"Excuse me, is this the Red Cross? I have a donation I want to make, and I hope we can discuss the details."
"I remember the French branch of Oxfam called me before. Let me find their number. The exact donation amount is still undecided."
"I just haven't paid enough attention to charity. Even when I want to donate, I sometimes don't know where to start."
The Grammy Awards at the MGM Hotel had ended, with MGM sponsoring the dinner, usually a luxury brand thing. Some singers attended, some didn't, and some left Las Vegas immediately. Still, many celebrities had the thought to do something good, and donating to charity was the easiest and quickest way.
"Fuck, why are you so slow answering the phone?" Horman had reached out to the California Fire Foundation, a well-known charity in the state. He'd tried the American branch of Vision International first, but it was too late, no one was answering.
The night-shift operator, Chuck, was used to this. Their foundation helped families rebuild after fires, after all. When homes are "stolen" by disaster, who could possibly be cheerful?
"Sir, may I ask your name? This is Chuck on the line."
"Horman. I'm Horman. I want to donate."
A donation, got it! Chuck immediately said, "Mr. Horman, may I ask how much you'd like to donate, and which method you'd like to use?"
"One million dollars," Horman said. "I want the fastest, simplest method. If the process drags, I might regret it and back out. Give me an account right now so I can transfer online immediately."
"…" Chuck paused, a bit stunned. First, a million dollars. Even with the global depreciation of the dollar, a million still had insane purchasing power. The Nobel Prize in Literature was just over seven hundred thousand dollars.
And then there was the part about regretting if the process is slow—was someone forcing him to donate?
"Mr. Horman, all donations to the California Fire Foundation are voluntary," Chuck clarified. "If you regret donating, we don't support refunds. Please make sure you're certain. If someone's pressuring you… I suggest calling the FBI directly."
"I've thought it through. My conscience is forcing me to donate. Speed it up." Horman was mad at the thought of losing a million, so another curse slipped out: "Shit, can you guys hurry up!"
Chuck noticed the familiar string of "fuck" and "shit," but now wasn't the time to dwell. Donations over a hundred thousand usually warranted a "donor assembly," and a million? That was huge. Chuck rushed the report and sent the foundation's account info.
Success!
For context, Chinese internet news often says if residents don't pay fire fees, firefighters won't respond. That wouldn't happen in LA or Manhattan, which have public fire budgets. Only small towns with a few thousand residents might experience it.
In short, the poor are screwed.
Journalists from The New Yorker were busy too, tracking which attendees had donated.
"Chu Zhi's song reminded me of my grandma. She always told me to do what good I can," a reporter said, watching the donation list. Already over ten million dollars had been pledged—hard not to feel emotional.
Media outlets like Q, Gramophone, Rolling Stone, and Billboard weren't idle either, interviewing winners. Everyone wanted Chu Zhi, tonight's biggest winner, but interviews weren't possible.
The live event was insane, but the internet frenzy outpaced it.
On YouTube and TikTok, Chu Zhi's performance was clipped and spread with ever more exaggerated titles:
"It took seven minutes to make the whole crowd ache, the great singer #Chu Zhi"
"[Jack Reviews] Playing this song during a fundraiser would be magical"
"I cried listening, how about you?"🎵
"[Anko Music Review] I won't even comment on the melody today, I dare not"
"Since pop music began, the greatest performance, bar none"
Some bloggers clipped the Grammy stage, calling it magical, others just couldn't comprehend it.
Anko, a well-known Western influencer and music producer, known for rational reviews, wrote:
[I want to know why Chu Zhi's voice can have this effect. I can analyze his technique, imitate his singing style, even mimic his pronunciation, but the performance effect is drastically different. I strongly believe Chu Zhi uses a singing method completely distinct from modern techniques.Furthermore, I suspect Chu Zhi has an incredibly strong adaptive system genetically. He smokes, drinks, and has other bad habits, but the only time he was injured was during a university lecture when he bled from his throat.This defies logic and science.I hope Chu Zhi can undergo a scientific exam—maybe it could advance human evolution.]
Anko could phrase things differently, but he chose the most provocative style, and the comment section exploded.
"I don't know if this blogger's joking or serious."
"Seriously making nonsense."
"I agree a bit. I covered Moonrose's song at karaoke—same song, totally different feel."
"No cover of Moonrose's songs surpasses the original, period!"
Anko replied, "Of course I'm serious."
Fans chimed in: "Anko, buy a plane ticket, don't try to touch Chu Zhi," "Moonrose spoils her fans, so she didn't show any vocal injuries publicly," "Chu Zhi has topped Forbes celebrity list for five years, he has great medical care," "Don't jump to conclusions based on results…"
Anko added: "I can give two more examples. One: he was previously shot—liver and lungs were injured. Recovery never allows perfect singing, but Chu Zhi not only recovered perfectly, he improved. Two: global tour performances often last four to five hours—singers know how demanding that is. Given all this, is he even human?"
Even with countless fans, Anko was adamant: Chu Zhi was a genetic anomaly, and he debated fiercely online.
Some shared the same suspicion—Aurora's dad, Vajim, outright claimed Chu Zhi was a vampire.
The New Yorker published a headline: "One song brought $240 million in global donations, with over 600 donors afterward" [image].
The list showed names, some small print indicated unconfirmed guests.
That's $240 million, at least! With 600 donors, each gave about $400,000 on average. For top Hollywood stars, not massive, but still insane.
France and the UK combined don't even donate that much annually to UNICEF, yet Chu Zhi did it in one night—a single song!
No wonder the British Prime Minister said via Reuters, "The microphone in Chu Zhi's hand carries more meaning for humanity than a nuclear bomb."
One mic, one miracle. Honestly, without The New Yorker's detailed report, it'd look like fake news.
Today America said: "UNHCR and UNICEF should hire him."CNN said: "Chu Zhi truly achieved 'all the world as one'—one song awakened countless acts of kindness."Fox News: "Chu Zhi, with five wins, was tonight's biggest winner; after this, all global charities owe him thanks."Newsweek: "Best gospel song, best MV, best rock song, song of the year, album of the year—we think the annual production award should also go to him."
No doubt, other Grammy winners were completely overshadowed.
By 2027, Chu Zhi won ten out of fifteen nominations, including song of the year and album of the year. Even if his total trophies didn't hit double digits, everyone knew the Grammys were putting on a show. With only three foreign-language albums released, his record-breaking total was inevitable.
In other words, even if Chu Zhi never wins another Grammy, his musical status is untouched.
"If we got him to write a campaign song, would that create a miracle?" Steel thought, seeing the news.
Chief of Staff Delporto hesitated, thinking stars could only influence superficially, not in deep strategy.
But Chu Zhi… could make extremists put down guns or push people to donate. Unbelievable.
"If he helps compose a campaign song, that'd be better," Delporto said.
"Try contacting his team," Steel replied. "He survived White House assassination attempts under our protection, so we have a foundation of trust."
Delporto stayed silent, then nodded firmly. "What's the cost?"
"Chu Zhi earns over a billion dollars yearly," Steel added, implying money wouldn't buy him.
Steel pondered and realized power could grant access, anything for reelection.
Politically aside, even if CCTV broadcasted it domestically, honestly, Chinese audiences didn't care much about the Grammys.
They didn't care about any awards ceremony, not even the Oscars.
By the time winners were announced, the US-China time difference meant Washington 9 PM was 9 AM in China—too early for office workers to slack, cultivation sects to sleep, and night owls to still be in bed. Chinese internet reactions were slightly delayed.
But the flavor was… unusual:
"Hands sore from holding trophies."
"Red carpet photos of Jiu-yé are insanely handsome. This man owns my heart."
"Last time at a florist, a flower caught my eye. The seller said it was a red tulip, symbolizing passionate love. I didn't buy it—because no tulip compares to brother Jiu's towel scent!"
"I used to be a blacklisted debtor, but after seeing this video, I suddenly have credibility."
"Hey upstairs, you better mean credibility, not…"
And so on.