September only has thirty days. All Nations Vol. 1 hit the world on the 17th, and by National Day two weeks later, it had taken the year's sales crown in seven countries. People used to call Chu Zhi Asia's top star, but now no one would argue if you said global superstar. His influence really went worldwide.
The Orange Family app rolled out a Spanish version. Global signups hit forty million. Investors waved cash at the door. Profit could wait, with this kind of traffic the upside felt endless.
The Emperor Beast did think about taking funding, since the more users you have, the faster server costs climb. A million users and ten million users are two different budgets.
He wasn't thinking about money first, though. He worried, if Little Fruits knew it cost that much every month just to keep the app alive, would they feel pressured?
At night, after his daily practice, he'd sometimes check the app's comment area to get a read on the diehards.
The key word was pressure, the kind Little Fruits would take on without even realizing it, which wasn't fair.
He decided to refuse everything, then cook up a cheeky move. He asked Da Bai for help to buy into a server leasing company.
"I'm possessed, I'm worrying for nothing. As long as we don't shout about this in promotions, Little Fruits won't care about server fees," he said after hanging up with Da Bai, suddenly feeling he'd overthought it.
Forget it, he'd already settled it with Da Bai.
He'd just hired Park Noyao and Cai Yunyong, and now he had to expand again. The Arabic and Spanish regions needed new leads. If he didn't have the right people, he'd go to headhunters. Qi Qiu, his comms head, had been poached that way.
"If I keep acting like this, will I really turn into a fan-pleaser," he muttered.
[Even if you don't act, you're a kind person,] the system brother chimed in, which was rare.
"Hahaha, that's biased. I've made friends in the circle with motives. Calling it motives is heavy, but I've got aims," he answered in his head.
[Have your friends suffered losses?] the system asked.
"Not yet, but who knows what I'll do in the future," he said.
[Are you taking responsibility for things that haven't happened?] the system asked one last time, and that shut him up. Usually the system fell silent first.
After a long time, he whispered to the system, or maybe to himself, "It's not about taking responsibility for what hasn't happened, it's that I know my nature. Alright, let's drop it."
Refusing to admit he's a good person, the system thought. Humans are complicated. Why not admit a good deed?
As always, holidays were when he was busiest.
Speaking of National Day, Central TV's show Cross the Yalu did well, retracing the route of the old campaign. Ratings were decent.
One, Central's quality was guaranteed, and Minister Xi oversaw everything. Two, Su Yiwu joined a variety show without idol baggage.
Cross the Yalu didn't match Reenacting the Long March, but it was still a win.
"You can't even compare. I only know there's a gap between Chu Zhi and Su Yiwu, I just don't know how big," Minister Xi said, scanning the dashboard.
"Logically, with a solid first season, the second should do better. In reality, online discussion is only a fifth of last time."
Seeing is believing. He'd heard Chu Zhi was the ceiling of domestic traffic. You don't understand what ceiling means until you feel it for yourself.
"Lao Xi, dinner tonight," Deputy Director Li Yong called.
They'd gotten close through a mutual friend and often ate together after work.
They found a tiny hole-in-the-wall. The outside looked sketchy, but the food slapped.
"I've got a serious question. Don't bluff me," Li Yong said, face straight.
"What is it," Minister Xi put down his chopsticks.
"Can you really drink head to head with Xiao Chu, half a catty each," Li Yong asked, then shared his tragedy. "Twice I treated Xiao Chu, and he soloed our whole table. We had no chance."
"I've lived decades, and I've never seen anyone drink like Xiao Chu," Li Yong stared, eyes saying, you can do that too, right.
"Sixty-forty," Minister Xi lifted his chopsticks, tapped the table, and said proudly, "I'm sixty, he's forty."
"You sure," Li Yong stared in disbelief.
"I made Xiao Chu crawl once. I've never lost," Minister Xi's eyebrows practically flew off his face.
"So Chu Zhi wasn't the only invincible one. What kind of general was this, to be so bold," Li Yong thought, eyes shining.
National Day means state media gets lively. People's Daily's front page led with the holiday coverage. Page two's headline read, "Let Culture Walk Out, Make It Solid," with the subtitle, "Chinese Culture Shines Abroad."
Poet Huainan's new book came out in German and Spanish and sold out, with his new collection, Circulation, hot enough that Japanese bookstores ran dry day one.
Singer Chu Zhi's All Nations Vol. 1, written in eight languages, is beloved across many countries. Cumulative sales have passed 12.47 million.
Playwright Wang Renlan's Exception to Clarity drew a sensation on Broadway.
The essence of cultural export is transmission, understanding, dissolving misunderstanding, and giving culture a fair chance.
…
It went on for thousands of words, so here were the highlights. Of the three examples, Chu Zhi took two.
Let's be real, Huainan is Chu Zhi. Senior folks in the cultural department probably knew. A chief editor at People's Daily almost certainly did.
What was interesting was that, knowing that, they still named both Huainan and Chu Zhi, which was its own kind of official boost.
"Circulation is two-thirds narrative poetry, the style the West likes. I wonder if it can snag the Jerusalem Prize," he mused.
It wasn't about begging the West to approve. The domestic poetry scene was wilted. To be blunt, you couldn't even flex big if you wanted.
Holidays are the shortest things on earth, shorter than a web writer's break. A few good meals, and poof, they're gone.
But some things laugh at holidays, like the 75th anniversary gala.
"Chu Zhi of Moscow," since her rebound, Lyudmila wore that crown.
Her agency gave her that path, which she understood. Chinese singers were hot in Russia, and this positioning built value fast.
What she didn't get was why fans also felt "Chu Zhi of Moscow" was something to brag about.
Lyudmila was forty-two. Calling it a rebound wasn't right, she'd never been big. She'd recorded folk classical, earned a little name in the trade, but almost no one knew her.
A few months ago, she uploaded her cover of "Opera 2." YouTube views hit tens of millions.
It was like she'd unlocked her voice. In four months she posted several high-note showpieces, and the public loved it.
Her endorsement fee used to be zero rubles, because no brand ever called.
Now it had jumped to nine million. A clean, big leap.
Location: Moscow's Sheremetyevo, departure hall.
Cast: the singers heading to the celebration.
Scene: waiting to board.
"Singing 'Opera 2' in front of Mr. Zhi, Milla, your courage stunned me," Niniel said, tapping his throat with a finger when he saw the program. Quixote-level bravery deserved a drink invite.
That throat-tap is the drunkard's favorite sign, it means, I want to buy you a drink. In Russia, if you want to praise someone, don't flash a thumbs up. It has no special meaning, but it sits too close to the rude gesture with the thumb between the index and middle fingers. The wrong temper might think you're cursing.
"Mr. Alexei listed the song requirements," Lyudmila said. "Show Russian culture, or connect with Chinese culture. 'Opera 2' is Chu Zhi's creation, so it fits."
Niniel saw through it and let it pass. If you really wanted to meet the brief, was "Katyusha" not good enough, or the newly released "Moscow Nights" not beautiful enough.
Which meant she wanted to flex in front of the original creator.
Alexei led the group through check in. As head of the Ministry of Culture's foreign exchange bureau, this was his show, especially with both leaders meeting.
Aeroflot and Sichuan Airlines share one trait. Weather be damned, they still land on time. Retired fighter pilots make a difference.
Bored on the plane, Lyudmila grabbed an in-flight magazine and skimmed. One headline made her freeze.
"Why Russia Can't Produce a Composer Like Chu Zhi," written by a small name in social research.
Lyudmila frowned. Social research, why are you minding music's business?
The piece barely talked about Chu Zhi. It just used his name to open, then dug into the industry's decline, how labels had collapsed one after another since 1996.
The article wrapped by panning out to culture at large. The writer bragged about the Soviet era's artistic glory, then sighed that today you can't even see the taillights.
"When people lose confidence, their culture can't keep any either." Lyudmila finished the piece and sat there frowning. She didn't care about the decline talk. She cared that the article barely mentioned Chu Zhi, yet kept pointing at him.
Why Chu Zhi, not Akenda, not someone else? From the side angle it said one thing, in Russia, Chu Zhi works.
Lyudmila didn't hate Chu Zhi. She knew perfectly well her own rise came from covering Opera 2.
The sting came from this, he was forty-two, and people kept calling him "Xiao Chu Zhi." If she remembered right, Chu Zhi wasn't even thirty yet.
Fine, she couldn't match that level of songwriting, but when it came to high notes, she'd prove she could stand toe to toe. Lyudmila was a physical monster too.
She had over ten years of recording classical art albums under her belt. In simple words, her pedigree checked out. Add a sudden surge of popularity and the invitations rolled in.
Niniel, Edward and the rest traveling with him were top singers in Russia. This event sat a full tier above something like the St. Petersburg International Forum.
They reached the capital on the sixth, the eve of the China–Russia anniversary gala. It was also the return peak of the National Day holiday, so getting into the Guoyi Hotel was bumpy. From the airport to Xizhimen, then onto the North Second Ring, the traffic felt like cement.
Here's a test tip, maybe this year, maybe next. Whether it was Moscow's 70th or the current 75th, the calculation starts from the day the Soviet Union and China established relations.
"If you need a guide, call anytime." The staff in charge of foreign guests explained a bunch, then, polite and firm, confirmed no one needed a guide and left.
"Vasily knows China. His wife's Singaporean. He'll take us to the best bar, don't worry," Niniel said. "Come on, Milla, let's toast your courage."
"We've got the gala tomorrow afternoon. Let's still take it easy tonight," Lyudmila said. She needed to keep her voice sharp.
Most singers and anyone who lives on their voice keep strict habits and rarely drink. It just so happened that half the Russian guests invited this time were happy drunks.
Seven of them followed Vasily into a bar thick with punk vibes. The owner had serious connections. His hallmark was pulling rare booze from all over the world.
Russian ballet's famous for a reason. You could tell Vasily was a dancer from his even build and the way he walked.
He was called the "Prince of Ballet," with Pharaoh's Daughter and Sleeping Beauty as his signature roles, and he was a principal at the Bolshoi.
They drank with restraint. As for the alcohol, they loved it. The only thing they didn't love was the bar snacks.
Some partied through the holiday. Some were so busy they barely ate, like the Mango TV crew. On Ace vs Ace, chief director Li Zi had everyone spinning like tops.
"What's going on, why's everyone so wound up," regular guest Min Jeongbae looked around. The mood felt weird.
"We've got a special guest," Li Zi said, eyebrows dancing.
"Special guest?" Min Jeongbae asked. "Isn't it Yu Lan and Tong Mao today?"
Then something clicked. He looked at the showrunner and said, "No way, did you get him?"
Smart man, quick on the uptake. Li Zi saw he'd guessed it and nodded.
"Brother Li, Uncle Min, what code are you speaking," another regular, Lin Weiran, said. He'd climbed over Lin Feifei's shoulders to become a top stream idol, brainy on the show, while Min Jeongbae did the clowning and played dumb.
"The show probably booked the Corps Leader. Captain Chu," Min Jeongbae said. "I'm really curious, what kind of price did you offer."
"Captain Chu?" Lin Weiran blinked, then shot up. "You got Chu Zhi on the show?"
"It took a mountain of work to invite Chu Zhi," Li Zi said, smug and glowing.
"I remember he even turned down the Spring Festival Gala, and he almost never does variety," Min Jeongbae couldn't hide his curiosity.
After so many seasons, he knew the program's tricks. The finale always sold nostalgia, bring back the cast of some classic drama, or reunite a group from some famous show.
Yu Lan was a solid tier-two singer with hits and fans. Tong Mao had been quiet for years, then joined Riding the Wind and Waves, Brothers at thirty and picked up a lot of fans.
They had one thing in common, both debuted six years ago on Future's Star. So who was that show's brightest new star? Chu Zhi.
Add in the director's smug face, and Min Jeongbae had his answer.
"He's just dropping in, one song and gone," Li Zi said. "He won't stay long. Chu Zhi's schedule's slammed."
"Once they heard it's Chu Zhi, they lit up. Half the crew wants autographs," Li Zi added. By "they," he meant the tireless staff behind the scenes.
"Lots of people in the circle are Corps Leader fans. I've already had plenty ask me to get signatures," Min Jeongbae said.
Lin Weiran knew Chu Zhi's popularity already. Please, who didn't.
What bothered him was Li Zi's attitude. By rights, Li Zi was a variety titan backed by Mango TV, top of the food chain. No matter how hot a star was, power flowed through channels, and channels decided the chain.
Lin Weiran himself was a new wave top stream, but he still treated Li Zi with care. Yet just now, Li Zi was preening because he'd invited a star. The food chain had flipped.
How did Chu Zhi manage that, Lin Weiran couldn't figure it out.
An hour later, taping began and the audience took their seats.
They followed the format. Yu Lan and Tong Mao came on, each sang a song. The hall didn't shake. Most of the audience were Lin Weiran's "guards," his fans. With that lineup, nobody was going to make waves.
"Welcome, Yu Lan and Tong Mao," Min Jeongbae said.
"Uncle Min, you're too kind. I grew up watching your movies."
"Same here, I love your films."
"Don't, don't. I grew up on Future's Star and Riding the Wind and Waves, Brothers. Don't call me uncle, call me Xiao Min."
The banter landed. The crowd chuckled. Min Jeongbae was born on the laugh line, and fans loved watching him clown.
The vibe was warm on the surface. Everyone played their part.
Inside, Yu Lan thought, Lin Weiran's just a pretty face. What's the big deal.
He had a chip on his shoulder because his entry songs hadn't landed. With a hall full of "guards," nobody would.
Inside, Tong Mao thought, don't offend Lin Weiran, don't offend Lin Weiran.
Showbiz makes it way too easy to offend people. No wonder Tong Mao was tense.
Ace vs Ace cycled the usual games, Pictionary, Blind Piggyback, Telephone. This time it was Pictionary.
They ran the routine. Two hours passed.
Then came the nostalgia segment. Of course, you still need an intro to sell nostalgia.
"Yu Lan and Tong Mao both debuted on Future's Star, right? Can you tell us what it was like back then?"