The fourth Orange Festival this year was a bit special, primarily because of two major updates to Orange Home.
The first update introduced an English version of the Orange Home app, which had already been polished and optimized. The second update transformed the English version into the international app, Orange Family, which added Thai, Japanese, Korean, and Arabic, and even entered a strategic partnership with NetEase Youdao to provide real-time translations.
The key difference between Orange Family and Orange Home was that the former didn't offer free music streaming.
Six months after launch, the international version reached half a million daily active users, greatly boosting fan cohesion.
So far, the only downside was that Chu Zhi's fan café in South Korea had been removed from DAUM.
Ever since Chu Zhi had appeared on South Korea's The Masked Singer, his café's paid subscriber count had always ranked in the top five, earning over ten million won each year. The short-term loss wasn't much of a concern; everyone, including Niu Jiangxue and Old Qian, agreed that a long-term perspective mattered more.
The results were already showing. Korean fans and student groups left comments like, "Orange Home's café is so much better, and it's free too.""Professor spent so much money developing this app because he wants us to have a better experience.""If you feel guilty, just buy a few more of Professor's albums."
Free things are always the most expensive. Niu Niu's team's grand strategy was to solidify Chu Zhi's influence across Asia, and this approach was ahead of its time.
Back to the festival. The Orange Festival, which had previously hosted 300 attendees, increased its capacity to 320 this year, with 50 of those spots reserved for international app users.
Why not increase it to 350? Thirty more seats didn't sound like much.
In reality, 300 was already the limit for a fan festival. Any more and it would be impossible to ensure each fan's experience. Even raising it from 300 to 320 took several rounds of rehearsal.
Chu Zhi, the self-proclaimed Emperor Beast, poured over plans, scratching out draft after draft, determined to ensure every attending fan felt valued.
While the star agonized over the details, some fans were still desperately trying to get a ticket.
Niu Niu's team had spent a fortune developing Orange Home's raffle system, which gave higher chances to more active users. This system significantly reduced scalper activity, and as in previous years, tickets were non-transferable, tied to a verified phone number.
Chu Zhi's stance was straightforward: if scalping were allowed, only wealthy fans or irrationally passionate ones would dominate the event by buying their way in. The Emperor Beast refused to let that happen, even if it seemed overly strict or unpopular. The rule remained unchanged for every festival.
While tickets couldn't be privately traded in China, the situation abroad was different. Every country had its own policies, and places like South Korea frowned on linking personal ID or phone numbers to accounts, so Orange Jia's tickets were more lenient overseas, which also gave wealthy international fans a chance to show off.
"I finally got a ticket, nice!" Ghazi cheered, waving his arms. He had paid $10,000 to a Thai fan for their phone, number, and ticket. He tweeted to celebrate, then went to buy himself a gold-leaf ice cream.
[Lucky! I got picked for the Orange Festival! How should I act so I look composed?]
Old sayings say humility is best. Ghazi hadn't even finished his ice cream when his phone rang. The caller ID read: Princess Mayasa.
Mayasa's purpose was simple. She began by asking how hard he was working.
"It's been tough. I go to the Royal Investment Office right after two every day and work three hours straight until five," Ghazi replied. "But I think I should push myself. Brother Jiu's songs tell us not to waste our lives."
Working until five was rare for royalty, but Mayasa declared she would encourage the rest of the royal family to learn from Ghazi. Then her tone shifted.
"The Royal Investment Office wouldn't run without you as deputy director," Mayasa said. "I'll be attending a cultural exchange event at the Forbidden City in a few days. Why don't I go to Brother Jiu's fan festival for you?"
In Arab culture, women had no inheritance rights. The last queen in their history dated back to the 3rd century, Queen Zenobia. It was ancient history.
Thus, Mayasa traveled the world, promoting her country by spending lavishly on art and antiques, bringing them back to Qatar.
Ghazi froze. Thinking quickly, he insisted that fan festival tickets were non-transferable.
Mayasa saw through him instantly. Tickets had been announced in mid-August. If he had truly won one, he'd have bragged already, not waited until now.
"You're worse at keeping secrets than Zikrit's greenery," Mayasa scoffed.
Zikrit, located in the southern area of Al Shamal Municipality, was a rocky limestone region.
Ghazi wanted to argue but couldn't. She was right, and he couldn't refuse her. Mayasa outranked him, and they were close friends. So, before he could even enjoy his victory, his ticket flew away.
He sulked briefly, but Ghazi wasn't one to stay down. If he could buy one, he could buy another, as long as the price was right. He logged into his accounts and posted on Twitter and Orange Grove.
Andaohei99: "Looking for another Orange Festival ticket! Generous reward for any leads!"
His old ID had been JHW, a nod to a classic line in a famous novel. He changed it to Andaohei99 ("I love you" in Arabic, which the system couldn't display). The username was also the name of a star cluster in the karaoke app.
Out of millions of karaoke IDs, Arabic usernames were rare. Getting this one had cost him time and effort, not just money.
Little Fruits user who owned this ID practically struck gold, earning nearly 100,000 yuan from the sale, setting the second-highest record for a virtual username transaction. (The highest was also for a star cluster name, bought by Chen Wu, daughter of the president of Pangu Bank, Thailand's largest bank.)
Time passed quickly, and the global Little Fruits' festival drew near. Discussions in the fan circle grew livelier.
"Please, those attending the Orange Festival, take lots of pictures!""When will I ever get to go in person?""Three years ago, when I first downloaded Orange Home, I wished I'd get into Peking University. Now I'm here! But getting chosen to attend is a once-in-a-lifetime dream…"
Fans joked that since the venue was fixed, why not buy out the entire convention center? Then they could stroll in as "owners." Realistically, even if you owned the building, you couldn't just walk in when it was rented out. The safer plan was to apply for a job at LoveFruit Company.
Online chatter aside, LoveFruit really was hiring.
There were four business divisions: South Korea; Indochina (Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos); the "New Region" (Myanmar, Malaysia, Thailand, and other Southeast Asian countries); and the Middle East. Each needed a regional head.
Japan's head was Lee Gwihoon, and his team was already assembled.
"Mr. Cai Yunyong, CIO of Xinyi Media, please share your goals and expectations for compensation," said Chu Zhi.
Chu Zhi and Brother Fei handled the interviews. Brother Fei's sharp insights always proved helpful.
Technically, these weren't job applications; all three candidates had been recruited through headhunters, so this was a mutual evaluation session.
Chu Zhi reviewed Cai Yunyong's profile. Xinyi Media was Singapore's largest media company, partnered with several countries. As CIO, Cai had significant connections and resources.
Cai looked older than expected, around fifty, with sharp eyes. "Before coming here, I looked into Mr. Lee Gwihoon's decision-making in Japan. I admire it."
It was a diplomatic way of saying he wanted equal authority in the New Region. Ambition wasn't surprising; why else leave such a high position?
"As for goals," Cai continued, "Mr. Chu's fame in Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, and Myanmar is already high. In Singapore, he's a top-tier celebrity. The Man Watched by God sold 30,000 copies, topping annual sales charts, and he's had endorsement deals with SMRT. There's limited room for growth there."
"But Malaysia and Myanmar, especially Malaysia, offer great opportunities," Cai said. "My research shows Mr. Chu's sales power there is second-tier. Last year's top-selling Malaysian album hit 68,000 copies, but Mr. Chu's English album only sold 37,000. My goal is to increase his influence in these countries."
He pulled out a tablet with detailed charts. "This isn't empty talk. Mr. Chu has a strong fanbase in these countries."
The data, gathered by polling firm Zero Point through online surveys of 10,000 respondents per country, focused on 15- to 25-year-olds. Cai was well-prepared.
"My goal is to boost Mr. Chu's album sales in the New Region by 100,000 copies," Cai said confidently. "And more importantly, raise his commercial value in these countries by 20%."
The data showed 73% of respondents recognized Chu Zhi as a Chinese superstar, but most associated him with Professor Bai or Su Eleven.
Companies in the region could afford high-profile endorsements, and Chu Zhi was already "stealing meals" from local celebrities. For example, he recently signed an endorsement deal with Vietnam Dairy, a national brand. Their ads used to feature Vietnamese stars, but after Chu Zhi's music went viral, they switched to him, tailoring the slogan: "The taste of mom's love, drink Vietnam Dairy." This was why Chu Zhi had reached the Forbes Asia Top 3 before even breaking into the Western market.
"Taking iconic roles to boost fame and drive sales is a strong plan. I recommend Mr. Chu take another role similar to Professor Bai," Cai added.
Easier said than done. Netflix had produced many popular Korean shows, but none of their characters had captivated all of Asia like Professor Bai. Fortunately, Chu Zhi's upcoming film Unsinkable was set to take him global.
Before wrapping up, Brother Fei asked a question with Chu Zhi's nod of approval.
"Mr. Cai, would you prefer stock options and dividends or a high salary?"
"Can adults say 'both'?" Cai joked. "But personally, I'd lean toward a high salary."
"Thank you for your honesty," Brother Fei said, signaling he had no further questions.
After Cai left, Brother Fei explained: ambition was fine, but he worried Cai might see LoveFruit as a stepping stone. Choosing stock options showed commitment; choosing salary hinted at other motives.
Chu Zhi, a seasoned businessman, understood. If Cai truly had the talent to use him as a springboard, that made him a formidable ally.
He recalled a lesson from his past life: he once learned the song The Brightest Star in the Night Sky to keep an employee, but failed. Yet that act of goodwill came back as a blessing later.
The recruitment continued…
Scene Shift: Early Morning, Japan
The sky was bright blue. Outside the window, an ambulance wailed.
"What happened to the patient?" the doctor asked.
Her younger brother, Junta, shook his head. "I don't know. My sister just fainted."
The doctor quickly considered causes like epilepsy, anemia, and low blood pressure. He asked more questions, and fifteen-year-old Junta relayed every detail he thought might help.
There were no signs of tumors or epilepsy. "What was her mood when she fainted?" the doctor asked.
"She was super happy. She drew a Professor Baek photo card! Only 10,000 exist," Junta recalled.
The likely cause was excitement-induced tachycardia and high blood pressure leading to oxygen shortage in the brain. The doctor examined her while piecing together the details.
You couldn't really blame her. The album's marketing was genius. After selling one million copies, Omori announced, "We've hidden 10,000 official Netflix-authorized Professor Baek photo cards in the album. This might be the first and last time Chu-dono plays Professor Baek."
With both Netflix and Chu Zhi fans ecstatic, sales soared. With You Here sold 2.63 million copies in Japan in its first week, and over 1.41 million in Korea in just five days. Sony Music's projections suddenly looked conservative.
Chu Zhi was about to land another five-million-copy album.
Three flowers bloomed; two had been picked. The third belonged to someone from an often-overlooked nation.
Alves stared blankly at the ticket in his hands, torn between joy and worry.
How could he possibly attend in China? He was a native of the Nusa Tenggara Islands, from East Timor, Asia's poorest nation.
The name "East Timor" might sound like something from a fantasy novel—like the Tomb of the Great Emperor. In reality, it simply referred to the eastern half of Timor Island, with Indonesia occupying the west. The word "Timor" came from Portuguese.
Chinese netizens' limited awareness of East Timor was largely thanks to viral posts claiming the country's coins featured Chinese characters to thank China for its help, or that it barred Japanese visitors. Both were misleading. Japan was one of East Timor's biggest aid providers, and Chinese characters on coins dated back to the Portuguese colonial era, when Chinese merchants dominated local commerce. Today, East Timor only minted small-value coins, while its paper currency was entirely U.S. dollars.
Alves stared at the outfit he'd received in the mail, his expression full of uncertainty.