boyutpedia Chapter 186 The Harmonica Music on a Rainy Night, Hidden Feelings
Chapter 186 The Harmonica Music on a Rainy Night, Hidden Feelings
Chapter 186 The Harmonica Music on a Rainy Night, Hidden Feelings
The controversy surrounding "Flower of Evil" was completely quelled by Kitahara Shin's series of actions, and the viewership ratings steadily climbed, making it the most talked-about drama at the moment.
The night before the crew was to move to an outdoor location, Kitahara Shin received a call from Yoshinaga Sayuri.
"Remember to be on time for that party."
Kitahara Shin thought it was just another so-called "celebrity salon" like before, where people would simply introduce a few producers or screenwriters.
At 7 p.m., in Aoyama, at a secluded kaiseki restaurant.
The waiter opened the door to the private room.
Kitahara Shin walked in, his steps pausing slightly.
This was completely different from what he had expected.
There was no haggling or back-and-forth, no mercenary flattery.
Seated around the long table were six or seven elderly people with gray hair, dressed in Zhongshan suits or kimonos. They held only teacups, not wine glasses. The atmosphere was almost too quiet, like some kind of academic seminar.
Sayuri Yoshinaga, sitting at the head of the table, smiled and waved to Kitahara Shin as he entered, saying, "Kitahara-kun, come sit here."
Kitahara Shin walked over, bowed slightly to the elders, and then sat down.
Let me introduce myself.
Sayuri Yoshinaga pointed to an elderly man wearing black-rimmed glasses on her left: "This is Professor Sato from the Department of Film at Tokyo University of the Arts."
"This is Professor Tanaka from the Department of Drama at Waseda University."
"This person is from the Faculty of Arts at Nihon University —"
After a round of introductions, they were all professors or department heads from top Japanese art schools, or directors of film associations with some kind of official affiliation.
Kitahara Shinichi had some doubts.
These people, despite their prestigious names, have virtually no influence in the commercial film industry. They belong to the "academic school," the kind who research theory and write textbooks. What was Yoshinaga Sayuri up to when she called him to meet these "old scholars"?
"Professors, this is Kitahara Shin, whom I mentioned to you before."
Sayuri Yoshinaga said to everyone with a smile.
Several elderly men adjusted their glasses and scanned Kitahara Shin. Their gazes were not malicious, but rather scrutinizing, as if they were looking at an uncut gem.
"I heard that you were the one who trained Nanako Matsushima?"
Professor Sato spoke first, his voice slightly hoarse: "I saw that young girl's performance. Although her technique was still quite immature, I could see a very special system in how she handled certain emotional outbursts. Yoshinaga-san said, 'Did you teach her that?'"
Kitahara Shin nodded and said honestly, "I guess so. But it wasn't really teaching; I just gave some guidance on set."
"Humility is a good thing, but there's no need to be overly humble in art."
Professor Sato smiled, took a document out of his bag and handed it to him: "We old folks have been discussing it. We'd like to invite you to give a few lectures at various universities."
"A lecture?"
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment.
"right."
Professor Tanaka chimed in, "It's mainly for acting and directing students. Not dry theory, but your views on the current entertainment industry and practical acting. Yoshinaga highly recommends you, saying you have a unique theory of 'destruction and reconstruction.'"
Kitahara Shin looked at Yoshinaga Sayuri.
The latter was holding a teacup, a smile playing on her lips; clearly, she was the one who orchestrated this whole thing.
He didn't agree immediately, but quickly went through the pros and cons in his mind.
Giving lectures at a university? It sounds like a thankless and arduous task. No money, and a waste of time. But what if I refuse Sayuri Yoshinaga's offer—
"it is good."
Kitahara Shin nodded, his tone calm: "Since you professors think so highly of me, then I will humbly accept your offer."
Upon hearing his agreement, the elderly men all wore satisfied smiles.
"Then it's settled. We'll coordinate the specific itinerary with your secretary."
The dinner did not last long.
These elderly professors, with limited energy, took their leave after chatting for a while about the future development trends of film.
Only Kitahara Shin and Yoshinaga Sayuri remained in the private room.
The waiter cleared away the leftovers and replaced them with a pot of fresh tea.
"What? Do you think I'm causing you trouble?"
Sayuri Yoshinaga poured a cup of tea for Shin Kitahara, and seeing his thoughtful expression, asked with a smile.
Kitahara Shin took the teacup and took a sip. "It's not really troublesome. I just don't understand why you want me to get in touch with these academics?"
"To pave the way for you."
Sayuri Yoshinaga's smile faded, and her eyes turned serious: "Kitahara-kun, you have a good business sense and are a good actor. But in this industry, those alone are not enough."
She pointed outside the door: "Those commercial film companies and TV stations only care about your current situation, whether you can make money for them. Once you're no longer famous, or if you fall down due to some accident, they will not hesitate to kick you out."
"But the academic approach is different."
"They control the status and the discourse within this circle." If you can gain their approval and have a nominal position within that system, such as a visiting professor or association director—then you'll have an extra layer of protection.
Sayuri Yoshinaga sighed, as if recalling something from the past: "There used to be a very famous actor who was too arrogant and offended the higher-ups, and he didn't have the connections to back him up. In the end, he was not only blacklisted, but his previous works were also taken down, and the copyrights were revoked. He ended up in a miserable state."
"I don't want to see you go down that path too."
She looked at Kitahara Shin and said sincerely, "Go give lectures and get your face known. When the time is right, I will nominate you to join the Nikokai (the upper circle of Japanese actors). That way, even if you offend a big company in the future, they will have to think twice before they want to take action against you."
Kitahara Shin was shocked by these words.
He hadn't expected Sayuri Yoshinaga to have considered things so deeply for him.
This is what is known as "inheritance" and "nepotism." In Japan, a society that places great emphasis on seniority and factions, the kindness of a top figure willing to bring you into her inner circle and share her network of connections with you without reservation is immense.
"Thanks."
Kitahara Shin said solemnly.
"You're welcome."
Yoshinaga Sayuri smiled, a hint of slyness in her eyes: "I have my own selfish motives too. After I retire, having a student who still holds sway in this circle means I can continue to enjoy my success, right?"
'
This is the kind of conversation that smart people have.
Presenting gratitude as an exchange of benefits makes people feel comfortable and avoids incurring favors.
In the days that followed, the film crew moved to the deep mountains of Nagano Prefecture.
There is an abandoned old-fashioned hot spring hotel there, which was the most important location for filming in the middle of "Flowers of Evil".
According to the script, a meticulously planned "accidental murder" will take place here.
Shin Kitahara plays Shinji Himuro, who will lure an abusive wife into using the hotel's complex electrical system to create a seemingly perfect accidental electrocution to kill her husband.
-
This is not just instigation, but a psychological manipulation experiment.
Day 1 of filming.
The weather was either uncooperative or too cooperative.
The forecast of light rain turned into a torrential downpour by evening. The wind howled, and the trees in the mountains were blown about wildly.
"Boom—"
'
A bolt of lightning struck down.
The entire hotel was plunged into darkness in an instant.
"Is there a power outage?"
"What about the backup generator?"
"No! The backup line was struck by lightning too!"
The film crew was in complete chaos.
This is deep in the mountains, where cell phone signal is already weak, and now it's completely cut off. The rain outside is pouring down like a waterfall, and the road down the mountain is probably blocked by mudslides.
In the darkness, a sense of unease began to spread.
The young female staff members, in particular, trembled with fear at the sound of howling winds outside.
"Everyone, don't run around! Stay where you are!"
The director shouted through a megaphone, but everyone could hear the tremor in his voice.
In the hall, only a few flashlights emitted a faint light.
Rie Miyazawa, Nanako Matsushima, and Takako Matsu were huddled together on the sofa. Rie was gripping Nanako's hand tightly, her face pale; Nanako, who usually seemed a bit dull, was also frightened, her eyes wide open; Takako Matsu hugged her knees, biting her lip, trying to appear calm.
"Are we going to die here?!"
Someone whispered something.
This acted like a fuse, and the crowd began to stir.
Just then.
A melodious piano tune suddenly rang out in the darkness.
That was the sound of a harmonica.
It's not a cheerful tune, but a piece with a touch of sadness, yet extremely peaceful—"Where the Stars Are".
The music wasn't loud, but in this enclosed, quiet, and fear-filled environment, it possessed a strange penetrating power.
Everyone fell silent.
The beam of the flashlight followed the sound.
In the corner of the hall, Kitahara Shin was sitting on the windowsill. He had one foot on the windowsill, his back against the wall, and he held a slightly worn harmonica in his hand.
Outside, a fierce storm raged, with lightning and thunder.
He sat there, eyes closed, his expression focused and calm, as if the storm had nothing to do with him.
[Equipment: Rusty Harmonica (Blue) in effect]
[Special Effect: Soothing. The music can calm the anxiety and fear of listeners within a certain range.]
As the melody flowed, the anxiety that permeated the air actually gradually dissipated.
Everyone stopped talking and complaining; they just listened quietly.
on the sofa.
The three girls' eyes were all fixed on that figure.
Rie Miyazawa looked at him, her eyes filled with undisguised infatuation. He was her savior, the man who had pulled her out of the mire. On this stormy night, just seeing him there made her feel incredibly safe.
Nanako Matsushima rested her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling. "My teacher is amazing! Even playing the harmonica is so cool." She felt her heart beating faster than when she saw her male classmates or models.
And Matsu Takako—
She sat in the corner, hugging her knees, and looked at the silhouette of the person playing the harmonica with a complicated expression in the dim light of the flashlight.
The scene of her accidentally witnessing Rie Miyazawa kissing him is still haunting her.
It wasn't anger, nor jealousy. It was a subtle, indescribable feeling. It was like a once-lofty idol suddenly being tainted by worldly cosmetics, making one feel awkward, as if a lump of cotton was stuck in one's heart, strangely uncomfortable.
But at the moment.
Listening to the soothing piano music and watching the previously restless staff gradually calm down, Matsu Takako had to admit—
This man certainly possesses an undeniable leadership quality.
The filming experience during this period flashed through her mind like a slideshow.
It's not just that he's a good actor.
On set, everyone initially assumed that the person with the most authority would be the national treasure-level actress Sayuri Yoshinaga, or perhaps the director. However, in reality, the person who controlled the entire production's pace was always Shin Kitahara.
But he never made a "one-man show" and didn't act like a big star.
This is practically a rare breed in this circle.
Takako Matsu has seen too many celebrities who become arrogant after gaining a little fame, and too many so-called "drama tyrants" who throw tantrums and drag the entire crew to work all night because a scene wasn't filmed well.
But Kitahara Shin was different.
He was extremely efficient and never made anyone work overtime unnecessarily. As long as he was there, the crew ran smoothly, like it was on a well-oiled machine. Even when dealing with clumsy new actors just hired by the agency, he never acted like a senior.
They answer all questions and provide patient guidance.
He would even lend a hand when the crew was moving things.
"He's only twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old —"
Matsu Takako muttered to herself.
If it were any other man at this age, having won a Best Actor award and started a company, he would have been riding high, right? But he remained as composed as an old gentleman who had been in the industry for half his life.
This quality is truly—too unfair.
Using the light, she subconsciously glanced at Rie Miyazawa and Nanako Matsushima beside her.
The two women were resting their chins on their hands, looking at Kitahara Shin on the windowsill, their eyes filled with undisguised adoration, love, and dependence, so intense it was almost overflowing.
That kind of gaze that shows complete devotion to one person —
"So cheesy!"
Matsu Takako pursed her lips, a chill running down her spine. She shook her head, trying to shake off the strange atmosphere.
but.
When the song ended, Kitahara Shin put down his harmonica, turned to look at everyone, and had a reassuring smile on his lips.
Matsu Takako found that she couldn't move her gaze away, no matter what she tried.
Although she was still inwardly complaining about how blatant the two women's gazes were, she had to admit a fact that made her somewhat uneasy:
If it's a man like this—
It's not so incomprehensible that they would look at you so devotedly.
"Smack."
A crisp crackling sound broke the silence.
Immediately afterwards, the old-fashioned chandelier overhead flickered twice, and its orange light instantly filled the entire hall.
"The phone is back on!!"
Someone shouted, followed by a cheer of relief. Several of the young female staff members who had been quite frightened earlier were so excited they almost jumped up.
The light dispelled the fear and caused the subtle, private atmosphere to recede like the tide.
Kitahara Shin twirled the rusty harmonica in his hand, casually stuffed it back into his pocket, and jumped down from the windowsill. He dusted off his trench coat and looked at the still-dazed director: "Director, while the rain is still pouring outside, let's film that accident scene from the thunderstorm. The atmosphere is just right now; we don't need to make rain anymore."
The director was taken aback for a moment, then realized what he meant and slapped his thigh hard: "Right! Right! All departments, get ready! Resume work immediately!"
There were no complaints, no delays. Under Kitahara Shin's leadership, the entire crew worked like a precise machine, quickly switching from "evacuation mode" back to "work mode".
Action!
""
The torrential rain pounded against the windows.
In the dimly lit corridor, Shin Himuro, played by Shin Kitahara, stands in the shadows.
Opposite him was the guest actress in this episode—playing the hotel owner who had been subjected to domestic violence for years.
"Did you hear that?"
Kitahara Shin's voice was soft, mingling with the thunder, carrying a devilish allure: "That man is in the bathroom. If this wire accidentally falls into the water—it will all be over. It'll be an accident, even God is on your side."
The proprietress trembled all over, holding the cut wire in her hand, her eyes filled with fear and longing.
"Go."
Kitahara Shin reached out and gently pushed her: "Go and embrace your freedom."
That kind of coldness and control that emanated from the very core sent a chill down the spine of the director behind the monitor.
The warm-hearted president who had just been playing the harmonica to soothe everyone is gone, replaced by an instigator who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
"Cut! Perfect!"
This one was also passed on the first try.
In the days that followed, the filming of "Flowers of Evil" maintained an astonishingly efficient pace, much like the resumption of work on this rainy night.
From the deep forests of Nagano to the modern studios of Tokyo.
During the three months, the production team experienced almost no shutdowns due to actors acting like divas or lacking acting skills.
Rie Miyazawa is going further and further down the path of "crazy and wicked women," and that sense of brokenness makes her breathtakingly beautiful in front of the camera;
Nanako Matsushima brought a unique sophistication to the role of the "cold-blooded killer," and was even hailed by the media as the "most beautiful villain" because of the scene where she wipes away blood. Meanwhile, Takako Matsu, in this crew full of "monsters," absorbed knowledge like a sponge, gradually transforming from an inexperienced actress into someone who could keep up with Sayuri Yoshinaga's performance.
Of course, the core soul remains Kitahara Shin.
He is the lead actor, the investor, and the de facto spiritual leader of the production team.
And so, as the cherry blossoms faded and the cicadas began to sing in early summer, all the scenes for "Flowers of Evil" were finally completed.
As for the "25% viewership bet" that had previously made Fuji TV executives anxious, it had long since become a thing of the past as the plot reached its climax.
The current ratings for "Flower of Evil" are steadily hovering at a high level of 26% to 27%, leaving no room for other programs in the same time slot.
But this is clearly not the limit.
Today, audiences across Japan, and indeed the entire film and television industry, are holding their breath, waiting to see if Kitahara Shin, the man who has created countless miracles, can lead this unconventional work to the unprecedented and unparalleled peak of viewership ratings on the night of the finale.
>