~ "No one can take away, the dreams in my heart. The path I walk, is lit by my own light. Even if I stumble, even if I'm scarred. I'll stand tall, proud of who I am." ~
At present, Chu Zhi's unreleased song library contained well over thirty to forty tracks—even without counting his miscellaneous covers and side projects.
"More and more people are asking for songs," he muttered to himself.
His plan was to stockpile a few dozen more before considering licensing any out. Writing hit songs for others and becoming a hitmaker was a tempting path, but the Emperor beast inside him preferred to arm himself to the teeth.
As for a motivational track for the upcoming college entrance exams, Chu Zhi spent his last remaining song voucher to exchange for "Proud Young Man," which cost him 8 style coins, leaving only 17.
His throat still hurt—definitely not a good time to record. Instead, he sat down to write the sheet music. After taking his medicine, Chu Zhi surprisingly didn't feel drowsy at all. In fact, he was wide awake and had already finished his daily study assignments early.
With a gulp, he downed half a cup of warm honey green tea. Still full of energy, he decided to find something else to do.
It had been a while since he uploaded a video. On a whim, he grabbed a taiko drum and a shamisen and posted a new performance to his personal Bilibili account [I'm Not That Useless Cat].
By now, Chu Zhi had uploaded over forty different traditional, Japanese, and Western instrument performances. He was basically a terrifying musical polymath.
"No miracles here. Still under a thousand followers," he muttered, glancing at the account stats. Without any real promotion, going viral online was pure luck. He figured he just didn't have the kind of fate that brought Bilibili fame.
"If this account ever blows up, I'll do Yashu's iconic sassy strut on stage during my concert," Chu Zhi mumbled, just entertaining himself.
Thanks to diligent rest and proper medicine, he was already feeling better the next day. His throat wasn't quite as sore anymore.
Back to work.
Though he was still avoiding strenuous recording sessions, he began easing into lighter schedules.
"Cough, cough—" He opened the window of the nanny van for some fresh air. A warm breeze swept in and triggered another coughing fit.
"Brother Jiu, your health comes first. Even if the schedule's packed, we'll push it back if we need to," said Wang Yuan.
"I know. I just can't sit still," Chu Zhi replied.
The Emperor beast really couldn't stay idle. The world was still so big, and he hadn't even scratched the surface. Every cell in his body buzzed with urgency.
Asia alone had so much left to conquer.
"Chu-ge, drink more water," Xiao Zhu said as she handed him a cup of honey yuzu tea.
"Let me see the latest list of offers," Chu Zhi said, accepting the tea and taking a few sips to soothe his throat.
The stack of proposals had already been pre-filtered twice. Most were variety shows, a few were movie scripts, and one even came from South Korea.
One Korean script caught Chu Zhi's eye—not for its quality, but because of its audacity. A three-million yuan acting fee… plus fifty percent of the profits from Chinese distribution?
"That's basically daylight robbery," Chu Zhi commented, glancing briefly at the script titled You Came from the Stars. It was about an alien who crash-landed on Earth and fell in love with a K-pop star.
"K-dramas really can turn anything into a romance."
He tossed the script aside.
There was also a collaboration offer from Netflix. It was simple: if Chu Zhi agreed, they would tailor an S+ grade drama just for him.
Now this—this was what it meant to be a hot commodity. No matter what luxury brands thought, capital was always eager to get in on a good deal.
"Adidas sent over a new offer—150 million yuan for a two-year global endorsement," said Lao Qian. "It's obvious they still have their eyes on the Chinese market."
"A couple weeks have passed. The uproar's died down a bit, and thanks to discounts and sales, their numbers are rebounding. But it's still nowhere near what it was," Wang Yuan added. "If this continues, other athletic brands will eat into their Asian market share. That's why they're throwing big money now."
And big money it was—75 million a year. Even for someone at Chu Zhi's level, that was an overbid.
Still, no matter how much Adidas was willing to pay, Chu Zhi didn't even glance at the offer. Some things just couldn't be bought.
There weren't any major shifts in the domestic entertainment scene, but overseas, Chu Zhi's influence had begun to stir things up. After submitting his Korean-language EP, President Park at JYP finally selected a release date.
[JYP Official Announcement]
Performer of Tengjingmu: Chu Zhi
Korean EP "After the Clouds Clear," scheduled for release on May 29.
The announcement had the "Apostles celebrating wildly. Even the general public was intrigued.
"I didn't know Chu Zhi could sing—looking forward to it!"
"I like a lot of singers, but not many actors. He should do more dramas."
"An original Korean EP? The dark lord really favors our country."
Playing Tengjingmu had its downside… well, not really. Most actors would kill to be typecast if it meant that kind of popularity.
In the eyes of many Asian fans, Chu Zhi was still Tengjingmu. But that could be fixed—just release more great music.
When his Japanese-language album had dropped, the Apostles had gone crazy. No one knew what kind of impact the Korean album might have yet, but as of now, the top-selling Korean act was the GZ boy group, while the top in digital streams was Seven-Colored Deer.
The Korean music scene had its quirks. Boy bands were seen as riding the backs of female fans, with poor music quality. They sold physical albums well but flopped on streaming. Girl groups were the opposite—fewer female fans, so less album sales, but better digital numbers. No group had managed to dominate both.
But the performance beast? He might just be built different.
A few days later, Chu Zhi learned the hard way that tonsillitis was a stubborn little demon. He thought he'd be fine after one night, but it took three full days before he recovered enough to record again. That afternoon, he marched straight into the studio.
🎵 Five thousand years of wind and rainHow many dreams have they hidden… 🎵
This time, Chu Zhi didn't invite producer Li Menglong. He handled production himself. Unless it was a complex track like The Unspoken Sutra, he usually needed only two to three hours to finish a song.
That afternoon, he completed both Proud Young Man and Chinese People.
He transferred the tracks to his phone and uploaded Chinese People to the Ministry of Culture's official website.
For the Little Fruits in Beijing, here's a helpful tip: go to the Ministry of Culture and Tourism's site, then click [Public Services > Performance and Lecture Info Platform > Lectures] to find tons of free lectures.
"There are five selected tribute songs. Chinese People should make the cut," Chu Zhi thought to himself. It had at least made it into the official 100 patriotic songs anthology back on Earth.
Meanwhile, Wang Yuan and Lao Qian had found a nearby café during the recording session and were sipping tea while taking care of various tasks.
When things weren't too hectic, Wang Yuan liked to do some "patrolling" on platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and Weibo, checking for any anti-Chu Zhi posts.
Honestly? She thought anyone slandering Chu Zhi had no heart. As his right-hand manager, she knew better than anyone that what you saw was what you got with him—inside and out, all good.
"No one else would go this far. Writing a song just for fans taking entrance exams?" Wang Yuan was moved, even though she wasn't taking any exams herself.
"Other celebrities treat their fans like cash crops. But Brother Jiu treats his like family." She hoped some of the Little Fruits would earn their stars this summer and get into their dream schools.
After all, if being a fan could make you a better person… that wasn't just rare in China, but across the entire world.
===
骄傲的少年 (Jiāo'ào de shàonián, "Proud Young Man")
Original Artist: Liu Yuning (刘宇宁)
中国人 (Zhōngguó rén, "Chinese People")
Original Artist: Liu Dehua (刘德华 / Andy Lau)
The phrase "五千年的风和雨" (wǔ qiān nián de fēng hé yǔ)—"Five thousand years of wind and rain"—comes from the iconic 1997 patriotic song "中国人" (Zhōngguó Rén, "Chinese People") by Hong Kong superstar Andy Lau (刘德华).
五千年 (wǔ qiān nián): "Five thousand years" → Refers to China's claimed 5,000-year continuous civilization.
风和雨 (fēng hé yǔ): "Wind and rain" → Symbolizes trials, hardships, and historical struggles.
The lyric celebrates China's endurance through millennia of challenges (wars, dynasties, natural disasters). "Wind and rain" metaphorically represents cultural survival against adversity.
The song was released during the 1997 Hong Kong handover from Britain to China, stirring patriotic unity. It frames Chinese identity as rooted in shared history ("we've weathered storms together").