A placard read, [Welcoming Mr. Alves Traveling To China], written cleanly in both Portuguese and Tetum. Alves was still spacing out when his eyes snagged on his own name.
He hurried over. The greeter at Jakarta's airport looked Indonesian, dark brown skin and a strikingly big nose.
"Are you Mr. Alves?" Once he confirmed it, he switched to Tetum. "Hello, I'm your local guide in Indonesia. Since your flight to Shancheng, China has a four-hour layover, we can grab a meal first, then board."
They'd even arranged someone to escort him during a transfer?
The sign had thoughtfully used East Timor's two common languages. Tetum was an Austronesian tongue native to Timor Island, and Portuguese needed no explanation, Portugal had once colonized this land. Colonization hits a country's cultural continuity like a hammer.
Of course, there are exceptions. India flipped the script on Britain in some ways, and if you look at it like that, India really did come out on top.
"All your entry visas are already handled." Dabi casually took his luggage from his hands.
The reception staff were so warm that even though Alves wasn't shy, the enthusiasm pushed past his comfort zone. It felt a bit like those times when Haidilao's service goes a little overboard.
They ate at the airport. During the meal, Alves asked, curious, "Do all Orange Festival attendees get arrangements this detailed?"
"I'm not sure," the big-nosed guide said. "We're United Elite's Indonesia branch. We do custom high-end service. I don't know the exact scope, I just follow orders. What I do know is LoveFruit also placed cooperation orders with branches in Thailand and Vietnam."
So basically, it meant international fans were getting similar treatment. Alves couldn't help muttering, "That's gotta cost a fortune."
"I don't know the total bill," the guide said, "but a star personally ordering our service for fans, far as I know, that's a first." Even as an outsider, he had to admire how freely a Chinese star was spending on fans.
Check tickets, security, boarding, then a few hours later, Alves landed in China.
Staff had been waiting. Right at Jiangbei Airport, a red-haired, blue-eyed girl bounced up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Friend, you're a fan of Mr. Jiu too, right? I knew it. Your shirt sold you out, you can't hide it."
Alves blinked. He didn't understand her, which ruled out Portuguese and English.
But she wore the same T-shirt as him, so he could guess she was a fan of Chu Zhi too. Orange fans are one big family.
"What a coincidence, you're a fan of Mr. Chu Zhi too. I'm Alves, I'm from East Timor," he said in Portuguese. It isn't one of the UN's six working languages, but it's one of the world's eight major lingua francas, so plenty of people get it.
"This is so exciting. My parents didn't want me going to China at first, but when I explained it's for Mr. Zhi's event, they instantly agreed. My mom even wanted to come with me. You know, Mr. Zhi's super famous in our country. Katyusha, ura!"
Ura? Got it, Alves thought.
"You're Russian? I've always wanted to see Moscow."
"I'm Taliya. What's your name? I can't wait, I really want to see Mr. Zhi soon."
An East Timorese and a Russian, two completely different channels, and somehow they still chatted for ages.
Among the fifty international invitees, everyone quickly discovered they didn't have to worry about a thing. Even pocket Wi-Fi was prepared, so they could go online and reassure family back home.
Alves didn't have a smartphone, but Chinese staff helped him place a call to let his family know he was safe.
Fans from Russia, East Timor, Vietnam, Thailand, South Korea, and Japan all arrived in China under careful arrangements.
Once again, Chu Zhi felt the same truth land on his shoulders. A person's energy is limited, but the things they want to do are endless. Lately he'd been juggling talks on his new home's design, a French translation of a classical text, a pre-production collaboration with CCTV for Retracing the Long March, and, tomorrow, the Orange Festival itself. Wang Yuan was overseeing the expo center's setup, but he still wanted to swing by and see it with his own eyes.
Even the Emperor Beast had to set one thing aside for the moment.
"Jiu-yé, what time's your flight to CCTV this afternoon?" Old Qian asked, multitasking while he handled business calls.
"Three o'clock," he said. "Brother Qian, you don't need to come. I'll fly back tonight."
"Xiao Zhuzi, keep an eye on him," Old Qian said to the life assistant, hands still busy.
"I've got it, don't worry," Xiao Zhuzi said, thumping a fist to her chest.
Life assistant Xiao Zhu was basically half a managing executive by now. The workload had shot up, and yeah, the paycheck looked much nicer too.
The trip to the "Underpants Building" went smoothly. Retracing the Long March had invited three stars, including him.
The other two had already nailed down their pre-cooperation talks with CCTV days ago. His schedule only opened today, so Minister Xi made sure everything lined up perfectly. By the time he walked out of the Underpants Building, night had settled in, but the office towers and streetlights made it bright as day.
Sometimes he wondered, maybe all those bright lights and lively streets are the reason people sleep late.
Back in Shancheng, he looked up. The moon wasn't clear, the stars were sparse.
At 11:30 p.m., he headed for the Expo Center. Even though Shancheng's a city that thrives at night, there weren't many pedestrians or cars at that hour.
He inspected everything carefully, then finally relaxed. The king's way of doing things was reliable.
"Thanks for the trouble, Master," he told the on-duty venue worker. He could tell the man was a heavy smoker, so he bought a carton of Zhonghua cigarettes to show his thanks.
He returned to the hotel and slept dreamlessly.
September 6, lunar Gengshen month, Dingmao day. Auspicious for marriage, travel, and cleaning. Not good for ground-breaking or haircuts.
Most Little Fruits showed up two or three hours early and waited at the doors. Almost everyone wore orange merch, so when you looked out over the crowd, it was a sea of orange.
As usual, underage Little Fruits could bring a parent, so the headcount would exceed three hundred fifty.
Good thing his reputation was solid, and the officials regularly praised him. Parents liked him too. "That kid's an excellent idol." Otherwise, if you swapped in a different star, a mom like Meng Meng's would never let her first-year high schooler attend. But for him, no objections.
"So many foreigners," Meng Meng's mom said, surprised.
"Of course, Mom. Xiao Jiu's an international superstar. What did you think?" Meng Meng answered without thinking. She was also stunned. The Orange Festival had gone global.
"I know. I saw the news. Chu Zhi's a real artist at such a young age, representing the country overseas," her mom said.
Time slipped by in the lively crowd. For people who were waiting, every minute stretched. Finally, it was time to scan tickets.
There were eight entrances in total, six for domestic verification and two for international.
Domestic fans only had to scan a QR code. The international verification was a bit quirky. He'd insisted on more windows anyway. More windows meant shorter lines.
Taliya from Russia was in the first batch. As soon as she walked in, staff handed her a real-time translation earbud, provided by iFlytek. It couldn't handle complicated vocabulary, but it was perfect for everyday conversation.
"It's absolutely perfect. So far, I can't find a single thing to suggest," Taliya said.
Walking past the corridor, you'd see the group photos from the first three festivals and snapshots from game segments. The moment you stepped in, all those smiles just rubbed off on you. Taliya bounced along even happier. She already loved parties, so a lively, free-spirited venue like this was perfect, especially when she'd get to see her idol.
The venue had started getting set up two weeks in advance. That's right, Chu Zhi didn't rent this wing of the convention center for a day or two, he booked half a month.
A lot of the decor needed time. Rushing would've looked sloppy. From the sofas to the hanging orange lanterns, everything looked meticulous.
This was already the fourth time they'd run it, so it only got more polished. The only things that never changed were the circular stage set close to the audience and the snack walls all around.
"How much does it cost to rent a place this big?" Meng Meng's mom asked.
"I told you, Xiao Jiu isn't like other stars. He really wants us fans to have fun," Meng Meng said.
Honestly, her mom's question was the same one dozens of first-timers from overseas were wondering, and fans watching Orange Family's livestream too. This was free, that was free, so how much was all this costing?
There was a tiny hiccup at security.
"What do we do, Sister Wang?" the logistics staffer Xiao Mu reported.
The situation didn't fit any of the three preset plans. Wang Yuan paused, didn't answer right away, then hurried down to the convention center parking garage.
The issue was parked there, literally. Qatar's royal Princess Mayasa and Royal Investment Office deputy director Ghazi had both "won" Orange Festival slots and showed up.
Ghazi was fine. The problem was the princess. A royal either had bodyguards in tow or the venue's security had to meet a VIP protection standard. Obviously, the Orange Festival didn't hit that level.
If they backed down and let the guards in, you'd have towering men in formal suits planted at the sides like half-built towers, completely clashing with the vibe, and atmosphere was something Chu Zhi valued like crazy.
It really did feel like an impossible conflict.
Strictly speaking, with Princess Mayasa's identity, showing up at a packed event without security was a diplomatic incident waiting to happen if anything went wrong.
You couldn't gamble on that.
Princess Mayasa and Wang Yuan hashed out a middle path, the bodyguards would change into casual clothes and stand around the perimeter. There was already a medical team on standby anyway.
Every step they took was to protect the Little Fruits' experience as much as possible.
"We've got to prioritize fairness in the overseas raffle soon," Wang Yuan thought. Anyone with half a brain knew Ghazi and Princess Mayasa, two members of Qatar's royal family, had clearly used the power of money.
They weren't the only ones. There was also Chen Wu, the low-key daughter of the president of Thailand's Pangu Bank, who'd been mentioned earlier. She didn't bring a big security detail, just her fiancé, Kim Seo.
Kim Seo was the third son at South Korea's Kakao. The company owned KakaoTalk and KakaoPay, basically the Korean versions of WeChat and Alipay, so you could imagine what kind of alliance this engagement looked like.
"For one star, you came all the way to China? If you want to see a star, why not just pay to invite him over?" Kim Seo's take screamed chaebol logic.
Reducing an idol to a price tag made Chen Wu furious, but when your values didn't line up, words didn't bridge the gap.
She said, "Pay him? Professor took first on Forbes' Global Celebrity list last year with 240 million U.S. dollars. How much are you paying to invite him?"
"A Chinese star beat Hollywood and hit number one on Forbes?" He felt like this was more unbelievable than the Incheon Landing. That was over 340 billion won in a year. Terrifying.
Even if his father had once been Korea's richest man, you couldn't ignore that kind of earning power.
People who knew how the Forbes list worked also knew the numbers skewed low. He'd studied in Los Angeles, and now he had to take this Chinese star seriously.
"Professor's so famous he was appointed Chief Advisor to China's cultural bureau. You can think of it as the same rank as a director at South Korea's Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism," she said. "Don't say I'm lying. Everyone in China knows this. You can look it up."
A bureau director at that ministry's a senior civil service rank. Above that, you're talking vice ministers and ministers, and above that, Blue House territory.
A celebrity appointed to a bureau-director-level post because of fame, what kind of monster was that?
The pressure finally hit him. He took off his deerstalker jacket, revealing the orange support shirt underneath.
He'd thought it was a couple's shirt when he put it on. When he got here, he realized it was fan gear. He didn't care about the weather, he'd grabbed a jacket to cover it up. Now that he'd seen the scale, he didn't think wearing it was embarrassing anymore.
Once they were inside, he kept searching Chu Zhi on his phone, and one achievement after another popped up.
Demon King of Live Singing.
One of the three great oddities.
The national girls' idol, Professor Baek.
The Chinese artist who refused Korea's cultural medal, and Culture, Sports and Tourism had zero leverage over him.
The more he read, the more rattled he got. How did China, a market people called barren in music, produce a singer like this? His Asian popularity was ridiculous, and when he finally touched the Western market, he broke in easily. It didn't make sense how strong he was.
Maybe because he was too strong, that worship-the-strong DNA finally kicked in.
"Chu Zhi's the same birth year as me," he said, spotting a common point.
"I'm begging you, Kim Seo. If you're not into the event, just sit quietly. Don't wreck the mood," Chen Wu said, nervous even as she reminded him.
Everyone had arrived.
The lights bloomed like clouds at sunset, and as the glow came up, the host stepped out first.
"Hi, everyone, I'm your Orange Festival host, still me." Wei Tongzi took the stage. She was definitely one of the most successful Little Fruits-turned-professionals. Except for the second festival, when schedule conflicts let Kun Yun snag the job once, she'd hosted all the rest.
At the very first festival, she'd co-hosted with Huang Youru. The latter had fiercer career drive and took off even harder. By now, Huang Youru had left Mango TV and was running three shows of her own.
"Over there you'll see the snack hill. Since we've got fans from other countries, brother Jiu specifically picked several foreign snack brands," Wei Tongzi said. "I've gotta add one more thing most of you don't know. While picking snacks, we chose a pretty famous market brand of dried apricots, sent it for testing, and it turned out the sulfur dioxide residue didn't meet the national food safety standard.
Anyone curious why we're sending snacks to a lab?" Wei Tongzi continued. "Because brother Jiu really cares about Little Fruits, so every snack on-site goes through random inspection."
This wasn't what a "perfect host" would do, and there was no line in the script that planned to expose this at all, but she was a Little Fruit first. She couldn't stand the thought of her idol doing so much and nobody knowing.
With that bomb dropped, it was time to welcome the star.
The Emperor Beast came up, and fans realized they were basically wearing couple outfits with their idol.
The pattern was almost identical. The only difference was the shadow graphic on the front. The fan T-shirt's chibi background had the character "Zhi," and Chu Zhi's shirt had the character "Ju," orange.
In a heartbeat, every Little Fruit on-site lit up. They'd thought it was just support merch. Turns out it was matching gear, brother-style couple tees. The cheer sounded like it might blow the roof off.
Ghazi was relieved. He'd planned to keep the orange shirt sealed as a collectible and wear something "fancier," his diamond-studded battle suit. After some back and forth, he'd chosen the orange shirt. Good call.
"We've got lots of fans from other countries here, and many are using translators, so I'm going to slow my pace a bit," Chu Zhi said.
After quick greetings with fans, the event jumped into the first game phase.
This time the design started with a hunt for the "Heart Key." Whoever found one could move on to phase two, where you could either spin the big wheel or exchange your keys for small gifts.
The big wheel had lots of options: [Duet any song with Chu Zhi], [10 push-ups], [Ask Chu Zhi any question, must answer seriously], [20 squats], [Try-not-to-laugh challenge], and so on.
It was luck versus skill. All the big-wheel prizes put you face to face with Chu Zhi, but if luck went south, you didn't just miss out on a prize, you also had to take a penalty.
For about forty minutes, everyone searched for keys via three routes, "Puzzles," "Treasure Dig," and "Memory Trial." There were 250 keys in total. Chen Wu picked the Memory Trial. She knew everything about her idol by heart and felt confident.
There were easy questions like, "What's Chu Zhi's zodiac animal?" and brutal ones like, "What's the highest note Chu Zhi's ever hit?" She went all out and, after all that sweat, ended up with two keys. Not bad.
With a bit of time left, Chen Wu dashed to the Puzzle corner to round it up to four. She didn't answer a single one. Those were pure logic tests.
For example: Two prisoners share a cell. The prison gives them one pot of water per day. They fight over how to split it, both thinking they got a bad deal, until they try one pours and the other chooses. Peace restored, for two. A few days later, a third prisoner arrives. How do you divide the water so all three feel it's fair?
"Two keys are fine too." She turned, looked at her fiancé, and saw him sitting quietly.
No trouble, good… hold up, what's that in his hand?
"Five keys? Did you buy those with money?" was her first thought.
"No need to pay. There's a puzzle station over there that's pretty easy. I cleared five in a row," Kim Seo said.
She stared, unconvinced. Easy? Then why did her head throb the second she saw those questions?
In the second phase, most Little Fruits chose the big wheel. Today, Lady Luck felt stingy. Eight or nine out of ten spun penalties.
Ghazi got penalties twice, five burpees and then twenty squats. Princess Mayasa wasn't much luckier.
Even Chu Zhi chuckled. "With luck like this, I'm starting to wonder if I messed with the wheel."
Chen Wu's two chances both whiffed. Her dream was a quick hug with her idol. Her fiancé, Kim Seo, pulled it off instead. He landed the try-not-to-laugh challenge, and the winner could make a small request.
Kim Seo won with a hell joke. "Do you know what China has that South Korea doesn't? Do you know what South Korea has that China doesn't?"
The answers were, "sovereignty," and "the universe."
The Russian girl, Taliya, drew Duet any song with Chu Zhi and picked Opera 2. Bold choice.
Both of them sang like their lives depended on it, except his sounded, well, heavenly, and hers was… less so.
Happy moments fly. Before anyone knew it, over ninety minutes had passed.
Host Wei Tongzi cued the third segment, "Chu Zhi's Gift."
"I often read our Orang Home Little Fruits' comments and noticed something," he said.
As Chu Zhi spoke, the big screen lit up.
[Very Lazy Fish]: "Ugh, insomnia again. It's 3 a.m., and I've got an early morning."
[FANFIC]: "I keep wanting to sleep early, but I just can't."
[0AndNonGate0]: "I get restless every night. Netease-cloud-sad's carved into my bones, haha-cry."
[VArrivesAsPromised]: "Been listening to Jiu-yé all night, I'm wired."
[Éclair Falon]: "I want to become a fairy, happiness doubled."
Hundreds of messages scrolled by, all cleared with the account owners in advance.
"That's only a fraction. School, life, all kinds of emotional pressure keep a lot of Little Fruits awake," Chu Zhi said. "So I composed a light music track to help you sleep."
Meng Meng's mom perked up. She got insomnia too. Doctors told her she worried too much and needed to relax. But how do you relax when your nature's to overthink?
Writing a piece just for fans' insomnia, that was exactly what the People's Daily had praised, saying Chu Zhi was the kind of young star post-90s should learn from.
"The piece is called Annie's Wonderland. Give me a sec to set up." He spoke into a walkie-talkie, and staff rolled out instrument after instrument.
You might not recognize the title right away, but if you're an 80s, 90s, or 00s kid, there's an eighty percent chance you've heard this pure music classic. It's one of the most famous instrumental tracks on Earth, the soundtrack of spring for so many childhoods.
Soon the small circular stage was dotted with instruments, piano, clarinet, strings, flute, harp, plus a laptop wired to recording gear.
"It's ambient at heart, adapted from European folk. I hope it gives you a moment of calm. Insomnia really sucks," he said, and started laying down tracks live, five instruments, one by one.
"This rain layer's a sample I recorded a few days ago on Fairy Mountain," Chu Zhi added, then stacked the laptop's seven tracks together.
After a little over ten minutes, Annie's Wonderland played.
The music did exactly what the name promised. Close your eyes, and it felt like stepping into a wonderland. You could spread your arms and flop onto your bed, and in an instant, the mattress turned into soft grass. Flowers flew of their own accord, drifting up to you with a breath of perfume.
You could run barefoot as you pleased. Even if you tripped, you'd fall into water and drift, easy as a cloud, across a quiet lake.
===
Kakao: Operator of KakaoTalk and KakaoPay, widely nicknamed "Korea's WeChat" and "Korea's Alipay."
安妮的仙境 (Ānní de Xiānjìng, Annie's Wonderland) — Original artist: 班得瑞 (Bandari). English title: "Annie's Wonderland."