Otaru had become famous across Asia thanks to the film Love Letter, and its lead actor, Takashi Kashiwabara, had once captured the hearts of countless young women. Director Shunji Iwai had turned the quiet ache of a one-sided crush into visual poetry.
But in this alternate world, Love Letter didn't yet exist. Not yet.
Even without cinematic fame, Otaru drew its share of visitors. As the port city of Sapporo, it was known as the "Wall Street of the North," and because of its prolific glass exports, often called the "Hometown of Glass."
The cast of "Hero's Journey" checked into Ryotei Yukiku, a scenic inn close to Mount Kenashi and the hot springs and ski fields. The accommodations were a far cry from last week's Charité Hotel in Jozankei, with each room averaging over 30,000 yen per night.
Three suites. Two people per room.
Cai Jia and Zhang Ning paired up, Luo Jianhui shared a suite with Min Jeongbae, and for once, no one contested that their leader, Chu Zhi, should enjoy a single room—at least until the guest star arrived. Not even Cai Jia, who always wanted her own space, raised a fuss.
Filming in the countryside proved far smoother than last week in downtown Sapporo, where the crew had run into complications—though the production team solved most of them on the fly, keeping things on track.
Chu Zhi took the variety show seriously. After setting down his luggage, he immediately began surveying the area. It was basic reconnaissance—know the terrain, avoid the traps.
The infrastructure was decent thanks to tourism, but it was still the outskirts. Isolated. Sparse buildings surrounded the inn, most of them wooden. From the outside, Ryotei Yukiku looked more like a cluster of giant warehouses than a resort.
"What's that sound?"
Chu Zhi paused. It sounded like a wolf's howl.
He followed it around to the back courtyard of the inn, where he found—
"Awooooo!"
Min Jeongbae was facing Mount Kenashi and howling at the top of his lungs. There wasn't any real reason. Maybe it was the sight of the vast ocean, or the dense forest. It just made him want to howl.
Hundreds of birds scattered into the sky.
"Birds vanish across ten thousand mountains, and no footprints mark ten thousand paths," Jeongbae quoted in awe. Then, noticing Chu Zhi nearby, he grinned. "Boss, did you see that? That was my spirit in action!"
"Wanna give it a try? It feels amazing!"
"Powerful!" Chu Zhi gave him a thumbs-up. "I'll pass, though. Take care of your voice, Min Hyung."
Yelling like that was definitely a good way to blow off steam. Chu Zhi had already guessed that no one could play the class clown in films, shows, and real life without having their own pressure to bear. Min Jeongbae's howl said a lot. He wasn't carefree, not really.
But—Chu Zhi wasn't unhappy. He had no emotions he needed to vent.
So he kept wandering, disappearing around a corner. Min Jeongbae watched his leader's back, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"So closed off. More than I thought," he mused.
People who never complained or let anything slip could build themselves into fortresses. But it was exhausting.
Min Jeongbae knew that better than most. Many comedy legends suffered from depression. Making people laugh often came from painful roots. Charlie Chaplin, for instance, had been sent to an orphanage at twelve and struggled at the bottom of society for years before finding success.
Behind every joke, there was usually a tragedy. Min Jeongbae had long relied on medication. His biggest fear was, "What if the audience doesn't find me funny anymore?" That fear pushed him to give everything, whether in variety shows or on film.
He'd seen the news and thought, "Chu Zhi is probably like me."
But the man he'd mistaken for a kindred spirit was already finishing a full loop around the property. Without having to give up his phone, he was easily hitting 10,000 steps. Enough to get into the top 20 in his social step-count leader-board.
As always, the production team had a "surprise" lined up on arrival day. This time, the cast had to visit four spots—Chari River Park, Chari Beach, a local shrine, and Chari Central Park—to retrieve items.
It sounded serious.
[Last time you captured the Plum Blossom Thief. But he faked his death in collusion with the constables and escaped prison. Hurry to the following four locations to collect the evidence of his crimes.]
"Boss, this time we're splitting up. You're not stealing the spotlight again," Cai Jia declared. "Don't even think about fighting us for it!"
Maybe it was because Chu Zhi had dominated the previous missions. This one was deliberately simple, just physical—run here, fetch this, get tired.
"The four locations are just four or five kilometers apart. You hang back and coordinate. If anything happens, we'll call you." Cai Jia was firm about it.
Moved by the leader's constant effort, the team had all agreed with her proposal. Chu Zhi deserved to rest.
"My legs are itching to move!" Min Jeongbae stretched into a squat, full of energy.
Zhang Ning flashed a confident smile. "This is nothing. Don't worry, Xiao Chu."
Luo Jianhui just grunted softly. That was enough.
"I'll be waiting for the good news," Chu Zhi accepted without resistance. "By the way, we've got 170,000 yen left in group funds. Everyone take 20,000 yen each—money makes things less stressful."
Their cash reserves had grown through street performances, tips, last week's ramen shop promo bonus, and even the change jar Jeongbae sold at a second-hand shop.
The production team had bought that jar for 68,000 yen as a giveaway prize. Jeongbae had sold it for 30,000 yen. They had no choice but to buy it back for 50,000.
The second-hand shop owner cried tears of joy for earning 20,000 yen overnight.
The opening mission was exhausting, but the four handled it well. By the time they returned to the inn, it was already 9 p.m.
Their reward was a massive dinner. After much protesting from the cast, the staff had finally ditched the kaiseki-style cuisine. Tonight was all Western comfort food—pasta, steak, baked rice—meals that actually filled you up.
Chu Zhi had arrived in Otaru that afternoon and had eaten alone for breakfast and lunch, already going over his daily carb limit. The dinner was perfectly timed. If he was going to overdo it, he might as well do it properly.
Cai Jia and Zhang Ning ate little. They were watching their weight. But then, everyone turned to witness a miracle.
Two pastas (one tomato, one pepper cream), two steaks (300g each), and an assortment of snacks—egg tarts, chicken wings, fries…
"Bro! I'm calling you bro now. We may have worked hard today, and we said we'd eat well, but isn't this a bit much?" Min Jeongbae hurried over to stop Chu Zhi, worried he'd overeat and hurt himself.
"This is pretty normal for me at home," Chu Zhi said, a little embarrassed.
"Huh?" Jeongbae gave him a look. "You serious?"
"Dead serious."
"For real?"
"For real!"
And then Chu Zhi ordered a slice of cake for dessert.
"...Captain, you eat like this and don't gain weight?" Cai Jia asked seriously. "Who's your trainer? Please, you have to introduce them to me."
She was eyeing the cake with hungry eyes, practically green with envy, but she had already gained three pounds from yesterday's weigh-in. No more indulgence allowed.
"Trainer?" Chu Zhi tilted his head. "I just follow a basic routine, nothing special."
"That's it?" Cai Jia looked like she might cry. "If I could eat like you, I'd be drinking milk tea twice a day."
To eat that much and still stay slim—who could even argue with that? Luo Jianhui also had a big appetite, but he was definitely putting on a bit of weight.
Night fell. The moonlight spilled halfway across the rooftops, the Northern Dipper hung low in the sky, and the Southern Dipper tilted slightly.
The cicadas sang outside, and the soft rustling of insects drifted through the green curtains.
At 3 a.m., just as Chu Zhi was about to sleep, he suddenly sat up in bed. He had forgotten something—he hadn't gone to the hot springs.
He had skipped it back in Jozankei too. Since the show was footing the bill, soaking again meant he was getting his money's worth. That was Min Jeongbae's logic from dinner: "If the wool's there, shear it."
"Director Lin, you should go soak too. You guys carrying the cameras work hard." Chu Zhi tossed the suggestion casually.
As long as Chu Zhi didn't start climbing mountains, cameraman Kobayashi figured this was already merciful.
There was no filming during hot spring time. For one, the show didn't film nudity. And for another, Chu Zhi's body was worth far more than what they were paying.
"This is actually kind of nice," Chu Zhi murmured, relaxing into the steam.
Just then, he heard some commotion outside. He was nearly done anyway, so he quickly got out and stepped into the hallway. Staff members in wooden clogs were scrambling back and forth in a panic.
"What happened?" Chu Zhi asked.
"Mr. Min passed out in the hot spring. He soaked too long," one crew member said, panting.
"...Huh?"
That's a lot, but maybe not necessary, Chu Zhi thought. He quickly added, "Is he okay?"
"He's alright. Just stayed in the water too long and got lightheaded. We've got a medical team on standby 24/7, so no need to worry, Mr. Chu."
"Good to hear." Chu Zhi nodded.
Soaking for too long to save money... that's commitment. It could be dangerous though, especially for people with low blood sugar or high blood pressure. Most hot springs have emergency buttons for a reason.
Chu Zhi returned to his room. Next door, Min Jeongbae was sprawled out like a ragdoll, clearly drained. His expression was that of someone whose soul had just left his body.
"That should be funny enough for the edit," he thought.
No one knew—not even Chu Zhi—that Min Jeongbae had deliberately pushed himself for the sake of the show.
When he was thirteen, Jeongbae's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. The pain was constant. Once, he saw her cry from it. He responded by pulling faces and cracking jokes just to make her laugh.
"The way little Jeong told jokes and made those silly faces... it really cheered me up."
That's what she told him.
Anyone with basic medical knowledge knows that breast cancer doesn't hurt in the early or middle stages. Once it becomes painful... it's advanced.
That experience left a deep mark on Jeongbae. He believed his greatest value in life was making others smile.
Everyone carries some kind of burden. The most composed people often have the deepest waves hidden beneath the surface.
The missions in Otaru were tougher than in Sapporo—perhaps the production team had figured out how to better manipulate the guests after two weeks of data gathering.
Over the next two or three days, each of them walked at least 20,000 steps daily. Zhang Ning was so done she didn't even bother hiding her frustration anymore.
"They're brutal," Chu Zhi muttered, glancing at his flip phone. "I've walked over four kilometers today."
True to their usual strategy, the production team made full use of Chu Zhi's Japanese skills by assigning him extra tasks. That included welcoming the show's guest star.
Journey Among the Stars had only aired two episodes, but it was already a national sensation. Naturally, the popularity of its guest stars was soaring. This time, the special guest was Zhou Guowu—a new face among the top-tier celebrities.
A week earlier, Penguin News had released a detailed chart of the "Most Searched Celebrity Keywords on Public Platforms." Sitting comfortably at number one was none other than Chu Zhi, with a landslide lead.
The new Top Five were: Lin Xia, Wu Tang, Su Yiwu, Li Fei, and Zhou Guowu.
The old era slogan—"Wu at the head, Chu at the tail, Yi soaring like the clouds"—was now a thing of the past. Wu Tang, Su Yiwu, and Li Fei were still in the running, seasoned veterans aging like fine wine.
Two glaring gaps appeared in the data. First, Chu Zhi's mentions on blogs, news, and social media totaled more than those of the second and third places combined. Second, the drop from fifth to sixth place was so steep that no one beyond the top five could be considered comparable. Hence the new "Top Five," not six.
Li Xingwei had fallen out of the top ten. Shen Yun barely made ninth, but he was a state-backed actor known for patriotic films, a completely different category. Chu Zhi wasn't just popular, he had crossed into another realm.
It had been two and a half years since the last "Wu at the head, Chu at the tail" rankings. In entertainment, that's nearly a generation. This round, Lin Feifei had finally risen to the top, and Zhou Guowu was riding high on the success of two blockbuster dramas.
"Hello, Mr. Chu. I'm Zhou Guowu." The guest greeted politely.
~ "I want to shine like the stars, even if no one sees me fall." ~
Zhou Guowu added, "You're my role model. I hope to become a great artist like you someday."
Unlike Yang Xinbo, Zhou Guowu's enthusiasm felt a bit too polished—almost artificial—to the seasoned veterans around.
"You're already very talented," Chu Zhi replied with a friendly smile.
The two exchanged the usual pleasantries and flattery.
"So it's all about acting sweet and gentle to win fans, huh?" Zhou Guowu scoffed inwardly. "Who couldn't do that?"
He had carefully studied why Chu Zhi attracted fans so easily. A big reason, he concluded, was the way Chu Zhi treated his team—with kindness and loyalty. That personality won hearts.
As a guest star filming for only three or four days, Zhou Guowu figured he could easily fake gentleness long enough to out-charm Chu Zhi.
Win more fans. Out-charm the master of charm. He was confident—he was an old hand at juggling multiple relationships. Being sweet was his forte.
A king of smooth talk versus the sweetheart king himself. Let the games begin.
They made their way back together, traveling from Shinko Station to Boyodai and then walking another two kilometers. Zhou Guowu insisted on carrying his own luggage, another show of faux sincerity.
Then suddenly, from the roadside, a green blur leapt out.
Dressed in deep green, with a matching facemask, the figure looked like a man-sized praying mantis.
"Hey! You, the leader of the Hero Squad Elite! If you've got guts, come with me. Alone!" the masked figure shouted, then darted away.
"Uhh..." Chu Zhi had a lot he wanted to say. He just didn't know where to begin.
What kind of ridiculous plot development was this? And why was he supposed to follow? If this weren't a variety show, he would never bother.
"Mr. Chu, I remember from the show that we have phones, right? Could I borrow it to call the others? I'll find the hotel myself," Zhou Guowu said considerately. "Don't let me hold you up."
"Sure." Chu Zhi didn't argue. He quickly explained how to use the show's special phone, then turned and chased after the mysterious figure.
As Chu Zhi disappeared into the distance, Zhou Guowu turned his attention to his real goal—charming Zhang Ning. He dialed her number.
"Zhang Ning... A national first-class actress. Twice nominated for the Cannes Best Actress award. Head juror at Tokyo, Shanghai, and Warsaw film festivals. Respected at home, internationally recognized... absolute power player." The facts rolled through Zhou Guowu's mind.
Once the call connected, he spoke cheerfully.
"Hello, Ms. Zhang. I'm the guest star, Zhou Guowu. Our team leader had to take care of something. I'm about a kilometer or two away, so if you could just tell me the way, I'll walk over."
About half an hour later, Zhou Guowu arrived at the Ryotei Kuramura Inn. Like the others, he had a character sheet:
Zhou Guowu
Affiliation: Star Tower's most promising outer disciple, naturally gifted. Mastered the ultimate
technique: "Game of Infinite Variants."
Skill: "Strategist's Insight" [Can predict behind-the-scenes details of one mission.]
"Seems useful," Cai Jia muttered, considering.
"I don't really know how these variety shows work," Zhou Guowu said, "Just tell me when to use it and I'll follow your lead."
Compared to last week's guest Liu Pei, who had zero sense of entertainment and left everyone confused about his skill even after the recording ended, Zhou Guowu was clearly more prepared.
He stayed humble, joked around, and quickly bonded with everyone except Luo Jianhui, who tended to be reserved. Luo Jianhui preferred people like Chu Zhi—quiet and respectful, but always reliable when it counted.
It was already mid-October in Otaru, the air crisp and chilly. Running around worked up a sweat, but the breeze made it biting cold.
Chu Zhi finally reached the green-masked figure and received a side quest. He felt both hot and cold, tired and wired, and headed back toward the inn. He was only about 500 meters away when—
[ALERT. ALERT.]
[Danger detected. Move to the open area 50 meters to your front-left immediately.]
[Execute evacuation now.]
"Huh?"
Chu Zhi froze. He had never heard the system's warning tone sound so urgent.
"Dangerous source? Open area?" His mind raced.
A phrase flashed through his mind—landslide?
No time to think. He bolted toward the open field. As soon as he got there, the system marked it as safe.
"What now? Why the sudden sprint? Could someone spare a thought for the poor cameraman?" That was all Kobayashi could think as he struggled to keep up.
Then, the world shook.
The ground roared like a dragon waking beneath the earth. Chu Zhi nearly lost his footing. Kobayashi, focused on filming, did fall—but instinctively raised the camera as he hit the ground.
Bang!
A dull crash echoed. Stunned, Kobayashi staggered up. Chu Zhi grabbed him and hauled them both behind a solid concrete barrier.
What the hell—it's not a landslide, it's an earthquake!
Chu Zhi instantly understood what the system had been warning him about. The buildings were the real danger.
City centers had better seismic standards. Out here in the countryside, not so much. He could already see some of the smaller structures swaying like teetering stacks of mahjong tiles. Then—crack, crash, collapse.
The county road split open. The left side sank, the right buckled upward. Houses crumbled like sandcastles.
Kobayashi was frozen in place. He knew earthquakes were common in Japan but never thought he'd be filming during one. "Was that really an earthquake?" he asked, shaken. "If I hadn't followed you..."
"I just felt uneasy and decided to take a break in the open," Chu Zhi offered vaguely.
"Too close. Too dangerous." Kobayashi was trembling. "We need to call emergency services. What about the crew?"
"We'll call them, but we're not at the epicenter. Let's check the news," Chu Zhi said, scanning the devastation.
Kobayashi took out his phone. Thankfully, there was still signal.
October 18, 2020, 2:13 PM: A magnitude 5.9 reverse-fault earthquake struck Hokkaido's Ishikari District at a depth of 28 km.—Reported by the Hokkaido Meteorological Agency, two minutes ago.
"Ishikari... where is that?" Chu Zhi asked.
"Just 20 to 30 kilometers from Otaru," Kobayashi said, showing the map.
A 6.0 is considered a major quake. A 5.9 at such close range—still very serious.
"System, is the earthquake over? How long until the aftershocks?" Chu Zhi asked mentally.
Tangshan had lasted 25 seconds, Wenchuan over 100. Ishikari wasn't as strong—maybe under 10 seconds. But aftershocks could come within an hour, a day, or a month.
[Next aftershock expected in 28 hours.] the system replied.
Safe for now.
Anonymous donations counted as achievements. Saving lives surely did too. With 28 hours until the next shock, Chu Zhi made his decision.
"Kobayashi, stay here and wait for the rescue team. It's safe here. I'm going back to get Zhang Ning and the others."
"The inn looked sturdy... they might be fine?" Kobayashi pointed to the buildings still standing, clearly hoping Chu Zhi would reconsider.
It wasn't cowardice. It was fear. He had just witnessed the world splitting apart.
But seeing survivors—some crying, some wounded, some stunned—Kobayashi couldn't deny reality. The lucky ones escaped. Others might not.
"If they're safe, great. But if not, every minute counts. Zhang Ning, Jia-jia, Min-Hyung, the crew... they're still young. They have to be saved," Chu Zhi said firmly, heading back.
Kobayashi felt a jolt of shame. He was stronger, healthier, and trained. Yet Chu Zhi, whose body was often frail, didn't hesitate.
Anyone who dared badmouth Chu Zhi again... Kobayashi would personally shut them up.
He picked up his gear and followed.
Behind the scenes, the system sulked. It had only issued danger alerts to keep the host alive. Now, it was being used like an earthquake alarm.
[If saving people didn't count as an achievement, would you still do it?] it asked.
"Bro, the fact you're asking means it does. So no point pretending," Chu Zhi said, pushing forward.