Explosive and Combustible suddenly debuted at number one on the weekly singles chart of Japan's Billboard, making it the third Chinese-language song ever to top the ranking.
The very first was back in the 1990s: the joint Hong Kong–Mainland drama Tanglin.
That show was like a parallel-world version of The Ming Dynasty 1566, a historical masterpiece. If The Ming Dynasty 1566 focused on integrity, finance, and livelihood through the eyes of great statesmen, then Tanglin drew from the expression "Tanglin Jintie" that Tao Zongyi once used as an insult. But the series turned that slur into something magnificent, capturing the brilliance of painters, poets, and calligraphers of the early and mid-Tang Dynasty.
Painters like Yan Liben, Yuchi Yiseng, Wu Daozi; calligraphers like Ouyang Xun, Yu Shinan, Chu Suiliang; and poets beyond number. The costumes, sets, and props were exquisitely researched. The production gathered the finest film talents from both sides of the Strait.
Many Asian media outlets praised it, saying:
"The flourishing Tang era seems like the very star people longed for, the pinnacle of human ancient culture, and this drama captured that feeling. The only regret is that Yang Guifei did not appear."
The series was such a hit it left Tokyo's streets empty during its broadcast.
Japan already had a deep affection for Tang Dynasty aesthetics, so the drama's opening theme song also became a major hit.
If anyone from that parallel world could share more, they'd surely agree: Tanglin was truly extraordinary.
The second Chinese song to top the chart came in the late 1990s, by the once-popular singer Zhan Ji. These days, those born after 1995 or 2000 may not even know his name, as he has long since faded from the spotlight.
But Zhan Ji had his shining era. Chu Zhi, the self-proclaimed Emperor Beast, had met him a few times at the Chinese Musicians' Conference. Zhan Ji was a loyal, honorable man. At the peak of his career, he gave it all up to care for his ailing wife.
Strictly speaking, Explosive and Combustible is the first Chinese song of the 21st century to achieve this feat.
On Wednesday, it debuted directly at number one.
On Thursday, its lead widened dramatically, dominating streaming numbers, Twitter trends, and search indexes.
By Friday, it was still going strong. Japanese singers who had planned to release new songs quietly delayed their schedules to avoid being overshadowed.
In Tokyo, Higuchi Hanato, who had complicated feelings toward Chu Zhi, said:
"The last time I remember hearing a Chinese song everywhere, it was back when I was still in middle school."
The greatest advantage of a song with seductive allure is this: if someone passes by a café and hears it, they can't help but ask, "What song is this?"
"Our music scene has already been dominated by the Korean wave," said Takehashi Miyoshi with a raised voice. "And now Chinese songs are coming too. When will our own local music rise again?"
"What can we do?" Takakura Tomo spread his hands in resignation. "Our country's entertainment industry has become like Chu Zhi's backyard. He comes and goes as he pleases, and every time he stirs up a storm."
Anyone who could be friends with Higuchi Hanato was already among the more prominent figures in Japanese entertainment.
Koguchi Yoshihiro, king of the "face-worshippers," loved befriending handsome men and beautiful women. Higuchi Hanato judged people by talent and fame. Everyone has their biases in friendship; theirs just happened to be extreme.
"Don't overthink it," Higuchi Hanato said. "It's not that Chinese music is taking over our charts. It's just Chu Zhi alone. And it's not only our country. South Korea, Vietnam, Qatar, nearly every Asian country, and even parts of Europe and America. So, Takehashi-san, don't be upset."
Takehashi Miyoshi fell silent. Somehow, that explanation made him feel even worse. He suddenly asked, "Higuchi-san, aren't you the one who hates Chu Zhi the most? Then why…"
True enough. Takakura Tomo also recalled how, just a few months ago at a gathering, the moment Chu Zhi's name was mentioned, Higuchi Hanato's eyes flared in rage as if facing his mortal enemy.
"Of course I hate him!" Higuchi Hanato declared solemnly. Then his tone shifted. "But is it really so hard to admit someone else's excellence?"
The question rang like a bell.
"Chu Zhi is only twenty-five years old. His discography might not be to my taste, but he already has an album certified five times diamond and another four times diamond."
In Japan's IFPI standards, one million sales equal diamond status. Everyone at the table had cumulative sales in the tens of millions, but a single album with five million sales? Of the three of them, only Higuchi Hanato had ever achieved that.
And he wasn't finished.
"In six years, he's released six Chinese albums, one Korean EP, one Japanese EP, and twenty-seven singles. He has tens of millions of fans worldwide. The Qatari royal family even collaborated with China on the Beitian Project because of him. In Vietnam, May 16 is now considered 'Mother's Day' by many, just because of one of his Vietnamese songs. He is a superstar of the highest order."
Vietnam never had a Mother's Day. The closest traditional festival is the Ullambana Festival, which honors ancestors and filial piety, or International Women's Day on March 8. But no official Mother's Day existed.
Yet thanks to Chu Zhi, with fans exaggerating and spreading the idea, countless Vietnamese people began calling their mothers, and the fan movement created an unofficial holiday: "Chu Zhi Mother's Day."
Strange. A little awkward, even.
"His influence is unmatched, even by American megastars. His music videos on YouTube have accumulated over a billion views. Even if I hate him, I cannot deny he is extraordinary. It's as if he were the reincarnation of Mori Ranmaru."
Higuchi Hanato's face stayed expressionless as he heaped praise, though inside he admitted one more thing: only an artist like Chu Zhi was worthy of him serving as an album presenter.
"...?" Takakura Tomo blinked.
"...?" Takehashi Miyoshi stared.
Both were stunned by how far Higuchi Hanato had gone in his praise.
The Qatari story, they already knew from the Associated Press. But the Vietnam situation was news to them.
And how did Higuchi Hanato know exactly how many singles Chu Zhi had released?
Mori Ranmaru was Japan's famous prodigy, a beautiful youth who at seventeen already held dominion over two cities. If Higuchi Hanato was saying Chu Zhi was his reincarnation… perhaps it was Mori Ranmaru who wasn't worthy.
After their meal, the three went out to a hostess club, courtesy of Higuchi Hanato.
A reminder: unless you're fluent in Japanese or English, don't go to those places. The risks are too high.
Another uneventful day passed, safe and sound.
At dawn, a loud cry echoed.
"Wang-wang!"
Today will surely be prosperous.
"Wang-wang!" Chu Zhi shouted out the window. The previous day, the China Charity Federation had sent out "Gratitude Certificates" and care packages to frequent donors. Inside were big packs of Wangwang snacks and Da Bai sugar candy. The Emperor Beast had already devoured an entire pack of rice crackers and snow cakes.
Even without revealing his identity as "Tree Planter," Chu Zhi's public annual donations of ten million, plus five million more from Love Fruit Company, placed him at the forefront of the entertainment industry in philanthropy.
The Emperor Beast quickly washed up, then busied himself in the kitchen: peeling six pears, chopping them, preparing red dates, rock sugar, fritillaria powder, and more. Nearly an hour later, by around 7:40, he set out.
He rose early, but his driver and assistant Xiao Zhuzi were earlier still. By 7:30, they were already waiting in the community parking lot.
"Brother Chu, have you had breakfast?" Xiao Zhuzi asked, holding a slice of toast.
"I have. You eat, Xiao Zhuzi," Chu Zhi replied. He didn't even need to guess: those two slices of toast must have some bizarre filling inside.
Half an hour later, Chu Zhi boarded his flight. "Welcome aboard Southern Airlines," the stewardess said, helping him stow his backpack. Most of his luggage had been checked in by Xiao Zhuzi.
"This MV script has such a distinct Japanese flavor," Chu Zhi muttered as he read it. He was flying to Qiantang City for the shoot. Since the female lead had been cast, they needed to begin filming immediately.
It was already early August. They had to wrap within two weeks to make the summer superspeed release.
Chu Zhi's schedule was packed; he couldn't afford to spend half a month shooting in Japan. So they chose to film in China.
Credit to Niu Niu, the planner: why Qiantang?
First, Chu Zhi was already set to attend the "Charming West Lake" promotional event. Second, he had signed an endorsement with Suning E-commerce, which required him to film an ad in Jinling. Third, the Qiantang Esports Center was opening, hosting the Identity V 2023 IVL Summer Finals, where Chu Zhi was invited as a guest commentator.
The Qiantang government truly had money to spend, hiring Chu Zhi both for tourism promotion and esports promotion, each at a hefty price.
There wasn't much to say about the MV shoot itself. What mattered was that Akizuki Airi was in high spirits—not only because it was her first time in China, but also because she was excited to be part of Chu Zhi's new MV. She was bursting with energy.
Meanwhile, Old Qiu's health had declined, so he was resting. The stand-in driver, Old Wen, arrived at the company and told the receptionist he was here to see Deputy Minister of Business, Wang Yuan.
The main manager was promoted to director, the executive agent became head of the business department, and the deputy executive agent rose to deputy head. Following this chain of promotions, the advertising agent, publicity agent, multiple overseas agents, and the charity agent all became department leaders in the new company.
"Old Wen, did you finish dropping off Little Jiu?" Wang Yuan's high heels clicked sharply against the floor as she stepped up to Old Wen.
People often said that Wang Yuan carried a queen's aura, even nicknaming her "the Queen." Old Wen never took that seriously.
"What's so scary about a woman? A queen? Please… sorry, maybe I said that too loud."
Even though he knew what to say and how to act, his movements stiffened, his words felt stuck. The awkwardness reminded him of standing in front of his classmates, doing a self-introduction on the first day of high school.
"Hm? What's the matter, Old Wen?" Wang Yuan's gaze was direct. "If you have something to say, just say it. I still have other work waiting."
"Oh, Boss Wang, this is from Boss Chu. He asked me to pass it to you." Old Wen held out a jar of autumn pear syrup.
The moment Wang Yuan saw the familiar little jar, her eyes softened. She accepted it quickly. Her chronic pharyngitis had turned into a blessing of sorts, because every autumn she would receive several jars like this.
"Thank you." Happiness flickered across Wang Yuan's face, followed by a trace of worry. With Xiao Jiu's schedule so hectic every day, he still remembered to look after her health.
"No need for thanks, no need at all. I'll get going now." After handing it over, Old Wen hurried off. Talking to the Queen never felt natural; it was suffocating, not relaxed at all.
Wang Yuan, following her family's arrangement, was also preparing for marriage. Since it was a political union, she hadn't even been able to invite her own friends to the wedding. Fortunately, this did not affect her career at the moment.
China's entertainment industry was relatively calm and free of scandals, leaving gossip-hungry netizens bored and restless.
Meanwhile, Japan had been enthralled for an entire week by the song Explosive and Combustible.
"Why do so many artists release singles? Because singles make more money than EPs, and EPs make more than full albums," said Omori Gento, eyes lighting up as he read through the data report.
Radio airtime, digital downloads, KTV requests—every statistic climbed higher by the day.
Even with a 30/70 revenue split as the distributor, within five days, income had reached tens of millions of RMB.
"Pity most of the money goes to Chu's side." Omori Gento clicked his tongue. The combined five-day revenue from downloads, KTV royalties, and radio rights for Explosive and Combustible reached 710 million yen (over 34 million RMB). Chu Zhi's share alone was around 20 million.
"Shame that Mr. Qian is too shrewd. Nothing to gain there." Omori Gento longed to lure Chu Zhi into signing under his company, bind him with a record contract, and squeeze him for all he was worth.
The thought was delicious, but reality was harsh. Every negotiation was handled by that middle-aged man, Qian Quxiang, cunning as a demon who knew every shade of human nature. He never gave away a single advantage.
"Still, with sales like this for one single, I have even greater confidence in the full album With You." Omori Gento was determined to forge a gold-certified record.
Earlier, the story had explained the strict requirements for a gold single. The bar for a gold album was similar, though slightly less extreme. In the 20th century, Japan's pop industry had produced many gold albums, but in the 21st century they had become rare.
To achieve his goal, Omori Gento drafted a detailed plan. One step involved stirring up gossip with Chu Zhi's background. If Chu's team reacted angrily, he was even prepared to kneel in apology.
Of course, in his mind, a deep bow should suffice. After all, as an executive, he prided himself on embodying Japan's famed spirit of bowing.
Do all Japanese excel at bowing? Perhaps. Airi ertainly did.
"I'm sorry, Chu-dono." Akizuki Airi bowed deeply. The fifth attempt at filming her shy expression had failed.
This couldn't go on. Singing and dancing were fine for a talent-scout recruit, but acting… that was torture.
"Miss Akizuki, take a proper rest. Don't be nervous. The more nervous you are, the worse your performance gets," said Chu Zhi.
But it wasn't working. He needed backup. Chu Zhi dialed Liao Dachong.
Originally, since Liao Dachong had honed his acting while rolling around in Director Wang's production Shiyi Lng, Chu Zhi thought he could handle an MV without outside help. But now, it seemed he had no choice.
The call rang until the operator's message came: "The number you dialed is currently unavailable."
Chu Zhi paused. This seemed familiar.
He thought it over. At only ten-thirty in the morning, the Emperor Beast probably knew the reason. He decided not to call again.
"Let's film the next scene first," Chu Zhi said to the MV director.
The shoot continued. Their rental period for Qiandao Lake was limited. Time was abundant, but waste was unacceptable.
Not until three-thirty in the afternoon did Liao Dachong return the call.
"Brother, what's up? I was out drinking all night and just woke up," Liao Dachong explained right away.
"Then get some sobering tea and food. All-night drinking can wreck your head," said Chu Zhi.
"No worries. My body's strong. Just tell me what you need, no need for formality between us," Liao Dachong replied.
"We're shooting an MV, but one actor can't get into character. I was hoping you could come to Hangzhou to guide them."
"Sure, no problem. Is it urgent? If so, I can catch a flight tonight."
"You'll have a headache if you fly drunk. Come tomorrow instead."
"Alright, tomorrow it is."
After hanging up, Liao Dachong muttered to himself, "This kid always puts others first."
As a seasoned veteran, he could tell the crew was in a rush. But Chu Zhi, worried for him, had still asked him to rest before coming.
For such a considerate younger brother, Liao Dachong clenched his teeth and made a decision.
He phoned a friend: tonight, cut the drinking from three rounds to just one.
The next day, the best support arrived—Liao Dachong.
Since Liao Dachong couldn't speak Japanese, Chu Zhi stepped in as interpreter between him and Airi.
The effect was immediate. With Liao's quick-fix methods, scenes that had failed repeatedly passed on the first try.
Even small problems ceased to be problems.
Progress exceeded expectations. According to the director, the shoot could wrap two or three days early.
That night, in the hotel.
A single sofa. A Ragdoll perched quietly.
"I've always wanted to push the Voice of Seduction to its absolute limit. Or maybe balance Voice of Seduction and Angel's Gospel at fifty-fifty. I have to find a chance to record for Europe or America," mused the Emperor Beast, as restless as ever, already dreaming up the next move.
A music festival? A variety show? Chu Zhi thought it over. He was growing tired of those. The Grammys had performance slots, didn't they? A Grammy stage, or even the Super Bowl halftime show.
The latter was harder. That was basically America's Spring Festival Gala.
And thinking of China's own Spring Festival Gala—on Earth or in this parallel world—foreign guests were rare.
Still, a Grammy performance with the Voice of Seduction in full force seemed possible.
That day, Chu Zhi also unlocked a new achievement: [Rejected Industry Invitation *250]. He earned 8 more personality coins, bringing his total to 39.
Chu Zhi checked his progress. The slowest achievements were: Early Quitter, Immortal Wine, Charity King, and King of the World.
King of the World required saving lives. Without disasters or crises, that was difficult.
Charity King had to be built step by step. Wine Immortal's hangover task was tricky, because his passive "Immortal Wine" skill made getting hangovers rare.
That left Early Quitter as the most feasible for quick progress.
"Early Quitter, hmm… But wait. Brother System, if I sang a song like Michael Jackson did, raised tens of millions in charity for starving Africans, and used the funds to buy food—would the people saved count toward the achievement?" Chu Zhi asked.
The system paused for several seconds before answering: [Difficult to calculate. In principle, the system does not judge based on ideal numbers. The system is evaluating…]
The roundabout answer was clear enough.
If you raised one million USD, the plan might say that five hundred USD could feed one person through the famine. Theoretically, that million would save two thousand people. But in practice, with corruption and inefficiencies, the real number could be only a few hundred.
Whether those counted toward the system's requirements would depend on its judgment.
Chu Zhi wasn't too hopeful. If indirect rescues counted, then as the Light of Little Fruits, he had already indirectly saved quite a few.
The key was the achievement [Rescue a Life]. It never specified whether indirect cases applied. Chu Zhi's best hope was that the system patched the loophole and granted him some compensation.
It had been a while since he tugged on Brother System's wool. Surely it wouldn't be too much, just this once?