Chapter 1578 - The Long-Haired Senator in White
"What is—"
"Students from Fangcaodi." Lian Nishang sighed slightly, as if recalling her own school days. "These are all children from the selection group." Her voice carried an unmistakable note of envy.
Zhuo Yifan was secretly astonished. Lian Nishang was perpetually proud and aloof—apart from the "Chiefs," hardly anyone earned her attention. She treated the Imperial Court as an enemy, frequently uttering treasonous and contemptuous words. Yet here she was, speaking with such wistful admiration! He could only imagine what elevated status these "juvenile Fake Australians" must hold in Lingao.
If he could obtain one of those "uniforms," Zhou Zhongjun and the others could approach the True Australians openly. Their chances of success would improve considerably.
For the past several days, Zhou Zhongjun and the others had been frequenting the East Gate Market—partly to familiarize themselves with the terrain, partly to attempt purchasing student "uniforms."
According to the intelligence Zhuo Yifan had gathered, students constituted the group closest to the Bandits among the Fake Australians. The True Australians let down their guard around them.
But student uniforms proved impossible to acquire. The ready-made clothing industry in Lingao was remarkably developed; naturalized citizens almost universally bought their garments pre-made. Even among indigenous people, ready-made clothes had become popular—they fit well, cost little, and proved far more economical than purchasing fabric and hiring a tailor. Only these "uniforms" could not be bought anywhere.
The "work clothes" in clothing stores bore a superficial resemblance to the Bandits' various "uniforms"—all button-down jackets. But the details differed significantly, and women's clothing diverged even more. The female student uniforms of Fangcaodi were simply unavailable on the market, not even close approximations. Zhou Zhongjun's inquiries revealed these were all "publicly issued"—unobtainable through commercial channels.
Perhaps Zhou Zhongjun and the others could ambush a few female students...
While his imagination ran wild, dense footsteps suddenly erupted behind him, approaching at tremendous speed. In an instant, accompanied by an almost inaudible "Excuse me," a tall figure hurtled toward where they stood.
Zhuo Yifan acted almost on instinct—he pushed Lian Nishang gently to the side while taking a diagonal step himself, turning quickly. But this narrow space offered little room to dodge. He felt only a cool breeze at his back before a figure collided with him. In the sudden impact, he could only plant his feet and hold his ground. The person who had been sprinting recklessly indoors seemed oblivious to nearly knocking down a woman. He merely turned and muttered something like "Suo-li" before pushing through the crowd and disappearing. Zhuo Yifan caught only a glimpse: a tall young man, roughly six feet, dressed in white with disheveled hair.
The Huashan Sect's chief disciple stood momentarily bewildered. Isn't Lingao's discipline supposed to be strict? Everything in order? How could they tolerate such reckless behavior? He felt indignant. Bad enough to queue behind yellow-mouthed children—now he had been jostled by some inexplicable stranger. Had he not trained in martial arts and possessed firm roots beneath his feet, he would have humiliated himself before Lian Nishang.
Lian Nishang exclaimed: "Ah! That's the Chief Zuo Yami mentioned last time—the only man among the Chiefs who keeps long hair! Why did he run in alone? Wasn't he supposed to come with the music band?"
Zhuo Yifan wondered: "This is a True Australian? Why hasn't he shaved his hair?"
"Most Chiefs do shave their heads, it's true. But Zuo Yami told me there's a male Chief in the Art Troupe with a peculiar style. His appearance and manner of speaking differ completely from the other Chiefs. Now I remember—this is Chief Dongfang of the Art Troupe. He's probably here for the Cultural Festival rehearsal today. Let's go in—there might be quite a show inside!"
"Extraordinary—a maverick Australian. This exceeds all expectations." Zhuo Yifan's spirits soared. He hadn't anticipated the Bandits would enter and exit the gymnasium so casually, presenting such an observation opportunity. He immediately followed Lian Nishang inside.
Dongfang Ke, notorious for oversleeping and arriving late during his tenure at the Finance and Economics Committee, had cycled at a sprint from the Bairen Dormitory Area to the gymnasium. Then, to save time, he bypassed the small door typically used by Senators and forced his way through the crowd at the main entrance—nearly colliding with a spectator in a long gown—finally arriving at the stage just as Liu Shuixin settled before the piano.
"Phew. Overslept. Sorry."
Nan Gong, standing on the conductor's podium, betrayed no surprise. "Go sit to the side and catch your breath first."
"No need—let's start directly. We'll run through the tempo first, then focus on the on-site acoustics and the feel of the response."
"Uh, I had the strings try just now—it's fine. Good, let's rehearse."
"Rehearsal piece: Good News from Lingao Reaches Li Villages. Percussion, ready."
Nan Gong raised his baton. The bull horn's long cry opened the piece, followed by the cut of percussion bells. Melodious and cheerful piano notes rang out under Dongfang and Liu Shuixin's fingers—the MIDI keyboard remained improperly calibrated, so they had substituted a plucked piano as a temporary keyboard—lending this twentieth-century main-melody folk music a strangely eclectic feeling.
Offstage, Zuo Yami had already finished her snacks. Spotting her best friend's figure, she waved eagerly. "Over here, come here!"
"So you knew this was an Art Troupe rehearsal! If I'd known, I would have come earlier!" Lian Nishang chatted animatedly with her friend, leaving Zhuo Yifan standing aside. "Did you see Chief Dongfang? He just ran right past me!"
Hero Zhuo, still somewhat shaken, watched the stage performance with interest. This "Australian Music Band" was unique in both structure and instruments. Most astonishing was that the genuine Bandits personally descended to the stage as musicians—men and women playing one zither together. The Australians' flagrant "disregard for hierarchy and cardinal principles" had given him another good lesson.
Yet this "Australian music," compared to the silk and bamboo sounds among Great Ming's folk traditions, possessed a different momentum entirely. The strings were noisy and cutting, the bells and gongs scattered yet orderly, the temperament in the key of Zhenggong—truly sonorous and spirited. Zhuo Yifan had heard of that enormous foreign zither, a product of the West capable of producing dozens of tones. The male and female musicians cooperated with practiced ease. Another "True Bandit" on stage, also in plain clothes, danced with a wooden stick in hand—quite amusing. The gong and drum players watched him intently.
Suddenly the music surged into a rapid tempo, mounting ever higher. Then the gongs and drums crashed, ending on a sustained note. The dancer froze with clenched fist raised. Zhuo Yifan finally grasped what he had been witnessing.
"The Chiefs really know everything—it's amazing that they personally play music!" Lian Nishang remained immersed in the impactful "Aus-Song melody," her worship plainly written on her face.
"I heard from the Chief in the club that this Art Troupe gathered all the naturalized musicians in Lingao," Zuo Yami continued. "Chief Dongfang, Chief Nan Gong, and Chief Liu personally sit in and perform. The instruments were purchased from Macau. Head Chief Okamoto went to great lengths to arrange it all." As for the dispute over art resources among the Chiefs she had overheard—well, as a police officer, she knew the value of discretion.
"Oh! How rude of me—I was so absorbed in the performance! Neglected Hero Zhuo entirely. This humble woman pays her respects. What's that in the young master's hand?"
"Miss Zuo is too kind. These are Australian Pancakes from East Gate Market. Please, help yourself." Zhuo Yifan had long abandoned strict separation of the sexes; his only aim was to earn these two policewomen's trust.
"Hehe, not for now—I've already eaten. Should we head to the fighting gym to spar, or stay and listen a bit longer? There seem to be more programs."
"Let's listen more! This is truly remarkable!" Lian Nishang had become a devoted "fan" of the Art Troupe.
Zhuo Yifan echoed her enthusiasm: "Indeed—this Australian musical temperament has a unique flavor." In truth, he wanted a better look at these True Bandits' faces. "It's just... these few Chiefs personally playing the qin—it seems to diminish their dignity somewhat..."
"Hmph! Don't sons of Great Ming also practice Qin, Chess, Calligraphy, and Painting? Why shouldn't the Chiefs play the qin?" Lian Nishang wheeled on him, her lips pursed in a pout.
Young Hero Zhuo cursed inwardly: How can refined scholarly pursuits compare to performing on stage for a living? But he held his tongue and let the argument die.
The orchestra on stage was rearranging seats and instruments. Dongfang Ke and Liu Shuixin walked down. Okamoto approached them. "Not bad, not bad—at that speed, the basic rhythm layers of piano and percussion didn't fall apart. Conductor Nan Gong delivers. The sound field is still a bit thin, though—the audio needs another round of adjustment."
"Perfect timing. That piece is relatively short, and they practiced it thoroughly. The next song, Colorful Clouds Chasing the Moon, doesn't involve me. I'll sit in the audience below and listen for the effect." Dongfang Ke was mildly surprised that Okamoto hadn't reprimanded him for his tardiness.
"Good—find yourself a seat. I'll stay here and supervise. Comrade Liu, you—"
"I'll go listen from the opposite stand!" Liu Shuixin appeared equally eager. As a song and dance troupe mainstay before the crossing, she had long grown dissatisfied with merely singing at the Senator Annual Meeting. The stage was where an artist's passion truly lay.
Dongfang Ke tied his loose hair back with a cord, undid the top button of his silk shirt, and strode alone toward the stands where a group of naturalized citizen onlookers had gathered. He braced himself against the railing, swung his legs over, and dropped into a shadowed spot, crossing his arms. Nan Gonghao on stage directed the folk orchestra into the next piece.
Tapping out the beat with his toes, Dongfang Ke's gaze bypassed the stage entirely. He was searching for something.
"Yami—this Australian tune seems very different from before?" Lian Nishang did not understand music. In an era without mass media, ordinary people rarely encountered such variety.
"I heard this during the last rehearsal too. Apparently, it's a folk ditty from Fujian and Guangdong, re-arranged by the Australian Chiefs."
Zuo Yami, obviously influenced by the Senate, had become something of a cultural enthusiast—she spoke as if she actually knew what she was talking about.
Zhuo Yifan was staring at the musician playing the huqin. This man clearly bore a military bearing—why had he come to play the fiddle? Suddenly, the hairs on his neck prickled, as if something was wrong.