Chapter 378: Pissed Off

Jing Zeyang looked terrified: "Cousin Lin, you aren't joking, are you?"

"Brother Jing, I am not joking!"

This isn't called joking?

Trying hard to calm his mood, Jing Zeyang explained patiently, "Cousin Lin, so-called 'classical' doesn't mean the older the better; you have to appeal to both refined and popular tastes.

Take classical prose for example, like 'Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River', 'Preface to Prince Teng's Pavilion', or 'Account of Yueyang Tower'—they're old enough, aren't they? But if you give them to modern people, how many can actually appreciate them?"

"And then there's classical music: I don't know if you've ever been to Baiyun Guan, but they perform Daoist music from time to time, and it absolutely stems from the court Yue of the Tang and Song dynasties. It's refined and high-class enough, right? But if I have to listen to it, I feel like it's a funeral procession—"

"So, this isn't a question of where you copied it from at all, but a question of whether the audience can accept it!"

Lin Sicheng nodded: Rites and Yue, Rites and Yue, what are Rites?

Sacrifices!

If you find it festive to listen to, then you've seen a ghost.

He smiled and pointed at the manuscript: "Is adaptation not allowed either?"

"Of course it's allowed, but the problem is who is doing the adapting? Let me put it this way: true classical music and classical dance are completely different things from the classical music and dance that modern audiences can appreciate; there is a mountain between them—"

Jing Zeyang sighed deeply, "Cousin Lin, let me tell you the truth: I don't have this ability anyway—"

"Oh no, to be precise, it's a difference of a hundred thousand miles. Those who can adapt it, and adapt it well, you and I can't hire them, and they wouldn't dare come!"

Wouldn't dare come?

Lin Sicheng looked thoughtful: "Brother Jing, just how big of an accident did you cause this time?"

If it were just plagiarism, at worst it would be a demerit, or perhaps a notice to the whole troupe, and then a disciplinary record in the file.

If that didn't work, they could just be blunt and fire him directly.

But this time, it was more like Jing Zeyang had offended someone, and the other party was using a soft knife to cut his flesh, deliberately torturing him.

Jing Zeyang wanted to say something but stopped.

After a long while, he sighed despondently: "Cousin Lin, have you ever seen a time when the skirt fell off during 'Jialing Ju Lian'?"

Lin Sicheng paused: "What?"

"Just this move—" Jing Zeyang lifted his back leg and gestured, "At the time, the lead actress was on a wire, spinning in the air above the stage, and *whoosh*, the skirt just fell off, leaving only two gleaming legs—"

Lin Sicheng recalled it.

Of course he knew what 'Jialing Ju Lian' was; to put it in common terms: Celestial Maiden Scattering Flowers.

The performer leans forward, lifts her right leg back, and is suspended by a crane, spinning one or two circles above the venue.

The move is roughly like this:

But that's not right?

"Even if the skirt fell off, what does that have to do with you?"

Jing Zeyang looked miserable: "The original design was a one-piece dress, and there were pants inside the skirt. I was afraid of being discovered as a copycat, so I changed it a bit, changed it into a half-skirt, and took the pants out—"

Lin Sicheng was stunned: "You mean, underneath—there was nothing else worn?"

"How is that possible? Of course there was underwear, it was just a bit small, the kind that barely covered anything—but the problem is, as luck would have it, the lead actress had just spun to the table where the leaders were sitting when the skirt fell off—"

Jing Zeyang sighed, "And that was at the Shougang Dajuyuan!"

Lin Sicheng's eyes popped out, his expression like he'd seen a ghost: Is this a question of which theater it was?

Of course, it was indeed related: a National Level A performance venue, a high-ranking public institution. But the problem is, the leaders watching the program were certainly of that same rank.

Imagine: the leaders were watching intently, *whoosh*, a pile of cloth falls on their heads. Then they look up: good heavens?

But it's still not right.

Lin Sicheng looked suspicious: "But Brother Jing, why are you the one taking the blame? What about the costume and props department?"

"For that performance, I was also in charge of costumes and props—oh, and Xiao Meng, but she was the assistant."

Jing Zeyang stammered, "The key is that those few days were too busy, and there were social gatherings every night. I drank for several days in a row and was a bit muddled. When I was preparing the costumes for the lead, I wasn't paying attention and missed two buttons—it was also like a ghost was driving me, it had been performed for several days, but it just happened to go wrong during that one show—"

Lin Sicheng was stunned, not knowing what to say.

During the October 1st National Day, as a National Level performance troupe, one can imagine how heavy the performance tasks were.

Women were used like men, men were used like donkeys; it didn't matter if you were a director or a screenwriter, you went wherever there was work.

This included the principals and the pillars of the troupe; they still had to carry bags, move boxes, and help people with makeup.

These two must have been temporarily assigned to manage costumes and props at the performance site, but they either slacked off or left their posts. And then, as luck would have it, the accident happened.

But it still felt like something was missing: even if there was a performance accident, Lan Laotaitai wouldn't go so far as to treat him like a Japanese person—

Looking back and forth at the two of their faces, Jing Zeyang looked sheepish, while Shen Xiaomeng's eyes drifted, and her face gradually turned red.

His heart skipped a beat, and Lin Sicheng looked strange: Good heavens, these two weren't doing anything proper at the time?

Seeing what he was thinking, Jing Zeyang pointed to the sky to protest his innocence: "Heaven and earth are my witness, we were just sitting in the storage room chatting—but that was the last show, we could clock out after it was over, and there was basically nothing for us to do—"

Lin Sicheng looked helpless: You say you were chatting, so you were chatting? Besides, where couldn't you chat? You hid in a storage room to chat?

Even if you were chatting this time, what about next time?

It's no wonder Lan Laotaitai insisted on getting rid of him; this wasn't a question of whether he plagiarized or not. Someone like Jing Zeyang, placed in a song and dance troupe with so many female performers, is just a disaster.

If he were the leader, he would also insist on getting rid of him: if it didn't happen this time, it would happen next time.

But if it got out, it would be a scandal, so they could only find another excuse—

"Brother Jing, did you ask someone to intercede for you?"

Jing Zeyang nodded.

Isn't that obvious? Otherwise, he would have been fired eight hundred times over.

Lin Sicheng finally understood; Jing Zeyang was just a small shrimp, so why could someone of Lan Laotaitai's status personally step in to deal with him? It was all his own doing.

Someone like him, whoever was the leader would try to find a way to get rid of him, but he happened to have a background, so he couldn't be fired right away.

Then they could only change their approach: apply pressure to him, add layers of burden, and one day, Jing Zeyang would be unable to stay and would just roll away—

"Brother Jing, you should change places as soon as possible!" Lin Sicheng pondered for a moment, "Even if you muddle through this time, there will be a next time. You probably won't be able to stay in this song and dance troupe—"

"I know!" Jing Zeyang nodded hurriedly, "But I'm only in my internship period, where could I transfer to? So, even if I have to grit my teeth and endure it, I have to hold on for these two months."

After a slight pause, he gritted his teeth again: "The key is, no matter where I transfer to, it requires the General Manager's signature—"

Jing Zeyang spoke vaguely, but Lin Sicheng could figure it out: Jing Zeyang had angered the old lady—

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