Huayu93: From Selling Magnetic Cards to Entertainment Tycoon

Chapter 28 The performance stage, on TV!

April 28th, Sunday. Graduation performance of the Affiliated High School of Beijing Dance Academy.

The auditorium of Beijing Dance Academy. The stage curtain was still drawn, but the lights in the audience area were already dimmed.

The front row was occupied by school leaders and experts, while the back rows were filled with teachers from various dance troupes who came to select dancers, as well as some people from record companies.

A BETA camera was set up on the last row, with its tripod set up and a red indicator light on.

Standing next to the camera were two people—one was a director from the Arts and Entertainment Department of Beijing Television, surnamed Liu; the other was the producer of a newly launched program on BJ Cable TV, surnamed Sun.

Both of them held program sheets in their hands, their eyes fixed on the stage.

When the curtain rose, the theater was plunged into darkness. Only the emergency exit indicator lights on either side of the stage emitted a faint green glow. The whispers in the audience gradually subsided.

The camera lens cap had been removed, and Director Liu pointed the camera at the center of the stage and adjusted the focus.

The sound of a pipa begins.

A spotlight shone on the center of the stage. The puppet squatted there, her red dress spread out like a pool of congealed blood.

She lowered her head, her hair covering half her face, and curled up, motionless.

The puppeteer emerged from the side curtain, wearing a modified black long gown and with her hair tied up. Her steps were slow, each one perfectly timed to the rhythm of the pipa.

She walked behind the puppet and stopped.

As the music intro ends, the lyrics begin—

"Who mocks those who flaunt their beauty? Without hearts, how can they be a match? The bells ring crisply, the lamplight flickers dimly behind the curtains. You and I are the perfect pair."

The puppeteer stretched out his hand, and the puppet's hand followed suit.

The two people moved with fluid, graceful classical dance movements—one raised his hand, the other turned, one moved forward, and the other followed.

Like two old friends who have known each other for many years, like a mirror and the person in the mirror. The puppet's red dress billows under the spotlight, while the puppeteer's black shirt is as steady as a rock.

After the first verse ends, the melody changes—

"With delicate fingers, she touches the mortal world like flowing water; on the three-foot red stage, all things are captured in song and music. The farewell song, though long, is no longer sorrowful; the most vibrant red has turned to ashes."

The puppeteer's fingers moved. Not with the previous smooth guidance, but with—control.

The puppet's head suddenly rose, not smoothly, but haltingly, segment by segment.

The puppeteer's middle finger moved, and the puppet's right hand rose, also in a halting, choppy motion.

When the ring finger moved, the left hand followed suit and rose up.

The thumb and little finger moved simultaneously, and the puppet's hands rose above its head and slowly fell.

The puppet's body followed the puppeteer's gestures, performing several movements reminiscent of a female opera singer—raising her orchid fingers, tilting her head slightly, and letting her gaze drift away in the direction of her fingertips.

The cadence of the robotic dance appeared for the first time. Not heavy, but enough. A low gasp escaped from the audience.

After the first section of operatic singing ends, the lyrics begin the second verse—

"With your hand I dance like the wind, with your guidance I know when to advance and when to retreat. I follow you through joy and sorrow, and my every move is in accordance with your will."

The puppeteer's fingers began to move wildly. The puppet's body rotated, paused, and rotated again in accordance with her gestures.

This time it's not just a few staccato pauses, but entire sections of robotic dance.

Her arms were pulled upwards by the string, and her body rose inch by inch like a suspension bridge being slowly pulled up, the hem of her red dress hanging down like a red waterfall.

The sense of cadence runs throughout, but it's no longer abrupt; instead, it possesses a strange rhythm. It's like a puppet on strings coming to life in the hands of a puppeteer.

The camera was set up steadily. Director Liu lowered his hand from the lens, stood behind the camera with his arms crossed, and never took his eyes off the stage.

The second section of opera singing began, the melody changed, becoming ethereal and sorrowful—

"The wind and snow are faint, autumn white hair ends, the lamplight is lush, and I rub your brows with worry."

The puppet began to struggle. Her body writhed violently, her arms flailing in the air as if tearing at the invisible threads.

She fell, her knees hitting the stage floor with a dull thud that even those in the last row heard. Someone gasped.

The puppet got up from the ground. Her movements were hesitant and heavy, but she got up.

The moment she stood up, her eyes changed—from empty to sharp, from submissive to defiant. She raised her hand and grasped the unseen threads.

The puppeteer's expression changed. From composure to panic, from panic to helplessness. Her fingers trembled, from her fingertips all the way to her wrists.

She was pulling hard on the threads, but the puppet wouldn't follow.

The music faded, and the puppet released its grip.

It's not giving up, it's letting go.

She looked at the puppeteer, clasped her hands together, and leaned forward slightly—a gesture of respect.

The movements were so slow that every detail was magnified. She raised her head, looked at the puppeteer, her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but then swallowed them back.

Then she turned and walked towards the other end of the stage. Not running, not walking, but like a flame, slowly and irreversibly disappearing.

The puppeteer stretched out his hand, his fingertips slightly bent, as if he wanted to touch something soft.

But her fingertips hovered in mid-air, touching nothing. She knelt down, hugged herself, and bowed her head. The spotlight shone on her, casting a long, long shadow.

At this moment, the last line of the song fell—

"To turn to ash in the mist and waves is a perfect departure."

The music stopped, and the lights went out.

Three seconds of silence.

Then the whole audience stood up and applauded.

While clapping, Director Liu turned to the side and whispered in Producer Sun's ear:

"Old Sun, you've been in this business longer than me, have you ever seen this before?"

Producer Sun was also clapping, his eyes still fixed on the stage. "Never seen anything like it. A perfect blend of robotic dance and classical dance, choreographed so smoothly, it's the first time I've ever seen anything like it."

The key is the well-structured choreography—a classical dance foundation, a progressively unfolding robotic dance, and a final fusion of the two elements to conclude the piece. It wasn't haphazardly done; it was carefully planned.

"These are all student works, right? The directors must also be students, right? How old are they?"

"The program list says the director is a recent graduate of the music program, I guess he's only seventeen or eighteen."

Director Liu clapped a few times, then lowered his hands and crossed his arms. "Seventeen or eighteen-year-old kids, able to excrete this kind of stuff, I've been doing this for ten years and I've hardly ever seen anyone like it."

Producer Sun lowered his hand, took out a cigarette case from his pocket, then remembered he couldn't smoke there and put it back. "How much of your news segment can you actually include?"

"A short arts and culture news story can only be a minute and a half at most," said Director Liu. "Could your culture section give him a whole episode?"

Producer Sun thought for a moment. "The whole episode is probably out of the question, but recording a studio version shouldn't be a problem. A three- to five-minute segment dedicated to this program."

Director Liu nodded. "Then let's avoid clashing. You record the studio version first, and I'll broadcast the news first to warm you up."

Producer Sun glanced at him and smiled. "Okay."

The two of them clapped their hands again. The applause never stopped.

The two actors playing the puppeteer and the puppeteer came out from the side of the stage to take their bows. Zhang Ziyi smiled broadly, holding Tang Yun's hand above her head and waving to the audience.

Tang Yun was panting on the stage, but Zhang Ziyi pulled her along and she laughed too.

Li Si'an stood beside the side curtain, looking at the stage, and laughed. He took two steps towards the stage entrance and shouted towards the stage, "Well done!" Zhang Ziyi heard him and gave him a thumbs-up.

Tang Yun heard it too, her face turned a little red, but the corners of her mouth were turned up.

The cameras were turned back on. Director Liu carried the equipment to the edge of the stage to film the curtain call. The camera panned across the people on stage, across the audience who had stood up and applauded, and finally settled on Zhang Ziyi and Tang Yun.

Producer Sun closed the script and stood up. He didn't leave immediately, but found Li Si'an next to the side curtain.

"Are you the director and writer of this show?"

Li Si'an nodded.

"You have ideas and you're skilled," Producer Sun praised him first, then handed him a business card.

"BJ Cable TV, your new program 'Weekend Arts'. We'd like to record a studio version of your show. I'll have someone contact you later."

Li Si'an took it, glanced at it, and smiled broadly, saying, "Oh, thank you so much, Producer Sun! Don't worry, we'll definitely cooperate fully."

After saying that, he handed a business card to Producer Sun, saying, "This is my contact number. Please feel free to contact me anytime."

Producer Sun took the business card, paused for a moment when he saw that the header read "Mong Kok Audio-Visual Store," then patted him on the shoulder and left.

Director Liu packed up his equipment, walked over, and shook hands with Li Si'an:

"The arts and culture section of BJ News will have a news segment about your performance next week. We've included your segment in the clip."

Li Si'an laughed. "Thank you, Teacher Liu."

Director Liu waved his hand, picked up the equipment, and left.

Backstage dressing room.

Li Si'an leaned against the door, twirling the business card in her hand.

Zhang Ziyi sat in front of the dressing table, wiping her face in front of the mirror. Red rouge stained the cotton pads, which she tossed one by one into the trash can. Tang Yun had gone to the dressing room to change and hadn't come out yet.

Zhang Ziyi wiped her face while looking at him in the mirror.

"Hey, do you think our show has a chance of winning an award?"

Li Si'an stuffed the business card into her pocket, laughing heartily, "Winning an award or not doesn't matter anymore, we're going to be on TV!"

"On TV?" Zhang Ziyi turned around in surprise and stared at Li Si'an.

Li Si'an leaned against the door frame, hands in her pockets.

"The director said that when Beijing News broadcasts our school's performance next week, you guys will be the main characters. Also—" He gestured with his chin towards the door,

"Baidu Cable TV has a program called 'Weekend Arts and Culture,' and they want us to record a segment in their studio."

Zhang Ziyi stopped using the makeup remover pads in her hand.

"Say it again?"

"To appear on TV. To record a program."

Zhang Ziyi slammed the makeup remover pad on the table, jumped up from her chair, and screamed. The dressing room was small, and her voice bounced off the wall, making a buzzing sound.

The locker room door opened a crack, and Tang Yun poked her head out, her hair still up, a question mark on her face.

Zhang Ziyi shouted to her, "We're going to be on TV!"

Tang Yun paused for a moment, then slowly smiled and closed the door again.

Zhang Ziyi turned around, placed her hands on the dressing table, looked at herself in the mirror, panting, her eyes shining brightly. Li Si'an leaned against the door, watching her with amusement.

"Alright, stop yelling, there are still people outside."

Zhang Ziyi took a deep breath, sat back in her chair, and picked up a makeup remover pad to continue wiping her face. Her hands were still trembling; she wiped a couple of times but missed the right spots, so she grabbed a new pad.