Chapter Forty-One: Let the Past Rest in Your Heart

Lifting a corner of the curtain, Ye Zhao saw that the setting sun had already gilded the sky and earth with a pale golden hue. Letting the curtain fall, he glanced at Izumi Sakai sitting beside him.

“You’re probably wondering why I suddenly invited you along, aren’t you?” On her knees was a literary magazine she’d picked up at the station. Mildly nearsighted, she wore a pair of lightweight, round glasses perched on her nose, lending her an air that was both intellectual and approachable.

“No matter the reason, it’s certainly a luxury,” Ye Zhao replied.

“Luxury?” Izumi seemed surprised by his choice of words.

“Of course. In the first twenty years of my life, I never imagined I’d get to travel with you, Izumi.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I was worried you might be in low spirits, but now it seems that concern was quite unnecessary.”

“As long as you don’t leave me behind and head back to Tokyo by yourself, nothing else really matters,” Ye Zhao bantered in return.

…

Ye Zhao had first encountered Izumi Sakai in the recording studio at BEING’s headquarters.

When the tabloids started digging up his past, Ye Zhao initially thought it was just the inevitable scrutiny that came with fame. But when that pointed article in “Weekly Woman” appeared, he immediately sensed something was amiss. The words Kazuo Kawanishi had said to him over coffee—“One day you might take a hard fall over something”—echoed in his mind.

The sequence of articles was methodical: first, some tidbits from his past to pique public curiosity. Since these were trivial and harmless, even BEING dropped its guard. Then, like boiling a frog, they gradually intensified the revelations, finally splashing mud on him when he was least prepared. Such a smooth operation, and the ability to coordinate so many gossip rags at once—only BRUNING, that industry behemoth, could pull it off. Ye Zhao couldn’t help but suspect that when Kawanishi had approached him, this was already part of the plan; talking about poaching him was just a polite prelude to a more forceful tactic.

Within BEING, the only one willing to answer his questions about the old feud with BRUNING was Masao Akashi. When Ye Zhao arranged to meet him and arrived punctually at the studio, he ran into Izumi Sakai in the hallway.

“Izumi, you’re here too?”

She nodded. “I’m working on a new song and there’s a part I’m not satisfied with. I thought I’d borrow the studio to make some changes.” She paused, then asked with concern, “All these recent reports must be tough. Are you alright, Ye?”

“I can still handle it for now.” Ye Zhao opened the door to the studio. The two of them entered, and Masao Akashi looked up, surprised to see Ye Zhao and Izumi Sakai enter together.

“Izumi, you’re here too?”

“We just happened to meet. Akashi-sensei, I’ll be in the other room. Don’t worry about me—talk as you wish.” She waved to them and slipped into the recording booth.

Only Ye Zhao and Masao Akashi were left in the control room. Akashi settled into a chair and pushed a swivel chair over to Ye Zhao. “Sit. No need to ask, you’re here because of those articles, right?”

“Sensei, someone from BRUNING came to see me not long ago, wanting to poach me from here. I turned them down. After that, the first magazine story about me appeared, so I figure BRUNING’s behind this. What I don’t understand is, what exactly is the grudge between our company and BRUNING? When I went on MS, BRUNING’s Kyoko Koizumi gave me the cold shoulder. And now these reports—it's not just me, they’re digging into the company’s entire history.”

Akashi listened but didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at the recording booth—Izumi had drawn the curtain over the glass that connected it to the control room, a habit of hers while recording. After a moment, Akashi spoke. “They say fans often resemble the artists they admire. There’s truth to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me ask you—when did you become Izumi’s fan?”

Ye Zhao thought for a moment. “From the very beginning, I suppose.” In his previous life, he’d listened to ZARD’s songs back in the ’90s, but by the time he truly became a fan of Izumi Sakai, she had already passed away. Now, back in ’94 and knowing the full arc of her life, it wasn’t wrong to say he liked her from the start.

“In that case, you must know about her modeling days before she debuted as a singer.”

Ye Zhao nodded. “She was a signed model with Stellar before her singing debut.” She’d even done some rather bold photo shoots.

“BEING and Stellar were both funded by the same financial group, so they collaborated closely from the start. When the company was selecting members for B.B.QUEENS, Stellar sent some newcomers to audition—Izumi was one of them. When Nagato selected her to debut as ZARD’s lead vocalist, her contract was transferred from Stellar to BEING.

“In 1992, with ZARD steadily rising, appearing frequently on TV, and a first tour scheduled, things looked promising. Then, just like what you’re experiencing now, the magazines started reporting on her student days and her time as an office worker. Our artists rarely appeared in the media, so these stories always drew public interest. When curiosity peaked, those old modeling photos—and some fabricated scandals—suddenly flooded the press.

“If you’ve been in this industry long enough, you know the most poisonous thing tabloids do is mix truth with lies. The real parts make people believe the fake ones. Izumi was shy and reserved, not good at defending herself; when she saw those false reports, she broke down in tears in the studio. Fans who once adored her began to doubt her, and to avoid further uproar, the planned tour was cancelled.”

“Well—doesn’t that sound familiar?” Akashi asked quietly.

“BRUNING’s methods haven’t changed at all,” Ye Zhao said, his voice low. He’d known about Izumi’s so-called “dark past” before her debut, but he’d never realized it had been revealed in such a brutal fashion.

“BRUNING rose to dominance in the entertainment world by devouring small companies. BEING was just a minor production house at first, barely on BRUNING’s radar. When we successfully launched TUBE and B’z, BRUNING tried their usual tactics, offering to buy the rights to our artists’ songs. We refused outright. From then on, a rift formed.

“To avoid being swallowed by BRUNING, BEING, Stellar, and a few other companies formed an alliance to resist their influence, putting us squarely in opposition. That’s why BRUNING’s artists snub you at MS. In recent years, BEING has been in the limelight, while BRUNING’s music division has lost its edge. Unable to dominate the market, they started digging up dirt, mixing truths and lies, and spreading them through their media connections.”

Ye Zhao’s mind flashed to BRUNING’s vast network. “So, the reason BEING’s artists stay out of the spotlight is because BRUNING’s suppressing them?”

“That’s right. Our company’s preference for keeping out of the media is part of it, but the bigger reason is pressure from BRUNING. They undercut our rates to take ad and film opportunities, and they’ve told their friends in the media to freeze us out. If it weren’t for our good relationship with TV Asahi—a network too powerful for BRUNING to control—you wouldn’t even get to promote on MS.”

Ye Zhao had never imagined so many secrets lurked behind the scenes of this era. As a newcomer, he’d only seen the low-key image BEING projected to the outside world, never realizing that image was born of necessity, a way to forge a path when they couldn’t break through the blockade. He’d joined BEING in search of creative freedom, but the moment he’d entered the business and carried the BEING label, he’d also made a formidable enemy.

“So, after hearing all this, do you feel a heavy burden?” Akashi asked.

Ye Zhao smiled. “If anything, I feel more motivated, not less.” If BEING had feared BRUNING, they could have accepted the olive branch and perhaps grown into a top record company with BRUNING’s support. But Daikichi Nagato would rather surrender all media resources and focus solely on making music than be swallowed by a major agency as mere fodder.

Likewise, if Ye Zhao had been afraid of BRUNING, he could have accepted Kawanishi’s offer and escaped all his troubles. But ultimately, no matter how powerful the opposition, if you always submit to those stronger than you, you’ll forever be a pawn. Even the weakest force, as long as it has the courage to resist, can one day break free and take control of its own fate.

Having learned what he needed, Ye Zhao felt much more at ease. After all, before a battle begins, you need to know your opponent. He was still a long way from being considered a rival by BRUNING, but if he wanted to climb in the Japanese music world, there would be many such confrontations ahead.

After their conversation, Izumi’s voice came through the control room mic, asking Akashi to help monitor the booth. Since it was a rare chance to witness her recording, Ye Zhao stayed to listen. After two takes, she came out to discuss details with Akashi, and Ye Zhao joined in, offering his own thoughts.

When their discussion wrapped up, Izumi glanced at her watch and suddenly asked, “Ye, do you have any plans for later?”

“No.”

“In that case, would you come with me to Kamakura?”

“Huh?!”

And so, Ye Zhao and Izumi Sakai boarded the train bound for Kamakura together.