If one had to sum up Wei Daodi's current state in a single idiom, it would be: fearless because there is someone backing him. In other words, he acted the way he did because he had powerful support.
"If I say even one more word to you, I'll feel sick," Chu Zhi said.
He didn't waste any more breath. That same night, after getting the list of sponsors for the awards ceremony, he returned to Shanghai.
What can you do to me? Wei Daodi didn't care in the slightest.
The incident, however, instantly made headlines across China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Macau. The news of who had won awards at the ceremony was completely buried.
"Wei Daodi Blasts Chu Zhi" — Entertainment Weekly
"Are Chu Zhi's Songs Just Self-Amusement for the Mainland?" — Gossip Weekly
"Chu Zhi, Who Won Twelve Awards, Just a Fake Superstar?" — Hotspot Radio
"Chu Zhi is Nothing Compared to Hirokumo Ryōko, Oida Yoshihiro, Kudō Hyō" — One Weekly
All of the above were Hong Kong media outlets, and their focus was solely on whether Chu Zhi had the qualifications to win those awards. None mentioned Wei Daodi's insult to China at all.
It wasn't that they were trying to protect him, but reporting on such matters could easily cause trouble. Better not to touch it at all.
Meanwhile, in mainland China, the hashtag #WeiDaodiInsultsChina shot to the top of the trending list.
"Who the hell is this old bastard? A lapdog for the Japanese?"
"No idea where this disgusting thing crawled out from."
"This kind of person must be banned."
"I'm curious what Jiu-yé will do. Based on his past personality—like going head-to-head with Adidas right at the awards ceremony—he's not someone to just let this go."
"Jiu-yé is just a celebrity. Don't mythologize him. Last time was about a brand endorsement, so he could rally fans to boycott. But this time it's about an individual. That Wei-dog doesn't even work in the mainland, so there's no way to deal with him."
"@VoiceOfCultureAndTourism, do something. The man literally slapped China in the face with his words."
"I'm so mad. I'm going to curse him out on Twitter. Posting on Weibo is useless, the Wei-dog won't even see it."
Netizens were furious—insulting China, looking down on the mainland—how could anyone not be angry?
They had every reason to be mad.
But this time, Wei Daodi had chosen the wrong target. And what was the target of the internet's attention, Chu Zhi, doing?
The New Town Power Music Awards had many sponsors, and Chu Zhi was familiar with some of them. He had Niu Niu pull a favor from one of those contacts.
Watsons official Weibo: "We firmly love and support our motherland."
Chow Tai Fook official Weibo: "The mainland and Hong Kong are both part of China, and the Chinese people are universally recognized as one of the hardest-working peoples. Where does this nonsense about 'locusts' come from?"
Several other sponsors also joined in. Under collective pressure from these brands, the New Town Power Music Awards issued an official announcement the same day: Wei Daodi's Hall of Fame Singer Award was revoked, and they hoped he would return the trophy.
Was that the end?
Not at all.
The three Japanese singers Wei Daodi had named—Hirokumo Ryōko, Oida Yoshihiro, Kudō Hyō—also posted on Twitter.
Kudō Hyō:"Chu-san's creativity is something even I envy. Every track of his is excellent."
Oida Yoshihiro:"I bought the album Spring Rain Song. I've listened to it countless times. 'my.all' is a masterpiece. Even though I can't understand some of the Chinese songs, their melodies are captivating."
Hirokumo Ryōko was a famous Japanese diva, hailed by Japanese netizens as a "beauty witch"—in her forties yet only dating men in their early twenties, never anyone over twenty-five.
An expert at "eating tender grass." Unsurprisingly, she was also a face-connoisseur, though not as extreme as Koguchi Yoshihiro. To be blunt, she was a Chu Zhi fan purely for his looks. She had bought seventy-three copies of Spring Rain Song.
Her Twitter response was the most direct:"I've never listened to Wei-san's works, but if Chu-san's music is considered rough, then the majority of the world's singers have never polished their work."
Never underestimate the influence of an Asian superstar, especially someone like Chu Zhi.
That night was sleepless. Wei Daodi was still awake, feeling rather pleased with himself. He simply couldn't stand that such a young singer had swept more than ten awards in one go—especially with the roaring applause that had accompanied his stage appearances.
Everything about it had filled him with jealousy, so mocking Chu Zhi to his face had felt satisfying.
When he saw the awards' announcement about revoking his trophy, he didn't care.
But Wei Daodi also used Twitter. When he saw the Japanese singers he worshipped posting such messages… it felt like his heart had been crushed under a speeding truck.
Especially his goddess, Hirokumo Ryōko. How could she say such a thing? Anger surged. He wanted to smash his phone, but reason kept him in check.
"Petty tricks. That's all you've got," he muttered, forcing himself to stay calm.
But soon, his phone rang. It was his agent.
Wei Daodi was signed to Baiyu, Hong Kong's largest concert production company. Almost every star holding concerts in Hong Kong or Taiwan went through Baiyu. Only in recent years had they started moving into the record business. With Hong Kong entertainment in decline, the company had relocated its headquarters to Beijing.
"Brother Wei, what were you thinking? Why would you say that?" his agent Xiao Hong asked nervously when the call connected.
"What? I only said what every Hong Kong people wants to say," Wei Daodi replied.
"I sure don't want to say that," Xiao Hong thought to himself, but this wasn't the time to argue. "Brother Wei, the company is preparing to sue you. This time it's not a joke. Be careful."
"Huh?" Wei Daodi was confused. "Sue me for what?"
"Improper remarks damaging the company's image," Xiao Hong said. "And the company is serious this time."
It wasn't like this was the first time Wei Daodi had insulted the mainland. Why sue him now? In the past, even when it hit the trending lists, the worst outcome had been an apology.
Why now?
Baiyu hadn't suddenly become patriotic—they had been summoned late at night for a joint meeting with Beijing's Comprehensive Cultural Market Enforcement Team and the Ministry of Culture and Tourism.
Baiyu had moved to Beijing to make money in the mainland market. Getting singled out for a late-night meeting was serious.
Why such speed from the Ministry? No doubt because Chu Zhi, as an advisor, had directly reported the matter to its highest leader.
Before Wei Daodi could gather his thoughts, more calls came in. Three commercial performances he'd signed for were all canceled.
In Hong Kong and Taiwan, many people used Twitter. Chu Zhi posted the same message across all his platforms: "A singer who insults his own country does not deserve the love of fans."
Over 200,000 comments on Weibo, over 100,000 on Instagram, another 100,000 on Twitter. Fans from all countries stood firmly on his side.
The public's hatred for Wei Daodi reached a peak.
Brands and organizers hired celebrities to attract fans and enhance their own image. With so many people hating Wei Daodi, hiring him could only damage their brand.
"Disgusting," Wei Daodi muttered, hating Chu Zhi even more. He called his backers, hoping they would intervene.
But the answer was the same: wait until the storm passed. Even a foundation funded by a foreign state wouldn't take on Chu Zhi directly. There was nothing to smear him with, and fabricating rumors would backfire. Chu Zhi's influence was too strong, and his official backing was too solid.
Wei Daodi had never imagined that the man he provoked was someone even his backers dared not touch…
The next day, official media spoke up. In truth, everything that needed doing had already been done the previous night. Baiyu terminated his contract and announced legal action. This development brought a wave of satisfaction to netizens.
The Emperor Beast returned to his film set, diving back into work.
Two weeks had passed since the film's opening ceremony. Chu Zhi finally completed an anonymous fifty-million-yuan donation.
This meant he had reached [Low-Key Ten-Million-Yuan Donation ×15], earning 15 personality coins. "Today, the ordinary people are truly happy, la la la la."
Feeling that he was on a lucky streak, the spendthrift Emperor Beast decided to do three blind box draws, hoping to snag a custom album for his two planned records.
First draw: Album Pack – Avicii Greatest Hits, and an Album Voucher. Not what he wanted.
The voucher could only exchange for one album—still good, but far less versatile than a custom album.
"Never mind. I'll save it. When the time is right, I'll get Michael Jackson's legendary Thriller," Chu Zhi murmured.
Thriller was the best-selling album in the world, no contest. Avicii, though less known by name in China, was hailed as "God A," a world-class EDM genius whose songs were widely recognized.
He had tragically taken his own life at twenty-eight, but tracks like Waiting for Love and Wake Me Up had given hope to many who were on the verge of giving up.
Second draw: nothing bad either.
"One more chance. Just one more. Please let the prize pool be good this time!" Chu Zhi urged.
The list appeared:
[Beat of Rhythm]
[Strange Item: Substitute Salamander]
[Strange Item: Piggy Candy]
[Custom Album Voucher ×1]
[Special Prize: Feodor Ivanovich Chaliapin's Vocal Talent]
[Special Prize: Agustín Barrios Mangoré's Guitar Talent]
"What kind of day is this? Why does this feel unreal?" Chu Zhi was stunned. In over three years of opening blind boxes, he had never seen two special prizes appear in the same pool.
Chaliapin was the greatest bass singer in history. Barrios was known as the "guitar demon god."
With Farinelli's gift for high notes, Chu Zhi was already unmatched in the treble range. Add the world's best bass? He'd be a monster.
As for the items:
Substitute Salamander could take a lethal hit for its owner.
Piggy Candy would make you as cute as a piggy (Chu Zhi preferred cats).
Beat of Rhythm was a passive skill ensuring he would never sing off-key.
Tempting—but the custom album voucher still called to him.
"This prize pool is amazing. Anything except the two weaker items is worth it," Chu Zhi thought.
He chose. The box opened.
[Strange Item: Substitute Salamander.]
With his system brother warning him of danger in advance, he didn't need it much. But a draw was a draw. Resisting the urge for "just one more," he stopped for the night.
Meanwhile, his anonymous donation brought changes to the China Charity Federation.
Chairman Jia Ban stepped down for health reasons. Normally, Vice Chairman Zhou Fumin would take over, but instead, a new chairman was parachuted in from above.
Though the Federation was a non-governmental organization, its upper ranks were filled with retired officials, so such arrangements were no surprise.
The new leader was Wang Mao, a former Vice Minister of Culture and Tourism.
Zhou Fumin welcomed him readily—there was no real power at stake here, and having a connection with a vice-minister-level official could only be beneficial.
He personally helped Wang Mao familiarize himself with the work. In an afternoon, they were already getting along.
"Thanks, Old Zhou. If I'd had to handle this alone, it would've taken me at least a week," Wang Mao said.
"You're too polite, Chairman," Zhou Fumin replied, then added, "There's something I think you should know."
Wang Mao leaned forward. "Go on."
"Our Federation has an anonymous donor," Zhou Fumin said. "Over the past two years, they've given 150 million yuan."
At first, Wang Mao thought Zhou Fumin was making a fuss. Many Chinese citizens were generous, even living frugally just to donate. But then the number hit him. He almost choked.
He had just reviewed last year's report: six hundred million yuan in total donations, plus fifty billion in materials.
One person alone had contributed an eighth of the cash donations.
"One hundred and fifty million," Zhou Fumin confirmed. "We've even set up a special privilege for them to make large anonymous donations. And this donor is someone you know."
"Who?" Wang Mao asked.
"Chu Zhi—the superstar who was all over the trending list yesterday."
"???"
Wang Mao was stunned. Chu Zhi donating 150 million anonymously? It sounded like fantasy. But Zhou Fumin wouldn't lie about a number like that.
Zhou Fumin smiled. He had only told him to enjoy watching the look of disbelief. After all, Zhou Fumin himself had reacted the same way at first.