Lusail Stadium can hold eighty thousand people. It's the biggest arena in Qatar, printed on the 10 riyal note and the 22 riyal commemorative bill. One of the builders was China Railway Construction. The thirty five square meter screen hanging over the pitch also came from a Chinese company.
Right now, Chu Zhi was in a small bay city north of Doha, staring at the World Cup's main stadium. The whole area felt super high tech.
Two minutes later, the guy he was waiting for showed up. A black custom Ferrari fishtailed in with a scratchy screech that wasn't cool at all. It almost clipped a lamppost. No one knew what that drift was supposed to prove.
Gazi climbed out, a bit embarrassed, and slapped a new topic over the failed drift.
"I booked the restaurant. brother Jiu, while you're in Qatar, don't worry about meals. Say what you want, we'll get it, Chinese food included." Gazi said the royal chefs handled the three grand cuisines, Chinese, Turkish, and French. Whatever he wanted, they'd fly the ingredients in cold chain. It'd be the real deal.
That's what different treatment looks like. Other big guest performers had landed too, and as the overall coordinator, Gazi met them once, then left the rest to staff. In his mind that wasn't slacking, it was letting the most capable do the most. He just wasn't capable of not personally hosting his idol.
"brother Jiu, how many hours do you study every day?" Gazi asked over dinner.
"About three. I never feel like I've got enough time." Chu Zhi said. He crammed when others slept.
No surprise he was his idol. That sounded brutal. Three hours felt as long as Gazi's entire workday.
Gazi asked if he'd thought about taking a real break, like two months off. He even volunteered to take him around the world. He ended up poking a giant melon.
"I think once I say goodbye to the stage, I'll have plenty of time to rest." Chu Zhi thought for a moment. Since landing in this world, he'd counterattacked nonstop, variety shows, albums. If he did stop, he honestly wouldn't know what to do with himself.
Say goodbye to the stage? Gazi jolted, grabbed the keyword, and probed, "brother Jiu, are you thinking of retiring?"
"Not anytime soon. I haven't hit my long term targets yet." Chu Zhi had been climbing the path he laid out years ago.
Gazi exhaled half a breath. "Most singers retire in their fifties or sixties. You're still young, don't think about that."
Fifties or sixties? He definitely wasn't singing that long. He wanted out way earlier, but there was no need to say it now.
After dinner, Gazi drove him around the city to "help digestion, like Chinese tradition."
Uh, that's a pretty wild take on tradition. Since when did blasting a Ferrari with the windows down count as digesting food?
He might be casual at work, but as a fan he was serious. He'd even hired a Chinese tutor. He'd learned a decent chunk of Chinese trivia.
In this world there hadn't been an epidemic, so the streets were packed. Tourists from everywhere flooded the new city, buzzing it up.
You only realize how precious something is once it's restricted, like crossing provinces whenever you want, or going out bare faced.
The Ferrari rolled to a stop under the hotel's big U shaped portico. Gazi's service was thorough, right down to watching his idol's back disappear into the lobby.
Columns, a seven tier crystal chandelier, and slabs of black gold marble tiles gave the lobby a proper palace vibe.
Inside, Chu Zhi spotted a man dragging a dark gray suitcase. Jorman Hulk, a Spanish American rapper from Las Vegas. He was the only Hispanic who'd cracked the American rap market, breaking the genre's Black monopoly. Even the Anglo crowd hadn't managed that.
He clearly had chops, but he looked pissed, cursing under his breath.
"You guys already got here? Dog crap airlines. Delayed eight hours. I'm writing a diss track." Hulk's other problem was his assistant. For some mysterious reason, Qatari immigration refused him, so he had to check in and handle the bags himself.
They didn't know each other, so they didn't greet each other. Chu Zhi headed to his room.
Hulk recognized him too. There weren't many Chinese who'd made a name in the Western pop scene.
Their eyes landed on each other for a second, then moved on.
He tipped the porter to take the luggage up and kept roasting his day over the phone.
The guy on the other end was an old friend, the lead of Seven Men Band.
"Fuck"
"Lucky me. Why's that Chinese guy like a ghost."
"He's even at the World Cup opening."
The Seven Men Band's frontman, Leite Ang, hung up and received the organizing committee's performance slate. His face said he wasn't thrilled. He shoved the list at the other four.
There were nearly twenty guest performers. Other than Chu Zhi, they were just now seeing the full lineup.
The four looked it over, lingering on three names, Chu Zhi, Akenda Bell, and Megan Jordan.
Akenda was the current king of Western pop. Megan was a Canadian singer known for a body and sound that made people, yeah, respect her.
"It's Wacken all over again. They slotted Chu Zhi right after us, again." Guitarist Dimitro frowned, remembering how their flawless set still got blown off the stage.
"Let me see which poor puppy's shaking," bassist Madden sneered.
Dimitro chuckled. "Turns out it wasn't Madden who went weak in the legs at Wacken?"
Three of the five had gone weak after hearing Hymn of the Tes River. Madden exploded, "I was tired, I'd just finished. Everyone knows I'm anemic. That's why the legs. What else could it be?"
"Anemic body." Dimitro clapped. "My bad, we've known each other four or five years, and I'm just hearing you're anemic. Need me to drive you to a hospital?"
The baiting made Madden want to weld his keyboard onto Dimitro's skull. Why not use his bass? Don't be dumb, breaking a bass would hurt.
"What are you two even trying to win here?" Leite Ang cut in.
The two froze. Right, they fought a lot on values, and they sometimes argued to win, but today, what were they even arguing for? No matter who won, it still proved that Chinese singer was strong.
"We're hitting the venue for extra reps." Leite Ang said, meaning no repeats of last time.
"Why worry. We've got us, Hulk, Megan, and Bell. What's that Chinese singer gonna do?" Madden said.
Dimitro wanted to say we're his past casualties, but that'd crush morale, so he softened it. "If he sings Hymn of the Tes River again, no one's walking away."
Wacken had beaten him into true belief.
"Hulk's flow, Megan's heat, and Bell's star power, that's the core of this opening." Leite Ang forced down the urge to snap. How did the band end up with a defector.
The quiet keyboardist, Downing, stood up and headed for the door.
"Downing, where you going?" Madden asked. If he was gonna use someone's keyboard as a weapon, he had to care where it was.
"Stadium. Rehearsal." Downing dropped two words and left.
Madden blinked, then got up to go too. The other three, Dimitro included, headed out for practice.
Here's one thing none of Seven Men Band could figure out. The guest lineup was set by Gazi from the royal office. Why invite this British rock band at all? Because they had good taste. They were hardcore fans of his idol.
Gazi was a softie, so he granted the dream and put Seven Men right before and after his idol.
The guy they couldn't stop thinking about, Emperor Beast, had his own serious business.
"Hello, Reporter Cao."
"Hello, Teacher Chu Zhi. Long time fan. I grew up on your songs."
Reporter Cao from Xinxia News cracked a joke to break the ice and keep it light for the exclusive.
Why call it a joke? Because when he grinned, his crow's feet and smile lines popped. He had to be thirty five plus.
"Shall we start?" Reporter Cao asked.
"Anytime." Chu Zhi said.
"Coming back here, do you feel any differences compared to China? In Qatar, Teacher Chu Zhi, you're one of the most famous singers in the market. You still hold the album sales record." First question, researched and ready.
Official interviews get formulaic. This one had a template answer baked in.
"The biggest difference isn't the buildings, it's the people." He said. "As for holding number one in sales here, I take it as encouragement. I'll keep pushing on the next English album."
Reporter Cao paused. Usually when someone says the difference is people, the next line digs into cultural impressions. He pivoted instead. Fine. They'd already aligned the outline with his team anyway.
In showbiz, unless it's a press conference ambush, interviews always get prepped.
"Anything you can share as an exclusive?" Reporter Cao asked.
"The English album's theme is tentatively World Music. I'm gonna fold a lot of styles together, like Latin and global fusion, plus Nordic flavors and special instruments, African hand drums, that sort of thing." He gave a quick sketch.
"One sentence and that's a lot of info." Reporter Cao moved to the next card. "Do you watch soccer, Teacher Chu Zhi? Who do you think will go far this year?"
He didn't really watch, so he tossed a pick. "For Qatar's World Cup, I like France."
Xinxia wasn't a sports outlet, it was state media, so he reined it in and went back to formal.
Last question, Reporter Cao asked, "What do you hope for in the future, Teacher Chu Zhi?"
"I hope my work spreads everywhere in the world." He didn't hedge.
"We can't wait to see your performance at the opening tomorrow."