[According to a message posted by Rolling Stone deputy editor Barnes after the music festival, Chu Zhi choreographed his own stage performance, and that special backward slide move he did was called the Moonwalk.]
So how did Barnes get the news first? He'd interviewed Chu Zhi before. He tried to treat him to a meal, which didn't work out, but at least they exchanged contact info. That's how he could text and ask right away.
Barnes shared the news immediately on Facebook, and it went viral on the internet in a frenzy. His Facebook gained 420,000 followers within half an hour.
Previously, the deputy editor's account had just over a million followers, so this spike of a third in such a short time was insane.
Chu Zhi hit the stage in Cape Town at exactly 8 PM local time, performing for forty minutes. More than fifty TV stations broadcast the show, reaching over a billion viewers. Even though Woodstock Festival hadn't ended yet and many international artists were still to perform, the world's attention had already peaked on him.
Looking closer, even without mentioning news agencies and newspapers, the more personal social media reaction was telling.
The entertainment industry's big spenders, the Victoria's Secret models' top boyfriends, guys who never freeload, million-dollar one-second losses, our forever scandalous butt king Santo—none of them stayed on their RV balconies after seeing the stage. They rushed back inside to post online immediately.
Santo: [Why can a man's dance be this damn captivating? I thought only a blonde exotic stripper could grab my attention, but this man… he just did. #ChuZhiMoonwalk#]
Rena: [#ChuZhiOnStage# Some people are truly gods in pop music. Dangerous is the best new jack swing I've ever heard, and What's.Going.On is one of the finest soul tracks I know.]
Horman Hulke: [Bullshit, how can a dance be this seductive?!]
Jackray, lead singer of Freezer Band: [I won't admit it, but my neck got sore at the live show. Black clothes, dress shoes with white socks, rapid "stiff" footwork transitions—everyone's gonna copy it, and yes, that includes me.]
Almost all the festival stars posted something, some stayed quiet, but their fans pressured them. Yes, I'm looking at you, Chu Zhi's hardcore fan Leighton.
"Why isn't Little Golden Boy saying anything?"
"Mr. Leighton, we're waiting for the fans' POV coverage."
"Don't rush him. Ordinary fans are already going crazy over Chu Zhi's dancing and singing. Mr. Leighton must've fainted from excitement."
"That makes sense, but millions of people fainting shouldn't hurt, right? Are you okay, Mr. Leighton?"
…
"Damn it, I didn't faint!" Leighton admitted the Moonwalk and slide moves shook him a bit. He was about to tweet: [Dangerous is the peak of music and dance, but Woodstock is a peace-themed festival, so Mr. Chu should still be cautious!]
Which was ironic, because other singers only sing songs vaguely related to anti-war or peace. Chu Zhi's Dangerous actually fit the theme perfectly.
Leighton was ready to double-standard Chu Zhi, but when he opened Twitter, he saw comments like, "Fainted? That's ridiculous!"
Beyond the celebrities, ordinary fans also joined in. Gazi posted a short clip on his YouTube channel, shot with some digital device from the right angle, making it seem like he was on stage himself.
Naturally, the Qataris were envious.
Women in Qatar had extremely low social status—more like property than human beings. But the royal princess Mayasa, as a member of the royal family, could go anywhere. If any woman wanted to appear publicly, who could stop her?
So Mayasa, like many rich heiresses, hadn't gone to the festival for safety reasons. They were starstruck, but scared of dying.
Watching the live broadcast on Al Jazeera, the Qatari princess regretted it instantly.
Mayasa: [Why didn't I go to the Sahel? Why didn't I go to the festival? Why did I make such a stupid decision? This will be my greatest regret ever.]
Others shared the same feeling, like Chen Wu, daughter of Pangu Bank's president; Gu Hyo-yan, CEO of LG Chemicals; Spanish princess Sofia; Kim Su, son of KAKAO's founder; Monica and Pablo, children of Santander's major shareholders; and Sumitomo Ieharu from the Sumitomo zaibatsu. They'd all skipped for safety, whether due to family restrictions or personal choice, and were now regretting it.
"Moonwalk," "Dangerous," "Chu Zhi," "soul music What's.Going.On," "Woodstock Festival"—these instantly became trending keywords online that night. Even people who didn't care about music festivals or African peace were drawn in by countless social media clips. Keep in mind, all this excitement was immediate feedback right after Chu Zhi's performance.
Within the industry, the "aftereffects" of Chu Zhi's combined singing and dancing hit hard. McNulty felt it the most, since he performed right after Chu Zhi.
He was a national treasure in Finland, with many global hits. His set had songs with over 200 million YouTube views, but no matter how hard he tried, the audience's reaction felt light. Why? Because the million spectators had already seen the ultimate show—once you've seen Chu Zhi, nothing else compares.
McNulty left the stage slowly, frustrated by the audience's muted response. Singers are like athletes, but while athletes need worthy opponents, singers need audience approval.
He scowled, muttering: "Who arranged the lineup? Even Karelian stew without pork is easier to stomach."
Karelian stew was a Finnish classic—tasty or not depended on taste, but it was every Finn's childhood memory.
"Even though the festival will last seven or eight more hours, continuing until tomorrow morning, in reality, Woodstock ended the moment Chu Zhi left the stage," McNulty said.
The crowd was still hyped, but after peaking, excitement inevitably drops.
Chu Zhi, the "cause" of the festival's early peak, now faced some consequences.
"Mr. Chu Zhi, I recommend you don't linger at the venue," said an event staff member, the on-site operations manager.
It sounded like they were kicking him out. Chu Zhi wasn't in a rush and listened patiently.
The manager quickly corrected himself: "Your stage attracted too much attention. The crowd is moving toward the resting area, so for your safety…"
Wait, moving toward the resting area? The audience faces the stage, and the artist's resting area is behind to the left. They're not even going the same way!
Looking closer, Chu Zhi saw it was true—the million-strong crowd was shifting like a moving "continent."
Terrifying. He took the manager's advice and left immediately.
As Chu Zhi departed, Huang Yinguo noticed the festival staff erecting a huge handwritten sign: [Chu Zhi is not in the resting room, please maintain order], written in Chinese, English, Japanese, French, German, Spanish, and Russian.
To be visible at night, small spotlights surrounded the sign, creating an absurd scene: four light sources, three stages plus the sign.
"No trouble for the organizers, and no need to arrange a driver. We've got our own, no manpower wasted," Chu Zhi said in Chinese. Many staff were Chinese, and UN and WFP officials also included Chinese personnel.
"No trouble, no trouble… um…" the official hesitated.
Wanting an autograph? Chu Zhi guessed, but didn't ask. What if he was wrong? Too awkward.
"Need Li to arrange the car to step out for a smoke…" Chu Zhi patted his left pocket, found it empty, and said sheepishly: "Awkward… no cigarettes."
"I've got cigarettes." The official handed some over and added, "Brother Jiu, my girlfriend and I are hardcore Little Fruits fans. Could we get an autograph?"
Hardcore Little Fruits? Chu Zhi smiled, pulling out paper and pen. Even abroad, his habit of carrying them never changed.
After signing, Xu Xiang drove them away.
Two Zhongnanhai bodyguards—one close protection, one rear guard or scouting ahead—maximized safety.
They were supposed to use their own rental car, but the parking lot was blocked by crowds, so they borrowed a UN vehicle.
"I get it now, why legends of seductive rulers exist. Male or female, when personal charisma peaks, they can wreck nations. Like Daji, Bao Si, Chu Zhi," Huang Yinguo murmured, leaving a guard behind to investigate. He felt a tail earlier and wasn't sure if it was a fan or someone with bad intentions.
Huang's investigation revealed two groups, both from Japan. One was the "Bride's Chu Support Club," basically obsessive fans wanting to devote themselves. The other was the "Chu Zhi Ultimate Support Club," trying to intercept the first, fearing confusion for their idol.
"Completely unnecessary, these kids," Huang thought.
The next day, dawn.
Lagos brightened around 6:30. Chu Zhi felt groggy—not from lack of sleep, but from full-body soreness. His arms, knees, and leg muscles felt torn.
"Not possible. At concerts, I jump around for hours and even do wire stunts, and I never feel this sore."
Yesterday's dance lasted only six or seven minutes. It shouldn't hurt this much.
"System, what's going on? Is this the aftereffect of the peak Frenzy God state?" Chu Zhi wondered. "Bro, should we file a complaint with customer service?"
[The Frenzy God has no aftereffects. The host's pain comes from movements exceeding the body's threshold.] The system answered immediately.
Chu Zhi understood. Concert choreography, though long, was rehearsed and within his body's limit.
But yesterday's dance was unpracticed, relying entirely on the Frenzy God controlling his muscles, "copying" moves mechanically. For example, that signature knee bend with toes pressing for two seconds—perfect on stage, but his toes actually hurt.
Compared to MJ, who trained since childhood, Chu Zhi only paid a bit of pain for a dance that looked 90% perfect. Totally worth it.
"Alright, probably just soft tissue bruising, shouldn't be serious." Chu Zhi headed downstairs for breakfast.
"Huang-ge, want me to bring something back for you?" he asked politely.
Chu Zhi always treated his two bodyguards respectfully—they risked their lives for him, and they were exhausted. No matter when he woke up, the close-protection guard always rose earlier.
Lagos' air was humid but otherwise didn't disturb sleep. The Emperor Beast ate leisurely and did some light exercise.
The world's media, however, didn't rest. Early morning was filled with Chu Zhi news.
Washington Post: "As the first democratic republic covering a large population, the U.S. has built a layered governance system, surviving the Great Depression and two world wars over 200 years. It has balanced race, party politics, labor rights, social welfare, while leading global economic development, bringing peace. August 15–18, the Woodstock Festival in the Sahel, representing freedom and democracy, exemplifies this cultural legacy…"
American newspapers are bold depending on political alignment. The Post praised enthusiastically, ending with: "Akenda, Rena, and Phoenix Band delivered stunning performances showing American democracy and freedom, while Chinese star Chu Zhi also performed brilliantly, showing his respect for the festival."
Chu Zhi's performance was just too good—no choice but to mention him.
Times: "What can peace look like? Peace can mean no guns, children running freely, expressed through music. Akenda's We're in Africa, Seven People Band's Arc de Triomphe, and Chu Zhi's What's.Going.On all show yearning for peace. And Dangerous…"
Newspapers favored their own country's stars, but every single one mentioned Chu Zhi.
Le Monde: "Woodstock Festival—remember two words: peace and Chu Zhi."
Helsinki News: "The festival brought rare peace to Africa's Sahel. Chu Zhi's singing and dancing shocked the calm music scene."
Norway Evening Post (morning edition): "If I had to find a flaw in Mr. Chu Zhi's stage, it's that I (editor Moller) wasn't there."
Chu Zhi always claimed the C-spot in reports, but the Japanese praise was something else.
Tokyo TV: "Many artists, like Naughty Panther Band, Presley, Wellington, General Mouse, were era-defining stars appearing at different economic downturns. Chu Zhi defies the [lipstick effect]. Anyone who sees him, male or female, can't help but be drawn in. His voice touches collective souls. Other stars are heroes of their times; he is the creator of his era. Chu Zhi's grasp of pop music and creative ability has reached human limits, making fans naturally flock to him."
They'd turned "Era of Chu Zhi" into "Chu Zhi's Era."
Watching news often, the impact may not feel impressive, but here's a concrete example: the original series You From the Stars on Netflix was free for non-members, but because of Chu Zhi's global stir, starting the 18th, it required a membership.
But amidst the hype, a discordant note appeared.
From former Woodstock organizer Mike Long.
Mike Long said: "I didn't authorize South African media or UN affiliates to use the 'Woodstock Festival' trademark. All activities in the Sahel are illegal."
Now things got serious.
Not unlike pouring fuel on the fire. Chu Zhi, still in Lagos, faced a crisis.
"If needed, we can contact the Chinese embassy in Nigeria to help you leave Lagos," Xu Xiang said. "I'll do it immediately."
"What's happening?" Chu Zhi noticed their serious expressions.
"Four extremist groups are setting up in the Sahel. Once the audience leaves, there'll be a small-scale conflict in a day or two," Xu Xiang said, relaying intelligence.
"Why?" Chu Zhi asked differently, realizing his first question sounded dumb. "Nearby civil wars?"
"They're after festival equipment," Xu Xiang replied.
Chu Zhi thought he misheard. "What?"
"The entire festival gear costs about 3.5 million USD, from France's top brand Akus," Xu Xiang added two stats: "Stockholm International Peace Institute reported last year that Africa's 60+ countries spent 39.1 billion USD on defense in one year."
Crunching numbers, each country had under 700 million USD. Festival equipment equals roughly 1/200 of national defense. Extremists would be tempted—guns in Africa are cheap. Second-hand AK-47s cost a few dozen dollars, M1 carbines a couple hundred.
Nigeria and Chad might try to grab it too. No one wants this cash to go to extremists. Africa has no shortage of refugees—money buys armies. Small-scale war is imminent.
South African media could move the gear, but they won't waste time. George refused UN authorization. Chu Zhi realized this Woodstock Festival couldn't even pull off surface-level peace—it might have directly sparked war.
"Why is this happening?" Chu Zhi fell silent.