Chapter Eighty-Four: Eight Hours of Drawing Joker Cards Continuously

On the other side, after Fujisako finished choosing her song, her entire aura shifted. Though she was dressed casually, she still carried herself with the poise of a performer in kimono on stage. Before she even began to sing, she executed the formal stage bow of an enka singer with great ceremony.

Japanese karaoke bars do not provide backing vocals, so for songs one isn’t familiar with, it’s very possible to end up singing a complete mess. Especially since “Sakura” had only just been officially released the day before, Ye Zhao had no idea how Fujisako would manage it.

To Ye Zhao’s surprise, Fujisako sang the piece with utter ease and confidence, not a single note out of place. Her professionalism was beyond question, but to have mastered it to this extent was impressive. Ye Zhao couldn’t help thinking to himself—had she bought his new single and listened to it on repeat?

As the song ended, before the accompaniment had fully faded, Fujisako gave three enthusiastic claps and declared, “May the single be a great hit—what a joy!” Her earnest expression paired with those offbeat words had everyone in the room bursting into laughter.

“That’s just like Ayako—she does everything so properly!” Sakamoto Fuyumi laughed, turning to look at Ye Zhao. “Ye-kun, how did she do?”

“Quite well—better than me, the original singer.” Ye Zhao had expected an enka singer to bring that particular enka flavor to any song, but there was none of that. It spoke volumes about Fujisako’s solid singing foundation.

“In that case,” Fujisako tilted her head, looking at Ye Zhao, “it’s your turn next.”

…The inevitable had arrived. With a sense of resigned valor—“the sooner over, the sooner done”—Ye Zhao got up from the sofa, took the song selector, and began searching for one of Fujisako’s songs.

“Which one will you sing, Ye Zhao-san?” Kudai Natsuko asked curiously.

“I suppose it has to be ‘Kokoro Sake’,” Ye Zhao replied lazily. Of all Fujisako’s songs, that was the one he felt most confident about.

“I’m looking forward to this.” The instant noodle-haired Ueno shifted his sitting position, and the others looked on with anticipation. Only Fujisako watched Ye Zhao, her gaze brimming with amusement.

What was Ye Zhao like singing enka? The key was always perfect, the pitch unerring, but the feeling was like frying eggs in a soup pot—technically feasible, but somehow odd. And since he’d promised Fujisako beforehand, he had to mime all the exaggerated gestures he’d never dare do at his own concerts. The result was a sight so spectacular it was nearly unbearable.

When he finished, Sakamoto Fuyumi looked at him with a conflicted expression. “I think I finally understand what it feels like when you sing my songs, Ye Zhao-san.”

“No, Sakamoto-san, believe me, I’m never this uninhibited when I sing your songs…” Ye Zhao covered his face in embarrassment.

Fujisako unabashedly took Ye Zhao by the arm and led him back to the sofa. “Ueno-san, it’s your turn now, isn’t it?”

“Right, just how long were you planning to dodge?” Kudai Natsuko raised her brows. “You can’t just watch us make fools of ourselves and back out now.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Ueno rose from the sofa, but instead of picking up the song selector, he went to the cosplay props provided by the shop, donned a pig nose and ears, and mimicked two pig snorts for the group, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“What’s this about?” Ye Zhao leaned toward Fujisako and whispered. As he drew closer, the faint fragrance he’d noticed in the car that night drifted once again to his nose.

“That’s the condition Natsuko set with Ueno-san,” Fujisako turned her face to Ye Zhao. “Just like you and me earlier. Agreements must be reciprocal.” At this distance, he could see the fine down on her cheek.

Dressed up, Ueno sang B’z’s “Lady Navigation.” When he finished, Uchiyama reminded him, “Ueno-san, you do realize you’re sitting with a junior from B’z’s agency right here?”

At that, everyone in the room burst out laughing. When the laughter died down, Noda Hideki volunteered, “I suppose I’m next? But let me be clear—I’m not dressing up like that.”

“Even if you wanted to, it wouldn’t work out,” Uchiyama sighed, “since you agreed to come right away when I called. So there aren’t any bizarre conditions between us to fulfill.”

“Seems there’s something to be said for being straightforward,” Noda Hideki said, taking the song selector and quickly finding the song he wanted.

“‘Farewell, Mrs. World’?” Ueno, with his curly instant-noodle hair, looked perplexed. “Singing this at karaoke… Noda-san, you never cease to surprise.”

“This is my signature song,” Noda Hideki replied with a smile, turning to Ye Zhao. “Do you know this one?”

“Of course—it’s a timeless classic.” The song was by a ’70s band called Brain Police, a landmark piece in Japanese pop music history. Although Ye Zhao first learned of them not through their music, but through more unusual channels.

…

When Noda Hideki finished singing, Kudai Natsuko turned to Sakamoto Fuyumi. “Fuyumi, what about your guest?”

“Hmm~”

“Hm?”

Sakamoto Fuyumi spread her hands. “Guess I’ll just have to accept the penalty.”

The so-called ultimate penalty always carried a whiff of the unbearable. Compared to this, Ye Zhao thought, all that song-and-dance, pig noses and cat ears, were child’s play. As a spectator, it was highly entertaining, but if it were him, he’d be waving his arms frantically in protest.

Come to think of it, if Sakamoto Fuyumi’s fans could see her now, they’d be sorely disappointed. It’s always best for stars and fans to keep a little distance.

Ye Zhao, a little smug, said to Fujisako, “You should be grateful—if I hadn’t come, you might have had to face the penalty yourself.”

“How do you want me to thank you?” she asked.

“For example, how about you play Old Maid with me for eight hours straight?”

“All right.”

“Really?”

“You’re the one who asked,” Fujisako replied with perfect ease.

“Can I take it back?” Even he couldn’t manage eight hours of Old Maid.

…

Karaoke went on until eleven. After reaching a peak of excitement, everyone began to feel tired, and the revelry came to a close. All in all, being called out to sing wasn’t such a bad thing—apart from catching up with Fujisako, seeing Noda Hideki again was an unexpected delight.

The entertainment world was a big circle, with countless smaller circles within it, and threads of connection running between them like a web. Don’t be fooled by how rarely enka singers appear in public; their social networks were often astonishingly extensive.

As they left the karaoke, Ueno asked, “Anyone have plans for later?”

“I’m heading straight home,” Uchiyama yawned. “I can’t stay up late anymore—guess I really am an old lady now.”

“If Uchiyama-san is an old lady, what does that make us?” Sakamoto Fuyumi retorted, “Even if you want to be an old lady, Natsuko, don’t drag me and Ayako into it.”

“Careful, ladies, or you’ll end up on the front page fighting over who’s the real old lady,” Ueno interjected, then offered, “Since Kudai-san called me out, I’ll see her home.”

“Then should I see Uchiyama-san home?” Noda Hideki asked.

Uchiyama shook her head. “Thanks, but my husband’s coming to pick me up.”

“In that case,” Noda Hideki shrugged, “Sakamoto-san, may I see you home?” He added with a wry smile, “After all, I’ve already been turned down once tonight—do consider it.”

Sakamoto Fuyumi agreed with a laugh.

Ye Zhao and Fujisako exchanged a glance. “So, Ayako-san is left to me, after all?”

“Make sure she gets home safely,” Kudai Natsuko teased.

Ueno went to fetch the car and left first with Kudai Natsuko. When the first taxi arrived, Noda Hideki waved Ye Zhao and Fujisako ahead. “It’s late, you two go first.”

Sakamoto Fuyumi made a “hurry up” gesture, so the two got in without further ado. Fujisako gave the driver her address, and the two waved goodbye to Sakamoto Fuyumi and Noda Hideki from the window. The driver drove on in silence. With just the two of them in the back seat, Ye Zhao let out a deep sigh. “Tonight was really something. For a moment, it felt like I’d lost all my dignity.”

“I thought it was great. You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Fujisako said, suppressing a laugh at the memory.

“That’s just resignation to fate.” Ye Zhao glanced at her. “Ayako-san, is Miss Sachiko all right at home alone?”

Fujisako closed her eyes, her smile fading. “Whenever I get asked that, I feel like a wife sneaking out for fun behind her husband’s back.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I don’t mean to blame you,” Fujisako rubbed her temples. “I just… don’t quite know what to do. It sounds foolish, but perhaps I simply don’t know how to be a mother.”

Her abrupt confession left Ye Zhao at a loss for words. After some thought, he said carefully, “Maybe that’s because you aren’t really a wife or a mother—you just want to be a woman, Ayako-san.” That was why she was neither a good wife nor knew how to be a mother. But as a woman, she always radiated her own light.

“A woman?” Fujisako seemed to savor the word, repeating it softly, then suddenly smiled. “You really can say things like that. I thought at your age, you’d see me as an old lady by now.”

…

The taxi stopped in front of Fujisako’s apartment building. After paying, Fujisako picked up her bag. “Well, good night, Ye-kun.” She got out, only to find Ye Zhao following her.

She shot him a questioning look.

“A bit thirsty—I’ll just buy some water over there,” Ye Zhao said, pointing to a vending machine beside the building. The aftereffects of three hours of karaoke were making themselves felt.

“If you don’t mind,” Fujisako thought for a moment, “why not come up for a while? I’ll make you some tea.”

Ye Zhao hesitated. “It’s late—wouldn’t that startle Miss Sachiko?”

“It’s fine.”

…