Chapter 335 Ice and Blood (Bug Fix): Is this what you wanted?

The biggest holiday in Russia is Christmas, specifically the Orthodox Christmas, which falls on January 7th every year.

However, New Year's Day remains an important holiday for Muscovites, marking the start of the new year.

On New Year's Day 1995, Moscow was bustling with activity as the three-month-long Snow Festival reached its peak.

Ice and snow sculptors from Siberia and St. Petersburg in the Russian Federation, as well as Harbin in China and Sapporo in Japan, gathered in Moscow and, together with local artists, transformed this ancient city with its rich history into a winter wonderland in a new sense.

On the open ground of Red Square, miniature ice sculptures of the Kremlin and St. Basil's Cathedral reflect a blue-gold light under the lights, and even the texture of the onion domes is clearly visible.

In Gorky Park, scenes from Pushkin's "The Fisherman and the Golden Fish" and the Snow Maiden from the traditional story "The Snow Queen" are presented in three dimensions.

Each character's expression is so lifelike that it makes the children eager to reach out and touch them.

However, the louder laughter and the greater interest of the children were in the children's playground, which featured a small snow house and a frozen "fairytale forest."

Children either swooped down the ice slides, screaming and laughing, or rode on model dog sleds, shouting and trying to drive the snow-sculpted sled dogs, or climbed and played on the ice sculpture of "Peter the Great's Warship," prompting their parents to scold them while quickly taking out their cameras to capture precious memories for their children.

This is what parents are like, parents all over the world.

Even if they themselves are not interested, they will protect the children's childhood without complaint as long as the children like it.

Despite the dead of winter, Mayor Luzhkov temporarily set aside his beloved bee colony to come to the Ice and Snow Festival, hoping to contribute to attracting investment.

After all, without a constant supply of syrup, bee colonies unable to collect nectar in the cold, frozen landscape of Moscow would not be able to survive.

The excitement of the Snow Festival clearly pleased the de facto king of Moscow.

He even took the initiative to greet Wang Xiao, praising him, "Moscow hasn't had such a grand and successful winter festival in a long time."

Look, from the Kremlin to the container market, and along the way, wherever there is open space, it is filled with snow and ice sculptures.

Even local Moscow residents have joined in creating this winter wonderland, building snowmen in front of and behind their homes to add to the festive atmosphere.

Wang Xiao flattered, "Sir, this is just the beginning. I believe that under your leadership, Moscow will be able to host an even more successful and grander winter festival every year."

Luzhkov became happy. The colored lights embedded inside the ice sculpture gave the lighthouse a gradient orange-yellow hue, which fell on his face and gave it an almost warm color.

"Madam, I am honored by your kind words. I hope that next year we can witness an even grander ice and snow festival together."

He smiled at Ivanov and said, "I believe you can bring even greater surprises to Moscow."

This winter festival has indeed attracted a lot of attention from all over the world. Foreign businessmen who were originally planning to evacuate due to the Chechen crisis have also become hesitant and have not boarded planes to leave immediately.

Even if they don't rush to sign the contract, as long as they don't leave, it means Moscow still has a chance to win them over.

“Madam, I would like to talk to you more.” Luzhkov then turned his gaze to Wang Xiao. “The successful experience of China’s reforms has given me great inspiration. Focusing on the big and letting go of the small is a great idea. The same applies to Russia. Only by preserving major cities like Moscow and turning them into benchmarks can Russia become better.”

Wang Xiao rolled his eyes inwardly, thinking to himself, "Focusing on the big and letting go of the small is a reform of state-owned enterprises, a reform plan that China only proposed in 1994."

This is completely different from you, who sucks the blood of all of Russia to support Moscow and is still busy expelling all outsiders.

When you started doing this, the Chinese government never mentioned the idea of ​​focusing on the major issues and letting go of the minor ones.

Did you receive this revelation after traveling through time?

Undoubtedly, Wang Xiao might have been internally complaining, but he wouldn't have uttered a single word of rebuttal. He simply maintained a smile and said, "I believe that under your leadership, Moscow will get better and better."

Cheers erupted around the large ice sculpture stage behind the ice tower. The lights came on, and the performers took to the stage to begin their ice acrobatics.

Three performers, dressed in ochre-red embroidered robes, skated onto the ice rink, the steel blades on the soles of their sheepskin boots scraping against the ice, creating glittering shards.

The oldest man lay on his back, his feet pushing off an ice platform. A girl as agile as a deer, wearing soft deerskin boots, leaped onto his palm and spun in the air like a crimson flame.

As she spun, her headscarf came undone, and her long, golden hair and the belt adorned with bells swirled together, appearing as if a burning snow lotus was blooming in the reflection on the ice.

Wang Xiao completely forgot that he was still talking to the mayor. Even though he was wrapped up like a bear and his hands, which were covered in thick gloves and resembled bear paws, were clapping frantically.

On the snow-covered ice stage, the Cossack dancers were equally impressive.

They stomped their iron-studded boots, drawing the audience's attention with the groans of the snow beneath their feet and the trembling of the frozen earth.

The lead dancer suddenly leaped into the air, her legs splitting into a perfect split, the gold thread on her riding breeches exploding like lightning in the snow.

Wang Xiao covered his mouth and shouted, and the surrounding Russian audience forgot their cold national characteristics and cheered along with him.

On the ice stage, seeing that their audience was about to be stolen by the dancers, the performers started to unleash their ultimate move, stacking themselves into a triple human tower at the top of the ice platform.

The Cossack dancers also rushed forward, unleashing a whirlwind of seventy-two consecutive kicks from a crouching position.

The atmosphere at the scene was so lively that it seemed to make the Moscow sky tremble.

The performers on and off the stage were neck and neck, each trying their best to keep the audience's attention on them.

Luzhkov clapped and cheered, exclaiming, "Indeed, competition is necessary! Competition brings out everyone's potential and helps us do things better. Look—"

He pointed to the audience, saying, "Those who do well will always receive recognition and rewards."

Ivanov nodded: "Of course, NTV broadcasts movies and we at MTV broadcast variety shows, all so that everyone can laugh like we do now."

Despite strong opposition from Berezovsky, who controlled Channel One, the president still signed the decree on December 7, approving the establishment of the new television station.

However, Ivanov understood that in Moscow, gaining the support of Mayor Luzhkov was crucial.

He had to make the dictator understand that MTV, as a competitor, was also a friend to NTV, stimulating it to constantly innovate.

It is the ambition to win that makes people dare to take risks and create miracles.

Look, it's like—

The competition had reached a fever pitch, and the performer on the ice platform charged forward—just as he was about to crash into the ice sculpture railing, he suddenly leaped sideways, hooking the tip of his boot onto a copper ring hanging on the ice frame, and swung over the audience like a pendulum.

Luzhkov was also seeing this performance for the first time, and his adrenaline surged involuntarily.

He trembled as the performer swung over his head.

Excitement, thrill, fear, and worry intertwined, sending a shiver down his spine.

Once the performer had swung past, the cheers and applause from the audience, who had finally come to their senses, brought the Moscow leader back to his senses.

He met Ivanov's excited eyes: "Sir, Moscow needs this kind of joy, don't you think?"

Laser beams swept across the ice sculptures, and Shostakovich's "Festival Overture" emanated from the stage, converging into a song of ice and fire amidst the laughter and screams of the crowd.

Luzhkov looked at him intently: "Of course, as builders of Moscow, we all hope that the people here can live happily."

This young man's rise to prominence in politics is the result of his discovery and support.

Although the other party chose neutrality and even showed a tendency to side with the Kremlin, the mayor had to admit that this was a smart man, a smart man who got things done.

He is willing to give smart people opportunities because smart people can always bring him surprises.

“Order,” Luzhkov reminded, or rather warned, the young people he had his eye on. “There must be competition; Soviet industry and commerce died because of a lack of competition. But there must be order; Russia’s chaos is precisely because of a lack of order. Therefore, what Moscow needs is orderly competition.”

Ivanov smiled, his eyes gleaming as the ice lanterns hanging from the trees shone: "The disordered East should be over; Russia doesn't need chaos."

“Sir.” Wang Xiao, who was waiting nearby, took the initiative to introduce him after their conversation came to an end. “This is Mr. Watanabe from Mitsui, Japan. He is interested in real estate investment in Moscow.”

Mitsui Property is renowned and widely recognized as a giant in the industry.

Luzhkov nodded to her, then extended his hand to Watanabe Taketa.

After exchanging greetings, the two began to talk.

Instead of standing by to make their presence known, Wang Xiao and Ivanov stepped back and continued watching the Cossack dancers' performance.

“Moscow needs him,” Ivanov said softly, his breath blurring his face and giving him a melancholy air.

He was referring to Luzhkov's urban reconstruction plan.

Luzhkov planned, or rather, began to vigorously develop Moscow's real estate market several years ago.

To be precise, this mayor, who was a chemist by training, was not good at organizing production or creating wealth.

But he was an expert at getting money out of the pockets of the rich.

He builds luxury homes and high-end office buildings, then sells them to wealthy people, and uses the profits to build new, simple, and practical buildings to sell or rent cheaply to ordinary people in Moscow.

Regardless of how far this plan progresses or how many Muscovites it truly benefits, Ivanov must admit that it is a feasible and promising solution that can indeed bring tangible benefits to Muscovites.

Wang Xiao nodded and added, "The important thing is allocation. In the end, we can't let the rich get their hands on the affordable housing, otherwise it will all be for nothing."

The powerful and wealthy always spare no effort to use various means to emphasize and imply, brainwashing the masses: wealth breeds conscience, poverty breeds wickedness.

In fact, throughout history and across the world, those who benefit from the status quo have never had an easy time of doing so.

Even the smallest gains that normal people would never consider worthwhile will be snatched from the hands of the poor by any means necessary.

Ivanov sighed, and the white mist from his breath blurred his features once again.

His voice was as soft as falling snowflakes: "I hope so."

The more you learn about the extent of this government's corruption, the more alarming it becomes.

"Come on, come on." Wang Xiao didn't let him sink into depression and dragged him forward. "We have to support our singer."

That's right, such a grand ice and snow festival is such a great opportunity to shine, so of course the performances by the talent show contestants are indispensable.

To be honest, given the freezing cold of Moscow winters, outdoor song and dance performances are not just for entertainment, they're deadly.

After all, singers can't dress like bears; their thin performance costumes simply can't withstand the sub-zero temperatures.

The park's indoor stadium was also packed with spectators.

After getting tired of the ice and snow exhibition, or because they were too cold to bear it, tourists took out 1,000 rubles to buy tickets and enter to enjoy the singers' performances.

Given the current avalanche of the ruble, the 1,000-ruble entrance fee is merely a way to set a threshold and prevent people from crowding into the stadium just because it's free.

Otherwise, the Moscow people, whose spiritual and entertainment life is so limited, would have packed the dilapidated stadium to capacity.

Yura and his family and friends arrived early. He picked the winner of the third week and of course wanted to be there to support his favorite singer.

See, the influence of talent shows always exceeds the organizers' imagination.

At least during the planning stage, Wang Xiao never imagined that Yura, a high-ranking government official, would become a loyal viewer of the show, and even persuade Ivanov to cut out the poll from the newspaper in order to win a vote for his idol's monthly champion.

Unfortunately, Ivanov didn't give Yura any face, because he also had someone he liked.

Now that the two old friends have met, Yura complains to Ivanov, "Lilia sings so well! I bet she'll be a huge star if she releases a record."

Ivanov retorted, "She's too ordinary. She can't hit high notes or low notes, and she has no special characteristics. How can she compare to Vera?"

“Hey!” Yura defended her idol resolutely, “Your taste is as bad as ever.”

Ivanov retorted without hesitation: "Your aesthetic sense is utterly hopeless."

Punonin's wife, Lydia, also brought their two children to the performance. Seeing this, she shook her head speechlessly, turned to Wang Xiao, and sighed with a smile: "Really, they've always been like this since they were little."

Wang Xiao chuckled and gestured to Lydia to ignore them and look at the stage.

What's so interesting about two men who are already over thirty? Just focus on the handsome young men on stage.

Look how beautiful she is.

My goodness! He's even as beautiful as Ivan in his prime, a truly daffodil-like handsome young man.

The handsome young man on stage began his performance, and Yura, who had never argued with Ivanov, also shut his mouth; he couldn't very well disturb the singer's performance.

but--

After the handsome young man finished singing, Yura couldn't help but warn Wang Xiao: "Hey! Madam, you have to be fair. You can't just rig things and put him on the champion's throne because you've taken a liking to this pretty boy."

Wang Xiao gave him a strange look, then said sincerely, "Yura, tell me honestly, do you really have a crush on me? Don't worry, every love is beautiful, and I will never laugh at you."

Yura nearly jumped out of her seat: "Hey! What nonsense are you talking about?"

“If you don’t like me, why do you always care who I like?” Wang Xiao coaxed patiently. “There’s a deeper meaning behind appearances. You should dig into the true motives deep in your soul.”

Yura was going crazy and could only futilely pull Ivanov along: "How can you laugh? Didn't you see how she was looking at that pretty boy just now?"

Good heavens! This guy has absolutely no sense of crisis.

Ivanov laughed and shook his head: "The king has already decided to treat him as a cash cow; he can only make money for us now."

What a pity! He felt sorry for Wang.

Yura's eyes widened: "What's so great about him? His singing and dancing are just average. Even in terms of looks, Maxim is much more handsome."

Wang Xiao and Lyuba both shook their heads: "Andrei is more handsome."

Yura stared wide-eyed, as if she had heard something out of the blue.

He looked around, and finally grabbed Lydia: "Dear lady, please tell them, who is more handsome?"

Lydia laughed uncontrollably: "Maxim, I think Maxim is more handsome."

Yura immediately raised her chin triumphantly: "See? Maxim is the real Russian heartthrob."

Wang Xiao didn't take it seriously: "But Andre will be more popular with Easterners. I'm planning to select a boy band to compete with the British Take the Call. Their looks must fall into the Eastern aesthetic."

On New Year's Day 1995, the Backstreet Boys were not yet a prominent force in the world of pop music; the most popular and sensational group was the British band Take That.

Every song they released topped the charts; they were a true cash cow.

Yura was dissatisfied: "Russian singers should conform to Russian aesthetics."

"Don't you want to earn foreign exchange?" Wang Xiao went straight for the kill. "Their records can only earn more foreign exchange if they sell well in the East."

Yura persisted, "Please believe me, Easterners will also prefer Maxim. Look, how manly he is!"

He then approached Xiao Gao and Xiao Zhao, trying to gain more support, asking, "Don't you think Maxim is more handsome?"

The two bodyguards nodded, suppressing a laugh.

Indeed, tough guys are what they find attractive.

Unfortunately, their boss is a cold-blooded person: "Men's love is too cheap and meaningless. All idol groups know that male fans are just decorations, and it's harder than climbing to heaven to get them to spend money. Female fans are much more economically valuable. Whoever wins over female fans wins the world."

Yura gasped and grabbed Ivanov's arm: "Listen to what she's saying!"

“She’s talking about making money,” Ivanov laughed heartily, raising his hand. “She understands Eastern women better than we do.”

Yura couldn't listen anymore and kept shaking her head.

During the intermission, the host on stage was interacting with the audience, encouraging them to come up and perform.

Wang Xiao and the others didn't want to steal the limelight, so they all stepped back.

A voice nearby grumbled, "God, Chechnya is a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, while Moscow is still full of singing and dancing. How terrible! No wonder people say that the suffering of us Russians is worthy of our understanding."

Ivanov turned around and met the eyes of the person who spoke.

The latter was slightly embarrassed because he was a newspaper reporter and was living in a cheap apartment provided by Ivanov.

It's really not right to say that there's something wrong with the activities organized by the sponsor in front of them.

Ivanov nodded to him and said softly, "It's New Year's Day, everyone needs to be happy. Muscovites work too hard, everyone needs to relax."

He pointed to the middle-aged woman laughing on the stage and said, "Look how happy this lady is."

She won the grand prize; she won a microwave oven.

She was being interviewed by the host, telling everyone that she planned to use this new microwave to make her child's favorite pie when he came home.

How happy she was!

Anyone who takes away her happiness is a damned, despicable thief.

The reporter nodded awkwardly, "Of course, of course. The ice and snow festival is very interesting, and the performances are great."

His companion shook his head: "Mr. Ivanov, I don't think it makes sense for you to do this at this time. You're just trying to lull the Russians into a false sense of security. What the Russians really need right now is to know what's really happening on the battlefield, not to be distracted by this singing and dancing."

War, cruel war.

The Russians need to know what their foolish president is doing.

Ivanov looked at him and said, word by word, "Russians have the right to choose whether to watch NTV or MTV programs; they don't need anyone else to choose for them."

The NTV reporter smirked dismissively: "Really? You're the ones trying to block everyone's view. Even our president is lying!"

The air fell silent in an instant.

Yura frowned: "Sir, you have freedom of speech, but you shouldn't make baseless accusations and slander the president at this time."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a gasp of surprise erupted from the crowd.

It turned out to be a television screen projected onto a screen, but at some point it switched to an NTV program, showing the situation on the Chechen battlefield.

Bombing, brutal bombing.

The bombing roared incessantly like muffled thunder, and thick smoke obscured half the sky.

Death, a death of despair.

The camera pans across the scorched earth, where broken weapons and severed limbs lie scattered among the ruins, and metal debris and fallen human arms and legs twist and deform in the firelight.

The Russian soldier who had been shot crawled on the ground with difficulty; his uniform was already soaked in blood, which mixed with mud and blood and hardened into lumps.

In the shaky footage, his eyes were filled with fear and despair. He had lost a leg, and each twitching crawl left a long trail of blood on the snow.

"Eric, my Eric!" The woman, who had been so cheerful just moments before, suddenly let out a heart-wrenching scream.

She staggered forward, trying to reach through the screen to embrace the dying figure. The microwave oven she was holding crashed to the ground with a thud, shards of glass flying and cutting her cheek. The blood that flowed down the screen mingled with her Eric's blood.

Another gunshot rang out, and the soldier in the frame jolted, slowly lowering his head. His arm lay limply to the side, and his once wide-open eyes gradually lost focus under the lens.

The woman's voice stopped abruptly, a gurgling sound came from her throat, and her body fell straight backward like a tattered rag that had been stripped of its support.

The entire stadium fell into dead silence, with only the booming sound of gunfire on the big screen continuing.

The crowd stirred; some cried, some shouted, and some desperately pushed forward.

Wang Xiao's face turned ashen: "Damn it! Who broadcast this program?"

Unable to find the remote, she simply turned off the power to the projector.

No one answered her.

Everyone is busy looking for answers. Didn't the president say in his speech today that the Chechen capital had been captured? Why is NTV news saying that the war is still going on?

Moreover, it was the Russian army that was at a disadvantage.

"Quiet! Quiet!" Ivanov rushed onto the stage, grabbed the microphone, and shouted, "Nobody move! Stay where you are!"

But people were even more terrified, and instead of obeying his instructions, they crowded even more.

Intense fear drove people to flee the stadium as quickly as possible, as if this would comfort them that what had just been shown was not news, but just movie footage.

"stop!"

In critical moments, state coercive measures are more effective.

Punonin led a team of tax police into the stadium.

Fully armed tax police naturally possess a strong deterrent effect; waving their batons, they instantly intimidated the panicked crowd.

Punonin stepped forward and took the microphone from Ivanov: "Line up, line up and go out slowly, in order."

The panicked crowd finally regained order and began to leave one by one.

Halfway through the concert, someone suddenly shouted, "Is the concert over? There should be five more songs!"

Audience members who had already reached the venue entrance realized, "I haven't finished watching the concert yet."

Punoning pursed his lips: "Those who want to see the performance, come this way."

He pointed to an aisle, “Go back to your seat from here.”

One after another, audience members stepped out of the queue to leave, intending to watch the performance before leaving.

The NTV reporter was absolutely furious: "My God, how can they watch this? The poor mother just lost her child. And they're watching singing and dancing right next to her."

Wang Xiao turned to look at him, her gaze icy: "Sir, do you know what that soldier's last words were before he sacrificed himself?"

The reporter paused for a moment, then asked, "You know?"

Wang Xiao nodded and said softly, "Of course, he meant, don't tell my mother."

The reporter pursed her lips and retorted, "Madam, don't talk nonsense. You couldn't possibly know what he said."

"Of course I know. Because I am also a mother's child, I know that the last thing a child wants before dying is for their mother to worry."

Wang Xiao looked at him, her gaze growing colder. "Sir, you shouldn't have done this. You shouldn't have let a soldier who died for his country die with regrets, and let a mother suffer forever, all for the sake of ratings."

Americans discovered as early as the Vietnam War that the pain and sorrow of war could attract audiences.

She didn't believe NTV wouldn't know this.

Wang Xiao finished speaking, ignored the reporter, and strode towards the unconscious woman, shouting, "Where's the ambulance? Has the ambulance arrived yet?"

That damn bastard! Which scoundrel switched the TV to NTV? They're deliberately trying to cause trouble!

If she catches him, she'll definitely make him suffer.

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[Shrugs]