On the morning of the award ceremony, Chu Zhi's plane finally touched down at McClane International Airport.
"Brother Chu, are you feeling especially tired?" Xiao Zhuzi asked as she put away the neck pillow and lumbar cushion.
"Not really, it's not a big deal," Chu Zhi replied.
"Flying to Las Vegas is more exhausting than flying to Los Angeles," Xiao Zhuzi explained. "Las Vegas is farther away, so the flight's two hours longer."
Makes sense, and there's no arguing with that. Chu Zhi said, "If you're really tired, don't wander around the hotel. Rest well, there'll be time tomorrow."
Aiguo's company had a well-organized plan for business trips. Personal assistants flew business class, and the performer Emperor Beast flew first class. On planes without business class, first class was the default. If one had to compare, economy felt like a crumpled tissue after a dozen hours of sitting, while business class was like folding that tissue into a neat block.
"Got it," Zhuzi nodded. She wanted to explore the gambling city but knew poor energy would affect her work. The award ceremony started at seven, and assistants had some prep to do.
Also arriving on the plane was Huang Yinguo, who turned off airplane mode and saw messages from Xu Xiang. The hotel check-in was fine, and the route from the airport was already arranged.
As Chu Zhi left the terminal, he noticed a commotion at the gate. Fans were waiting for someone.
There was no doubt that Western entertainment had entered commercialization earlier. These fan pick-up scenes were highly practiced. Without even asking, it was obvious the chaos was caused by a recently debuted star, probably a Grammy Best New Artist nominee.
McClane Airport was busy already, and the Grammy drew even more travelers, making the crowd denser.
Huang Yinguo drove through the streets of Las Vegas. Contrary to the glitzy, golden image in films, that was just downtown. The suburbs were very poor. Without state intervention, wealthier cities often had surrounding slums. Las Vegas couldn't even be called slums—some people slept on the streets.
After ten minutes, they entered the high-rise area and noticed two peculiar things.
One was young women standing by the roadside, constantly greeting passing drivers. The other was street performers at intersections; stop for a moment and someone else would instantly demand tips.
They arrived smoothly at the MGM Hotel. The first thing that caught the eye was the iconic lion statue outside. MGM, built by Hollywood's Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, had a lobby modeled after The Wizard of Oz, full of film elements. MGM even offered a five-dollar coupon on their website without conditions.
"Mr. Jiu, is this Mr. Jiu?"
While Xiao Zhuzi handled check-in, Chu Zhi replied to texts on his phone and then heard that call.
Was that for me? Chu Zhi looked around as a round, soft figure rolled closer.
The voice introduced itself: "Mr. Jiu, I'm Milwaukee, a Christian and Buddhist. I'm a host, and I really love your songs. They're so heartfelt, they calm people. I even went lighter on my kid last time I punished him."
Hmm… so many odd points, Emperor Beast didn't know where to start.
"Hello, Mr. Milwaukee," Chu Zhi tentatively said. "It's better not to use physical force on children."
"Mr. Jiu, you misunderstood. My kid is a husky. It always makes a mess of my house," Milwaukee explained.
Ah, a husky. That makes sense—you can't hit them or they'll wreck the place even more.
Milwaukee asked for an autograph, and Chu Zhi signed the back of his T-shirt with a marker. He could clearly feel the broad, solid back beneath his hand.
While they chatted, Xiao Zhuzi finished the check-in.
"I'll head up first," Chu Zhi said.
"See you soon," Milwaukee replied.
A quick check on his phone showed that Milwaukee was a kind of Hollywood legend. His name indicated Native American heritage. Despite recent protests against discrimination, Native Americans were still among the lowest social strata in the U.S., though some privileges existed, like Thanksgiving's origin.
Milwaukee was naturally overweight, yet he became one of Hollywood's most famous hosts. Considering the entertainment industry's bias against fat people, let alone a Native American, his achievement was incredible.
"Some people really can win with a bad hand," Chu Zhi thought, silently praising him.
Chu Zhi stayed in a two-bedroom sky loft. MGM had rooms from a few hundred dollars a night to five figures, because anyone could gamble, rich or poor.
He quickly steamed his clothes, especially tonight's suit. Last time in Lagos, Nigeria, sleeping in the kids' room was an accident. Most of the time, he took the master bedroom while Xu or Huang took the second.
He set out toiletries, shampoo, and shower gel per Wang Yuan's instructions. Not because he was picky, but hotels' products might irritate hair or skin, so it was better to be cautious.
It took over an hour to get everything ready.
"Want to play a bit?" Chu Zhi asked Xiao Zhu, "I'll give you a thousand yuan, call it a business trip perk."
He wanted to check it out too, never having been to a Las Vegas casino in either life, but his bodyguard Xu Xiang advised against it. Xu and Huang would only offer suggestions unless danger arose—they didn't demand obedience.
Zhuzi, tempted, hesitated, imagining people losing everything gambling. She couldn't risk her thousand yuan.
"No!" she refused firmly.
Chu Zhi didn't push. Actually, he already regretted suggesting it—how could he let someone gamble with his money?
"Think before you speak," he told himself silently.
Zhuzi returned to her room at the end of the third-floor left corridor, passing other assistants struggling with three to five suitcases each. She felt lucky her artist wasn't so troublesome. She'd heard some Western stars had to carry bedding everywhere.
By afternoon, MGM was swamped. Eight reception desks couldn't keep up, and the security system was overloaded. Any commotion only grew with the crowd.
"There are so many stars today!"
"I just saw Fabbeser."
"From Dayo's Fabbeser."
"That's nothing. I saw Susan Kilnan, my goddess."
"Where's Horman? I didn't see him, his album's nominated too. Am I late?"
"I hope Lombardo wins. I've listened to his new album over and over this year."
Fans even jostled for autographs. Celebrities didn't linger, not because of attitude but to avoid stampedes.
Security struggled to maintain order. Red barriers collapsed under the crowd.
Two-thirds of the fans were Western, as the Grammys were a Western award, while the remaining third were mostly Chinese, not Little Fruits but wealthy, curious Chinese who liked the spectacle.
Like He Yi, who had been watching Death Valley's moving stones in Nevada, and flew over when she heard about the Grammys.
"I wore sunscreen but still got darker!" He Yi lamented, regretting her trip to the blazing, dull Death Valley.
"Why did I eat so much and go look?"
Her idea came from years of watching American TV, where Death Valley's moving rocks were always described as magical. In reality, it was a smooth, algae-covered mud layer; the slightest wind moved the stones.
"Ahhhh!"
She heard cries and joined reflexively, tiptoeing to see a protected singer. Slightly overweight, in a stretched suit, wearing sunglasses, she couldn't recognize who it was. She wasn't a fan and only knew the hottest actors; she didn't recognize Horman, and clearly, it wasn't him.
"Excuse me, are you Chinese?"
A voice in English asked. She turned to see a Middle Eastern or North African woman.
"Who are you?" she asked cautiously. Always protect yourself abroad.
"I'm Pantea, from Iran. I just arrived. Sorry to bother you, I have a question."
In Persian folklore, Pantea was the most beautiful woman in the world. This Pantea wasn't exaggerated, but very pretty, and He Yi didn't mind beautiful women.
"What's your question?"
"Has Moonrose arrived?" Pantea asked. "I'm a fan."
Moonrose? Who's that?
Seeing her confusion, Pantea explained: Moonrose was the Western nickname for Chu Zhi.
The nickname had two origins. First, it literally meant "China Rose," apt for his beauty. Second, Moonrose was also the name of a cultivated flower called "The Ninth Angel," echoing his angelic voice, angelic actions, and being ninth in China.
Ah, so Moonrose was Chu Zhi.
He Yi concluded that "Ninth Angel" was likely forced reasoning. The nickname was simply because Chu Zhi was gorgeous, Westerners weren't good at nicknames.
Chu Zhi knew, of course. Singing under the gun's gaze, a "core prop of psychological magic," he had earned numerous Grammy nominations. Amazing!
"I just got here too," He Yi said, and she squeezed forward with Pantea. Even if not a fan, she couldn't resist seeing Chu Zhi up close.
If the MGM lobby was a pot, the guests were dumplings filling it to the brim.
The lobby could handle a thousand guests, but today it was several times over. Some came just for fun. MGM temporarily opened the lobby bar for check-ins.
By six in the evening, the sunset bathed the city. Half the crowd panicked from losing money, half the street glowed red from the carpet leading to the entrance.
Click, click, click.
Reporters pressed shutters, while fans screamed behind high fences. Tonight, performers wore haute couture from Dior, Armani, Chanel, and more, while fan cheers sounded the battle horns.
From his tours, Chu Zhi knew Western crowds were more expressive. European and American concerts had far more fainting fans than Asian ones.
Screams pierced the air, reaching a peak as Chu Zhi appeared.
"Moonrose, we love you!"
"Look over here, baby!"
"Jiu-yé!"
"Holy shit, this man's even hotter than me!"
It was so exaggerated that even reporters in front felt temporarily deafened, stepping forward unconsciously.
The Mu Chire-designed outfit was for the red carpet, not daily wear. Though a suit, the materials and colors were unique. The collar usually had silk satin, but this suit had faux-deer satin for environmental reasons.
The cuffs differed from normal suits, featuring a simplified Great Wall embroidery, looping from wrist to shoulder, ending in 13cm by 4cm shoulder pads.
Shoulder-carrying the Great Wall, invincible in the world!
Chu Zhi liked the outfit, plus a wig reaching his waist tied with a ribbon, matching the double-breasted white shirt with an open collar, blending Chinese and Western aesthetics.
He waved to fans but left the carpet quickly. The barricade leaned inward when he waved, and the nearby security struggled to maintain order.
For a moment, he considered more fan interactions for headlines, but stopped. Safety first, and his popularity didn't require such stunts.
At the signing wall, he left his autograph and met the previous red carpet performer, Susan Kilnan.
Susan, the lead dancer of the late-90s group Why.not.smile, had thrilled audiences with energetic performances. USA Today called her every pore "radiating sexy charm."
After over a decade, she produced many albums, earning the title Dance Queen among 90s American youth.
"Meeting Mr. Chu Zhi for a photo is a small surprise," Susan said.
They posed for a photo at the signing wall.
Female stars usually outshone male stars on the red carpet. Chu Zhi's high personal beauty stood out, but even so, Susan's thigh-high slit black dress drew attention.
The ceremony was in MGM's largest theater, seating three thousand. Chu Zhi took the front-row seat.
Next to him, a male singer spoke first.
"I've seen countless news reports, always wanted to meet you. Mr. Chu Zhi, you're the only genius in pop music history," said Lombarton, in his forties, a country singer and guitarist from Houston's poor district, a representative of the country-rock revival.