203: I'll add more chapters from Chapter 211.

Another day of training ended, and Chen Mo was no longer the wobbly utility pole he once was; he had become a promising contender who could slow dance on the dance floor.

Scott said they still needed to discuss the venue renovation matters with the team in Changsha that evening.

Scott brought him a cup of freshly ground coffee and teased, "I heard from Claire that you've made great progress."

Chen Mo took a sip and said, "Maybe."

"During the meeting, I won't intervene. You can say whatever you want." Scott opened his laptop and projected the screen onto the large display.

Chen Mo leaned back in his chair with a smile and said, "You're backing me up?"

"What else?" Scott raised an eyebrow and took an elegant sip of coffee.

The large screen lit up, and the floor plan of the Helong Stadium in Changsha slowly unfolded before Chen Mo.

Scott sat nearby, the Montblanc pen still in his hand, with the budget spreadsheet open on his iPad.

On the other end of the video conference were representatives from the Changsha municipal government, the stadium management, and the contractors, sitting in a conference room at Helong Stadium, with a wall covered in posters from past soccer matches behind them.

The person in charge from the other side was surnamed Zhou, in his forties, wearing glasses, and his Mandarin had a distinct Changsha accent.

He used a laser pointer to indicate the lawn area on the floor plan and said, "The concert stage will occupy half of the soccer field. The construction team will arrive a few weeks before the concert, and all load-bearing structures will be built to the highest standards for outdoor music festivals."

Director Zhou pointed the laser at the center circle of the lawn and said, "This position is the center point for every kickoff by the Changsha team, and the drainage layer beneath the turf was built in the last century."

Looking at the lawn marked with a red circle, Chen Mo spoke his first words: "Don't destroy the entire lawn; restore it after the performance."

Director Zhou said, "Don't worry, the turf was already scheduled to be replaced this season. According to the maintenance cycle, it will be just in time for seasonal replanting after the concert."

"It still needs to be restored. Re-lay the grass we stepped on. Underneath that turf is a natural foundation. We're building a stage, setting up lights, and having tens of thousands of people walk on it—the grass will die, but the ground must not."

Chen Mo said calmly.

Director Zhou put the laser pointer on the table, paused, and said, "Fine. The lawn restoration clause will be written into the contract attachment. After construction is finished, it will be replanted with the original grass species, and the maintenance period costs will be borne by the organizer."

Chen Mo nodded and wrote something down in his notebook.

The technical staff continued to report on the stage load-bearing capacity, sound system layout, and lighting installation plan.

As the data pages flipped by, Chen Mo listened and suddenly raised his hand to stop them.

"How far is the last row of the audience from the stage?"

The other party pulled up the drawings, measured it, and it was nearly two hundred meters.

"Add two large screens, and add them on the sides too. I want people in the last row to be able to see my expressions clearly," Chen Mo said.

The other party hesitated and said, "The cost will increase, and the side screens will need to be re-approved."

"I'll cover the difference. People in the last row also paid for their tickets; I can't let them feel like they paid the same price to see a watered-down version."

Scott pursed his lips on the side, flipped the budget spreadsheet back a page, and added four words in the sound equipment column: "Side screens, artist self-funded."

The contract details were confirmed item by item: performance duration of 120 minutes, no fewer than 22 songs, and synchronized Chinese subtitles throughout the venue.

The staff continued to flip the pages and asked if he had any other requirements.

"The road outside the East Gate—close it on the day of the performance, but don't close it completely."

Director Zhou was stunned for a moment and asked which road.

"The small road behind Helong Stadium. It used to be called Chengnan Lane, and now it's called Helong East Lane. That road connects Laodong Road on one end and Furong Road on the other. It will definitely have to be closed on the day of the performance, so please leave half of it open for the old neighbors who live in the alley."

"That's all. You've made very comprehensive arrangements."

The final confirmation page popped up on the electronic screen.

Chen Mo picked up the stylus and signed his name at the bottom.

The Changsha side suddenly went quiet, and then applause clearly came through from the other end of the video conference.

"I will personally coordinate the temporary access plan for the alley," Director Zhou said, looking at the camera.

The screen went black.

Scott closed the budget spreadsheet, took off his reading glasses, and leaned back in his chair, looking at him.

"Do you know how much money you just spent?"

"I know, but some people only see one concert in their entire life. They save up several months of wages, travel from another city, queue for a long time to enter, and sit in the last row."

"They came to see Chen Mo, and I can't let them feel it wasn't worth it for Chen Mo."

Scott was silent for a long time.

The palm trees outside the window swayed gently in the afternoon sun, and the streets of Beverly Hills were so quiet that only the occasional luxury car drove by.

This was the first time he didn't respond.

Scott suddenly sighed and said, "Have you walked through that alley?"

"I have."

Changjun High School is in the old city. I used to ride my bike through there every day after school. In the summer, the alley smelled of gardenias, and in the autumn, there was the scent of osmanthus.

Old Liu's shoe stall was set up under a camphor tree in the middle of the alley. The canopy covered most of the road, and he wouldn't close up even on rainy days.

Later, he went to Beijing, then to Los Angeles. That alley became Helong East Lane. The camphor tree was still there, and the gardenias were still there.

Scott stood up, straightened his back, looked out the window, and said, "I've walked through it too, your alma mater. Unfortunately, it was winter, so there was no scent of flowers."

"There will be plenty of time in the future," Chen Mo smiled. "The lighting and costumes haven't been decided yet. It's so busy."

"Don't you like being busy?" Scott joked.

Chen Mo patted his shoulder and said, "I believe you're busier than I am."

It is worth mentioning that Louis gave him a linen shirt, called a Guayabera—a traditional Puerto Rican embroidered men's shirt with several very fine vertical pleats on the chest.

By the third week of tour rehearsals in Los Angeles, Scott had invited a director from New York who specialized in independent documentaries, named Alex.

He had previously won awards at Sundance and specialized in behind-the-scenes documentaries about musicians. His lens language was known for being quiet; the quieter it was, the more powerful it became.

Chen Mo first met him at the entrance of the rehearsal room. Alex was carrying a portable camera, wearing a baseball cap and a faded plaid shirt, looking like an electrician who had just finished work.

He said he wouldn't disturb the rehearsal, just place the camera in a corner and let it run on its own.

Chen Mo agreed, but with one condition—

None of the footage was to be cut; it was his growth, and if it were cut, it wouldn't be a documentary.

The camera captured a dispute on the very first day.

That afternoon, Chen Mo and David were at a stalemate in front of the mixing console for a long time because of disagreements over the stage design.

Their voices grew louder and louder. The musicians in the rehearsal room all stopped to look at them. Susan from the string quartet placed her bow on the music stand, not knowing whether she should continue warming up her hands.

Alex's camera was quietly turning in the corner, and no one noticed it.

That evening, Alex played this footage back for Chen Mo to see and asked him if he wanted it cut.

Chen Mo looked at himself on the screen, arguing with David until his face turned red. He was silent for a moment, then said, "If it's cut, it's not a documentary."

Alex put the camera back in the corner and said, "You are the most unperformative subject I've ever filmed; you don't beautify yourself in front of the lens."

Chen Mo smiled and said, "I only recently learned that."

"You are confident enough," Alex looked at him meaningfully, "and sincere enough."

Chen Mo said noncommittally, "Thank you."

The footage of Chen Mo practicing dance alone was captured by Alex by chance.

It was in the early hours of the morning. The rehearsal room was long empty, and that utility pole was facing the mirror, repeatedly practicing the same side-step turn.

Alex didn't turn on the fill light, only using the camera's own weak light sensitivity to record that back view.

The image was very dark, almost a silhouette, but one could see that the angle of the toes pressing against the ground during each turn was steadier than the last.

These shots were all edited into the last minute of the tour trailer.

In the last segment of the trailer, a sentimental voiceover spoke: "What you see is two hours on stage. This film shows you those two thousand hours."

On the day the trailer was released, "AwakeningDocumentary" surged to number one on Twitter trends globally.

Someone in the comment section said—

"This trailer is more like a three-time Grammy Awards winner explaining one thing to the whole world: he wasn't born to stand on that stage; he worked with all his might to walk in front of you."

"He used to dance clumsily, argued with producers until they were shouting at each other, and sat in the audience waiting for someone to tell him where the light was. And the person who told him where the light was—it was never anyone else."

"He doesn't hide his imperfections, and that is where his charm lies."