"Mr. Benjamin, could you elaborate further?"
"Does Mr. Benjamin's statement mean you have concrete evidence of crimes committed by a major Eastern power?"
"Could you disclose which other country is implicated in this event?"
Reporters crowded forward with their questions, each one sharper than the last. A political brawl between America and an Eastern giant was exactly the kind of drama the public loved to see.
America's Vice President, Benjamin, lowered his head to shuffle through his prepared remarks. His expression stiffened with difficulty as he aligned the stack of A4 pages neatly against the table, deliberately dragging out the suspense for the pack of "vultures" below.
Finally, he spoke. "China's natural gas trade with Qatar leveraged the popularity of Chinese celebrity Chu Zhi in Qatar to push through an unequal deal. We urge China to immediately suspend this transaction, and we in America will continue to monitor the matter closely."
Just a few sentences, but they dropped like bombs.
How could an energy deal possibly involve a celebrity?
Benjamin said no more, diverting the conversation to other matters, such as America's plans to increase energy exports to Europe.
That didn't matter. In certain circumstances, the investigative skill of journalists could rival even America's "ace" unit—the IRS. Within an hour after the White House press briefing ended, reporters had already pieced together the truth.
It turned out that Qatar's Crown Prince, the head of the national gas corporation's marketing division, the Grand Princess, and even the Deputy Director of the Royal Investment Office were all fans of Chu Zhi. This personal enthusiasm had accelerated Qatar's decision to join China in expanding the world's largest LNG project, North Field East Expansion. Through Sinopec, CNPC, and other state-backed companies, China secured a 15% stake.
Everyone knew what this meant. Once North Field LNG expanded, its annual output would reach 110 million tons, equivalent to the combined yearly imports of South Korea and Japan.
A project like North Field LNG was undoubtedly of national importance. The idea that it was sealed because of one celebrity sounded absurd.
To put it bluntly, even Sweden's most ridiculous game developers wouldn't dare write a storyline that outrageous. No wonder many thought "Crazy Benjamin" had lost it again.
Yet as American reporters dug deeper, more details emerged—
Crown Prince Balzari told Xinxia News Agency: "Let me share some numbers. Artist Chu Zhi's album has sold 79,000 copies in our country. The second-best selling album in our history sold only 15,000. This proves Mr. Chu Zhi has an extraordinary following here. Qatar values the love of its citizens. To know a people is to know their nation, and China is clearly a nation with exceptional artists. That is why we want greater engagement.
Our countries have long cooperated closely. Qatar is pursuing our Vision 2030 strategy, working hand in hand with China's Belt and Road Initiative and the Global Development Initiative…"
The speech droned on with diplomatic jargon, but the point was clear.
Reporters were baffled. Qatar's population was under three million. For 79,000 albums to sell, mathematically, that meant one in every 42 people owned a copy. There was some trickery, of course. Gazi from the Royal Investment Office had bought 30,000 copies alone, while Grand Princess Mayassa had purchased another 10,000.
Still, the Crown Prince's latter remarks were the true basis for the deal. But he deliberately placed Chu Zhi at the forefront, backing it with hard numbers.
Grand Princess Mayassa later spoke to Al-Raya newspaper: "Historically, our nation's modern media industry began late, but it has developed rapidly, surpassing neighboring countries.
This is tied to our relatively free press policy, which is rare in the contemporary Arab world. You may ask, what does this have to do with your question? Strictly speaking, nothing. But since I have just taken over the news agency, and because I also founded the Doha Film Institute, I thought it worth mentioning.
As for why we are strengthening cooperation with China, is it meant to send a signal? I will only say this: I wholeheartedly support the partnership, because I am a devoted fan of Chinese star Chu Zhi."
Powerful media, like The Washington Post, took interest. With its bureau in Saudi Arabia, right next to Qatar, and its reputation as the fourth most influential paper in America, it had the reach to dig deeper. They managed to contact Qatar Gas's marketing director.
Despite the title, that position held significant clout, on par with the Royal Investment Office. Many such posts were filled by members of the royal family.
"This deal is primarily commercial. Partnering with China offers greater prospects. It is certainly not because many of our staff happen to be Chu Zhi fans," the director insisted.
The reporter was speechless. His eyes practically said, "Do you take me for a fool?" Especially when the man's phone case had "Zhi Chu" printed on it, with a map of Yan Country far too short.
No matter. Creating gods and tearing them down were media's two favorite pastimes.
Whether the star was Asian or not made little difference. For now, they could elevate him. Later, they would drag him down.
Two news cycles for the price of one.
American journalists never worried about finding faults. All they needed was a sliver of weakness, and they could turn it into a storm. Every person had flaws—or if not, flaws could be invented. Even Michael Jackson, at the height of his global fame, was smeared with accusations of child abuse.
Everyone remembered how, in the Hong Kong films of the 80s and 90s, the phrase "You Michael Jackson" was a slang insult for "pedophile." If their own biggest stars could be torn down, how much easier for an Asian celebrity.
The Post pressed further: "There are rumors that this cooperation happened because Crown Prince Balzari and Princess Mayassa are fans of Chu Zhi. Was he a significant factor in the decision?"
"I refuse to answer that," the marketing director replied. "But I can say this—it certainly was not because many in our company are Chu Zhi fans. And no, we did not gift everyone the album The One Gazed Upon by God for March Bank Holiday."
That slip was enough. The reporter had all he needed.
March Bank Holiday was a national holiday in Qatar, when nearly every industry shut down.
In an instant, Chu Zhi dominated global headlines.
China's Ministry of Foreign Affairs swiftly responded to America's accusations: "China and Qatar are both sovereign nations. Trade between two sovereign nations is not for others to interfere with."
The spokesperson's words were measured. To debate right and wrong here would lower their standing.
"This is a matter between sovereign states. External nations have no grounds to meddle. As for our artists being admired abroad, that is positive cultural appreciation. Mr. Benjamin should exercise caution in his choice of words, particularly with terms such as 'exploitation of emotions.'"
The diplomatic clash went global overnight.
Reactions online were… skeptical. Anyone with half a brain found the situation absurd, yet American media covered it relentlessly.
"The singer who saved a nation's energy deal—a tale even fairy tales wouldn't dare write." — The New York Times
"Influence! Chu Zhi's reach in Asia now surpasses even Confucius." — Los Angeles Daily News
"Don't politicize entertainment. Chu Zhi could have been an even greater singer." — The Washington Post
"Unpacking Chu Zhi: Why was he able to sway Qatar's royal family?" — The Wall Street Journal
These weren't tabloid rumors. They were the words of the world's most respected newspapers.
On international platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, everyone was discussing it. Online and offline, it was the hottest story.
Even YouTubers prepared to fly to Qatar to gauge for themselves how popular Chu Zhi really was in the Middle East.
After all, the Arabic music scene was a fortress. Local kings and queens of song rarely broke out, and foreign stars found it nearly impossible to enter. This news felt like a miracle.
Thai netizen: [Our country's natural gas reserves are drying up. Fuel shortages are choking our economy. We need a hero like Chu Zhi.]
South Korean netizen: [We invest so much in culture, and isn't our entertainment supposed to dominate Asia? Why hasn't it reached Qatar? Two years ago, our drama My Love from the Star swept Asia—why did they invite Chu Zhi instead? Are we cultivating influence for another nation?]
Japanese netizen: [Chu Zhi has gone beyond being a singer. He has become a cultural symbol. Usually it takes decades for an artist to achieve this. The speed of his rise defies belief.]
Most of these commenters were ordinary people, not fans of Chu Zhi. Some were even openly hostile.
Especially in South Korea and Japan, where seeing China thrive felt like a knife to the bone.
No one knew if it was deliberate venting or simply irrational thinking, but some people stubbornly insisted that Chu Zhi's popularity in Qatar came entirely from the drama My Love From the Star. By that logic, the drama's director was guilty of betraying the nation. So, they swarmed onto Twitter and began attacking the drama crew's account.
And that wasn't the end of it.
Netflix had once invited Jo Kwon and the original GZ group cast to film Bubbles Under the Sky, which ended up flopping.
Back then, the promotional slogan had even been "the second My Love From the Star." To these people, it was better to overkill than let one slip away, so they attacked the Bubbles crew too.
This was the absurdity of the internet. How was this any different from when angry Turks, wanting to provoke Russia, smashed up the Dutch consulate instead?
Among Asian netizens, the reaction wasn't overly intense. Chu Zhi's reputation in Asia had already hit the ceiling. It was shocking news, yes, but they could accept it faster.
For European and American netizens, the impact was far greater. Chu Zhi's English album had only just cracked open the market, and even then it was just in the "slightly popular" phase. To suddenly be told that this Chinese singer was already so incredible was hard for anyone to accept.
American netizen: [I honestly thought today was April Fool's when I saw the news. Realizing it wasn't April Fool's was the hardest fact I've had to accept this year.]
British netizen: [I don't understand why so many people in Qatar like a Chinese singer. His last album sales were actually six times higher than Ava Laura's. I just can't accept that.]
German netizen: [I know him. He beat America's sweetheart Gibaldi on the strength of the Asian market. After reading this news, I kind of want to buy his album to see for myself. Is it really that good?]
Ava Laura was the queen of British pop. Her signature album High Heels had been hailed as a classic of rising female consciousness and was ranked the second best-selling album in Qatar's history.
Sales of The One Gazed Upon by God had been slowing around the world, but thanks to this wave of news, they suddenly surged again.
Just as that German netizen put it, people wanted to see what kind of music could possibly cause such a stir.
Of course, every coin has two sides.
The downside was that anti-Chinese groups in Europe and America began hating Chu Zhi all the more. Among them were both Britons and Americans. To the British, Hong Kong was land "unfairly seized" by China, so they viewed Chu Zhi's success as the thief crying "stop thief."
But this was only natural. Any Chinese celebrity gaining fame in the West would inevitably become a target for those who believe in the "Yellow Peril." This backlash was simply happening earlier than expected.
If the international reaction was already so exaggerated, one could only imagine the discussions raging on the Chinese internet.
Marketing accounts were notorious for taking things out of context, latching onto half a sentence and running with it. When they saw today's headlines, their first reaction was: "Wow, who can brag harder than this?"
Marketing accounts didn't need brains, or perhaps never had them. So even if they didn't believe the news, they still reflexively reposted it.
That was when an amusing scene unfolded.
After fabricating countless rumors in the past, the one news item they were convinced was fake turned out to be real.
Scrolling through multiple reports in a row, Gu Peng finally closed Weibo. As a socially anxious person, he wanted to mutter something to himself but found no words would come out.
When the Annam news had first come out, he had felt happy for Chu Zhi as a friend. But more than anything, it had left him deeply shaken.
"To be a singer, can it really reach such an outrageous level?" Gu Peng thought it was surreal. He himself was also a patriotic singer. Otherwise, he wouldn't have tried to perform Lugou Bridge at the China-Japan-Korea concert.
Expressing patriotism through music, influencing fans with that message—that was, in Gu Peng's eyes, the furthest a mainstream singer could go.
Beyond that, representing the country to perform overseas was something only vocalists and musicians of the highest caliber could do. Opera singers, pianists, and the like. That was the ceiling.
Yet Chu Zhi, as a pop star, had already broken into that domain. Performances at the St. Petersburg Cultural Forum, diplomatic celebrations—it was already unbelievable. And now, even that ceiling had been shattered.
"Invincible beneath the immortals, one-for-one among the immortals, huh?" Alone, Gu Peng couldn't help muttering to himself. "Top singers are the Heavenly Kings tier, vocalists are the Heavenly Deities tier, but you, Chu Zhi… you're the Pangu tier."
He opened Weibo again and, using one of his many tiny burner accounts, posted: [Who else can secure massive national projects like this? My husband is too handsome. Your dimples have no wine, but I'm drunk like a dog!]
Satisfied, Gu Peng closed Weibo again. Offline he was socially useless, but online he was a master, armed with endless cheeky one-liners.
The jokes flooding the Chinese internet about Chu Zhi were endless, and far too outrageous to repeat here in full.
Naturally, Chu Zhi, who was always online, also saw some of them.
"So it wasn't just about importing more liquefied natural gas," Chu Zhi murmured as he read the news. Only then did he understand how extensive China's cooperation with Qatar truly was.
"No wonder they needed a scapegoat," he thought to himself. "But honestly, it's kind of comfortable being that scapegoat."
Originally, Chu Zhi had thought his popularity in Europe and America would only climb further after his next English album or when Unsinkable was released. He had not expected such a pleasant surprise.
His head felt a little woozy. The winding roads of Mountain City made it worse to look at his phone, so Chu Zhi wisely set it aside, closed his eyes, and let Ma Weihao give him a massage. That was when he remembered something.
Still with eyes closed, he asked, "Brother Qian, when's your wedding banquet? Didn't you say you wanted me there to give you blessings?"
"Don't tell me you skipped out on inviting me, Brother Qian?"
"The banquet was already held ages ago. I even invited Jiu-yé," Old Qian replied. "Come on, with our relationship, how could I not?"
"What?" Chu Zhi frowned, searching his memory. He had never attended a wedding banquet, that much he was sure of. Even if no red envelope was required, he had already planned to bring a gift for the newlyweds.
"It was that time I treated you all to roast lamb," Old Qian explained. "I ordered three whole lambs that day, remember?"
Chu Zhi opened his eyes and stared at him, baffled. Slowly, the memory resurfaced: sometime last year, though he couldn't recall the exact date. Old Qian had suddenly insisted on treating them, saying it was non-negotiable.
He had driven them twenty-some kilometers out to a rustic farmhouse restaurant. There had been five or six tables, and that was where Chu Zhi had met Bingbing, the woman who had turned Old Qian's life around.
Back then, Chu Zhi hadn't thought much of it. He assumed Old Qian was just introducing his girlfriend to the group. He never expected it had actually been the engagement banquet. What the hell?
"It was all Bing Bing's arrangement. She doesn't like things too flashy, so she chose the place herself," Old Qian said with pride. "Well? How about that? Isn't my wife amazing?"
"She's amazing," Chu Zhi agreed with a thumbs up. "Sister-in-law really came down to do charity work, marrying you. She's beautiful and virtuous."
Old Qian was even happier hearing praise for Bing Bing than for himself. Talking with Chu Zhi always put him in a good mood.
"What can I say, I was just born lucky. When I was little, my grandfather did a weighing-of-bones fortune telling for me. Said I weighed six liang and three qian, a life destined for long years, high office, and glory."
Chu Zhi had heard the old saying "fated to carry only eight dou of rice, wandering the world yet never filling a single measure," but this weighing of fate by weight was new to him. Intrigued, he asked Old Qian for details, but Old Qian admitted he didn't really understand either. "Check online. These days you can find anything there."
Sure enough, the internet had a whole system of fortune by bone weight. Chu Zhi entered his own birth details: two liang, nine qian, with the interpretation: "Early years bring no success. Though honor and fame may come later, not until after forty will stability arrive. Only by moving or changing one's surname will the fate improve."
"Hmm. Superstitious nonsense". Chu Zhi dismissed it. Anything unlucky was always superstition.
"Jiu-yé, are you really fine going to Thailand tomorrow without me?" Old Qian asked again.
"Brother Qian, just take a couple days off," Chu Zhi said with a smile.
This trip abroad was to film a commercial for White Rabbit Milk Candy, and then return again to Annam.
The plan for White Rabbit Soft Candy and Milk Candy was straightforward: to mirror Chu Zhi's singing career as its permanent spokesperson, expanding steadily step by step.
Most recently, Su Shangbai had succeeded in getting White Rabbit Milk Candy into Annam's largest supermarket chain, Big C. Riding the momentum of Chu Zhi's influence, the candy had carved out a space. And since Su Shangbai wasn't afraid to spend big on advertising, that space was rapidly expanding.