Internal screenings, preview screenings, test screenings, public release—everything was made unnecessarily complicated, confusing anyone outside the industry.
The Matrix didn't have test screenings or preview screenings. Preview screenings are a tactic used by smaller films to generate some word-of-mouth for theaters, while test screenings invite critics or influencers to stir buzz for the audience.
Internal screenings, however, were for industry insiders—the big distributors who could gauge a film's potential and allocate resources faster. That's why executives from Paramount were present.
The effect was impressive. Everyone in the industry agreed that The Matrix had a shot at breaking into the global box office top ten.
Davis's ideal box office was $2.8 billion worldwide, shooting straight to the top.
But ideal is ideal. Realistically, hitting $1.2 billion would already be excellent.
"The first film is just the start of the series. The second and third films will have even more complete content." Davis had meticulously crafted the entire script for the series. All he wanted was the highest possible box office so the sequels would get bigger investments.
The specifics were out of Davis's hands; only the Warner executives could negotiate. Securing final editing rights alone had been a huge accomplishment.
After the screening, Paramount hosted a reception, unsurprising since Paris is their stronghold. Across France, besides Woodpecker Company, which other studio could match Paramount's revenue?
"Chu, aren't you going to the reception? I heard you don't get drunk at all," Davis asked.
"I'm a bit under the weather, so I want to get back to the hotel early," Chu Zhi said casually.
Davis didn't press, only mentioning he knew some doctors if needed. Chu Zhi couldn't afford any mishaps; the French promotion had only just begun.
"Just a night's rest should do it," Chu Zhi refused. The excuse was half-hearted anyway. The scrutiny from Paramount's executives made him uncomfortable, but there was no need to make a scene. Still, performing as Emperor Beast at the reception was out of the question.
The boy needed to take care of himself out there.
He had no idea how much Davis and the others had drunk the night before. Even during the afternoon's promo poster shoot, he still felt the lingering buzz.
Short promotional clips and posters were being prepared for France, the Netherlands, Italy, and other countries. These clips were targeted precisely, like ads appearing in Chinese theaters just a minute or two before the movie started. Such specialized promotion wasn't cheap, so not every film could have it.
Ideally, roadshows in each country would be better, but Emperor Beast didn't have the time.
For a sci-fi blockbuster with over $200 million in investment, promoting it six months ahead of release was already considered late. Many big films start marketing from pre-production.
Flying all over the world meant Emperor Beast couldn't even feel the seasons changing. Frosty autumn passed, and they were now in early winter.
Is It Peace? was scheduled for global release in mid-December, deliberately avoiding Christmas. The album had eight language versions—Chinese, English, French, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic. Releasing on Christmas would risk religious complications, and even the date itself differed between calendars.
Chu Zhi had a lot of religious fans, some even considering him a reincarnated angel. Better not to stir the waters.
Promotions for the album started a month early, and Aiguo had completely avoided working with Sony Records this time.
"Feeling your wings are finally ready? Ready to soar like a crow?" Omori Genjin received the news.
He had been closely following Chu Zhi ever since they collaborated on the legendary Neon EP Shedding a Little Expectation on the World.
The EP's sales weren't the absolute top, but its influence on Neon was massive. One classic evaluation said: There are only three art pieces that showcase Neon culture—the Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, Osaka Castle's Tenshukaku, and Chu Zhi's Shedding a Little Expectation on the World.
[AC Nielsen Music Market Hot Artist Report
Name: Chu Zhi
Age: 28
Major Commercial Achievements: Reduced Adidas' Asian market share by 17%, indirectly causing their full-scale defeat in Asia.
Professional Achievements: Only post-90s singer whose album sales exceeded 30 million, ranked #1 on SPO and Apple Music digital album sales.
Excerpt: Vice chairman of the Grammy committee, George Robdrick, said, "Warhol said everyone could be famous for 15 minutes. The future is now. In a multi-entertainment era, stars like Presley shouldn't exist anymore. Fans' cohesion isn't strong. But Chu Zhi appeared, a true anomaly of the multi-entertainment era."
Comprehensive Index: 273
Rating: 11-grade]
"Album sales exceed thirty million, Black Feather is fully grown."
Nielsen is a globally renowned market analysis firm, once capable of evaluating TV station values. The rating system has eleven levels. By comparison, Akenda, Frozen Man Band, and Lena were rated 10, 9, and 8 respectively. Horman, originally rated 8, had recently been upgraded to 9.
Though the numeric difference between 11 and 10 seems small, in Nielsen's system, it's a universe apart.
Omori Genjin's chart showed other stars' commercial achievements mostly involved brand endorsements or creating their own brands. Chu Zhi's accomplishments were in an entirely different league.
"It's just that channel distribution isn't something fame alone can achieve; it takes years of accumulation!"
Aiguo's company had self-released albums for a while but still partnered with Sony for distribution. Physical albums had to reach every corner of the globe, and unlike China, most countries didn't have advanced e-commerce. Sony's expertise was invaluable.
"It's such a shame about the Wild Beast Band. Fidel seems strong, yet he's braver than a fly?" Omori Genjin sighed.
Rolling Stone deputy editor Barnes invited Horman, Fidel, and McDantley. Even though the latter two didn't stick around till the end, public feedback was mostly positive, boosting their popularity. But the Wild Beast Band, signed under Sony, still felt incomplete.
If only they had stayed with Horman…
If the "Solo Concert" project had been directly led by the Wild Beast Band…
"That's impossible. Fear is human nature. Chu Zhi isn't normal; he's sick," Omori Genjin muttered.
Meanwhile, Emperor Beast was already CPU-ing himself again.
2026 had only a couple months left. No time to slack off. He had to give the world a shock worthy of a King of Productivity.
App lottery plans for Little Fruits' dream project, both domestic and overseas, plus the next Orange Festival—all required Emperor Beast's involvement.
It was another busy morning. Every month, he got a single day off. The Big King and the Bull decided today would be a rest day.
After making a small breakfast, Emperor Beast quickly drafted a memo:
[8:00-11:00 Record Songs
11:10-11:50 Rest
12:00-12:30 Lunch
12:35-12:50 Rest
12:55-13:05 Continue Rest
13:10-22:00 Handle Work]
Judging by this schedule, most of the day was technically "rest."
Morning's recording was for the Concert Highlights Album, which Old Qian kept reminding him about. Chu Zhi listed the tracklist in detail:
Moskau, Kepler, Every Kiss, Back to Lhasa, Rong City, I Want to Shout I Love You (君が好きだと叫びたい), Shower All the Way, C.Chill.Thi (Relax a Bit), Don't Listen to Slow Songs If You're Sad, Revolution, Grow (Roar), Dancing Van Gogh, Ich.will (I Want It)
Twelve new songs in total for the world tour. He wasn't showing off; every song required redemption. Even with custom album tickets, given Emperor Beast's habit of hoarding, he wouldn't release a new song unless the mood was right.
Ich.will came from the Berlin concert. Those German guys went completely wild; Chu Zhi even worried the stadium materials wouldn't hold up. During a short break, he checked—the Berlin Olympic Stadium, built in the 1930s, had undergone several expansions, the latest by China State Construction Group. All good then.
With that vibe, producing a "German tank" masterpiece made perfect sense. A treadmill on stage would've made it even better.
His new place didn't have good music equipment, so he returned to where his dream began.
Old habits die hard. Even though he wasn't living in the old house, he still recorded here. The vines and star cluster patterns in his study were all painstakingly printed by him.
Honestly, the property value had more than doubled. Many "mom fans" were willing to pay. Just check the real estate prices in Jinshan Mansion after his livestreams.
Even if Chu Zhi wanted to sell, Weibo would buy it for him and give it back for free.
Just kidding. The Weibo ID speculation was called a representative of post-era virtual economy by The Wall Street Journal. You think Weibo's market value of $4.5 billion came from nowhere?
"Even if I've sung in Annamese, my Vietnamese is still shaky. Too few real-world scenarios," Chu Zhi muttered while recording the electronic track Relax a Bit. Annamese EDM might lead Asia, but it still outshines Chinese pop.
Afternoon work was simpler: handling emails.
Emails were of two types: company schedules and requests, which had already been well-organized by Aiguo Media over the past three to four years, and invitations from industry peers, which he answered selectively. Some he accepted, some he didn't. For example, Meng Wuping wanted to sing for a drama adaptation but had no interest in the source material. Emperor Beast wasn't opposed to cross-industry projects, but if someone relied solely on autotune without effort, it was a waste.
"Still can't forget, huh? Dolce & Gabbana thinks I need money? Throwing cash will get me?" Chu Zhi laughed.
Ever since Masked Singer in the U.S., luxury brands had been throwing offers at him. Capital never fights money. Dolce & Gabbana wasn't blue-blood or red-blood, but they were willing to pay, $20 million per quarter plus a $1 million signing fee.
Chu Zhi refused decisively. Dolce & Gabbana's designers and bosses loved shady tactics.
"This one rejected, that one rejected."
He turned down Dolce & Gabbana, Decathlon, Mizuno, Cabin, and ONLY. He realized ONLY was a women's clothing brand—makes sense. Male idols often endorse cosmetics; if fashion follows, male stars in women's brands isn't shocking.
"Qianzong, you've got to do well. Design the Wood Blaze brand properly. While I still have influence, appear publicly as much as possible, it'll help with sales," Chu Zhi sighed.
Luxury is lucrative, especially in France, the trendsetter, reaping small money worldwide. The fashion supply chain alone provides 200,000 well-paid local jobs.
Emperor Beast knew very well—there are talented designers at home, but breaking in was impossible. Not just in Asia, even in America, only scraps are accessible.
The only way to break the deadlock was to skip the usual channels, using solid products and fan influence to push forward. With his current popularity, the Emperor Beast might just pull it off.
The next day, the sun wasn't shining, and the sky was dark.
It looked like a storm was coming, and a power outage caused by nearby construction made things worse. The staff could still manage, but efficiency was painfully slow.
It was a bad omen. Chu Zhi's flight to Japan hit one setback after another. First, a seventy-year-old taxi driver rear-ended him. Then, while dealing with the traffic mess, fans spotted him. It was like a tidal wave—but instead of white foam, it was a dense, black crowd.
"I know this subway line's always packed, but this is ridiculous,"
"I heard some celebrity got into an accident up ahead. Everyone went to see."
"Another idol? Idols can't stop us from doing our jobs. If we don't work, the country grinds to a halt! Is it a girl idol?"
"No, not a girl idol. Seems like Chu Zhi-san showed up. I actually like Chu Zhi-san. But… uh? Where's Yasuda-san?"
This was a typical exchange between two Tokyo salarymen stepping out of the subway. Chu Zhi's influence in Japan was no secret, and unsurprisingly, the traffic jam around Kyoto reached unprecedented levels.
Chu Zhi tried to organize some order, but it didn't help at all. In an open outdoor space, the Emperor Beast's powers didn't stretch far, especially without a sound system—Ning Wang couldn't even do much.
"Please don't worry, Chu-san. I've already contacted the Metropolitan Police," said the staff in charge of his arrival.
The plan was to meet officials from the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology and executives from NHK at 10 a.m. But plans can't keep up with reality. By three p.m., they were still stuck in the jam. The staff had overestimated the Metropolitan Police's ability, basically underestimating the man known for breaking the limits of his era.
It took three more hours and the police's efforts before Chu Zhi could finally move.
The time had shifted, and so had the meeting location.
A kaiseki restaurant.
"Foreign media called Chu-san a strategic weapon, and they weren't exaggerating. The jam at Shibuya Station's west exit is the biggest fan-induced blockage in two years," said Nagao from the General Affairs Division with a smile.
Kumiko Toyota, Deputy Director of Cultural Affairs, added, "Chu-san's been number one in NHK's Most Popular Foreigner voting four years in a row. I'm also a fan of Chu-san."
"I'm grateful for Japanese fans' support," Chu Zhi said. He noticed the deputy director's surname and figured her praise of fans was probably just courtesy.
Kumiko Toyota was in her forties. In Japan, a woman in her forties heading a department's fourth-ranking position wouldn't happen without family backing.
Of course, Toyota's power wasn't extreme. Names like Mitsui, Sumitomo, or Iwasaki carried real weight. Familiar brands like Toshiba, Sony, and Toyota all trace back to the Mitsui zaibatsu.
While eating and chatting, Chu Zhi observed Japan's well-developed table culture. This year's China-Japan cultural exchange had a slightly political "ice-breaking" vibe—but let's not go into that.
Here's the result: the Cultural and Tourism Ministry sent a senior advisor as the "advance officer" to discuss the general flow of China-Japan cultural exchange. The Japanese side took it seriously, led by the deputy director.
Chu Zhi was on the national payroll for this trip. Conversation went smoothly. He knew he was basically a decorative vase in this event—just listen, don't give advice.
When talks ended, Nagao presented Chu Zhi with a gift on behalf of the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology.
It was a book with brushed aluminum edges, gold-embossed spine and cover. The paper's quality couldn't be judged without opening it, but the single character "贵" on the cover immediately signaled its value. At least two or three times more expensive than a regular book.
Chu Zhi's Japanese was excellent, and he immediately recognized the book: The Way the World Ends.
Exposed? Should he wipe out everyone involved? His mind raced.
Murder was definitely a joke, but why was it exposed?
"Chu Zhi-san, this is the limited collector's edition of Huainan's poetry collection The Way the World Ends, released just two weeks ago. Only 100 copies exist worldwide, all personally signed by the poet," Nagao explained. "I hope you enjoy it."
Nagao had gone to great lengths. The gift couldn't be too extravagant, yet it had to show the ministry's respect.
"It's a very thoughtful gift," Chu Zhi said, genuinely pleased. "By the way, Nagao-san, are you a Huainan expert?"
"Not exactly an expert, but I've read all his collections. Every volume's a marvel," Nagao said. "The Japanese edition sold 341,000 copies on the first day. I had to put in a lot of effort to get this collector's edition."
The Ministry of Education in Japan covers culture, education, and science combined. Nagao, as general affairs chief, could make requests nonstop, but there's a difference between knowing and actually delivering.
"That's incredibly rare. I don't have anything to return, but here's a preview of my new album. It won't release for another two months, so please don't laugh," Chu Zhi said. His assistant immediately pulled out the album.
The preview lacked cover art—a simple black case. That's exactly the point. The most appealing part? It's two months ahead of the global release. Even someone indifferent to music would feel the thrill of early access.
With greetings done, Nagao, a senior bureaucrat with an official car, left. The driver carefully navigated the Tokaido 53 Stations route—a costly experience even in Shibuya.
Staying overnight at Narumi-juku exhausted Nagao even more, but that's standard when handling such luxury; he wouldn't dare skip the official hospitality allowance.
For curious readers: the Tokaido 53 KTV has 53 rooms named after the ukiyo-e stations.
"Going home," Nagao said suddenly.
Huh? Did a big tengu just spit out the moon? The driver didn't ask questions and turned toward Setagaya.
Nagao opened the album case. The disc inside was plain black with a single number "3." He didn't know much about music but guessed it was for the producer. This was likely the third album.
Setagaya is an old wealthy district in Tokyo, favored by the older generation. Young people prefer Kichijoji.
Doorbell rang. His apartment, over 100 square meters, saw Nagao adjust his tie and sit back in the car. His face was flushed from alcohol, though he'd sobered up.
About two minutes later, his daughter Kaho, in her twenties, came to open the door with obvious annoyance.
"Why are you back? Didn't you say you had a dinner gathering?"
"I got a gift. You'll probably like it," Nagao said. He didn't know if his daughter liked Chu Zhi, but at her age without family burdens, who wouldn't?
"Oh." Kaho turned back inside, showing no excitement.
Her relationship with her father was poor. In childhood, he had indirectly caused her mother and grandmother's deaths.
"This is the album…" Nagao started, but she cut him off.
"I know." She took the album upstairs without saying another word.
Nagao sighed, as if trying to exhale all remaining alcohol from his body.
He wanted to fix his relationship with Kaho, but something felt off. He called the driver. The seasoned driver smiled knowingly; it was finally time to use the hospitality allowance properly.
Kaho tossed the gift casually onto her bookshelf. She didn't expect anything worthwhile from her father.
Her room was tidy, dominated by train models of all kinds: Galaxy, Shinkansen, E233 series, complete with tracks running around the room. She studied systems control at Tokyo Institute of Technology.
Near the large bookshelf were technical books and several Chinese classics. Although she studied science, her Chinese language skills were excellent.
Kaho flipped through a comic, her only interest being Ohmsha Study Manga. Today she felt annoyed. "You'll probably like this," her father had said, and it rubbed her the wrong way.
The album cover was black, without title or artist name. She guessed it was an experimental concept, likely punk-rock.
She put it in the DVD player and took a deep breath to calm herself.
DVDs are rare among Chinese youth, but Japan still held onto discs and even VHS. Blu-ray and DVD are still crucial for anime merch profits.
The first song, The Only Flower in the World, MV.
[Performed: Chu Zhi
Arranged: Chu Zhi
Composed: Chu Zhi
Lyrics: Chu Zhi]
Kaho's eyes widened.
A song by Rong-san? She wasn't a fan, but Chu Zhi's music had accompanied her through the hardest times. She was certain this was new.
"This is Rong-san's unreleased album?" She searched online. Preorders were mid-December; details hadn't been released yet. She'd gotten early access thanks to her father.
"Three… could it be called Three in Japanese?" She murmured. "Dao gives birth to One, One to Two, Two to Three, Three to all things… what a meaningful name."
Looking at the black case, she appreciated the minimalism. No distractions meant no preconceptions.
A soft melody and gentle voice washed over her.
🎵 "It's okay not to be first, each one is unique."
"Flowers line the shop, each in its own way."
"Though tastes differ, every flower is beautiful."🎵
The lyrics resonated. She hated her father, not because of the childhood tragedies, but because he once dismissed her, saying, "Kaho is a girl, she can't contribute to the country. What's the use?"
🎵 "When the flowers bloom, none compete; they stand proud and tall."
"So why do humans compare?"🎵
The warmth in the music felt like a winter hand warmer, comforting and sincere.
🎵 "Even though everyone's different, why crave being number one?"
"Yes, we're all the only flowers in the world…"🎵
So beautiful, Kaho whispered. The most beautiful Japanese song she'd ever heard.
After over half an hour, the album finished. She decided to give family a chance and talk to her father.
Knocking on his door—no answer. No shoes at the entrance. He'd gone out again. Frustration surged, and she returned to her room.
Separated, Chu Zhi and Nagao later checked the bookstore's reception of The Way the World Ends.
"Over ten o'clock. I wonder if any bookstore's still open."
Chu Zhi found a 24-hour branch of the popular Tsuruya chain.
"What's this new thing?"
He decided to lay low, avoiding more traffic jams and recognition.
"Tomorrow," he said, returning to the hotel.
===
1. Original Song Title: "Moskau"
Artist: Dschinghis Khan
2. Original Song Title: 克卜勒 (Kèbǔlè)
Artist: 孙燕姿 (Stefanie Sun)
3. Original Song Title: 处处吻 (Chǔchù Wěn)
Artist: 杨千嬅 (Miriam Yeung)
4. Original Song Title: 回到拉萨 (Huí Dào Lāsà)
Artist: 郑钧 (Zhèng Jūn)
5. Original Song Title: 蓉城 (Róng Chéng)
Artist: 赵雷 (Zhào Léi)
6. Original Song Title: 君が好きだと叫びたい (Kimi ga Suki da to Sakebitai)
Artist: BAAD
7. Original Song Title: 淋雨一直走 (Lín Yǔ Yīzhí Zǒu)
Artist: 张韶涵 (Angela Zhang)
8. Original Song Title: "C. Chill. Thi" - This is the official stylized title.
Artist: T-Rush (featuring Sir.Thad)
9. Original Song Title: 伤心的人别听慢歌 (Shāngxīn de Rén Bié Tīng Màn Gē) - "Don't Listen to Slow Songs If You're Heartbroken"
Artist: 五月天 (Mayday)
10. Original Song Title: "Revolution"
Artist: The Score
11. Original Song Title: 으르렁 (Eureurong) - "Growl"
Artist: EXO
12. Original Song Title: 跳舞的梵谷 (Tiàowǔ de Fángǔ) - "Dancing Van Gogh"
Artist: 孙燕姿 (Stefanie Sun)
13. Original Song Title: "Ich will" - "I Want"
Artist: Rammstein