thefictionvixens Chapter 103 Opening Up the Channel Market
Chapter 103 Opening Up the Channel Market
Nowadays, every morning in Hong Kong is awakened by the white steam from the steamer baskets of the tea restaurants on the street and the static from the radio.
In the past, the bus terminus in Tsim Sha Tsui was filled with energetic songs by PolyGram artists or martial arts drama theme songs composed by Joseph Koo, all with a strong and lively feel, carrying a sense of chivalry. But this morning, a tender and poignant melody suddenly drifted out from a double-decker bus traveling on Nathan Road.
Manager Zhang gave each bus in Hong Kong a cassette tape so they could play music on the bus, and of course, they received a tip for their hard work.
Looking back slowly, the nights that once belonged to us, Honghong is still you, the bright sun in my heart...
Zhao Yazhi's voice was gentle and soothing, carrying a touch of melancholy that swept over people like an evening breeze, instantly drowning out the noise in the carriage. Passengers who had been talking in hushed tones subconsciously fell silent; students who had been peering out the windows at the street scene turned their heads, their eyes falling on the loudspeaker on the roof; even the driver, gripping the steering wheel, couldn't help but shake his head slightly and hum along.
"What's the name of this song?" A woman in a cheongsam in the back row couldn't help but ask her companion, her eyes full of amazement.
"It seems to be... 'A Thousand Songs'? The poster that came with the Zhonghua Daily I bought is this song." My companion frowned as he recalled.
"Yesterday I bought my child a Zhonghua handheld game console, and they gave me a cartridge with that name printed on it," someone nearby chimed in.
As soon as he said this, a chorus of agreement immediately filled the carriage.
"My child also bought a handheld console, and the cartridge that came with it was this one! I listened to it all night last night and started crying."
"Absolutely! These lyrics are so well written; they seem to be talking about parting, yet also about reunion."
As the bus slowly passed the record store on the street corner, a sharp-eyed passenger suddenly pointed out the window and shouted, "Look! Isn't that a huge poster for 'A Thousand Songs' on the door of that record store?"
Everyone turned their heads to look, and saw a poster of Zhao Yazhi in a white dress on the glass door of the record store, with a line of eye-catching words printed next to it: "Zhonghua Records' first Zhang Li production, 'A Thousand Songs' - Buy a handheld console and get a limited edition cartridge as a gift."
In just one morning, the name "A Thousand Songs" spread throughout the streets and alleys of Hong Kong, carried by the bus.
In the tea restaurant, the waiters carried food and moved between the tables and chairs, humming "Only when parting do I feel the beauty of sadness"; the tailor shop owner stepped on the sewing machine, and the rhythm of his feet was perfectly in sync with the melody on the cassette player; even the old man selling newspapers at the alley entrance held a roll of newspaper and sang softly along to the tune, without even noticing that someone was buying a newspaper.
The busiest place was the Hong Kong Radio's switchboard room.
In the past, the operators could chat for a while when they had a spare moment, but on this day, the phone was ringing so loudly it almost blew the roof off the switchboard room.
"Feed? I want to request a song! 'A Thousand Songs'!"
"Could you please request a song by Angie Chiu, 'A Thousand Songs,' to send to my sister who lives far away in Southeast Asia?"
"I've already called three times! Can you play 'A Thousand Songs' first?"
Different voices came through the phone receiver—a young child's voice, a gentle woman's voice, a hoarse man's voice, and even a foreigner speaking Cantonese, all insisting on playing the song "A Thousand Songs".
The operators were busy and flustered, sweat streaming down their faces as they scribbled rapidly on the song request list. The densely packed words were all for "A Thousand Songs".
The radio station's music producer sat in his office, listening to the incessant ringing of telephones outside, his face alternating between pale and flushed. He recalled how, just a few days ago, he had dismissively told the publicity staff of Zhonghua Records that the song's "style was too soft and didn't fit the program's vibe," and now he felt a burning pain in his face.
"Producer! This is terrible! The phone is ringing off the hook! Listeners are saying they're going to file a collective complaint if we don't play 'A Thousand Songs' soon!" An operator rushed in, her voice urgent.
The producer gritted his teeth and slammed his fist on the table: "Air it! Air it immediately! Play it on a loop!"
When the melody of "A Thousand Songs" was broadcast through the airwaves to every household in Hong Kong, the entire city seemed to fall silent for a moment before being ignited by even more intense emotions.
On the street, several children chased each other, singing off-key lyrics; on the balcony, an old woman hanging clothes swayed gently to the melody; in the office building, white-collar workers put down their documents, listened attentively, and their eyes welled up with tears.
Some say that this song contains the story of parting with a lover; some say that this song contains the story of longing for one's hometown; and some say that this song contains the tenderness of Hong Kong in the 1970s.
Long queues formed at stores selling Zhonghua handheld game consoles.
Customers who originally came for the handheld game console saw the sign at the entrance that read "Buy a handheld game console and get a free 'Thousand Songs' cartridge."
"Boss! Give me a game cartridge! I don't want the game console anymore!"
"I want two too! One for my son, and one for my daughter!"
The shop assistants were working non-stop, and the cassette tapes in the warehouse were dwindling at a visible rate. Customers who hadn't bought one were frantic, scratching their heads and pestering the staff, asking, "When will you restock? I absolutely need the 'A Thousand Songs' cassette tape!"
The vinyl record of "A Thousand Songs," which was rejected by major record stores, sold out in the electronics stores that partnered with Zhonghua. Some people were even willing to pay a high price to buy a copy from scalpers, just so they could hear the melodious tune on their own record players.
In a private room at a teahouse in Tsim Sha Tsui, Zhou Qiyuan and several record store owners looked at the long queue outside the window, their faces so gloomy they could drip water.
The radio was playing "A Thousand Songs" on a loop.
"Even if a thousand songs drift on my distant road in the future..."
The melodious singing was like a resounding slap across their faces.
They blocked the distribution channels, but they never expected that Lin Zhou would use cassette tapes and buses to pry open a wider door.
They thought that a gentle song wouldn't cause any trouble, but unexpectedly, it became a favorite throughout Hong Kong.
The private room was deathly silent, with only the music from the radio still echoing softly.
Meanwhile, in the training room of Zhonghua Records, seven girls huddled around a radio, listening to the familiar melody, tears streaming down their faces. Zhao Yazhi covered her mouth, her heart filled with mixed emotions.
Lin Zhou stood by the office window, a record player playing "A Thousand Songs" beside him. He looked out at the high-rise buildings dyed red by the sunset, a faint smile appearing on his lips.