The Hokkaido Uplift Concert had laid bare Chu Zhi's massive reach. But it was not without its downsides. The major drawback? It overshadowed the fourth episode of Journey Among the Stars.
In that episode, the Marvelous Warrior Team demonstrated seamless chemistry, and Chu Zhi appeared as Koguchi Yoshihiro's guest at the concert. The content was strong, but viewership ratings hit an all-time low.
Clicks, comments, livestream chat, online chatter—everything cratered. How could it compare to Chu Zhi's own stage? Even appearing alongside Koguchi on another stage seemed pale by comparison.
"Producer Che, here is the new budget proposal," assistant Xiao Tang handed over the documents, speaking cautiously. After two years working for him, Xiao Tang knew Producer Che's nature well: everyone's a brother when things go smoothly, but when they go south, who's left?
Still, he had to try. A friend of his at iQIYI had finally scored a small independent project—but the budget needed approval from Che Lun, iQIYI's vice president and head producer.
Che Lun reviewed the budget quietly. Twenty minutes later, he signed and said, "Looks good."
This was typical. Despite his tough reputation, Che Lun never let emotion intersect with work. If it was good, it passed.
Xiao Tang was surprised. He expected a grilling, but instead found calm acceptance.
Before the storm, there is always calm.
"Anything else?" Che Lun asked, noticing Xiao Tang was still lingering.
"Well, our Episode Four rating…" Xiao Tang began. Then cursed himself inwardly—why bring it up?
Of course, it was dumb.
Che Lun waved it off. "Episode Three featured 'Brightest Star in the Night Sky' and that concert from Central TV. Two big events. It's no wonder Episode Four dipped. But Episode Five, earthquake response—Chu brother saving people—we've held that offline for two weeks. That will bump the ratings."
Calming the assistant, he added, "No need to worry. Just focus on your work."
"Yes… yes, understood." Xiao Tang departed, relieved at being spared scolding.
Che Lun returned to planning Journey Among the Stars. Japan was off the table—too much bad luck. He mused about filming a survival special in a remote wilderness, then quickly dismissed it.
"We need another country," he told himself. Italy or France would be beautiful but expensive. Sponsors were still backing them—that's why he stayed calm.
He asked the team, "Is there a country that feels like Europe but costs less?"
They answered: Russia.
Russia could offer exotic visuals without the European price tag. Plus, it gave better production value.
Che Lun smiled. "Chu brother speaks Japanese. Maybe he can learn Russian too?"
They debated locations. Finally landed on Saint Petersburg—the artistic capital, home to ballet, fine art, classical music and the world's top academies.
He pushed the team into action. With Episode Five covering earthquake rescue, they had no buffer. It was go time.
Outside, the weather reflected their urgency. Light rain with wind in the morning, pouring down by afternoon. November was ushering in its season.
At Yuehua Entertainment Co., the atmosphere was heavy. Sixty percent of staff wore sullen expressions. Two of their top stars had been poached by Dahua Entertainment. The two companies were embroiled in conflict.
Still, Gu Beisheng showed no signs of distraction. Reviewing his album's sales report, he saw strong numbers: over 40,000 physical copies and 140,000 digital sales in the first 24 hours.
"Those are good figures," his manager, Mian Tiao, reassured him. "But if not for being overshadowed by Chu Zhi, you'd have sold an extra ten thousand."
Beisheng shook his head. "I can't blame Chu Zhi. My music did well—but not well enough. Next album, I'll push for growth."
He forgot the favor Chu Zhi had done for him. Sometimes revenge did not need fireworks. Chu Zhi wanted Dahua to fail slowly, not collapse overnight. So the board couldn't just dump the company and run off wealthy. That's why he sabotaged them subtly over time.
Any rival giant can be worn down.
Chu Zhi had quietly orchestrated a slow decline for Dahua—breaking their boy-group GZ, targeting their stars, causing stock prices to slip, forcing them to sell off subsidiaries and absorb loans.
Even Hunan Mango TV felt the ripple. One of their cameramen said, "I just don't like Chen Nan."
"Why?" asked a new production assistant.
"Not because of who Chen Nan is—but he's from Dahua Entertainment. You know Chu Jiu?" said the cameraman.
"Chu Jiu?"
"Top star Chu Zhi. Because he has PTSD, he drinks before performing to ease stress. They call him 'Chu Wine,' but he doesn't drink much, so they also call him 'Chu Nine.'"
"Why Nine?"
"It was just his audition number. When you succeed, people write legends about you," the cameraman explained.
Wanting to avoid confusion, the assistant asked, "Is Chu Zhi okay?"
"Chu Jiu's mental health isn't great. He takes a lot of medication every day…"
"But they clarified he's off meds now with doctor's approval," the assistant interjected.
"Clarifications are PR moves," the cameraman said. "How can you go on stage without meds or drinks?"
The assistant paused, considering the truth in that statement.
"He's suffering because of Dahua," the cameraman added. "So I don't like their artists."
The assistant nodded. "Oh, so you are a Chu Zhi fan."
"Not a fan by choice," he said with a laugh. "Chu Jiu treats crew well. He calls our names, buys tea for people—even though we don't always need it."
Not an easy path to take down a giant. But with Chu Zhi's popularity across Asia and his goodwill with staff, it was possible.
October 29. Fei-ge returned from Tokyo, luggage full of souvenirs. He handed out green tea biscuits, White Lover chocolates, Calbee oats, and pudding to about thirty studio staff.
"Why so many snacks?" Lao Qian asked. "Won't security think you're a domestic reseller?"
"First class baggage allowance is eighty kilos. I only bought forty. No one's going to question that." Fei-ge replied.
It was his quiet way of building connections. Many office skeptics now called him a "useful contrarian."
"Shiseido Japan wants to collaborate with Chu-ge," Fei-ge announced. "Aki, I gave them your contact."
Aki, Worm-bro, Little Horse, Big King—nicknames gifted by Lao Qian. Aki was new member Qi Qiu, who sneezed a lot; Worm-bro was the driver; Big King was Wang Yuan—the "queen energy" guy.
"Push the price higher," Fei-ge instructed. "I sent the standard fee list for Japanese celebrities."
"Thanks, Fei-ge," Qi Qiu replied.
Despite his stoic look, Fei-ge was thoughtful and efficient. Japanese endorsement fees—even top-tier stars—were capped around 75 million yen (around 4 million CNY). Korean stars earned more. Thai prices were lower.
Chu Zhi's domestic rates were huge thanks to China's market size and economic growth. If he didn't use that advantage and kept growing professionally, he'd be missing out.
"Both Japan and Korea are good for endorsements," Qi Qiu murmured. "Boss Chu is top tier domestically."
He was a fashion agent and recognized his boss's move. Chu Zhi already had four Korean endorsements and five image deals; in Japan he had one official endorsement and one with Shiseido, plus three image partnerships.
"Nice to be on board with Boss Chu," he thought. The prospects were huge—even if a bit terrifying.
China gave him no more room to grow as a superstar. Once you hit the ceiling, too much confidence can lead to mistakes. And going too far as a celebrity could mean irreversible backlash.
But Japan and Korea offered room to expand—and a real chance to make history.
Aki's thought was slightly off track. The goal wasn't simply fame in Asia—it was to own fashion resources. Grabbing major features in men's magazines, securing high-end brand deals—that was next.
Aki had misread the situation. The team's real goal was not just fame in Japan and Korea—they needed to secure fashion resources. Fashion deals, magazine covers, big-league endorsements—that was the true target.
All day, Chu Zhi focused on the fashion world, fitting in extra appointments even though his schedule was tighter than usual.
His office buzzed all day. By night, returning to his minimalist home—a single bed in a small space—he was wired.
Yes—the place was a bachelor pad. Though orderly, no one lived with him. A true "dog's den."
Today he had walked the Bazaar Super Influencer runway. Afterwards he politely declined multiple peer invitations, earning two achievements:
Appeared barefaced in public once = 120 Personality Coins
Turned down peer invite twenty times = 5 Personality Coins
"I promised—I'd draw from the reward pool when I reached these achievements—let's go!" He queued the blind-box draw.
Rewards:
Peacock Dance Mastery
Oddity: WPS Master Cookie
Master of All Indian Languages
Song Voucher ×3
Album: After Tomorrow
Album: Hot Hits
'Hot Hits' referred to Leslie Cheung's album, an old favorite, with memorable tracks still replaying in Chu Zhi's mind.
He did not want the album prizes. He already had many copies and didn't need more After Tomorrow either.
Mastering Indian languages was useless to him. Peacock dance? He associated that only with Yang Liping's legendary version.
The WPS Master Cookie intrigued him: it let a person become WPS. Type mentally and sync to your phone. Fancy—but a bit absurd. Definitely a novelty for writers or programmers.
Song vouchers were useful. With three coupons, he had backup for urgent song production needs.
He reached in again: "Xiang Xiang Pill," a scented pill—worthless. The pill cost three coins on sale but cost five to draw. He lost two coins.
"Bad luck day." He paused with nine coins left.
The pill smelled faintly floral. He popped it in and sniffed. Nothing. The system explained: the scent was so light only others could smell it.
That was fine. He checked tomorrow's schedule—jam packed, but a break from 15:00 to 15:40. Perfect timing for a badminton match.
Since Tokyo, Li Huai had encouraged Chu Zhi to revive old hobbies. Every week he spent time on them—and even Fei-ge had no objections this time, fed up with Chu Zhi's previous workaholic ways.
Once tasks were done, Chu Zhi slept early. His discipline surpassed most students—he had no weekend off.
Results spoke for themselves—not just in his bank account, but in influence. His actions carried weight.
Backstage at the Mall Gym
"Zhan ge, what's this schedule? Snatched hard, huh?" asked Zhou Yuyi, a new trainee at Taiyang Chuanhe Entertainment. He was 19, in junior year, a top-16 contestant on a singing show, and seeing his manager eyeing a spot got him curious.
"Good fruit's coming your way," Zhan ge patted him.
"What?" Yuyi looked confused.
"Means you're in luck. I know you were praised for basketball, swimming, badminton—your younger brother is on the provincial badminton team, right?"
"Uh—yeah. My dad pushed sports over art. I played school basketball, swam, and practiced badminton with my brother," Yuyi explained.
"Great, great. Your good times start now," Zhan ge smiled. "Don't play too seriously—this guy's giving you a boost that's worth two or three years of training."
Yuyi knew Zhan ge phrased good things oddly—"good fruit," "you're smiling in the underworld"—partly accidental, partly deliberate. But being introduced to powerful friends made him happy. He swore to hold back, give his best, and let the big shot shine.
Soon they flew to Shanghai's exclusive gym—privacy was the luxury here.
Yuyi began to panic. Was he here for business? He was a singer, but did not want to be tied to anything shady.
Then he heard a warm voice behind him.
"Zhan ge helped, right? I just want to play—not looking for a coach."
"Meet this guy. Your opponent—his physique's strong." Zhan ge gestured.
It was Chu Zhi. Yuyi practically bounced with excitement.
"Chu ge, I'm Zhou Yuyi. I love your music—it's top tier." Yuyi beamed.
"Thanks," Chu Zhi laughed. "If you love my music, don't make me look bad in this game."
"I won't—I'll give my best," Yuyi promised.
Zhan ge glared at the excited rookie—for once, over the top emotion.
"No problem. We were already in the area," the manager added.
"Warm up, Yuyi," Chu Zhi said. "Let's start soon."
He changed quickly, did a brief warm-up—and the game began.
Yuyi meant to give it his all, but once he saw who his opponent was, he began to coast subtly. His skill was solid—but Chu Zhi barely broke a sweat.
After thirty minutes, Chu Zhi yawned.
"Thanks—for not pushing too hard." Chu Zhi smiled.
"Uh, I didn't…" Yuyi stammered to explain.
"But it felt good. Let's play again next week—push me more," Chu Zhi said.
"Sure—definitely," Yuyi agreed quickly.
"You're a rare strong presence in entertainment," Chu Zhi added as they left. That compliment lit Yuyi up for the rest of the day.
"How was it—worth the cost?" Zhan ge asked Yuyi later.
"Absolutely," Yuyi replied. "I know Chu ge's influence. Being friends with him is huge. Look at Gu Beisheng's example—his career took off after Chu Zhi praised him."
He added, "Chu ge is so nice. They say he's even better off camera."
Ironic—Chu Zhi usually picked someone random to spar, or asked Driver Qiu to help. But this time, someone approached Chu Zhi, and the spot became a gold ticket.
They headed back to work. November brought a special opportunity: Chu Zhi was negotiating to become a Double 11 (Singles' Day) endorser. But competition was fierce—and no decision by November 2, when contracts were usually finalized months earlier.
Vip.com, Suning, Dangdang dropped out early. That left Pinduoduo, JD, and Tmall. JD offered 30 million yuan for a week-long campaign with five videos and a dozen portraits. Pinduoduo offered 35 million yuan, plus Chu Zhi singing one Pinduoduo-exclusive song—about seven million yuan per day. Tmall offered 32 million yuan but demanded appearances on Taobao Night and extra shoots.
Pinduoduo led in offer size—high stakes, high payoff.