phone and called Ayako Fuji. She answered almost immediately.

“Ye?”

“I just wanted to make sure—would it be all right if I came over now?”

Ayako murmured her assent and gave him the name of the private room they had reserved.

“Okay. Give me ten minutes. I’ll be there.”

The restaurant where he was meeting Ayako was in Kitazawa, only about a ten-minute walk from the Little Theater Paradise they would be visiting afterward.

Ye Zhao had discovered the restaurant after moving to the neighborhood. Later, when he and Ayako had arranged to meet for a meal, she had mentioned that there was an excellent restaurant somewhere around Kitazawa. When they arrived, they discovered that it was the very same place Ye Zhao frequented.

He could still remember the smile on Ayako’s face when he brought this up in the private room. Judging solely by her appearance, she was indeed the sort of mature, sophisticated woman who seemed thoroughly grown-up. Yet whenever the two of them spent time together, Ye Zhao would often catch glimpses of a girlish expression beneath the surface.

Perhaps that had something to do with her desire to remain a woman forever.

While his thoughts wandered, Ye Zhao had already arrived at the unassuming little restaurant. There were only four private rooms inside. They were called private rooms, but in reality they were merely sections separated by folding screens. They were suitable for enjoying a quiet meal without interruption, but not for discussing anything particularly important.

Ayako had changed as well. The elegant dress she wore gave her an entirely different air from the one she possessed in a kimono. Yet, in Ye Zhao’s private opinion, she was more beautiful in traditional dress. The decorum demanded of an enka singer was not a shackle restraining her; rather, it was the very thing that allowed her to radiate a renewed brilliance.

The private room was laid with tatami mats. Ye Zhao sat cross-legged opposite her. Unless circumstances absolutely required it, he rarely sat in the formal kneeling position. There was no particular reason—he simply was not accustomed to it.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Ayako.” Ye Zhao picked up the sake flask and filled her cup.

Ayako smiled. “It’s all right.”

Only after Ye Zhao lifted his cup did she raise her own. They touched their cups lightly together and slowly drank their first glass of sake.

…

After finishing their meal, the two left the restaurant and walked slowly along the street toward the Little Theater Paradise. Ye Zhao walked ahead, while Ayako followed half a step behind. They maintained a polite distance between them at all times.

Neither of them had ever explicitly suggested it. It was simply something that seemed to have been agreed upon without words. Perhaps because they both regarded their relationship as something that ought not to see the light of day, no matter how far it progressed, the moment they stepped out of a secluded room, an invisible barrier would quietly fall between them.

The Little Theater Paradise was hidden in the basement of a building in Shimokitazawa. Only a long, narrow, inconspicuous sign marked the entrance. Anyone who was not paying close attention could easily miss it.

Japanese theater had a long history and a powerful popular following. Small theaters like this one were scattered throughout the country, attracting countless actors and playwrights who willingly devoted their entire lives to the craft. Noda Hideki, whom Ye Zhao had encountered in the karaoke room back then, was himself a renowned playwright of the small-theater world.

This theater could hold roughly three hundred and fifty people. Ye Zhao and Ayako’s seats were in the middle of the fourth row on the first level, among the best seats in the house. While waiting for the performance to begin, Ye Zhao idly leafed through the program he had received at the ticket checkpoint.

Printed on the title page was the play’s slogan: “A Struggle Against Despair and Loneliness, a Tale of Hope and Memory.” After reading the synopsis, Ye Zhao gathered that it was a mystery-laced drama built around an antique discovered by chance, through which an unknown story from the past would gradually be revealed.

The play was excellent. Though the script was an original, it was of an exceptionally high standard. The stage props were exquisite, the actors’ movements clearly the result of painstaking preparation, and their command of dialogue flawless. The applause from the audience made that abundantly clear.

“I have to admit, Ayako, you have excellent taste in plays. I take back what I said earlier.” Ye Zhao turned his head and spoke softly.

Ayako covered her mouth and laughed. “So judging a book by its cover really is too rash, isn’t it?”

“But with so many good names available, why choose one that sounds as though it belongs in a third-rate youth drama?” Ye Zhao shook his head. “What a shame. If you hadn’t invited me, and I had been choosing for myself, I probably never would have watched this play.”

…

When the performance ended, the audience began filing out.

Ye Zhao and Ayako rose from their seats and slowly made their way toward the exit.

“Do you have anything else planned?”

“I need to go to a mixing studio in Shibuya,” Ye Zhao replied.

“Mm.” Ayako nodded.

A brief silence fell between them.

“Well then…” Ye Zhao said goodbye to her. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Ayako raised her right hand and gave him a small wave.

Another group of spectators who had just been in the theater emerged from the building. The two of them, who had already been separated by a neither-close-nor-distant space, were pushed even farther apart by the crowd. The spectators, animatedly discussing the performance, paid no attention to them at all.

Ye Zhao raised his right hand and waved to her as well. Then Ayako turned and walked toward the opposite side of the street.

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