Chapter Forty-Four: The Simple Plan Makes Its Debut

Inside the barbershop, Zhang Kexuan gazed at his reflection in the mirror, utterly incredulous. Even the hairstylist was somewhat stunned—despite being the creator of this outrageously impressive hairstyle, he still found it hard to believe. Li Mu stood by with arms folded, turning to Chen Wan. “Wan, what do you think?”

“Li Mu, you’re amazing…” Chen Wan was at a loss for words. The Zhang Kexuan in the mirror seemed like a completely new person—more attractive, more spirited, and cleaner than before, an almost miraculous transformation.

Li Mu nodded, silently marveling to himself. He had only intended to give him a slick, sharp style reminiscent of William Chan, but unexpectedly, this guy turned out to be genuinely handsome after the makeover.

Such is the allure of an era—a hairstyle from more than a decade later was enough to leave everyone today utterly astonished.

Ye Tianming, who had been watching for fun, suddenly sat down in the chair next to Zhang Kexuan and pointed to his own head. “Excuse me, give me exactly the same cut.”

“No,” Li Mu interjected quickly. “A band, before it becomes successful, can only have one focal point. If everyone stands out, it’s as if no one does.”

Performance groups aren’t like the later Korean pop ensembles. In China, audiences focus on the lead singer and pay little attention to the rest, which is why in many bands, the value of the lead singer surpasses that of all the other members combined—think of Ashin from Shin Band, Ashin from Mayday, Wu Qingfeng from Sodagreen, or Da Zhangwei from Flowers.

There are countless similar examples; it’s a matter of audience tastes, and Li Mu couldn’t change that.

Zhang Kexuan was thoroughly satisfied with his new look. Now, staring at his reflection, he could pass as a first-rate heartthrob. He was delighted, though he still sighed aloud, “Sigh, I guess I can’t headbang when playing rock anymore.”

Li Mu scoffed, “Remember, Simple Plan’s future style is basically pop. Only then do you have a chance to become popular. Of course, you can’t abandon rock—always talk about rock, and use the banner of rock to make pop music.”

“Isn’t that just dressing mutton as lamb?” Zhang Kexuan protested.

“If you want to be famous, less nonsense, alright?”

Zhang Kexuan grinned sheepishly and checked the time. “It’s only half past six. We’ve changed the name, tuned the instruments, and I’ve cut off my long hair. Let’s grab something to eat.”

Li Mu nodded, then suddenly remembered something and turned to Zhang Kexuan, “Do you know any photographers?”

“You mean for photos?”

“Yes, but someone with good equipment and skills.”

Ye Tianming quickly chimed in, “I know someone—a studio owner, studied photography in Yanjing back in the day.”

“Perfect,” Li Mu said at once. “Call him over. After you guys perform tonight, have him take some close-up shots.”

The group was taken aback. “We’re just in a competition—do we really need to hire a photographer?”

“Absolutely,” Li Mu replied, glancing at Zhang Kexuan. If a photographer could use a shutter and some software to make this guy look even more handsome, then spend a little money to plant some news stories on the local web media, and air a teaser before the TV broadcast, it could easily attract the attention of many girls.

Ye Tianming wasn’t sure what Li Mu was thinking, but he pulled out his phone and made the call. The photographer was more than accommodating; as soon as he heard Ye Tianming was entering a competition, he agreed to come in person with his best equipment.

Li Mu finally relaxed. With no video streaming sites established yet, Simple Plan’s path to early fame could only depend on television media. But Li Mu had faith in “Li Bai” and in Zhang Kexuan’s image and vocal prowess—this time, they would surely make a splash.

…

At eight o’clock sharp, the National Band Competition’s South Su Province preliminaries, sponsored by Ice Power, officially began. The students at Jinling University were highly interested; by seven-thirty, the gymnasium was packed, with more than two or three thousand people, some even standing at the back.

Li Mu and Chen Wan were lucky enough to grab seats near the front. As for the four members of Simple Plan, they were already backstage, anxiously preparing.

A local Jinling TV host presided over the provincial contest. At precisely eight, she announced the start of the competition and introduced the five judges—one from a Yanjing record company, the others professors from Jinling Arts Academy.

Li Mu didn’t have high hopes for this kind of competition. Whether underground bands or student bands, there was no shortage of good vocalists, but bands always fell short elsewhere—lack of balanced musicianship, subpar equipment, no outstanding original songs, and so on.

Sure enough, after the contest began, most bands were awful, each with its own deficiencies. Occasionally, a couple were passable, but none were anywhere near stardom.

The judges’ scoring was consistent. It was a ten-point system; five judges, with the highest and lowest scores discarded, and the remainder totaled—a maximum of thirty points. But after seven bands, the highest score was only nineteen—truly dismal.

By the eighth band, nearly two hours had passed. Most performances were so lackluster that the student audience had lost even the enthusiasm to applaud. Li Mu overheard a girl nearby complain to her friend, “If it weren’t for our school’s Peony Pavilion Band, I’d have left ages ago.”

Her friend agreed, “Yeah, what are these songs? They’re awful.”

When the eighth band finished, the applause was sparse, and the lead singer even bowed with tears in his eyes.

The host returned to the stage. “Now, judges, please score the Oxygen Deficit Band.”

A moment later, the judges raised their placards.

“Alright, discarding the highest score of 5 and the lowest of 2, Oxygen Deficit Band’s final score is: 11!”

The judges’ comments were uniform: “The original song is unremarkable, and the lead singer’s voice isn’t strong enough.”

“Next, please welcome the ninth band of the evening: Simple Plan. Their original entry is ‘Li Bai.’”

“They’re up!” Chen Wan was as excited as a child, clutching Li Mu’s T-shirt.

At this moment, the other three members of the band took the stage, instruments in hand. Li Mu had arranged their positions: the stage split horizontally into three sections—drums at the back center, bassist and second guitarist at the middle sides, leaving the front and center for Zhang Kexuan.

With the guitarist and bassist already plugged in and ready, Zhang Kexuan slung his electric guitar behind him and, with a swaggering gait, strode out from backstage.

That was the focal point.

If all four appeared together, the audience would look them over and then say, “Wow, look, that guy’s really handsome.” But with the three supporting members already in place and motionless, Zhang Kexuan’s delayed entrance drew all eyes to him at once.

Just as anticipated.

The girls in the audience were transfixed, many of them shrieking in delight, their cheers persistent and unending—a reception that immediately set them apart from the other bands.

Standing at the microphone, Zhang Kexuan spoke in a deep voice, “Hello everyone, we are Simple Plan.”

He had felt nervous at first, but after hearing eight mediocre songs backstage, his confidence soared—he believed in “Li Bai.” Now, with so many girls screaming for him, he was brimming with self-assurance.

That simple introduction was also Li Mu’s idea. The host had already covered the basics, so it was best to cut the small talk and get to the point.

Sure enough, Zhang Kexuan glanced back at his bandmates, giving them a signal. Ye Tianming struck the drumsticks together four times to set the tempo, and then “Li Bai” was performed before the cameras for the very first time.

The light, carefree prelude alone was enough to catch everyone’s attention. When Zhang Kexuan sang the first line, the crowd erupted in cheers, and even the previously lethargic judges perked up.

Li Mu had instructed Zhang Kexuan to pay close attention to emotion and feel, to express a sense of ease and irreverence with both voice and attitude. Tonight, Zhang Kexuan delivered flawlessly.

As Zhang Kexuan sang, Li Mu looked around and found nearly everyone tapping along to the rhythm—a sure sign that the song had electrified the atmosphere.

Seeing the adoring gazes of the lovestruck female students, Li Mu’s confidence in Simple Plan’s future skyrocketed.