"These joint performances between three nations really require caution. The audience ratio is way too easy to backfire." Wang Yuan glanced at the press release from Rongcheng and sighed. "Good thing the outcome was a success. Otherwise..."
He didn't finish the sentence, muttering to himself instead. Whatever he was thinking, it didn't sound pleasant.
"You finally wrapped things up, Boss?" Old Qian asked. "Haven't seen you around in ages. We kinda missed you."
"Coming from you, that sounds especially weird," Wang Yuan frowned. "We've just about finished up on the merch front. Limited release of ten thousand sets."
"Ten thousand?" Old Qian clicked his tongue. "For brother Jiu's fanbase, that's a drop in the ocean."
"It's a small batch, sure, but it's meant to be a collector's item anyway," Wang Yuan replied.
Among those at the studio, if you were ranking by meticulousness, first would be Yan Dixi, and second, Old Qian. Wang Yuan, on the other hand, was known for being a bit careless. Old Qian was the first to notice that Niu Jiangxue was feeling down.
"What's wrong, Sister Niu?" he asked. "Is there a problem with brother Jiu's schedule?"
"I heard the college entrance exam this year was brutal," Niu Jiangxue sighed. "My niece cried herself to sleep last night. The scores come out on the 24th. It's the 18th today. Less than a week to go and she's terrified."
The conversation caught Wang Yuan's attention. "That's odd. Usually after exams, kids feel like they've shed a huge burden. Maybe the pressure from the adults was too much?"
"I don't think so. My sister's family has a pretty positive atmosphere," Niu Jiangxue said with a frown.
"My teacher once told me that the reason dumb birds have to fly early is because, no matter how hard they try, they'll never outfly the smart ones. So the only way to keep up is to fly sooner. Expecting them to surpass the smart ones? That's practically murder," Wang Yuan said bluntly.
"Murder's a bit much," Old Qian laughed. "All parents want their kids to succeed. It comes from love."
"One simple line, 'I'm doing this for your own good,' has caused so many childhood scars," Wang Yuan's tone sharpened.
Old Qian and Niu Jiangxue glanced at each other. They could tell this topic hit a nerve, and neither of them pressed further.
"When does 'You From the Stars' start filming?" Old Qian switched the subject.
"In two weeks," Niu Jiangxue answered. "Main shooting will be in Incheon and Seoul. It'll take forty-five days."
"Let's hope this one's a hit, right Boss?" Old Qian said.
The main reasons they took this project were the generous offers from Netflix and SBS, and also Wang Yuan's strong recommendation.
"It'll be a hit for sure," Wang Yuan said confidently.
"Guys, look at this!" Qi Qiu came running over, holding up her phone for everyone to see a new post from the official Renren Daily account.
The headline dropped just ten minutes ago. Clearly someone at the state media was having fun:
"Shocking! A certain singer with the surname Chu did THIS to stop others from covering his songs!"
"Hahahaha wow. State media's learning clickbait titles now," Old Qian chuckled.
"Chu Zhi really is loved by the officials. Feels like every time something happens, state media is right there reporting on it," Niu Jiangxue said.
In her heart, she was thinking: for the upcoming anniversary celebration of the founding of the Party, Chu Zhi's song was almost guaranteed to be selected.
Some things couldn't be said out loud, but Niu Jiangxue understood. For events like this, personal politics mattered more than the song itself.
Wang Yuan pulled out her phone to search the Renren Daily site herself. If it was praise for Chu Zhi, she always made time to read it.
"In an interview with Guangming Daily, Chu Zhi said, 'Folk art and traditional music are precious soil. Whoever lays a solid foundation can build majestic towers in the future.'
As a vocalist, Chu Zhi continues to focus on folk art. During the three-nation performance between China, Japan, and Korea, he brought us the remarkable fusion piece 'Left Hand Points to the Moon'—a blend of world music, traditional opera, and pop vocals.
To properly understand: the more deeply rooted in our culture something is, the more universal its resonance becomes.
Modern musicians must create works that are both artistic and accessible, with strong melodies and harmonies that speak to the people.
That said, Teacher Chu, could you maybe tone down the difficulty level next time?"
The title might have been playful, but the body of the article was nothing but respectful. Except maybe that last line.
The state's affection for Chu Zhi was obvious.
And Renren Daily's bold style had gotten them trending.
#RenrenDailySaysLeftHandTooHard#
"God, this is hilarious."
"A notification popped up and I froze. Thought I accidentally followed UC News. Turns out it was Renren Daily."
"Has anyone actually managed to cover 'Left Hand Points to the Moon'? Even the down-pitched version?"
"'The Seventh Chapter of the Night,' 'Opera 2,' 'The Unspoken Sutra,' and now 'Left Hand Points to the Moon'—brother Jiu keeps releasing songs that are basically un-coverable."
"By the way, did you notice? Renren Daily called him a vocalist."
...
The trending topic sparked a new wave of cover attempts. Unlike the "The Unspoken Sutra" challenge last time, this one was purely voluntary. Just goes to show how much influence state media can have.
Take singer Byeon Ho, for instance. His surname "Byeon" (卞) is unusual, but not unheard of. There's even a famous poet on Earth named Byeon Zhilin, who wrote:
"You stand on the bridge watching the scenery,The people watching you are in the building.The bright moon adorns your window,While you adorn someone else's dream."
Byeon Ho was a niche singer in his thirties. Strong vocals, but low visibility. He survived by accepting small gigs and promoting himself on platforms like TikTok, just to fund his next album.
He often picked interesting fan DMs and turned them into content.
Today, every message said something like:
"Byeon Byeon, try singing 'Left Hand Points to the Moon'?""Can we hear your version of it?""Even a down-pitched version would be fine!"
"My fans... my lovely fans. First it was 'The Unspoken Sutra' now this," Byeon Ho groaned.
He watched a clip on TikTok and was instantly intimidated. The vocals were insane.
"But maybe... If I drop it a key, I might just manage. I nailed 'The Unspoken Sutra,' didn't I?"
He felt confident. After all, during the last challenge, he was one of the few who managed a halfway decent version, even if it lacked the chivalrous flair of the original.
"One key down and I'll crush it!" Byeon Ho declared.
Half an hour later—
"...Sorry. I was speaking a little too boldly earlier."
Damn it. His voice cracked every single time he hit the final note. Even after lowering the key by five steps, he couldn't pronounce the final E5 clearly.
"These evil fans just want to see me fail," he muttered, pretending not to see their messages.
Byeon Ho's struggle mirrored many others'. Sparked by Renren Daily's coverage, countless singers tried to jump on the trend. But even the simplified versions were near impossible to sing cleanly.
Despite all this attention at home, Western brands weren't reaching out. The Adidas incident had cooled off, but the hit to sales remained.
Chu Zhi had expected that. He didn't care. No need to grovel to foreign companies for money.
Not that there weren't offers. Russia's Sportmaster made one, but since he already had a contract with Anta, he turned it down.
Don't underestimate the Russians. They knew business. With the song trending on YouTube, their label Мелодия (Melodiya) sent an offer for a record deal. They saw past the hype.
Chu Zhi's resurgence was surface-level. What truly mattered was how much money Sony Music and JYP had made off of him.
"'Opera,' 'Opera 2,' 'Lullaby'—we'll market those as the lead singles. We can help collect other songs too, so the singer doesn't waste time." The rep was honest about wanting to cash in on the buzz.
Melodiya had been around since the Soviet days, once hailed as the world's greatest music company.
Ironically, their greatness was also their downfall. They could never turn a profit. Nowadays, they survived by selling off their massive back catalog.
"If it's Melodiya, I get it," Old Qian said. "They're desperate. But brother Jiu's albums—every single one of them, even the foreign language EPs—are top tier. No need to dive into that mess."
Niu Jiangxue agreed. She checked the time and turned to Xiao Zhu. "It's about time. Go wake up Chu Zhi. And get Old Ma too."
It was time to head to the airport. The Chinese Golden Bell Awards ceremony was being held in Beijing.
Chu Zhi had just won the Newcomer Award for Pop Music, which would normally be a big headline. But online discourse was still fixated on the "Left Hand Points to the Moon" challenge, eating up the spotlight.
"It's fine. The Golden Bell Awards are more respected by the academic crowd anyway. Winning it is enough," Chu Zhi said.
The next week was a blur for him. He had to finish all his domestic work before flying to Seoul to join the drama shoot.
While Chu Zhi filmed in Seoul, Xiao Yue was already laying the groundwork for her next project.
The first interview was with Chichi, screen name "In the Name of Chi Cup." A year ago, she promised the Little Fruits in the Orange Orchard group that she'd study hard. She did not disappoint, scoring an incredible 697 points. Without hesitation, she applied to her dream school, Fudan University, and had just received her acceptance letter in mid-July.
The interview was conducted over the phone. Professor Xiao Yue had designed two short but impactful questions. The first:
"Congratulations on getting into your dream school. Who gave you the most motivation during your studies?"
"Brother Jiu and VV," Chichi answered without missing a beat. "VV is a close friend I met in the Orange Grove group. She supervised me throughout my entire senior year. Every time I wanted to slack off—play games, read for fun—she pulled me back. I did argue with her a few times, but looking back now, she was right."
"And brother Jiu... well, he's our spiritual pillar," Chichi added.
"Can you explain what you mean by spiritual pillar?" Xiao Yue asked.
"It's hard. Studying is exhausting. Everyone knows we're supposed to try hard and get into a good school. But knowing and doing are worlds apart. To bridge that gap, you need courage. Brother Jiu's encouragement, the Little Stars in the community, and the shared dream of working hard together—that gave me courage. A lot of it."
Second question:
"If Chu Zhi didn't exist, do you think you would've made it into your dream school?"
===
I decide to change "Orange Orchard" to "Orange Grove". The hanzi is 橘园 (Jú yuán). Because now I feel the Orchard tone is too literal in my retrospect.
"Orchard" = Agricultural, Structured, Literal
Feels like: A working farm—neat rows of trees, harvest-focused, practical. It's too functional for me.
"Grove" = Natural, Whimsical, Communal
Feels like: A wild(er), magical cluster of trees—less manicured, more organic.
Connotations:
Peace (e.g., "a quiet grove of ancient oaks").
Beauty (often linked to poetry, art, and sacred spaces).
Togetherness (trees growing close, intertwined—like fans bonding).
And so, using Grove instead of Orchard will have feeling like:
A shared hideaway (not a workplace).
Implies natural growth (fans aren't "harvested"—they flourish together).