Chapter 107: Exporter of Han-Style Culture

Gu Cheng cast a quick glance up and down at the rebellious girl before him, clad head to toe in biker gear—a nonconformist through and through—and felt the cruel irony of fate keenly.

At the height of her fame, Mika Nakashima had at least cracked the top three among the Fuso Song Divas. Now, she was nothing more than an eighteen-year-old girl delivering takeout for a rice bowl shop. Only after her shift ended could she find time to dabble in music and send out submissions here and there.

Putting aside his reflections, Gu Cheng pointed to the computer playing music. “This is your own submission, so I thought I’d listen—nice to meet you, I’m Gu Cheng.”

Though the last sentence was somewhat redundant—Mika Nakashima had already recognized his face, having submitted to this company before.

“You’re Gu Cheng? The BOA who topped the public trust charts two weeks ago? You guys actually...” Mika’s voice trailed off abruptly, a flood of bewildered thoughts rushing through her mind: Had she stumbled upon some scandal? Would she be silenced before even entering the entertainment industry?

“We just wrote a song together overnight. Don’t jump to conclusions,” Kwon Bo-ya, perceptive and quick to catch Mika’s misunderstanding, promptly clarified with a serious expression, waving the sheet music. “This is the fruit of our late-night labor.”

Mika forced a smile and lowered her tone. “H-Hello, nice to meet you too, Miss Kwon.”

Gu Cheng knew some matters couldn’t be explained quickly. If a fan suddenly appeared in the hallway, things would only get messier. So he invited Mika inside first, closed the door, and suggested they talk slowly.

She didn’t think much of it, sitting down dazedly inside, watching Kwon Bo-ya devour curry pork cutlet rice and kelp soup greedily, while Gu Cheng politely endured his hunger and got down to business.

Suddenly, Mika felt her idols were not so distant after all—they were just as ordinary and down-to-earth as anyone else.

Gu Cheng handed her a can of hotel coffee. “Let’s start with your background. How did you end up in such a rough spot?”

Mika took a sip, gathered her thoughts, and spoke candidly, “I’m a bit rebellious. But my hometown, Kagoshima, is conservative; the girls at school didn’t take kindly to me and bullied me. To escape the bullying, I ran away right after junior high.”

“I originally planned to find a high school in Fukuoka, but after a while, I couldn’t afford living expenses and gave up. Studying didn’t seem meaningful anyway. So I just worked part-time and recorded random stuff to send to record companies—that’s how I’ve been surviving.”

Low education, rebellious, a smoky punk style...

Gu Cheng frowned inwardly. If someone unaware of Mika Nakashima’s reputation heard this, they’d surely label her a delinquent girl.

Unless she went to play the nonconformist scene in Shibuya—there might be some way out there. After all, Fuso was teeming with delinquent girls; perhaps she could resonate with that crowd.

But no matter what, Gu Cheng absolutely dared not consider introducing Mika’s music into Greater China—that could corrupt far too many children.

“Well, why not sign a trial contract? At worst, we won’t spend on advertising and just let things develop naturally. If you really become popular, it’ll be a lucky bonus,” he hesitated but decided to give it a shot.

After all, he felt a twinge of guilt for accidentally causing the loss of Mika’s divine song last night.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve heard your voice; it’s distinctive. If you’re willing to sign with Chengpin Records, I can give you a chance. But I must be clear: the company isn’t focusing on development in Fuso right now. So for the time being, your sales channel will only be online, and we won’t spend money on advertising.”

“I’m willing,” Mika answered without hesitation. “I’m just a girl crammed into a shared apartment delivering takeout. What else could I aspire to? Just give me a chance to live better than delivering food and devote myself wholly to music.”

Gu Cheng disliked that kind of attitude. “What about after you become famous? You’re not prepared at all with your current mindset. Once you achieve some success, you’ll quickly lose yourself like a nouveau riche.”

Mika’s expression darkened, then stubbornly asked, “Are you afraid I’ll jump ship? That’s overthinking. How do you want me to prove my sincerity? Take whatever I have—you can have it all. But I guess you wouldn’t want any of it.”

Gu Cheng smiled wryly. “Since I’m not spending money on advertising for you, I’m not afraid of you jumping ship. What I want is for you to be responsible to yourself. The basic contract with Chengpin Records is for five years. If you agree, I’ll have someone handle the paperwork. After that, it’s up to your own fate.”

With that, he saw Mika out. After hastily finishing his rice bowl, he returned to his room to sleep.

...

Gu Cheng slept until evening. The first thing he did upon waking was check his phone.

There was a pile of messages, the first from Lin Zhiling, informing him that Mika Nakashima had tentatively signed a faxed economic contract with the company; the formalities would soon be completed.

Gu Cheng replied “Read,” then took a shower and went next door to find Kwon Bo-ya.

She had just finished washing up and was pleasantly surprised to hear Gu Cheng had signed Mika. The two packed their luggage together, and Bo-ya casually asked, “You’ll be busy later, right? Are you going back home?”

Seeing the nervousness in Bo-ya’s eyes, Gu Cheng felt an unexpected softening. “I do have some business, but it doesn’t matter where I handle it. I’ll go with you to Tokyo for support. Besides, there are no flights back to China from Fukuoka.”

Bo-ya was delighted. She had Ms. An book three sleeper tickets on the night Shinkansen train and immediately drove to the station.

The first-class sleeper ticket on the Shinkansen was no cheaper than a plane ticket—over 10,000 yen from Fukuoka to Tokyo—but the advantage was the freedom to buy and go at will.

Each sleeper compartment had a corridor on one side and a set of bunk beds on the other; Gu Cheng took the lower bunk.

Perhaps because they had slept long during the day, neither felt sleepy now. On the long journey, Bo-ya naturally brought up the concert. “When you say you’ll ‘support’ me, do you mean you’ll appear as a guest and sing a song? But I remember only one song, ‘Men’s Ocean,’ has a Fuso version.”

Gu Cheng had obviously thought about this when agreeing to go to Tokyo. “So what? Just ‘Men’s Ocean.’”

“Really?” Bo-ya’s voice trembled, sharp and high-pitched. This was her first solo concert. How much she longed for someone to cheer her on, to be her anchor of confidence. “Cheng-ge, you’re so kind...”

“Don’t be so sentimental. I have my reasons. It’s not all about you.”

Gu Cheng downplayed it lightly, brushing her off.

Having made this decision after careful thought, he wasn’t simply doing it to support a friend. He had a grander plan.

So far, Gu Cheng had only released one album, “Meteor Shower,” containing four songs. But two of these—“Exaggeration” and “Men’s Ocean”—had bilingual versions, recorded in two languages. Thus, the CDs sold online had six tracks.

“Exaggeration” came in Mandarin and Cantonese versions (because the Cantonese rhymes suited the song), while “Men’s Ocean” had Mandarin and Fuso versions.

He had done this partly to challenge his own bilingual songwriting skills, but also out of greater ambition.

Since Mika Nakashima, many Chinese singers had become popular by covering that lady’s songs over the years.

Gu Cheng, who saw himself as a future leader in the music scene, had dreamed of reverse covers—if he could make the Fuso-language version of “Men’s Ocean” popular, so much so that Fuso male singers would imitate him, it would slightly erase the shame of “Chinese people copying Fuso songs.”

The last Chinese-language singer to achieve this was Teresa Teng (though she also covered Mika Nakashima’s “Walking the Road of Life,” most of Teng’s other songs were original, and some Fuso singers covered hers).

If Gu Cheng could also succeed in writing a “Chinese classic that even Fusos cover,” his prestige in the music world would soar. Perhaps he could even leverage nationalist sentiments, standing on the moral high ground to look down on and criticize peers who lacked creative ability and only had vocal talent.

Of course, this was no easy feat. Setting aside the quality of the songs themselves, the huge difference in syllabic efficiency between Mandarin and Fuso posed a long-standing obstacle in reverse lyric adaptation.

Because Fuso has more syllables and Mandarin fewer, it’s comparatively easy to translate Fuso lyrics into Mandarin. The worst lyricists can add filler and still make it work. For example, Wang Fei’s Mandarin cover of Mika Nakashima’s “Fragile Woman” repeats “don’t” several times to pad the syllables: “Don’t, don’t, don’t come and go suddenly, please cherish my heart.”

There are skillful examples as well, like Ren Xianqi’s “Heartbroken Pacific,” the highest-selling album in Taiwan’s history. His lyrics seamlessly double the semantic content of the original, overcoming the challenge that Mandarin is half as concise as Fuso when expressing the same meaning.

But original Mandarin lyrics are much harder to translate into Fuso because “when it’s cold, you can add clothes; when it’s hot, you can’t peel your skin off.”

So only fast songs with somewhat verbose original Mandarin lyrics and redundant syllables have a chance for reverse covers. Among the four songs on “Meteor Shower,” only “Men’s Ocean” met this prerequisite.

Therefore, when recording the album earlier that year, Gu Cheng had already laid the groundwork, putting significant effort into adapting “Men’s Ocean” and discussing it extensively with Fang Wenshan, ultimately producing a successful Fuso cover. This also eased his guilt toward Zhou Chuanxiong somewhat.

Unfortunately, Chengpin Records had no sales channel in Fuso, so the album barely sold beyond the border.

Constrained by identity and energy, Gu Cheng doubted he’d ever hold a personal concert. So appearing as a guest performer might be the best way he could think of to promote Chinese pop music in other East Asian countries.

Hence, when Kwon Bo-ya invited him, he didn’t object. He saw it as an opportunity to test the popularity he had accumulated through “Meteor Garden” in Fuso.

And so the plan was set in motion.