Chapter Fifty-Two: Returning to the Old Trade

Returning to the hotel where he was staying, he entered the room, hung his thick coat on the rack, and brewed a cup of hot tea. Not long after, the door was gently knocked.

“Mr. Ye Zhao, here’s the first-day single chart from Tokyo,” Uemura Yuuki handed Ye Zhao a sheet of paper.

“Thank you for your hard work.” Ye Zhao glanced at the chart. “WINTER, AGAIN” had sold 86,000 copies, taking the top spot on the daily chart—a result neither disappointing nor outstanding.

“If this momentum continues, selling 200,000 copies this week shouldn’t be a problem,” Uemura said optimistically.

“Let’s hope so.” Ye Zhao set the chart aside. “Uemura, you’ve booked the tickets to Aomori, right?”

“Yes, the 7:40 a.m. Shinkansen. It’s getting late, Mr. Ye, please get some rest.” With that, Uemura left the room.

The next morning at 6:30, Uemura came to wake Ye Zhao. After packing and a simple breakfast in the hotel restaurant, they took a taxi to the station.

The total population of this country was about 125 million, with 100 million living on Honshu Island. Of these, 25% resided in the Tokyo and Yokohama area.

Aomori Prefecture lay at the northernmost tip of Honshu, home to roughly 1.32 million people. Excluding the elderly and young children, the number of people with real purchasing power was about 850,000. Subtract those uninterested in music and families unlikely to buy multiple copies, and the entire Aomori market was minuscule.

In fact, this wasn’t just true of Aomori; the whole Tohoku region of Honshu faced similar circumstances. For various reasons, pop music had never flourished here; instead, traditional ballads thrived, and many enka singers had emerged from the region. Still, Ye Zhao, adopting the attitude that “every little bit counts,” paid a visit to Aomori Broadcasting, participated in a midday radio program the next day, and set off for Akita Prefecture that afternoon.

...

When it came to Akita, Ye Zhao first thought of Akita dogs and hot springs. Like Aomori, Akita was a major agricultural prefecture, sparsely populated by both youths and the elderly—simply put, it was thinly populated. Aomori at least had 1.32 million people; Akita had around a million.

Not only was it sparsely populated, but Akita was also among the poorest prefectures in the country. People here lived quiet, contented lives, at peace with their circumstances—a tranquility that was the hardest to disrupt. Although Ye Zhao had anticipated a lukewarm reception during the national promotion, he hadn’t expected to be flatly rejected by the local broadcaster.

“Sorry, we don’t provide music promotion services,” said Obara Kota, the producer at Akita Broadcasting, refusing even to listen to the song.

Leaving Akita Broadcasting, Takeda Shun suggested, “Ye, how about we try Akita Asahi Broadcasting as well?”

Ye Zhao didn’t answer right away. He looked up at the gray sky as if sensing something. “Is it snowing?” At his words, Takeda and Uemura raised their heads. Sure enough, fine, sand-like snowflakes were falling.

A taxi pulled up in front of them. As soon as they got in, Takeda began to give directions to Akita Asahi Broadcasting, but Ye Zhao interrupted. “No, please take us to the city shopping district. I want to buy a guitar.”

“A guitar?” Takeda was momentarily surprised but didn’t press further.

The taxi driver started the engine.

Akita might have been a so-called “backwater,” but its facilities were quite complete. Many large chains had opened branches here, so shopping wasn’t difficult.

In a shop called Yamada Music, a young clerk with a brush-cut greeted them with surprising warmth. “Welcome! How can I help you?”

“I’d like to choose a solid-top acoustic guitar. It doesn’t have to be high-end, just something comfortable to play.”

“Please come this way.” The clerk gestured and led Ye Zhao to a corner of the store. “These are all entry-level solid-top guitars. If you’re a beginner, I recommend this Yamaha—comfortable to hold, mellow in tone, and very cost-effective. There’s even a 10% discount right now.”

Ye Zhao glanced at the price tag: 59,800 yen. Guitars here really were expensive.

“May I try it?”

With the clerk’s permission, Ye Zhao took the guitar, adjusted the strings, and played a few chords. The feel and sound were just as described, so he made the purchase without further deliberation.

After leaving Yamada Music, Ye Zhao called out to Takeda and Uemura, who were waiting outside. “Since I signed with the record company, I haven’t busked once. Today’s a rare opportunity—let’s find a spot for a street performance.”

At dusk, the commercial district was at its busiest. Young office workers, students just out of class, and families shopping or dining—people of all kinds mingled, painting a vibrant city scene.

Outside a Takashimaya near an HMV record shop, a simple stage had been set up—really just a few boxes stacked for height. A handsome young man stood on it, cradling a natural-wood guitar, facing the street as his pick swept the strings.

This HMV had been in Akita City for six years. Business had always been middling—never deserted, but never so brisk that records sold out. Not B’z, nor Chage & Aska—no singer had ever truly won over Akita’s people.

The store manager, used to being surrounded by piles of records, recognized Ye Zhao at once. When Ye Zhao asked to perform outside, the manager readily agreed and even provided the makeshift stage and a mic with a stand.

Akita didn’t have a strong music scene; few performed openly on the street. So when the sound of guitar strings suddenly rang out in the bustling street, passersby instinctively turned to look. Some recognized Ye Zhao and stopped to listen.

In this setting, Ye Zhao began his performance. The first song was “Rainbow,” the second “Because You’re By My Side.” After two songs, he addressed the crowd briefly. “Hello, everyone. I’m Ye Zhao. I’ll be performing here for about forty minutes today. Please enjoy.”

The simple-hearted people of Akita responded with applause. Those who recognized him shouted, “Go, Mr. Ye Zhao!” “You’re my favorite, Mr. Ye Zhao!”

Snowflakes drifted down from the sky. Outside the HMV, layer upon layer of people gathered, encircling Ye Zhao as he played and sang. With only three singles released, he didn’t even have enough material for a forty-minute set. After the first two songs, he improvised, drawing on his repertoire for warm, winter-appropriate tunes.

“Amazing!” Uemura, tasked with keeping order, couldn’t help exclaiming as the crowd filled both sides of the street, nearly blocking traffic.

“There must be a hundred, maybe two hundred people here. For Akita, this is quite something. Mr. Ye Zhao is incredible,” the record shop manager remarked, cigarette in hand.

“At this rate, the police will show up any moment,” Takeda said, looking around.

Sure enough, as soon as he finished speaking, several uniformed officers approached, calling through a megaphone, “Hey, street performances are prohibited here! You’re blocking traffic—wrap it up!”

Standing on the makeshift stage, Ye Zhao saw the police approaching. He smiled, changed the rhythm on his guitar, and announced, “This will be the last song! It’s my new single, ‘WINTER, AGAIN,’ released on the sixth of this month. Hope you enjoy it. Here we go!”

...

Inside HMV, the clerk scanned the last copy of “WINTER, AGAIN.” The final lucky customer left grinning. The clerk, seeing the long queue outside, apologized, “We’re sold out of ‘WINTER, AGAIN’ for today. Please come back tomorrow.”

A collective sigh rose from the crowd, but there was nothing to be done. They gradually dispersed.

In the record shop’s break room, the manager said, “Mr. Ye Zhao, you’re amazing! I’ll contact the supplier to restock as quickly as possible.”

“It’s all thanks to your generosity in lending us the space,” Ye Zhao replied modestly.

“I have a small request,” the manager asked. “It’s rare for a star to promote here—could you leave an autograph in the store?”

“Of course!” Ye Zhao picked up his guitar. Uemura, sensing the moment, handed him a marker from his bag. Ye Zhao signed his name on the guitar’s soundboard and handed it to the manager. “Please keep this in the shop as a memento.”

While waiting for a taxi by the roadside, Uemura, in high spirits, said, “After today’s performance, this song will surely start spreading in Akita.”

“I was worried that after being turned down by Akita Broadcasting, promotion here would be tough. Now I’m relieved,” said Takeda.

“Who knows, maybe Akita Broadcasting’s request line will be flooded with calls tonight!” Uemura grinned.

Takeda looked at Ye Zhao. “Ye, you’re different from most artists I’ve worked with. Most can’t bring themselves to start from scratch once they’re famous. You really surprised me today.”

Ye Zhao smiled. “Music is something rooted in daily life. So no matter when, I won’t shy away from street promotions. On the contrary, I truly enjoy interacting with the audience.” Originally, he’d taken the musical path just to escape the poverty of his rebirth, but through these interactions, he had discovered a whole new meaning in music.

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