"System brother, tell me, if I take out tens of millions to help foreigners, am I an idiot?" Chu Zhi suddenly asked in his mind.
［Didn't the host say that as long as you have a clear conscience, that's enough?］ the system replied.
Yeah, why think so much? As long as he felt no guilt, it was fine. Chu Zhi never thought of himself as a good man, and he'd always believed he was a full-fledged capitalist. After all, ordinary people just wanted a clear conscience.
Chu Zhi picked up his phone and first called George. Far away in Spain, George Robdrick frowned at the incoming number. The music festival was over, so why was Chu Zhi calling? Could he be trapped somewhere in the Sahel? If that were true, George would be willing to help connect the dots, since Akenda had chartered a flight from Spain. Thanks to his Hollywood gold-standard music producer credentials and his position as vice chairman of the Grammy committee, he still had some face to maintain.
But once the call connected, the news was completely different from what George expected. Chu Zhi wasn't asking for help; he wanted to buy the festival's sound equipment.
"What?" George couldn't understand at first, but hearing the potential to make money, he immediately offered $3.8 million. Three million was the principal, and eight hundred thousand was a service fee. Pretty fair, right? Very fair.
Chu Zhi wasn't stupid. Using the bargaining skills ingrained in his bones, he haggled it down to $1.5 million, eventually purchasing it at half the original price.
"Looks like Chu Zhi has a lot of connections in West Africa," George murmured after hanging up. He guessed Chu Zhi wanted to act as a middleman.
Buying it for $1.5 million, then spending tens of thousands more on shipping, he could still make over a million from reselling.
Even though George had made tens of millions from the festival, he was still envious of how easily Chu Zhi could turn a profit.
"In today's information-transparent world, having the channels is the most valuable. Like, I have the connections, so I can bring people to organize Woodstock, but I don't, so I can't just move the equipment back…"
Before he finished his thought, another call came in. It was a Goldman Sachs executive. George quickly picked it up. The task was simple: get Macron under control.
After the initial leak, Macron had sent out a tweet within two hours, preparing to file a lawsuit against Perfect Idea Studio and South African press for trademark infringement, seeking $160 million in compensation.
If not for the star-studded attendance, if not for the Western media portraying it as the last shining beacon of freedom and democracy, if not for Chu Zhi's screen-flooding stage, this trademark infringement would have barely been noticed. The public wouldn't even care.
But now it was completely different. Media loved hyping some and tearing others down. Audiences enjoyed watching myths crumble, thinking, "Oh, so this is that music festival with all those stars, and all these messy things happen too."
Annoying. That idiot Macron would eventually fail. The Woodstock brand mattered. Even if the event was over and the money in the bank, what if a celebrity guest turned against them?
Hundreds of top global artists were willing to perform for only a third of their usual fee, not just because of Woodstock's past glory, but because of the "Music Brings Peace to Africa" banner. At least one of those two had to be true, otherwise it was just contract fraud.
Artists couldn't beat the South African press and the UN, but taking Macron down was still easy.
Oh, smart George was still scheming.
Chu Zhi, having signed the e-contract and hung up, wanted to call the UN Refugee Agency or WFP but realized he didn't have their contact.
Xu Xiang watched Chu Zhi's moves the whole time, roughly understanding his plan. He had no opinion and wasn't about to voice one.
Luckily, Emperor Beast had enough connections. He knew the Chinese ambassador to Nigeria, and through some convoluted contacts, reached executive officer Beckson.
"You're saying you bought the stage equipment? Chu Zhi, you're not joking, right?" Beckson's voice on the line distorted slightly, enough to show his disbelief.
"Of course not. I've signed the contract with Mr. Robdrick. All lighting, sound, and control consoles at the festival are now mine. I hope you, Mr. Beckson, can figure out a way to handle them to prevent conflicts," Chu Zhi replied.
"Mr. Chu Zhi, I must tell you, the roads in the Sahel are almost completely cut off. Our only option is basically destruction," Beckson said.
"Alright, when can you handle it?" Chu Zhi asked.
It was basically throwing money into the water. Beckson was stunned. For the Refugee and Food agencies, a proposal where a capitalist spent his own money to buy equipment was seen as covering someone else's mess and normally rejected.
While dazed, Beckson's mind raced and he gave an approximate answer: "Around nine, nine in the evening. Our colleagues can come, and the night will make it easier to destroy."
"Nine… can it be faster?" Chu Zhi asked. "Sorry, I'm just worried many organizations won't control themselves."
"I understand, Mr. Chu Zhi. I'll discuss with my colleagues and try not to waste your money," Beckson said.
After finalizing the details, Chu Zhi hung up. He felt uneasy. The festival ended just this morning, and before it even ended, Xu Xiang had intelligence that over twenty extremist groups were ready to start deploying.
And now they had to wait all afternoon and half the night. It was impossible for them to hold back.
What to do? Wait, Ning Wang… Chu Zhi asked himself firmly, "System brother, honestly, does Ning Wang really have the power that even if people are ready to fight, they'd calm down when hearing music?"
［Even if they pull a grenade, they'll fully feel the serenity in the music.］ the system replied.
Nice, that reassured Chu Zhi.
"Still missing a team, yes, a team." The control consoles needed people, the lights needed pros, one person couldn't handle it all.
Chu Zhi flipped through his contacts, thinking who could help. Anywhere in Asia, he could assemble a team in minutes. But he was in Lagos, Africa, powerless.
He really was a global superstar, including South America, but the global never included Africa.
Emperor Beast suddenly noticed a name that might help: Barnes, deputy editor of Rolling Stone Magazine.
Chu Zhi called Barnes. The deputy editor, eager to get close to him, picked up immediately. Within two to three minutes, Barnes had heard the entire plan.
"Mr. Barnes, please help," Chu Zhi said.
"I can do it in an hour," Barnes replied.
"Thanks."
Things were urgent, so they didn't chat more and hung up.
The deputy editor, having seen storms before, was dumbfounded by the call. Seven or eight seconds later, he regained his senses, muttering, "Crazy, crazy, crazy, this is insane!"
Before, he thought Chu Zhi was an idealist. Now he realized Chu Zhi was a martyr. Not only was he spending his own money to buy 'treasures' for destruction by the UN, he also wanted to use music to prevent conflicts between extremists and surrounding nations. Even Arabian Nights stories didn't develop like this.
"He's too idealistic. Even if conflict happened, at most a few hundred would die. Why risk your life?"
Barnes couldn't understand.
China was one of the five major rogue powers. Most people wouldn't dare touch someone as high-ranking as Chu Zhi in China, but it didn't mean he was completely safe. Extremist groups were crazy. Their minds didn't work normally. What if they decided to do something huge?
Stupid, Barnes thought. That was pure impulse.
Still, Barnes couldn't help admiring Chu Zhi, murmuring, "Woodstock is a capitalist's scythe, and Chu Zhi from China is the light of humanity?"
Whether it succeeded or not, Chu Zhi had slapped Woodstock in the face. Actually, maybe it was too soon to even call it that.
"This time, I must get the exclusive first scoop!" Barnes contacted ATV to cooperate in broadcasting the story.
ATV was Hungary's first private commercial TV station. First, the country might not report it for political reasons. Second, ATV's deputy director was his former Princeton classmate and trustworthy.
The station would film the scene while he interviewed participants. Barnes coordinated traffic and then called to find professional staff for the festival.
Using music to moderate extremists and surrounding national defense forces was insane and dangerous.
Most people's first reaction was, "Why are extremists called extremists?"
But Barnes knew a lot of people. In a big tree, there's every kind of bird. Many would risk their lives for money since Chu Zhi offered good pay.
So, in half an hour, Barnes had contacted over ten people who could serve as stage crew. The whole setup wouldn't fail.
Three celebrities even joined for free, willing to fill other band positions. For ideals or fame, all three were on their way to the stage.
The three were: McDantley, drummer of Freeze People; Fidel, bassist of Manic Beast; and Horman Hulk, guitarist.
Freeze People and Horman were familiar friends, while Manic Beast was a Finnish prog-metal band.
Everything was proceeding smoothly. As for the audience, a million were mostly stranded in neighboring capitals. The Sahel was a multi-country border zone, chaotic, but if the capitals stayed calm, they were mostly safe.
"Time to leave, totally worth it," Qatari tycoon Qazi said, leaving in his private plane.
The rich kid Santo, traveling in an RV, was taking a plane instead. The luxury RV would stay in a star hotel garage for now.
Meanwhile, Japan's "Chu Zhi Strongest Supporters" cleaned up trash under the leadership of Tail Island branch, holding signs flashing neon: ［For Chu Zhi, protect the environment］.
It was three in the afternoon, and only two or three cats roamed the site, nothing like the previous sea of people.