Chapter 87: Returning Your Signature

The entire audition lasted less than five minutes. Although he had almost no acting experience and the lines were rather immature, the three observers still gave Ye Zhao a rather positive evaluation. Masaki Fukazawa, in particular, was generous in his praise: “Though raw, you have remarkable natural talent. I believe with a little training, you’ll certainly surprise everyone.”

The role of the murderer, Otagiri Shin, in The Murder Case at the Village of the House of Strangers had already been cast. However, after complimenting Ye Zhao’s performance, the producer, Yuko Hazeyama, said she would respect his wishes and try to arrange a murderer role for him. Although such a promise sounded a little odd, it didn’t stop Ye Zhao from feeling delighted at having opened a new door for himself.

After Yuko Hazeyama announced the end of the meeting, the production staff left the conference room first. Seizing the chance, Ye Zhao thanked Tsuyoshi Domoto, “Thank you for helping out with the audition just now, Domoto-san.”

Tsuyoshi Domoto looked a little embarrassed. “It was nothing at all. Ye Zhao-san, your performance was quite impressive, especially the changes in your eyes. To be honest, you even startled me a little.”

“If there are no surprises, we’ll be acting together again. I look forward to working with you, Domoto-san.” Ye Zhao gave a slight bow.

“I should be the one saying that. Please take care of me,” Domoto replied.

With another engagement ahead, Tsuyoshi Domoto soon bid farewell and left. Rie Tomosaka finally had the opportunity to speak with Ye Zhao. “Ye Zhao-san, you once promised to visit the set during filming, but you never showed up.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ye Zhao explained, “but I really couldn’t find the time. Besides, the work I do for the music score has nothing to do with being on set—if I just showed up unannounced, it would have been impolite to the crew.”

“But this time, since you’ll also be acting, we’ll see each other on set, right?”

“It seems so. I’ll be counting on your guidance then. As a newcomer to acting, I’m sure I’ll be causing you some trouble.”

Rie Tomosaka replied heartily, “Don’t worry! If it’s you, Ye Zhao-san, I won’t get mad, even if you need a few extra takes.”

“Well… I think it’s the director and the staff who’ll be annoyed…” Ye Zhao said, sweating nervously. “By the way, I promised last time to give you a CD, but since I didn’t make it to the set, I couldn’t give it to you. This time, I brought my new single for you.”

“Really? Thank you so much, Ye Zhao-san!” Rie Tomosaka beamed.

“There’s something I’d like to ask of you, too.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like this—I have a friend who’s a fan of yours, so I’d like to ask for your autograph for them.”

Rie Tomosaka looked incredulous. “Ye Zhao-san has a friend who’s my fan?!”

“Yes, a big admirer. They even said that if it were you, Tomosaka-san, they’d bring a paper bag to school on Valentine’s Day to carry all the chocolates they’d receive.”

“Hahaha!” Rie Tomosaka burst out laughing. “I didn’t even know I was so popular!”

When they stepped out of the conference room, Yuki Uemura and Rie Tomosaka’s manager were already waiting in the hallway. Ye Zhao retrieved his backpack from Yuki Uemura and pulled out two singles of different editions, both already autographed—not just by himself, but also by Masaharu Fukuyama. He had asked Fukuyama to sign them backstage at MS the night before.

Rie Tomosaka accepted the singles with both hands. “There’s even Fukuyama-san’s signature? I don’t know what to look at first! I’ll have to treasure these.” She handed the singles to her manager, took out her autograph book, and after signing her name, asked, “What’s your friend’s name, Ye Zhao-san?”

“Xiaohui—using the same character for ‘Hui’ as in your own name, Tomosaka-san.”

“Xiaohui?” Rie Tomosaka repeated with a teasing smile. “That’s a girl’s name. Could it be your girlfriend?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Rie Tomosaka wrote “To Xiaohui” in the autograph book, then drew a heart with great interest. When she handed the book back to Ye Zhao, she joked, “If my autograph can bring you two closer, I’d be very happy.”

Ye Zhao twitched his lips. “Now I almost feel like giving it back to you…”

But Rie Tomosaka was already waving goodbye energetically, hurrying off with her manager to her next engagement—1995 was one of the busiest years of her career.

…

The following Monday afternoon, after making an appointment by phone, Ye Zhao arrived at the Sony Records building to meet Tadashi Okazaki, the director of Production Division One.

In the lounge, Tadashi Okazaki did not get straight to the point. Instead, he placed a cassette tape on the table in front of him. Ye Zhao glanced at it: “One more time, One more chance” was written on it. It was unmistakably the same tape he had sent to Sony.

“What does this mean?” Ye Zhao raised an eyebrow.

“This March, the company re-reviewed demo tapes from the previous year that had been rejected. The staff happened across this one. If I’m not mistaken, it was yours, Ye Zhao-san?” Okazaki said.

Ye Zhao nodded. “Yes, I sent it myself around this time last year.”

“We listened to it—it’s very good, up to your usual standard. Looking back, it was our loss that we didn’t recognize your talent sooner.” Okazaki chose his words carefully. “So I’m a little curious—why did you choose us this time?”

“Is a reason necessary?” Ye Zhao rubbed his cheek with his finger, thinking for a moment. “If you need an answer, I’d say it’s because I value your company’s openness to different musical styles and your formidable strength. After all, no one would want to jeopardize their own future.”

Ye Zhao’s frankness made Okazaki smile. “As for our openness to musical styles, I’m afraid we can’t take too much pride in that, seeing as we failed to be open enough to include you, Ye Zhao-san.”

“As for that,” Ye Zhao replied, “music itself is unbiased—a good song is a good song, and even a child can tell if a tune is pleasant. But listeners are subjective; as long as some people like it, others will dislike it. So there’s nothing to particularly regret.”

“To be honest,” Okazaki said, “last year, Komuro-san sparked a craze for electronic music. Even I thought the trend would last for quite a while. Our company never intended to compete with Komuro-san directly. Ultimately, following trends is just picking up others’ leftovers.”

He paused, then continued, “Rather than scavenging behind the tide, we hope to be pioneers of new paths. So last year, we focused on newer musical styles, signing several visual-kei bands and bringing in R&B and hip-hop talents.”

“The reason we conducted a second review of last year’s demos this year was precisely because the musicians who judged the tapes were generally focused on new music, and inevitably, some talented people were rejected because of this subjectivity. To avoid letting true gems go unnoticed, we did another round of selection.”

Okazaki’s words sounded high-minded, but to Ye Zhao, they were a little grating. Record companies, holding the power of life and death, could reject candidates without hesitation, yet felt it was an act of great benevolence to give them another chance after so long.

Even though this attitude was somewhat off-putting, Ye Zhao had to admit that such was reality. For an aspiring artist with no connections, even a belated opportunity was extremely rare. If he hadn’t had that series of lucky breaks and was just an ordinary, occasionally inspired musician, then even if this response to his demo came a year late, as long as he hadn’t signed with another company, he would still have rushed over immediately, just to seize what might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

After all, as someone who had been given a second chance at life, he was far luckier than most in this world.

…

With that in mind, Ye Zhao stopped dwelling on the past and shifted the topic to Kazuya Kawamoto. “Okazaki-san, let’s talk about Miss Kawamoto.”

“Of course.” Okazaki nodded. “I’ve watched Miss Kawamoto’s performance videos with several colleagues. We were all surprised to find such a distinctive young woman—especially me. I’m convinced she has the potential to become a star.”

“I have great confidence in her as well. That’s why I’ve put a lot of thought into both her choice of record label and the production of her songs.”

“Are you saying, Ye Zhao-san, that you intend to serve as her producer personally?”