"Minister Xi, do you have a suitable candidate in mind?" Chu Zhi asked after listening carefully to the leader's explanation.
"Not at the moment." Minister Xi hesitated briefly before replying.
The hesitation wasn't because he couldn't tell Chu Zhi the truth. It was because in his mind, there was already someone he thought of: Su Yiwu, who carried an official background.
But after a moment's thought, Minister Xi dismissed the idea. Su Yiwu had already shifted his focus to acting, becoming obsessed with taking patriotic-themed film roles. His singing career was practically abandoned. His New Year's Eve live performance last year was a disaster, and his Strawberry Music Festival stage earlier this year was also a flop, leaving him mocked by netizens.
Although this hadn't shaken his core fanbase, if his performance collapsed once more, it would be difficult to recover.
"If there's no suitable person, I'd like to volunteer." Chu Zhi said calmly.
"Consultant Chu, are you serious?" Minister Xi was stunned.
"If I don't meet the selection requirements, then please don't force it," Chu Zhi replied.
In truth, Chu Zhi was the perfect candidate. He had an excellent public image, immense popularity, no scandals, and he was even regarded as half an official figure.
The reason Minister Xi hadn't considered Chu Zhi was simple. "The journey is twenty-five thousand li. It will be exhausting, Consultant Chu. Your health—"
"It's by car, not on foot. The martyrs back then did it all with their legs. What right do I have to complain about fatigue?" Chu Zhi answered.
"Even in a car, driving a thousand kilometers a day still takes half a month," Minister Xi said. He knew exactly how much a single endorsement deal with Chu Zhi was worth. To ask him to dedicate fifteen days to filming was practically impossible. He didn't even know how to bring it up.
With National Day approaching, the government wasn't preparing a grand celebration—it wasn't a tenth or fifth-year milestone. Still, a directive had been given: Central Television would produce a program, gathering a few celebrities to "retrace the Long March," to understand the blood and sweat the martyrs shed for the founding of New China.
Minister Xi was a leader in the production department of Central Television, and also a deputy station director.
"The schedule might be tight, but opportunities to follow in the martyrs' footsteps are rare," Chu Zhi said.
Seeing that Chu Zhi's determination wasn't a passing whim, Minister Xi immediately replied, "If Consultant Chu can make time, our program team would welcome you with open arms."
Clearing time was the difficult part. Chu Zhi asked for the precise filming dates, then excused himself to make a phone call. He dialed Niu Jiangxue.
Given Chu Zhi's current standing, even badminton prodigy Zhou Yiyu's agent had to negotiate carefully just to free up two days. For Chu Zhi, it was far more complex. After careful thought, Niu Jiangxue gave a compromise.
"Xiao Chu, your schedule doesn't leave a full fifteen-day block free. But at the end of the year, we've set aside time for recording your English album. If you join this program, the release of your second English album will have to be delayed by one or two months."
Chu Zhi knew perfectly well why fifteen days meant a one- to two-month delay. Choosing songs, recording, post-production, and promotional campaigns all had to be reshuffled. It triggered a chain reaction.
The delay would clash with Chu Zhi's personal career plan…
"Please help me clear the time, Sister Niu," Chu Zhi said.
"I'll handle it right away." After a pause, Niu Jiangxue added softly, "Xiao Chu, I'm sorry. I couldn't find a perfect solution."
"There's no need to apologize. I should be the one saying sorry—it was my sudden idea that added to your workload. But I trust your ability, Sister Niu. You always manage to handle more than most."
The words were sincere, and they warmed her.
Without further pleasantries, Niu Jiangxue hung up and immediately began rearranging schedules. Carving out half a month at short notice meant massive negotiations and adjustments.
For example, Chu Zhi had been confirmed to attend "The Splendor of Shangying" on September 11, hosted by Shanghai Film. Its aim was to cultivate new directing talent from the Shanghai Theatre Academy. Now, he suddenly couldn't go. The venue was already booked, the guest list finalized. It couldn't be changed for a single guest. The only solution was to wait until the next opportunity.
Niu Jiangxue's fix was to have Chu Zhi attend the late-November premiere of the film Shantu, also an investment of Shanghai Film. His appearance and an interview there would balance things out.
Back in the office, Chu Zhi said to Minister Xi, "The timing works. There's no problem."
"That's excellent." Normally restrained, Minister Xi couldn't help but beam, overjoyed to have secured far more than expected.
"I have a small idea," Chu Zhi added.
"Please, Consultant Chu, share it," Minister Xi said at once.
"It's nothing major, just a thought. I'd like to compose a promotional song for the program." The idea had sparked in Chu Zhi's heart just after he hung up the phone in the hallway.
"That would be perfect. Consultant Chu, your talent is known nationwide." Minister Xi was delighted. What he thought was a burdensome task was turning into a great opportunity. If the song gained popularity, it would be an even greater achievement.
"Don't worry, Consultant Chu. I know the value of your work in the market. The station will make sure you're properly compensated."
Minister Xi spoke with confidence. He was in charge of the program, and he knew the budget had enough room.
"I can be a star and earn comfortably today only because of the martyrs. Without them, forget stardom—even getting enough to eat would be difficult. I was fortunate to be born into a strong nation. I've long wanted to do something like this, but lacked the time. I should thank you for giving me the chance." Chu Zhi said sincerely.
"With Consultant Chu joining, our program is that much stronger," Minister Xi replied. The two exchanged polite compliments.
The song As Wished seemed to fit the program's theme perfectly. Chu Zhi and Minister Xi finalized the broad direction of their collaboration. The details would later be handled by professionals like Lao Qian.
Leaving the production office, Chu Zhi felt much lighter. He had only been back in China for three days, yet had already attended two meetings at Central Television.
"Retracing the Long March" was a directive from Central Television, but the guiding units were the Ministry of Culture and Tourism as well as the Central Propaganda Department. As the chief consultant for the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, Chu Zhi's participation was only natural.
As for why Chu Zhi and Minister Xi had a private side discussion, it was because the main meeting focused on the transmission of spirit and expectations for the event. It took a long time, and the candidate list still hadn't been settled.
"No wonder he was given a bureau-level honorary position at such a young age. He really does carry a burning red heart for China."
Alone in the office, Minister Xi filled in the guest list of the program proposal. Beside it, he wrote: [Chu Zhi].
A Central Television program, one backed by the official website with high hopes—most celebrities in the entertainment industry would jump at the chance.
Yet even so, Chu Zhi not only made time but also offered to write a song. That spoke volumes about his character.
And character was precisely what had worried Minister Xi and the team at first. If someone had a scandal and disgraced the Long March, it would be unforgivable.
"Jiu-yé, could you sign your name for me?"
"Can we take a photo together? I really love your work."
"It's Xiao Jiu!"
"Husband, marry me!"
Chu Zhi had barely walked a few steps down the hallway when people recognized him. He had forgotten his hat today, and the staff at CCTV immediately began asking for autographs. Since it was work hours, they kept themselves restrained. Even the one calling out "husband" in jest wasn't loud. That person happened to be a man.
Since he was already here, Chu Zhi decided to visit an old friend in the "Underwear Building"—the nickname for CCTV headquarters. His friend was Li Yong, the director of CCTV's Variety Channel, whom he had gotten to know back when Li Yong was chief director of the Spring Festival Gala.
On the seventh floor, Li Yong was busy producing the program Yi Shang China, a twelve-episode series spotlighting the art of traditional Chinese clothing. The project sounded promising.
"Xiao Jiu, what brings you here?" Li Yong's voice was hoarse from shouting as he coordinated production. When he paused to drink some water, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure.
"I came for a meeting, and thought I'd stop by to see you, brother Li," Chu Zhi said.
Li Yong felt a twinge of guilt. By all rights, he owed Chu Zhi favors. Yet it was always Chu Zhi who sent him greetings during the holidays. Now Chu Zhi had taken the initiative to visit him, highlighting just how neglectful he himself had been toward a friend.
"Just about lunchtime. Xiao Jiu, no matter what, I'm treating you today," Li Yong said firmly.
"Then I won't stand on ceremony with you," Chu Zhi replied with a smile.
What made Emperor Beast remarkable was not just his status. It was the fact that despite his immense fame, he remained down-to-earth, tirelessly maintaining his relationships.
They went for hotpot lamb. The sesame paste with fermented tofu was especially good. Li Yong, being a Beijing native, knew all the hidden gem restaurants.
The two ate heartily. But elsewhere, some people could hardly bring themselves to touch food.
News of Japan's idol scandal, nicknamed "Angel's Self-Destruction," had spread to South Korea. Many students and fans of idols were so shaken they lost their appetite. Even kimchi no longer tasted good.
"Only China could nurture someone like Chu Zhi," said Kim Jaehee.
Kim Jaehee had become vice-leader of the South Korea branch of Chu Zhi's overseas fan club largely because of his "talent" for praise. Well, not just that. He was once among the closest fans to Chu Zhi, having twice shared a car ride with him.
To Kim Jaehee, Chu Zhi wasn't pitiful. He was "strong." If it had been him, facing the double blow of losing family while being attacked online, he knew he wouldn't have survived. In fact, he would probably have lashed out before going under. But Chu Zhi endured.
Elsewhere in South Korea, another "Hee" wept. This was Song Minghee, Chu Zhi's co-star in My Love From the Stars.
A person's ability to endure suffering is like a container. Different personalities and upbringings create containers of different sizes. But once the container overflows, anyone can collapse. For Song Minghee, the sorrow was overwhelming.
South Korea's entertainment industry is both thriving and ruthless. Reporters dig relentlessly. The Daily Sports newspaper, despite its name, focuses heavily on entertainment gossip. Somehow, it obtained a video and splashed it online.
[ Chu Zhi on New Year's Eve night, standing alone, looking up at the sky. ]
🎵 "In this world, with so many people,
One door stood open in the crowd,
And in my misty eyes remains forever
That morning I first saw your blue dawn."
🎵 "In this world, with so many people,
How lucky we are to have our 'us'..." 🎵
The lyrics were in Chinese, with Korean subtitles. It was a warm, beautiful song. Yet Chu Zhi's eyes held no focus as he gazed toward the night sky.
It seemed as though he longed to look at the bright moon, to share it across a thousand miles. But the sky above him was pitch black, empty.
The wide balcony made his thin figure look even more fragile.
"Ah, this is terrifying," Song Minghee whispered through tears, makeup streaking her face. "He only dares to reveal his loneliness when he's completely alone. Because to countless lonely souls, he is the light. Light can illuminate everything, but it cannot reflect itself."
"Ah, this is terrifying," Song Minghee whispered through tears, makeup streaking her face. "He only dares to reveal his loneliness when he's completely alone. Because to countless lonely souls, he is the light. Light can illuminate everything, but it cannot reflect itself."
South Korean media then made compilation edits, counting every time Chu Zhi seemed to zone out in public. According to incomplete statistics, for every three public appearances, at least one included a moment where he drifted away, lost in thought.
===
The Long March: A historic military retreat undertaken by the Red Army of the Communist Party of China from 1934 to 1936, symbolizing perseverance and sacrifice.