Chapter Eighty-Five: This Is Quite Possible

Before entering the apartment, Ye Zhao instinctively surveyed the surroundings, making sure there were no paparazzi lurking nearby. Seeing this, Ayako Fuji smiled, “You’re really cautious, Mr. Ye.”

“I can’t help it,” Ye replied. “It wouldn’t be good to cause trouble for you, Ayako-san.”

Ayako’s apartment building was about twenty stories high. The elevator ascended slowly, finally stopping at the twelfth floor. Ayako led the way, with Ye following behind, until they stopped at a door with a nameplate reading “Fujimura.”

Ayako took a key from her bag and unlocked the door, entering first. “Please, come in.”

…

Murmuring a polite “Excuse me,” Ye followed Ayako inside.

At the pitch-black entryway, Ayako fumbled for the light switch. With a soft click, the room was instantly illuminated.

She neatly arranged her high heels by the entryway, then took slippers from the shoe cabinet and set them out. “I’ll go change first. Please have a seat, Mr. Ye.”

“Oh, alright.” Ye glanced at the entryway, feeling something was slightly off. Still, he silently removed his shoes, placing them neatly with the toes pointing outward. Putting on the slippers, he crossed the threshold into a typical high-class apartment living room.

…

“Ayako-san,” Ye finally couldn’t resist asking when Ayako returned to the living room in her home clothes, “Miss Sachiko isn’t home, is she?”

“What makes you think so?”

“It’s the entryway—there are no shoes belonging to Miss Sachiko.” Ye explained, “I remember when I visited your home in Akita, Sachiko-san used to leave her shoes right at the entryway, and you aren’t the type to tidy them away. So I wondered if Sachiko-san might not be home now.”

“That’s impressive.” Ayako’s tone was leisurely, “I didn’t expect your observation and memory to be so sharp, Mr. Ye.”

“So?”

“The aunt who looked after Sachiko in Akita came to Tokyo today to visit her. The two of them decided to spend the night out together,” Ayako blinked, “probably to have a few private conversations not meant for my ears.”

If that’s the case, Ayako is home alone… As Ye’s thoughts wandered, Ayako was already asking, “Would you like tea or coffee, Mr. Ye?”

“Just ordinary tea is fine.” Ye lifted his gaze so it met Ayako’s as she stood before him. Her eyes reminded him of a shimmering lake deep in the forest; if a light breeze passed over, gentle ripples of tenderness would arise.

…

When Ayako emerged from the kitchen carrying two bone china teacups on a tray, Ye was curiously studying a shamisen resting on the shelf.

“What are you looking at?” Ayako placed a teacup gently in front of him.

“Thank you, Ayako-san.” Ye bowed slightly, then replied, “I heard it’s covered with cat skin.” Traditional shamisen are crafted by stretching an entire cat skin over the body, and the symmetrical black spots seen on the surface are actually the cat’s nipples.

“That’s how it’s traditionally made,” Ayako took the shamisen from the shelf, “but nowadays, only a small portion use that technique. Most on the market are made with synthetic leather.”

“I suppose this one isn’t synthetic, is it?”

Ayako smiled ambiguously. Of course, Ye was not dissatisfied with such craftsmanship, so he quickly changed the subject. “What school is this shamisen from?”

“It’s a Tsugaru shamisen.” Ayako adjusted her posture, picked up the plectrum, and played a short demonstration, then explained, “Tsugaru shamisen has a heavy sound. To avoid disturbing the neighbors, I’m using a larger silent bridge, so the tone is somewhat inferior.”

“Amazing!” Ye clapped lightly, “I didn’t expect you to have such skill, Ayako-san.”

Ayako blushed a little, “It’s really just superficial—your praise is too much. The shamisen’s fingerboard is so large, it’s a bit strenuous for me, so I haven’t advanced much.”

…

“People always feel awe for things they don’t understand,” Ye laughed. “So right now, in my eyes, anyone who can play the shamisen is remarkable.”

“Would you like to try it yourself?” Ayako invited.

Ye hesitated, “Is it really alright?” Traditional shamisen are extremely valuable instruments, often costing over a million yen, so usually only the performer handles them.

“It’s fine, I don’t care about that,” Ayako moved closer to the sofa, gesturing for Ye to join her.

Under Ayako’s guidance, Ye sat upright and assumed a proper playing posture. Taking the plectrum from her hand, he instinctively examined it, “Is this made of ivory?”

“Good eye,” Ayako praised him.

“It truly is a luxurious instrument.” Ye inspected both sides of the plectrum. “How do you hold it?”

Ayako leaned toward him, “It’s not difficult—I’ll show you once and you’ll get it.” As she spoke, her pale fingers climbed onto Ye’s right hand. For the first time he noticed a small, pale red mole on the inside of Ayako’s left wrist.

“How delicate,” Ye couldn’t resist staring at the tiny mole.

“What’s delicate?”

Ye withdrew his right hand, letting his index finger brush quickly across her wrist. “I meant, this mole of yours, Ayako-san—it’s delicate.”

…

First time touching a shamisen, it was unrealistic to expect instant mastery; at best, he could pluck a few sounds for fun. Turning the ivory plectrum in his hand, Ye asked, “What was the piece you played just now?”

“It’s called ‘Akita Obako.’”

“Could you play it again, Ayako-san?” Ye requested, “It sounded wonderful—I’d love to hear it once more.”

“Of course.” Ayako took the shamisen from Ye, and as she adjusted her posture, Ye couldn’t help but laugh.

Ayako looked at him questioningly.

“Sorry,” Ye said, smiling at her. “From earlier, I’ve been thinking—if you wore a kimono while playing, you’d look just like an old-time entertainer.”

“Well then,” Ayako drew closer to Ye, meeting his gaze naturally, “shall I change into a kimono and perform for you?”

The room was quiet. At this distance, it seemed he could hear her breathing. Surely Ayako felt the same. Ye gazed into her eyes, feeling as if a breeze was gently sweeping across the glimmering surface of a lake.

…

“President seems out of sorts today,” Yuki Tamura remarked as she pushed open the door and saw Ye resting his chin in his hand.

Yawning without a care for appearances, Ye replied lazily, “Anyway, you’re always energetic.”

“Of course,” Tamura said with a hint of pride, “I’m a model of regularity—home every night by ten, never indulging in nightlife.”

“That’s nothing to be particularly proud of.”

Tamura wrinkled her nose at the teasing and handed Ye a fax. “Mr. Takeda asked me to deliver this—it’s an invitation from NTV for a production.”

“Don’t tell me it’s another composition job?” Ye took the fax.

“Kindaichi Case Files” SP was set to become a regular series in the summer season. Ye’s music for the SP had been highly praised, so the producers hoped he would continue handling the soundtrack.

…

“So it really is soundtrack work?” Ye muttered, “Honestly, it’s a pretty boring job.”

“Will you take it, President?”

“Well, judging by the invitation, NTV wants to reuse the thirteen tracks I provided for the SP—keeping things simple by sticking with one composer. They want me to add a few more. Since I’ve already helped them, I might as well see it through.”

…

On the afternoon of April 21st, Ye found himself once again—yet again—at TV Asahi. Deep down, he felt nothing at all. Unless he did something dramatic to get himself banned or made a fool of himself on live TV, coming to Music Station would be as casual and comfortable as stepping into his own living room.

When he visited Tamori backstage, even the host teased him about it.

“Ye-kun, you’re becoming a regular here,” Tamori joked, eyes twinkling.

Having shown his face to the old gentleman several times, Ye felt much more relaxed. “Music Station is a lucky place—of course, the more I visit, the better.”

“No matter how much you flatter Music Station, there’s nothing in it for you.”

Ye smiled, “Being able to participate is already the greatest benefit.”

Tamori’s expression grew even more genial. “In that case, remember to come often in the future.”

…

At eight o’clock, the show officially began recording.

For the opening staircase walk, Ye and Masaharu Fukuyama were scheduled to appear last. “Next are Mr. Ye and Mr. Fukuyama—the two who achieved the million-selling single miracles last December and this February. Today, they’ll bring their brand-new collaborative single. Don’t miss it!” May Ariga’s voice was nearly drowned by the audience’s ecstatic cheers, enough to shake the studio.

During the opening chat, Tamori uncharacteristically talked longer with the two. “This time you’re appearing as a duo.”

“Yes,” Ye and Fukuyama nodded together.

“How is it different from performing solo?”

“Well, if you go on stage alone and mess up, it’s awkward. With two, you have someone to help change the subject,” Fukuyama replied.

“Ha-ha.” Tamori laughed twice. “Alright, let’s get started.”

…

To Ye, the best part about appearing as a duo wasn’t avoiding awkward moments, but that sitting in the audience as a wallflower became less boring. He couldn’t lose himself completely, but at least there were opportunities for casual conversation.

Ye and Fukuyama, scheduled last, were also given the closing performance slot. After round upon round of interviews and acts, it was finally their turn to sit beside Tamori.

“This single is released in both 8cm and 12cm formats?” Tamori teased lightly as they nodded, “You two really like to stir things up.”

Fukuyama picked up the microphone, “The record company said the same—they even nicknamed us the ‘Mischief Duo.’”

“Mischief Duo? Why not just use that as your group name and print it on the CD?”