Drunk On The Night Breeze - Chapter 25

Chapter 25

In reality, the opportunities for the two of them to say “see you tomorrow” were running out.

As October drew to a close, the city of Yuncheng was draped in a layer of autumn. People put on thicker clothes and passed hurriedly under the roadside trees, occasionally stepping on fallen yellow leaves and sending them fluttering back into the air.

Tao Zhi’s tour premiere was set for early November. The team Ruan Lingfeng led had been stationed at Tao Zhi’s studio for over a month. The initial planning phase was finally wrapping up, and it was time for them to withdraw. Today was their last day; there was nothing left to discuss, so while the team members were technically “at work,” they were mostly just packing their belongings.

Although they had been “guests in someone else’s house,” they had gotten along quite well during this period. The two staffs frequently handed off work to one another, and some had even developed friendships. While it wasn’t a tearful parting, many were exchanging bittersweet goodbyes.

Tao Zhi also came to find Ruan Lingfeng.

As the lead planner, Ruan Lingfeng had the most items left behind. There was a huge stack of printed blueprints and handwritten notebooks alone, along with various stage prop models. They wouldn’t necessarily be used again, but Ruan Lingfeng packed them into boxes one by one, planning to have them couriered back to his own company later.

As he was in the middle of packing, Ruan Lingfeng felt a shadow fall over him. He tilted his head back slightly and smiled: “No more business for today?”

“None.”

Tao Zhi stood behind Ruan Lingfeng for a moment, acting like a supervisor.

Ruan Lingfeng suddenly remembered something and rummaged through a box, pulling out two items. “You came at just the right time. I have a gift for you.”

Tao Zhi raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. If anything, he was getting used to this. Since Ruan Lingfeng’s birthday, their relationship had noticeably improved. Tao Zhi had always felt Ruan Lingfeng was nice to him, but lately, that kindness felt different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Perhaps the smiles in Ruan Lingfeng’s eyes were more genuine… Truthfully, Tao Zhi hadn’t realized Ruan Lingfeng’s smiles used to be “fake” until he had this new version to compare them to.

In the past, Ruan Lingfeng would frequently buy snacks or drinks for the staff—mostly coffee—and he would specifically order oat milk for Tao Zhi. Tao Zhi used to see this as a sign of being considerate. But a few days ago, when they were about to order coffee, Ruan Lingfeng told him: “If you aren’t really sleepy, don’t drink it. Constantly drinking that stuff is bad for your heart and stomach, and it might be bad for your throat too… I don’t see anything on your schedule today that requires you to be hyper-alert, so I’m not ordering one for you.”

Tao Zhi had asked: “Then why did you order it for me all those other times?”

Ruan Lingfeng had only smiled. But Tao Zhi eventually understood—previously, the Omega had been trying to please him. This “pleasing” was a weapon Ruan Lingfeng used to navigate social interactions successfully. It had worked on Tao Zhi; putting aside his own idiosyncratic principles, he always felt very comfortable when interacting with Ruan Lingfeng.

Now, the concern felt real.

The “pleasing” had been disguised so well it felt soothing; if one hadn’t been genuinely cared for, perhaps no one would be able to tell the difference between the two.

Thus, the image of Ruan Lingfeng that Tao Zhi had held in his mind began to crumble. He realized that the things he had taken for granted were likely worlds apart from reality.

When Ruan Lingfeng said he had a gift, Tao Zhi reached out to take it, feeling a faint sense of anticipation. He didn’t look closely at what Ruan Lingfeng was digging out; he just assumed Ruan Lingfeng would be a tasteful gift-giver. When he finally looked at what was in his hand, his face dropped: “Why are you giving me Golden Throat Lozenges?”

Is this for real? And the box is already open.

Ruan Lingfeng said with a smile: “Don’t you sing? Protecting your voice is important.”

Tao Zhi: “…”

Tao Zhi didn’t lose his temper: “In case you didn’t know, a professional singer’s technique is different from a layman’s. Using scientific vocal methods doesn’t strain the throat that much.”

“Just kidding,” Ruan Lingfeng said. “Those are actually mine. Give them back.”

Ruan Lingfeng did have to speak quite a lot in his daily life. Tao Zhi thought for a moment and said: “Next time, I’ll teach you how to speak in a way that doesn’t hurt your throat.”

“You owe me a lot of ‘next times’ now.” Ruan Lingfeng signaled for Tao Zhi to hold out his hand again. “This is the real gift. I hope the premiere goes smoothly.”

Tao Zhi complied, and a small safety amulet folded into a triangle came to rest quietly in his palm.

Ruan Lingfeng added: “I went to fetch this specifically a couple of days ago.”

“When did you go to a temple? I didn’t even know.” Tao Zhi stared at the amulet for a long time. It was something Ruan Lingfeng had sought out for him. He didn’t believe in such things, but he still carefully and solemnly tucked the charm into a pocket in his wallet. He added: “Thanks. I hope everything goes well too… By the way.”

“Hmm?”

Tao Zhi hesitated for a moment, then asked in a low voice: “Keep doing my shows in the future, okay?”

Ruan Lingfeng was stunned, then broke into a laugh: “Call me ‘Brother’ and I’ll do them for you.”

Tao Zhi gave a “tsk”: “Take it or leave it.”

Ruan Lingfeng didn’t truly take offense at Tao Zhi’s habitual lack of manners. He simply said: “The show hasn’t even started and you’re already rushing to book the next one. Aren’t you afraid this one will flop?”

“You just said you wanted it to go smoothly, don’t jinx it,” Tao Zhi grumbled.

“My bad,” Ruan Lingfeng said. “I think you’ll be sticking to the pure singer path in the future, which means a lot of shows. Actually, if you have a lot of performances, it’s more cost-effective for the studio to hire a full-time planner. A small team wouldn’t need many people; they can do other tasks normally, and when it’s time for a concert, they lead the planning. Plus, if you work together long-term, they might understand your vision better.”

Their current arrangement was, to put it bluntly, outsourcing. Their projects fell into a few categories: the worst were artists who didn’t perform often and only did a few shows to “harvest” fans; since their companies lacked resources, they’d commission Ruan Lingfeng’s team to provide a generic template that could fit anyone. Sometimes they also bid for galas held by cross-industry departments—such as government-sponsored performances to promote tourism—which were usually quite standard. Then there were collaborations with legitimate artists who didn’t want a generic show but whose own teams lacked good ideas, so they sought out planning teams with high-quality portfolios.

Tao Zhi fell into the third category. But even among those clients, Tao Zhi was a “King among Kings.” Many artist teams wanted great results but had no budget, which could drive a planner insane. Tao Zhi wanted results and was willing to pour money into it—this was one of the reasons why Ruan Lingfeng had played nice with him initially despite finding him annoying.

Moreover, Tao Zhi was very dedicated. Aside from proposing some absurd demands at the start, he had been very practical, giving the planning team ample time, space, and freedom. Staying at the client’s venue for this long was quite rare. Tao Zhi was also willing to join the discussions whenever he was free; even though he had a huge temper, if his ideas were rejected and the reasons were explained clearly, he wouldn’t say another “no.”

Honestly, collaborating with a client like this was fine, but Ruan Lingfeng was truly considering what was best for him.

Unexpectedly, Tao Zhi immediately countered: “No.”

“Why not?”

Tao Zhi didn’t answer right away. After a moment, he said: “I’ll just hire you?”

Ruan Lingfeng joked: “How much of a salary are you going to pay me?”

Tao Zhi looked quite serious: “A bit more than what you have now? You wouldn’t have to come in if there’s nothing to do.”

“Are you trying to go bankrupt as a boss?” Ruan Lingfeng added, “But I still wouldn’t come. I can’t just do your projects alone; I would stagnate… Oh well, why think so far ahead? Let’s prepare for what’s in front of us first.”

The Day of the Performance.

The premiere was at the Yuncheng Gymnasium, saving everyone from the exhaustion of travel. As the first show, the venue had been checked many times, and yesterday’s rehearsal went perfectly. Everything was fine, no problems. But as the start time approached, the tension in the air was palpable.

Despite his long career, Ruan Lingfeng found himself unable to relax. Tonight, he had to monitor the entire show and handle some coordination; sometimes he felt that calling him the “Director” of this show was more accurate than “Planner.”

He was at the backstage control center with Tao Zhi’s manager, Chen Ping, along with a subordinate who was there to learn.

Two hours before the show, someone reported that some lights in the audience weren’t working. Ninety minutes before the show, a backup dancer for a certain song suddenly came down with a stomach ache. One hour before the show, the audience began to enter, but there was chaos during the distribution of supplies; some fans were treating official items as collectible merch and refused to use them as instructed on-site…

There were many incidents, but they had contingency plans for everything. Ruan Lingfeng handled everything that the other staff were unsure of with perfect order.

Even Chen Ping remarked: “I feel like a piece of furniture here. Teacher Ruan is too reliable.”

Ruan Lingfeng, however, was in no mood for small talk.

The show was about to start. Although there was a dedicated team for emergencies, he had to keep a close watch to prevent accidents.

The lights dimmed. In the gymnasium that held tens of thousands, screams rose and fell, only to fall silent simultaneously as the intro video began to play on the giant screens.

The concert was ultimately titled “Falling Asleep on a Beautiful Night.” The theme was “Dreams”—originally just a theme for a small segment, it became the title for the entire show during the revisions.

Every audience member was informed upon entry that this was an “adventure through a dreamscape.” They were issued a set of simple pajamas and sleeping caps to wear over their clothes—different colors of soft, non-glaring fluorescent hues. When the lights went out, the audience seating transformed into a sea of soft, multicolored light-clouds.

Then, a female voice with the tone of an old domestic cartoon dub began: “Welcome to Xiao Tao’s dream. Next, everyone, please begin your adventure.”

The audience initially thought this was just a standard intro, but when the voice began explaining the “adventure rules,” they realized this truly was going to be an unknown journey.

The concert’s progression was designed like an RPG. At every segment, there were choices, and the options were voted on by the audience. The voting method was based on the decibel level of their screams—whoever was loudest won, a rule inspired by underground hip-hop freestyle battles. Whichever option got the most “votes” determined which set of songs would be sung next… different songs led to different plot points, and eventually, different paths could unlock different new songs.

Ruan Lingfeng and his team had designed five main routes with multiple sub-branches.

It was truly random, meaning any song could come up at any time. This was a significant challenge for the singer and the rest of the crew. There were many backup performers waiting in the wings, some not even knowing if they would get a chance to go on stage.

Playing it this way was a first for Ruan Lingfeng too. He was extremely nervous, terrified of a slip-up.

At the very beginning, Tao Zhi had told him he wanted the audience to remain excited from start to finish.

Ruan Lingfeng thought: Nothing is more exciting than total participation. Previously, the audience just sat and listened passively; now, they were deciding the direction of the performance.

Every audience member was a creator of this dreamscape.

Tao Zhi also said he wanted more interaction, but less “fluff” outside of the music.

Ruan Lingfeng eventually realized that Tao Zhi disliked long “MC” segments on stage; he felt they were a waste of performance time and meaningless—he’d rather spend that time singing more songs. But Ruan Lingfeng argued that constant singing could also become monotonous, which is why they settled on this interactive format.

This was perfect. There was constant interaction and non-stop feedback, but everyone’s focus remained on the music and its story. Tao Zhi didn’t have to engage in awkward small talk or force interaction by making himself the topic.

Ruan Lingfeng felt he had successfully turned in an answer to a very difficult exam.

Once the “Audience Instructions” finished, a large bed made of feathers rose from the center of the stage. Tao Zhi was lying on it. He rose slowly, walked to the front of the stage, and as the melody flowed, he began the first song of the night: “You Come Into My Dream.”

Minutes and seconds ticked by. Backstage was a whirlwind of activity, but fortunately, no major errors occurred. On stage, everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Some “Fansite Masters” were live-reporting the show as they listened. Coupled with Tao Zhi’s studio buying trending hashtags at lightning speed, this RPG-style concert immediately became a hot topic of discussion.

Some said the format was quite novel; others said it was too flashy and had low operability and a poor margin for error. But because of those risks, people were impressed that Tao Zhi’s team could pull off such a show.

Furthermore, through the audience’s choices, the first new song was successfully unlocked, and its popularity skyrocketed instantly.

Fan clubs even began posting “strategy guides,” hoping to unlock different new songs in subsequent shows.

Audience members who had only bought tickets for one show began to feel regret; playing it this way meant every show could be different, but they could only see one…

Of course, there were those purely discussing Tao Zhi’s vocals. Someone posted a clip of his singing, which immediately garnered a massive number of retweets on Weibo.

In short, this premiere was an absolute success in every aspect.

When it came time for the encore, Tao Zhi said his goodbyes and was called back by the audience’s chants.

As long as this segment was completed, the performance could be considered a perfect success.

Ruan Lingfeng stared at the stage monitors backstage, which were filming from multiple angles. He didn’t even dare to blink.

He would be able to breathe a sigh of relief very soon.

However, Tao Zhi didn’t immediately start the encore song. Instead, he began a “MC” segment—the kind he usually hated.

He started thanking the staff for their hard work. Tao Zhi went through the list, thanking the live band, the lighting technicians, the sound engineers, and the backup performers.

This was all very standard, and Ruan Lingfeng wasn’t surprised.

But then, Tao Zhi said: “The biggest thanks goes to the planning team for this concert. The name of the lead planner is Ruan Lingfeng.”

Ruan Lingfeng’s body tensed up at the sudden mention of his name. In other shows he had done, performers would sometimes thank the staff, and the planners were often forgotten—though it wasn’t unheard of.

But being praised by name was a first for Ruan Lingfeng. Next to him, Chen Ping teased: “This brat didn’t even thank his manager, but he didn’t forget to mention his ‘Brother Xiao Feng’.”

Ruan Lingfeng thought that would be the end of it, but Tao Zhi continued: “Without him, this show wouldn’t exist… Rather than calling it a show, I think this is a work of art. It is a work completed by him and me, along with the rest of the team and staff.”

Ruan Lingfeng froze on the spot.

Even when he wrote his own resume, he only referred to the shows he planned as “projects” or “cases.”

But Tao Zhi called it a “work of art.”

A work of art they had completed together.