Wang Yue never expected that losing three rounds in a row—pitch-pot, lantern riddles, and flying flower verses—would leave her feeling depressed. The most humiliating part was that one of those losses had been to a high school student.
"Could it be that after graduating, I'm still worse than students still in school?" At first, Wang Yue was indignant, but after thinking about it, she had to admit the truth. Everything she learned had long been returned to her teachers.
Fortunately, she had a backup plan. President Zheng Xianbi had given her a thirty-thousand yuan budget. If the lottery didn't work, she could just throw money at it.
Wang Yue began scanning for her target.
"Unbelievable! It's Xiao Jiu's physical album! And not just any album, but the legendary "Chu Ci · Ode to the Orange Tree". Tell me this isn't the most outstanding album of the twenty-first century. No objections, right?"
"No objections at all. It has Thousand Miles Away, Chrysanthemum Terrace, A Dream Like Blades, and A Difficult Scripture. Who dares argue against that? Not me."
"Didn't expect Xitang to suddenly pull through. But wait, Chu Zhi never released a physical album. Could Xitang's version be pirated?"
"Shouldn't be. Look at the back cover. It clearly says authorized by Aiguo Company. There's even a line printed on the cover: [Chu Zhi congratulates the successful opening of the Xitang Hanfu Cultural Week]."
"Really? Show me or I don't believe it."
"Get lost!"
…
Some who missed the prize draw regretted it deeply once they found out the prize was Chu Zhi's album.
How regretful? The kind of regret where you miss the first sip of an ice-cold Coke, or the last bite of ice cream.
The prize pool had more than ten categories: albums, a set of hanfu, cultural hoodies, malt pancakes, and so on.
Unsurprisingly, the album was the first prize chosen every time.
Wang Yue's eyes searched restlessly. Buying an album from someone wasn't easy, and while President Zheng had approved a generous budget, she couldn't spend it all carelessly.
Even for non-fans like Wang Yue, owning a physical album of Chu Zhi was worthwhile. Ode to the Orange Tree contained fifteen songs, many of which had already found their way into countless playlists.
Three thousand albums. What was that compared to the ten thousand people who came dressed in hanfu to the event?
And there were even more who came in casual clothes just to see the pretty hanfu girls.
After asking more than a dozen winners, Wang Yue finally bought two albums for two thousand yuan. A solid profit.
Luck favors the hardworking, and today, another hardworking person was Xiao Gua.
Her real name was Yi Zhaozhao, a hardcore Little Fruits fan. She studied Russian legal translation at China University of Political Science and Law and had an excellent command of Russian.
Compared to China, there were far fewer academic papers on Jiu-yé abroad. Korea and Japan, for example, produced very little.
Korean and Japanese celebrities had low status academically. Only those involved in legal controversies tended to get "reports." Chu Zhi, however, was labeled "the circuit breaker preventing human suicide," drawing attention from social psychology and cultural industry analysts.
"Russia may be powerful in the arts, but their entertainment industry really has no presence. I wonder if I can even find a few scraps of papers," Xiao Gua sighed.
She opened Elibrary, Russia's equivalent of CNKI. Many Russian exchange students would know it well. She searched her idol's name and…
The New Era Hero Chu Zhi: The Inheritance of Heroic Spirit in the Context of National ModernizationAuthor: Yevgeny Anton Boris Onzilov.
This was the earliest entry. After that, it was as if floodgates opened. Countless analyses appeared.
So many papers, far more than Korea or Japan, leaving Xiao Gua stunned.
Truth be told, it's difficult enough for a celebrity to make it abroad, let alone inspire local scholars to write papers about them.
Xiao Gua's Russian was good enough to read them one by one:
The Generative Logic, Core Meaning, and Value Implications of "Katyusha"
A Comparative Study of Heroic Spirit in Russian and Chinese Music: "Katyusha" and "Rowan Tree"
The Relationship Between Chu Zhi's Songwriting Ability and His Mental State, and the Mediating Role of Social Participation
And many more. Altogether, more than seventy papers and reports mentioned Chu Zhi. Since she was most concerned about his health, Xiao Gua clicked into one focused on mental state.
It was authored by Yuri, a professor at Moscow State University's Department of Psychology, who was also an amateur ballet dancer.
Because of the word limit, the paper gave a general overview, saying that after traumatic events or brushes with death, an artist's creativity might drastically change, for better or worse. Chu Zhi was an example of the positive side.
Professors are nothing if not meticulous. Yuri compared Chu Zhi's first two electronic albums with later works, concluding: "The two share only limited correlation. Mr. Chu Zhi's control over the popular accessibility of his art has qualitatively improved." A very polite way of saying it.
Xiao Gua fully agreed. She was a fan of his works above all else. His creations were so brilliant that she had to follow him. After finishing his recent catalog, she went back to his two early electronic albums.
How to describe them? Avant-garde, to the point she didn't like them.
"Wow, he even wrote a book." Following the trail, Xiao Gua stumbled on a surprise.
Professor Yuri had published a book, Art and the Spirit of Extreme Opposition. It wasn't dedicated solely to Chu Zhi, but analyzed the link between psychological illness and creativity, with Chu Zhi as a key case study.
Unlike academic papers, the book was less restrained. Yuri even made the bold claim: "Mental illness not only triggers changes in creativity, but in some cases alters the human body itself."
His research suggested that Chu Zhi's vocal ability had actually "evolved."
Take "Opera 2" for instance. Based on Chu Zhi's earlier performances, his voice should not have been able to reach those notes. Yet he sang into the sixth octave with a rich, rounded tone. Going from lacking that talent to suddenly possessing it could only be explained by his brushes with death and despair.
Xiao Gua bought the e-book and was instantly hooked. She spent the entire afternoon glued to her phone, devouring its hundreds of thousands of words.
From the standpoint of all humanity, Chu Zhi's severe depression— which awakened his creative power— is precisely what we most want to see. He can bring us more great works.
A chilling opinion, yet Xiao Gua found no way to refute it.
As a fan, she wished for both his health and his career to flourish. But if she had to choose between talent and well-being, she wasn't sure what to pick.
"Crap, crap, crap." She suddenly remembered. She had promised in the Orange Home app's community that she would share the Russian papers within an hour, but the whole afternoon had passed.
She quickly began compiling them. The more she collected, the more shocked she became.
Thanks to "Opera 2" and especially "Katyusha," which last December triggered an academic wave, Russia's top universities—Moscow State University, St. Petersburg University, Novosibirsk University, Tomsk State University, and others—had all produced papers on Chu Zhi.
"Katyusha" was so influential that it was played at both weddings and funerals, becoming a cultural phenomenon. Naturally, scholars were fascinated.
"So it's not Korea but Russia that researches Jiu-yé the most." Xiao Gua felt pride swell within her. Her idol was admired by intellectuals in a distant land.
Eighty percent of her fandom was for his works, the remaining twenty for his career.
Seeing Russian state media rank Chu Zhi among the "Top 10 Foreigners of 2021 Who Influenced Russia" filled her with motivation.
Compiling everything into a summary took time. She worked over an hour at her computer.
Stretching with a sore back, she smiled. "After so much work, this post needs a powerful title."
After some thought, she posted in the Orange Home community: An Amazing Discovery!
Her naming sense was poor, but her ability was solid. She laid out the translated titles, authors, and links neatly like a timetable—easy to read at a glance.
She felt it was a shame that Professor Yuri's book Art and the Spirit of Extreme Opposition hadn't been translated into Chinese. If it had, other fans could have read it too.
Then a spark struck. What if… she translated it herself?
Whether she would actually attempt it was unclear. What mattered was that the post was detailed, well-organized, and backed by solid sources.
The Little Fruits were thrilled.
"666, awesome! Brother Jiu never fails. Respect to our Russian-language queen."
"I think Jiu-yé must have grown up listening to the old generation's music with his grandfather. That's how he wrote songs like 'Go Home Often' and 'Katyusha.'"
"If two hearts are bound for long, why care about being apart in youth or old age."
"So many papers! I used a translator to get through two. Russia really loves Xiao Jiu."
"Uh, why is there a weird comment mixed in above?"
"I know Russian too, and my Russian friends confirm it. Jiu-yé is indeed famous there."
…
The comments reflected the diversity of humanity. Some fans even used their own channels to confirm the papers were genuine and written by real professors.
With such exciting news, Little Fruits began sharing screenshots on Weibo.
Unlike certain stars who boasted about winning "architectural awards" with no proof, Chu Zhi's excellence was backed by verifiable research.
Other celebrities were dumbfounded. Their PR teams worked hard for a couple of international reports or a vanity award, while Chu Zhi had peer-reviewed papers.
What was this? Playing unfair?
#MostPopularStarInEasternEurope shot up the hot search rankings, without Chu Zhi's team spending a cent on promotion.
Among the current top idols—Lin Xia, Xi Yao, Tao Luo, and Lin Weiran—only the veteran Lin Xia accepted it calmly. The others bristled.
Take Tao Luo. His endorsement fee was twenty-eight million a year, the industry ceiling. Yet Chu Zhi earned twenty-eight million in just one quarter. Four times that in a year.
How could a domestic star be studied so deeply by Russians? This was excessive PR!
But it was only natural. Becoming the ceiling of your generation was already hard enough, but beyond the ceiling was the open sky. Who could stay comfortable with that?
Tao Luo even went onto the darknet to commission an investigation into [Chu Zhi's popularity in Russia].
Everyone knows Silk Road had been shut down by the FBI, but the "New Silk Road" had risen. You could buy anything there, even bounties on the US president's wallet.
Compared to that, Tao Luo's request was simple. The response came quickly with a detailed report.
Say what you will, the darknet had its geniuses. The report covered official, public, and industry angles.
Officially, Chu Zhi had been named an honorary citizen of St. Petersburg and praised by Russian state media. In the industry, "Katyusha" had swept every award in the Slavic cultural sphere.
Within Slavic music, "Katyusha" was considered divine.
Tao Luo stared, baffled. With so many accolades, why hadn't Chu Zhi publicized them? If it had been him, he'd have announced it until fans were sick of hearing it.
Looking again at the Weibo topic #MostPopularStarInEasternEurope, Tao Luo realized the truth. The hot search was actually humble. Chu Zhi wasn't just popular. He was monumental.
Xi Yao and Lin Weiran also confirmed it through their own channels. Now they understood why Lin Xia, the senior, behaved like a "bootlicker."
Whenever there was news about Chu Zhi, Lin Xia was always the first to respond and share, even faster than Zhou Yiyu.
They had once sneered at him. Zhou Yiyu was understandable since Chu Zhi had written his signature work, but Lin Xia? Where was his dignity?
Now they knew. It wasn't that Lin Xia lacked backbone. It was that Chu Zhi was simply that overwhelming.
The internet blazed hotter every day, while the weather grew colder, until finally, the Winter Solstice arrived.
Customs varied across regions. In Sichuan and Chongqing, people ate mutton soup with pea tips. In Guangdong, sesame dumplings and raw fish. In Zhejiang, rice cakes and wontons. In Shaanxi, dumplings.
To many, festivals and their foods were inseparable. The Chinese were a nation of food lovers, without question.
Chu Zhi was from the mountain city, so for lunch it had to be mutton soup: mutton and offal stewed with radish until the broth turned milky white and bubbled warmly. After eating chunks of meat, they added more radish.
With everyone sharing chopsticks, the meat and radish disappeared quickly. Xiao Zhuzi seized the chance to toss in pea shoots. Mutton soup with leafy greens was unbeatable, and Lao Qian and Li Guixun devoured it shamelessly.
That day, Chu Zhi had originally planned to invite everyone to a restaurant. But Niu Jiangxue suggested trying a group meal in the meeting room.
Normally, their lunch meetings were everyone eating separately. A true group meal was rare. So they ordered takeaway mutton soup.
Open flames and induction cookers weren't allowed in the office building, so they boiled the soup in an electric kettle and poured it out. It worked surprisingly well, and everyone enjoyed it.
"Brother Chu, Brother Qian, are you both done eating?" Xiao Zhuzi asked nervously.
"Pretty much." Lao Qian patted his stuffed belly.
Everyone, including Chu Zhi, was full. Seven hundred grams of meat and offal per person was more than enough.
"Then I'll add what I like now." Xiao Zhuzi grinned mischievously. She poured more boiling broth from the kettle into the pot and took a small box from the fridge. One look and Chu Zhi recognized it as salmon.
Salmon in mutton soup? He couldn't help but wonder what that would taste like. At the same time, he marveled at the imagination of dark cuisine lovers. Why add salmon to mutton broth?
Under everyone's stunned gazes, Xiao Zhuzi dipped in the salmon slices.
She had waited until now because she knew her tastes might differ from most. Better to wait until everyone was nearly done.
Cooked salmon in mutton broth, dipped in fermented tofu sauce. Chu Zhi wasn't brave enough to try. His fans in Japan called him "Ragdoll," but curiosity could be deadly to the stomach.
"Is it good?" Lao Qian asked, swallowing involuntarily.
The meal was arranged for noon since everyone would return home to reunite with family that evening. Overlapping company gatherings with family time was something Chu Zhi strongly disliked.
Lunch could be casual, but work could not. That afternoon, the entire company would unite for a major task—
The release of Chu Ci · Nine Songs!
===
"Two hearts bound for long, why care about being apart in youth or old age" is a reference to the classical Chinese poem "鹊桥仙" ("Queqiao Immortal") by Qin Guan