Inside the studio.
"Rou Rou, can you please keep it down?" Fang Yi sighed. Ever since they sat, the person next to him kept making tiny noises, more annoying than mice at night.
"I'm just really nervous," Jiang Zengyue said with a blank face. You couldn't hear a hint of nerves in her tone either.
"Nervous about what?" Fang Yi asked.
"The third guest is Chu Zhi."
"You're a Little Fruit?" Even forty-something Fang Yi knew the fandom nickname.
"No." She shook her head. "I'm nervous because I feel like I've made it. I'm actually on the same show as Chu Zhi."
"Mm… if you put it that way, this washed-up singer should probably be a little excited too," Fang Yi said.
Fans and friends all called Jiang Zengyue "Rou Rou," a nickname from a variety show bit about the old radicals for "moon" and "meat." Yue meant Rou, so Yue Yue became Rou Rou. Don't ask, it stuck.
About half an hour later, led by staff, Chu Zhi walked into the studio.
It was nearly empty, only a few people scattered around.
A ceiling lamp had blown, so the room felt lopsidedly dim, like a corner had caved in. An assistant from another guest sat there in the gloom, invisible as furniture.
Chu Zhi glanced across the space and, naturally, only clocked the stars under the spotlight. Fang Yi and Jiang Zengyue stood, and the three exchanged greetings.
"Brother Jiu, long time admirer. I really like your songs. I'm your fan," Jiang Zengyue said, eyes and expression unchanged.
Inside, she was thinking plenty, this young guy's face is illegal. Glasses should be banned on that face.
I mean, when he holds concerts, do people even listen, or do they just sit there and stare?
Her thoughts wandered off somewhere.
"Teacher Fang, Teacher Jiang," Chu Zhi returned the greeting.
Before coming, he'd read up on the guests' careers. Fang Yi had been a love-ballad prince in the 2000s, with tons of nationwide hits. Every 80s and 90s kid had heard him, if only because barber shops looped his tracks.
He hadn't put out anything big in the last decade. A couple of his old songs went viral again as short-video BGM these past two years, which brought him back to public view.
The other guest, expressionless and monotone, was Jiang Zengyue, thirty-five. Onstage versus offstage, she was two extremes.
In the biz, folks said, "Men have Yang Guiyun, women have Jiang Zengyue," meaning they were the country's best at soul singing. Unlike Yang Guiyun, who stuck to one lane, she'd done work in campus folk and traditional styles too. People in the industry called her a talented auteur.
They chatted for a few minutes. "Chatted" is generous. You said one line, I said one line, and only about songs.
Chu Zhi found her interesting, gossip delivered with zero facial cues, the contrast was wild.
Like, "The key in Left-Hand Pointing To The Moon is too high. Even dropping the key, I still can't hit it. Teacher Chu, your music's really awe-inspiring," she said, with no awe or surprise in sight.
Talking with them, he noticed how Fang Yi kept lightly calling himself a has-been. The Emperor Beast tucked that detail away.
Around five in the afternoon, they'd booked a few tables for the show's kickoff banquet.
Chief planner, executive producer, producer, academic advisor, showrunner, director, tech supervisor, the list ran long. A few mattered most.
Chief planner was Minister Xi. Lead director Sun Danfang had helmed the famous CCTV variety Chinese Poetry Conference. The academic advisor was military historian Cheng Yu, a Long March specialist with a shelf of books on the subject.
Over dinner, the creative team walked through the process while Cheng Yu added context. The guests already knew the route, but they restated it anyway, starting in Ruijin, Jiangxi, and ending in Lanzhou, Gansu.
They all had early call times tomorrow, so everyone kept it civil. No drinking.
Time: 7 a.m.
Place: Capital Airport
Event: Flight to Yeping Airport
Shooting started at the capital airport.
"You three will follow this route and drive yourselves. First, please pick a team leader," director Sun Danfang said.
"Not me," Jiang Zengyue said first.
"I nominate Brother Fang," Chu Zhi said. Usually the eldest served as lead.
"I'm just a washed-up singer. A team leader, with what qualifications? I can't," Fang Yi said, backing off with a triple denial.
Chu Zhi picked it up. "I don't think 'washed-up' is an insult. It just means time's moved from one side to the other, and you show up in headlines less. It doesn't mean fans forgot you. If anything, it goes from casual mentions to being etched in their hearts. When that familiar melody plays, they start singing right away."
"If only you hadn't laid everything bare that day, if only I hadn't had to leave that day…" He slipped into a verse from one of Fang Yi's signature heartbreak songs.
Something clenched inside Fang Yi. He often called himself washed-up because, in one live stream, he'd seen the word fly by in the chat. It stuck in his head like a barb.
Hearing Chu Zhi say this, on camera no less, made him want to recognize a soulmate on the spot.
"I agree Brother Fang should be team lead. He's got experience," Jiang Zengyue said.
"Then I'll give it a try," Fang Yi said with a slow breath.
Leader picked, they boarded.
While he was in the air back home, a few things were happening abroad on the ground.
君がいること(Kimi ga iru koto) hit its first full month in Japan and Korea. The Japanese studio album sold 3,631 thousand copies in Japan alone, breaking into the all-time Oricon top ten, standing as the gatekeeper at number ten.
How crazy was that? There wasn't a single top-ten album released after 2005. 君がいること was a true outlier. With time, it might climb further. Number nine and eight were only a couple hundred thousand copies ahead.
South Korea's first-week sales were 1.57 million, first month 2.77 million. Japan and Korea combined not only hit Sony Music's five-million forecast, they blew past it, straight to six million plus. 6,401 thousand was a terrifying number.
In Japan and Korea, hit dramas, blockbuster films, and high-selling records were all called achievements. In those two entertainment powerhouses, idols sit at the low end of the industry chain. How do you move up? By stacking achievements. Think of big-name Japanese drama kings like Oda Yuji, Kimura Takuya, Sakai Masato. Each has over ten major achievements.
Chu Zhi proved it the hard way, even making history-level achievements appear on command. Even the most seasoned Japanese or Korean artists wouldn't dare underestimate him.
Whether they did or didn't didn't matter. What mattered was this one album brought Chu Zhi nearly 110 million U.S. dollars in revenue. You read that right. Dollars.
"This year's Forbes Celebrity list, Chu ge's going to run away with it again," Niu Jiangxue said, reading the sales and revenue report Li Guixun had sent. Too much money, way too much.
Just 君がいること alone could put him in the global top five. On top of that, he had endorsements, commercial shows, and copyright income. Saying he'd run away with it wasn't exaggeration. It was literal.
Especially copyright fees, the fat slice of the pie. On Earth, Dan Tou from Nan Quan Mama wrote Disintegrate, Fall Back, Stranded, Maple, If You Don't Love Me, Then Leave, and those five songs alone brought in seven figures annually.
Famous Japanese lyricist Oikawa Nemuko, who wrote Zankoku na Tenshi no Thesis for Neon Genesis Evangelion, famously said after being scammed out of 30 million yuan in a marriage, "All I lost was money. I lost nothing else." That's how bold you get with hit-song royalties. Chu Zhi already had too many "retirement insurance songs."
"I feel like we've got room for two more Japanese studio albums," Niu Jiangxue said. As lead agent, she planned long-term. It wasn't about short-term cash grabs, but still, this was… a lot.
"Other people don't turn back till they hit a wall. Qin Fei won't turn back even after ramming the wall," Niu Jiangxue muttered, flipping through a proposal Fei ge sent.
The title was American Development Plan. That alone told Niu what it was, the third similar plan he'd submitted.
Fei ge proposed moving HQ to New York or Los Angeles and having Chu Zhi base in LA for a few years. The argument was simple. At home, even across Asia, there wasn't much headroom left. The West was a tough cookie.
After a full internal discussion, they agreed the focus could tilt West, but HQ had to stay in China. Chu Zhi's reasoning was simple. "China's our backstop, and it's our roots. If we move abroad, Sister Niu, Sister Wang, and others would have to live overseas for years. That's not great."
Fei ge almost said it'd be no problem for him to go abroad, but the words died in his mouth. He realized the plan was a bit self-serving.
"Huh? The core now is to join a variety show again. Things just got interesting," Niu Jiangxue said, sitting up straighter. Fei ge wasn't talking HQ relocation anymore. He wanted Chu Zhi on The Masked Singer 7.
The proposal laid it out. It was produced by Fox, essentially the American version of King of Masked Singer. It wasn't famous in China, but it was huge in the States. You don't get to seven seasons if it's not.
And since it was Fox, the guest list was heavy, Grammy winners, A-list pop stars dropping in. If Chu Zhi went, he wouldn't be lowering his status.
Fei ge detailed the why. The show itself was popular, plus Fox had already struck a deal with TF1 to bring it to France. TF1's the biggest private TV network there, covering France, Switzerland, and Belgium, which would conveniently push his European reach.
Imagine a Chinese singer winning The Masked Singer 7. That'd be fun.
"It's a solid plan," Niu Jiangxue murmured, then sighed. Right now, though, Chu Zhi probably wouldn't want another competitive variety.
===
残酷な天使のテーゼ (Zankoku na Tenshi no Thesis, A Cruel Angel's Thesis) — Lyricist: 及川眠子 (Oikawa Nemuko).
瓦解, 退后, 搁浅, 枫, 不爱我就拉倒 (Disintegrate, Fall Back, Stranded, Maple, If You Don't Love Me, Then Leave) — Composer: Dan Tou of Nan Quan Mama.