In South Korea, there was a WY Media company. It wasn't well-known, but it made a lot of money. It grew slowly and quietly, and its annual revenue even ranked it among the top ten entertainment companies in South Korea.
WY had a close partnership with Aiguo's South Korea branch, handling Chu Zhi's derivative copyrights, creating secondary works and selling them. Funny enough, WY actually earned more than Aiguo's South Korea branch. This kind of thing was common in China's short video industry. The hardworking creators often earned less than people who just reposted videos. The only difference was the former had proper collaboration and authorization, while the latter was illegal.
"The front page headlines of Chosun Ilbo, JoongAng Ilbo, and Dong-A Ilbo all had his name. Even HKK couldn't do this. Incredible, just incredible," WY's President Kim said, looking at the papers, feeling the overwhelming fame of this Chinese artist.
HKK was South Korea's first-generation boy band, a point of national pride often bragged about by Koreans. They were the only group from this small country to have a single album sell over ten million copies. In their time, that achievement could even be called "the only album in Asia to reach ten million."
"JoongAng Ilbo is South Korea's most authoritative newspaper, mostly reporting on national decisions and social news. It's a choice for the middle class," said the chairman of the South Korean Foreign Press Association. "Chosun Ilbo has the largest circulation. Families who subscribe to a newspaper usually choose it, and it has a firm stance on China. Dong-A Ilbo is more liberal and sharp. The three papers almost never report the same news from the same perspective, which is rare."
"Wouldn't the Sahel thing make him even more famous in South Korea?" President Kim slammed the pen on the table. If he pressed it too hard, the tip would snap.
"No, no, no. Stopping a war is just adding flowers to silk. Chu Zhi won the International Influence Lifetime Achievement Award a year ago. No domestic star's influence can compare," the chairman explained.
"International Influence Lifetime Achievement Award?"
President Kim looked puzzled. What kind of award was that? If it was really prestigious, he should have heard of it. Not hearing anything meant it probably didn't hold much value.
"You don't know?" The chairman pulled up his phone, searched, and showed it to President Kim.
The KBS.NEWS platform reported:
[Seoul's renowned scholar Choi Young-sung stated that Chu Zhi is South Korean, providing three strong pieces of evidence. First, Chu Zhi's grandfather lived near Lotus Pond, 7-star Hill, in Sansong. Lotus Pond No. 38 was once the site of South Korea's provisional government…]
"Is this real news?" President Kim asked. Choi Young-sung was a famous South Korean scholar, even pushing for the abolition of the death penalty last year. Even though South Korea hadn't executed anyone since 1997, the law technically still existed.
South Korea did indeed set up a provisional government in Sansong in the 1940s. Based on this, it could be true. Chu Zhi was South Korean. President Kim felt a little excited. Anyone from any country would be drawn to Chu Zhi.
"No way that's true. Chu Zhi's genealogy has been traced, and even counting upward, he's from Macheng, China," the chairman explained. "Don't you know? The International Influence Lifetime Achievement Award is awarded by our country's top scholars to strategically make someone appear as if they belong to our nation."
"…" President Kim wanted to argue but realized he couldn't.
The chairman was one of those intellectual elites every country had. They were part of the nation's elite, but they always assumed the worst and constantly mocked their own country.
From South Korea to China, no such public intellectuals were active domestically right now.
"You're one of the men called by Chu Zhi?" Zhou Yiyu sized Miao Chen up, but didn't see anything unusual.
"Brother Yu, I wasn't chosen by brother Jiu. I joined Aiguo as a trainee," Miao Chen explained. "I'm not talented enough yet to get brother Jiu's attention."
"Makes sense," Zhou Yiyu thought. He was the one who had received brother Jiu's favor.
"Seeing it's for brother Jiu, I'll give you a tip. During the award ceremony, make sure to follow the applause. Otherwise, who knows what they might do with you," Zhou Yiyu said, grinning.
He remembered the bitter lesson last time: "Full scowl the whole time, Zhou Yiyu refusing to accept Zhang Dan's award," the humiliation still vivid.
"All right, all right," Miao Chen hurriedly promised.
"I have a question, Brother Yu. Is the TikTok Music Festival award respected in the music world?" Miao Chen asked.
"Respected?" Zhou Yiyu said, "Kid, do you think I could get Best Male Singer of the Year if it wasn't respected?"
Damn, Miao Chen had no idea how to reply. He just smiled awkwardly but politely.
"You just debuted from a variety show and won Best Newcomer. That's impressive. Keep producing those viral online songs. That line 🎵'I've spent my life across the south and north of the river'🎵 is catchy, even if it's a bit awkward," Zhou Yiyu said. "Your singing style is a little wild and free. For short videos, it's perfect."
Miao Chen wanted to say the lyrics were by Huang Tingjian. He also wanted to say his goal wasn't just viral TikTok songs, but creating better music.
Forget it, he thought. No need to show off or shout slogans. He swallowed the words.
They walked into the award ceremony. Zhou Yiyu sat in the front row, Miao Chen in the second. Seats were arranged by fame.
Miao Chen and Zhou Yiyu had opposite personalities. Miao Chen wanted to focus on his first album, spend more time writing songs, and avoid variety shows. Zhou Yiyu just released albums half-heartedly, putting all his energy into image-building and variety shows.
"The poet uses dreams as a horse, the actor lives for the play, and the singer creates songs from life, writing dreams into music."
"Chu Zhi showed us another side of music abroad. One microphone, one stage, and the world can be at peace. Our TikTok Music Festival also…"
Zhou Yiyu, a professional idol, held back a smirk. He'd been trained by South Korean experts on expression management.
But inside, he was thinking, Seriously? TikTok viral songs and world peace? Give me a break.
Chu Zhi's popularity had exploded in the past few days. Every music-related variety show had to mention him, and music awards were desperate to connect somehow.
Annual Best Short Video Popular Album: Zhou Yiyu – Thirty
Best Newcomer of the Year: Miao Chen
Best Surprise Singer: Gu Peng
No need to know the rest of the TikTok awards. These three were enough.
"This host has to be joking. Always cueing me, don't they see I'm about to have an anxiety attack?" Gu Peng muttered while driving. He regretted coming to the award ceremony.
He got home, collapsed onto his bed, and started scrolling on his phone.
Chinese internet was still flooded with posts about Chu Zhi.
Shu Lili 233: [Mom, come see God, damn, brother Jiu might actually be God.]
Leng Huaping: [Brother Jiu performed a miracle. Will a miracle happen to me too?]
Yun Jian Feihong: [I wanted to die last year, but next year's eighth-anniversary concert is coming, and I haven't seen Chu Zhi live. I'll live until next year first. I couldn't get tickets this year. Now that brother Jiu is even more popular globally, tickets will be harder to get!]
Teng Li: [Because someone like you exists in this world, I still have hope for it.]
Zeng Daren: [Living had no meaning, but I don't want to die. Now it feels okay to live, at least I can see brother Jiu create miracles.]
Zhang Tan is a good girl: [My narcolepsy torments me. My family thinks I do it on purpose, they don't understand. I could only seek comfort in fandom. I've written many letters to brother Jiu, never expecting a reply, but I actually got one. His letter made me stronger and want to keep living.]