Chapter 7: Apocalypse

The voices near the door grew louder, and Song Ya quickly lightened his steps, quietly retreating along the same path he had come.

After crossing over, he had visited a few music and video stores. Unless it was a super star or a special edition cassette, the price of a regular cassette never went above five dollars. Even if he sold all seven thousand copies, the total income would barely reach thirty-five thousand dollars. And that didn't even account for any costs. No wonder the people in the office kept shouting, "We're done for."

"So that means..."

Hiding in the shadows behind the DJ booth, he looked towards the dance floor, which was still loud and lively. The bodies of men and women were outlined by the white light from the photographers' flash. When the director called for them to dance, they danced. Sweat flew, their focus so intense they didn't even bother wiping it off.

Emily's smile was pure, devoid of anything but happiness. When the director called for a stop, she immediately bent down, her hands resting on her knees as she gasped for air. She was too young, and her frail body was starting to struggle to keep up.

Connie had already taken off her coat, wearing a skimpy evening dress she rented from a second-hand store that morning. The photographer deliberately focused the camera on her hips. She understood the hint and proudly shook her ample rear end, like a motor running on high.

Airel kept puffing out his cheeks, his face flushed from the intense physical effort of his beatboxing, which demanded exceptional lung capacity. Besides rapping, he spent almost all his spare time working as a waiter at a restaurant to make ends meet.

The lead singer, Little Lowrey, swayed the microphone in his hand, striking poses he thought were the coolest and most stylish. Two years ago, a music company noticed him and signed him, so he dropped out of school. Since then, most of his time had been spent on monotonous songwriting and vocal practice. Playing basketball was his only form of recreation. He wrote the lyrics to every song in his album by himself.

Beside him, Tony's eyes were filled with joy and longing as he looked at the dance floor. "Make it big," "get rich," "get out of this damned slum" — these were the words he often repeated. Song Ya would usually mock him in his mind for dreaming so small, wanting to be someone else's "follower." But then…

Song Ya thought back to his failed week.

On Monday, "ET" was found dead on the street two blocks from home, shot five times. Song Ya accompanied Tony to the place where "ET" had died to lay a flower. It was rumored that the gang "ET" belonged to swore revenge, but what did that matter? All it would do was instill more fear in the residents, maybe even leave a few more pairs of shoes hanging on the power lines at the street corner.

During band practice, Song Ya still struck the wrong notes on the triangle, barely holding onto his credit with a pitiful look in front of the enraged music teacher. Then, in math, he encountered setbacks. Advanced class was teaching calculus, and his classmates' competitiveness was rising. No longer could he breeze through it like with the standard course.

Ever since the nickname APLUS stuck, Song Ya had accepted it. The teasing and bullying had lessened, but the biggest problem with this public school was the lack of any quiet and relaxed environment to study. Whenever he tried to find a quiet spot to read, either he was kicked out by the rowdy thugs or accidentally stumbled upon a pair of amorous pigeons.

Yesterday, led by Aunt Su Qi, the whole family divided up the work and left early to queue outside various charities for free donations. Song Ya held food vouchers and stood in line for five hours before exchanging them for just enough flour and food to last the family a week at a heavily fortified store. Then, the whole family gathered outside the church to queue again for a free, simple lunch of bread and soup. In the afternoon, it was more waiting in line, finishing with a trip to Walmart to buy discounted, near-expiry eggs and meat before the store closed. After dark, the family, without a car, carried heavy bags and waited another half hour for the bus to head home.

Having passed the adjustment period after crossing over, Song Ya didn't feel like he was about to soar; instead, he felt like he was slowly being assimilated into this hopeless life. If he continued like this for another year or so, as soon as some small-time celebrity beckoned him, he would absolutely give in to the temptation and follow, even if it meant becoming a lackey. After all, it was better than staying here, where one might impulsively grab a gun and get involved in drug dealing.

"Alright, wrap it up!"

It was only a little after 4, but the director declared the MV shoot officially finished, and a cheer erupted from the people on the dance floor.

"Thanks, Tony, you're really great."

Tony's ex-girlfriend threw herself onto him, showering his face with kisses.

"It's nothing." Tony seemed to be floating on air. "There's still some time, let's find a place…" His mood lifted, he took off his headphones and pulled her along to "find a place."

Connie rolled her eyes again, handed the exhausted Emily over to Song Ya, and said, "Don't mind them. Come with me, we're returning the clothes." She was already putting her coat back on as she spoke.

It was like the end of a movie, where the crowd exchanged a few pleasantries before leaving.

Song Ya turned his head and saw Little Lowrey and Airel talking to two older Black men, one fat and one thin. From their voices, it was exactly the two people Song Ya had overheard in the office earlier.

The fatter one was the bass singer from earlier. Based on their conversation, it seemed he was the record company boss. His mannerisms exuded an air of authority. Even in a flashy pink suit, he didn't appear effeminate in the slightest. Gold chains, rings, and watches adorned him — the full Black ensemble.

The thin one must be Little Lowrey's manager, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, speaking eloquently, and sporting a meticulously groomed slicked-back hairstyle. He looked like a very old-fashioned person.

Little Lowrey and Airel were definitely too busy to notice him now. Tony didn't need to wait anymore. Song Ya took Emily in his arms and left with Connie.

"Hey, APLUS!"

As they stepped outside, the "silencer" was helping the photographer move equipment. While they were greeting each other, AK came out and called them over.

"Is Connie with you? Come over here! All of you."

AK pulled Song Ya and Connie aside, blocking their view from others, and pulled out three twenties from a stack of bills in his hand. He gave one to Connie, one to Song Ya, and the last one to Emily, placing it gently into her little hand.

"Don't everyone get one?" Connie shoved the money into her chest.

"Only people like us get them. Those guys are lucky to even get screen time in the MV." AK responded.

"Uh…" Song Ya felt a little guilty, "But I didn't even dance, this money…" He tried to hand it back to AK.

"Hahaha, Tony was right, you do have a problem here." AK laughed, poking Song Ya's forehead. "Don't be stupid. The money's not mine. You're Tony's brother. We're family, we take care of each other, okay?"

"Forget him."

Connie shot a glare at Song Ya. "Say thank you." She made Emily thank them too. "Let's go. I'm going shopping!" she shouted happily.

"I want a puffy skirt!" Emily joined in the chant.

Song Ya could only hold the money and bid AK farewell, then follow Connie to the bus stop.

Twenty dollars was the largest sum of "wealth" he had managed to accumulate since crossing over. Of course, calling it "wealth" wasn't entirely wrong. In the black market in Hua Guo, one dollar could exchange for about ten soft, and twenty dollars was more than the average salary for a month.

The second-hand store providing rental evening dresses was not small. 

"Puffy skirt!" Emily darted off quickly towards her goal.

"Keep an eye on her, I'm going to change." Connie walked into the changing room.

Song Ya followed Emily through row after row of clothing racks, suddenly feeling like this situation seemed familiar.

"But I've never been to this store before?"

He wondered, and his eyes suddenly caught a pink suit hanging on the wall, which looked very similar to the one the record company boss had been wearing earlier.

"Hm?"

He racked his brain, then suddenly reached into his pocket and felt the twenty dollars. "Twenty dollars, shopping, pink suit, bass singer, rap... put them all together, and it's…"

His body jolted, as if struck by divine revelation. Suddenly, countless MV images, paired with intense beats and rapping music, rushed into his mind.

I'm gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket

I'm, I'm, I'm hunting, looking for a come up

This is FXXXing awesome!

"This is a Thrift Shop! This is! A second-hand store!"