Chapter Forty-Nine: Discovering the Eyes of a Beautiful Girl

WANDS’ single was successfully released, while Ye Zhao’s single, however, encountered a significant obstacle. Although the scandal had seemingly ended with a lawsuit against Weekly New Trends, the public’s skepticism toward him had not faded. As he searched for a tie-up, those willing to cooperate either couldn’t match the single’s release schedule, or their influence was too insignificant to be worth the collaboration. Just as Daikou Nagato was caught in a dilemma, Ye Zhao approached him on his own.

Before Ye Zhao could speak, Nagato hurriedly said, “If it’s about promotion, you don’t need to worry. The company will figure something out.”

“President Nagato, I think, since there’s no suitable tie-up, why don’t we release a single without any tie-up?” Ye Zhao offered his idea.

“No tie-up?” Nagato looked at Ye Zhao as though he were some kind of oddity. In this era, a tie-up was essential for a record to sell well. With the right tie-up, even an unknown singer could be resurrected, achieving tremendous success. Conversely, without one, even a veteran artist could see their sales plummet. This was why the nineties saw so many one-hit wonders; deprived of good promotional opportunities, singers lacking a solid foundation would quickly be knocked back to their true status. Given BEING's meager media resources, not relying on a tie-up was almost like running naked in public.

“That’s right,” Ye Zhao replied, unfazed by the doubt in Nagato’s eyes. “Rather than lowering our standards, we might as well try something different.”

“Do you have something in mind?” Nagato asked offhandedly, not really expecting much. Ye Zhao’s answer was just as he anticipated: “Not yet. But there’s still time before the release. Perhaps inspiration will strike.”

Ye Zhao’s optimistic tone made Nagato chuckle involuntarily. After a moment’s thought, he waved it off. “In that case, take your time. If you come up with a good idea, let’s discuss it then.” At this point, there wasn’t much else to be done. After all, even Nagato himself was reluctant to “lower his standards” by arranging some unknown, insignificant tie-up.

...

With the single’s release date drawing nearer and much still to be done, Ye Zhao barely had a moment to fret. He could only press on, racing to finish the final tasks: shooting the music video and the cover.

Previously, we summed up BEING’s cover style with a series of close-up shots. Now, let’s briefly summarize BEING’s music video style. You could say the company firmly believed that singers should rely solely on the quality of their music; everything else was a distraction—or you could say they were simply stingy and lacked ambition.

In any case, the music videos BEING produced were either live recordings on stage with the band, or montages of behind-the-scenes footage from the studio set to the song. If they felt generous, they’d set up a simple backdrop for the singer to awkwardly perform in. At their laziest, they wouldn’t even bother with behind-the-scenes footage—just a slideshow. The most extravagant occasion was a few years ago, when, through some unknown connection with Shunji Iwai, they filmed several videos for ZARD and MI-KE.

When “Summer Colors” was released, Ye Zhao was still an underground singer; even if he’d shot a video, there was nowhere to air it. By the time of “Rainbow,” they didn’t shoot a proper MV either—just edited together some studio footage. This time, BEING prepared the “stage live performance package” for Ye Zhao, to be shot at Fuji TV’s studio.

In the nineties, BEING had good relationships with both Fuji TV and Asahi TV. Songs by BEING’s artists were frequently used as theme songs for programs on these channels, so borrowing a studio was a simple matter. Fuji TV agreed without hesitation.

On the morning of November 24, accompanied by his manager Yuki Kamimura and assistant Akihiko Aragaki, Ye Zhao arrived at the Fuji TV building in Kawada-cho, Shinjuku, along with BEING staff and his band. Until Fuji TV relocated to its new headquarters in Odaiba in 1997, this building served as the network’s home base.

The borrowed studio was on the fifth floor. After taking the elevator up, the group, led by a staff member, headed toward their designated studio. Naturally, the fifth floor housed more than one studio. The corridor wasn’t particularly spacious, and staff hurried back and forth, occasionally brushing past them.

“Thank you for your hard work today, Kayo,” a middle-aged woman said to a young girl outside one of the studios.

The girl bowed to her at a ninety-degree angle, her tone impeccably polite. “Thank you for looking after me. I’m grateful for this opportunity to appear.”

“Remember what I told you—when you get home, discuss it carefully with your parents. With your potential, it would be a shame not to enter show business,” the woman advised.

The girl lifted her head and smiled. “I’ll consider it carefully.”

Yuki Kamimura, seasoned by years as a manager, had developed a keen sense for his surroundings, always scanning his environment wherever he went. He noticed the pair conversing. Initially, it was just a casual glance, but when he caught sight of the girl’s face, he couldn’t help but marvel, “What a beautiful girl!”

His words prompted Ye Zhao and the others to follow his gaze instinctively.

...

There’s an old saying: “Girls change eighteen times as they grow.” It means that as girls mature physically and gain experience, they blossom into a beauty even more captivating than during their girlhood. Not every girl grows prettier with time, but the change in their aura always brings a new radiance.

As for examples of “growing more beautiful,” Ye Zhao immediately thought of a certain national sweetheart. When Yui Aragaki debuted in her teens, she looked like a gangly, awkward country monkey. Who could have predicted she would transform into a graceful, pure beauty, surprising everyone time and again?

If Yui Aragaki inspired anticipation, then the girl before him was simply breathtaking. Fourteen or fifteen years old, with striking, refined features, a sleek black ponytail, and a slender, elegant figure—this perfectly beautiful girl was none other than Yukie Nakama, Yui Aragaki’s Okinawan compatriot.

The reason Ye Zhao recognized her at a glance was thanks to a post he’d seen in later years, featuring student ID photos of Japanese celebrities. While most stars were still raw and unpolished, Yukie Nakama was already a refined beauty. In Ye Zhao’s eyes, Nakama’s looks easily ranked in the top tier of Japanese actresses—at least, before she put on weight and became affectionately known as “Sister Pancake.”

In the nineties, after Namie Amuro’s success, more and more talent scouts turned their attention to the treasure trove of Okinawa. Born in 1979, Nakama joined Ogi Productions at sixteen, inspired by her idol Shizuka Kudo, and began her long journey in showbiz.

Speaking of Ogi Productions—its founder, Toru Ogi, first worked for Watanabe Productions, the original entertainment giant where many future agency heads once started. After leaving Watanabe, he established Ogi Productions. In the eighties, when a certain chubby, bespectacled man was forming the Onyanko Club, Ogi Productions lent considerable support, which is why several Onyanko Club members, including Shizuka Kudo, signed with Ogi.

Over a decade later, when Yasushi Akimoto created AKB48, Ogi Productions, as a former partner, swooped in and signed over a dozen members, including Minami Takahashi, Haruna Kojima, and Mayu Watanabe. Unfortunately, Ogi’s ambitions outstripped his capacity, resulting in chaotic management of his talents and earning him the nickname “Trash Ogi.”

But to be fair, Ogi’s reputation for poor management applied mainly to his handling of AKB members. In reality, the agency was quite capable—at least in managing Yukie Nakama, they did a fine job. Not only did they cultivate her successful acting career, but during the Komuro Family’s heyday, they also let her ride the wave and release several singles.

Compared to her future poised and versatile self, Nakama was now just a shy girl. Suddenly finding herself the center of attention, she shrank back in alarm.

The middle-aged woman stepped protectively in front of her, asking sternly, “May I help you?”

“No...” The culprit, Yuki Kamimura, quickly stepped forward to apologize, but Ye Zhao stopped him. Stepping up, Ye Zhao said, “Hello, ma’am. My name is Ye Zhao. I’m here today with the staff to shoot a music video for my new single.”

“Hello, Mr. Ye Zhao.” The woman remained wary, not relaxing even after he introduced himself. “Kayo is still a child. You’re frightening her.”

“I apologize for that,” Ye Zhao said sincerely. “It’s just that I think she has a fantastic look, and I’d like to invite her to be the lead actress in my music video, if that’s possible.”

Lead actress in a music video? The director nearby immediately frowned, edging close to Ye Zhao to whisper, “Ye Zhao, weren’t we only supposed to shoot a live performance today?” Suddenly asking a chance encounter to star as the MV’s heroine was far too impulsive...

“That was the original plan, but now there’s a new one,” Ye Zhao replied, meeting the director’s troubled look with resolve. “Don’t worry, we’ll still shoot the planned MV as agreed. I just want to film an extra one.” As he spoke, a new idea suddenly began to take shape in Ye Zhao’s mind.