"Brother Gou caught that in time and saved our team from a big problem," Chu Zhi said. "We're lucky there were no 'what ifs.'"
"Boss, what you said is just right," Lao Gou replied nervously.
After exchanging pleasantries and leaving the office, Lao Gou suddenly realized a major oversight: he hadn't passed on the boss's intent to the staff.
The boss told him the HomeApp issue was A‑level importance. Lao Gou assumed the atmosphere on Orange Home was so smooth nothing would go wrong, especially with him overseeing it. So he never informed the team—luckily Lu Ying spoke up first, or it would have blown up on social media.
Especially after the boss's later thanks ("We're lucky there were no what‑ifs"), Lao Gou realized that was more than just words. From Lu Ying's report, the boss sensed something was amiss, but didn't call him out—just gave him a graceful out.
With that, Lao Gou rushed to gather the app‑maintenance team to explain the A‑level importance of Orange Home.
"Hey, did Lu Ying go to brother Jiu's office just now to report?" Xiao Cha, standing nearby, asked quietly.
Lu Ying thought it was about gossip. But Xiao Cha whispered, "She must've stood close to brother Jiu. Was he handsome? I heard brother Jiu has a nice scent—is that true?"
Lu Ying realized her coworker was a fan.
"Didn't notice—but when I got close, his skin is incredible. I wonder what skincare he uses," Lu Ying replied.
Xiao Cha nodded emphatically. She'd joined this studio six months ago, not to chase a star—but seeing how Chu Zhi looked after staff, she became a die‑hard. When he hosted a dinner for employees two months ago, he personally saw everyone to their cars, leaving the hotel last—around 10:30 pm. Their table had broken around 9:30. Xiao Cha had come home, changed into running gear, but decided to stay. Ever since, she became a fan.
"Alcohol loosens tongues—but also reveals character. Even after drinking, brother Jiu stayed thoughtful. Anyone who's ever been drunk and still cared about others knows that speaks volumes," she said.
The morning sunlight felt warm. Work upstairs was easier than downstairs. Lu Ying and Xiao Cha could slow down sometimes, while Wang Yuan, Lao Qian, and others were overloaded.
"Brother Jiu's new album got both praise and sales," Lao Qian said. "He should hit the small goals."
"What small goals?" Qi Qiu asked.
"To get recognition from the country's four major music awards," replied Lao Qian, naming them in order: the national Music Top Chart, Global Chinese Music Top, Chinese Songs Music Festival, and the Southern China‑hosted Chinese Music Media Awards—all except the last have yet to be won.
Qi Qiu searched his phone. The first three are run by Xinhua (state), Eastern Media (Shanghai), and the Chinese TV Artists' Association—semi‑official. No wonder they're called the "Big Four."
"Brother Zhi is a bit behind in awards," Qi Qiu commented, "but this new album could sweep them."
Given song quality and album theme, doubting they'd win would be unfair. Lao Qian agreed.
Industry people may say awards aren't as prestigious as before—but they still matter.
Like Cannes' jury award—it's nice, but insiders know policymakers aim for the main prize. Music awards are similar.
"Back to serious matters." Qi Qiu handed over a document. "The Armani Men skincare endorsement is up for renewal at the same price…"
"What?" Lao Qian cut in. "Original price renewal? That's insane."
Armani was Chu Zhi's first luxury endorsement, paying 23 million yuan. Now, with Korea‑Japan markets and growing Thai‑Russian following, Chu Zhi's current single‑year rate nears 60 million. Renewing at the old rate? Ridiculous.
Lao Qian asked, "Any extra clauses?"
Qi Qiu replied, "They want him as global ambassador—for the first Chinese star to become a global Armani face."
On external promotion: Orange Home's launch, buzz from fans and Little Fruits, hit hot search two days straight. Two days later, they rolled out a "Hard‑to‑Sing Scripture Cover Contest", partnering with Qiekan, K‑Singer, Bilibili, TikTok, Huya, and Kuaishou. Major hosts on those platforms are participating.
"I don't know why I'm not famous—don't you?" said Qijiao Xiong, a mid‑tier celebrity with millions of fans. "I just need a chance to prove I can sing as well as anyone. My nose's a bit flat, eyes small, not tall or pretty—but my voice is strong!"
Xiong made his name with covers—using voices from SpongeBob or other streamers—but could never replicate Chu Zhi's feeling. After dozens of tries, he decided Chu Zhi sings with emotion.
"I'm destined to win the cover contest!" he declared.
But many other hosts and streamers struggled with "The Unspoken Sutra". It's got frequent key changes, dense lyrics, fast‑slow shifts, tough breath control. Even strong singers from Huya or Bilibili said:
"…Even singing Chinese, it hurts—you need great breath control. Feels like brother Jiu is showing off."
A major Kuaishou singer, formerly #8 on Happy Boys, admitted the intense phrase changes and tongue‑twisters make it brutal for live singing.
Although some say it's among China's toughest ten songs to cover—due to treble groups, sustained high notes, tricky lyrics—it's subjective. It's hard even for top cover artists.
Bilibili celeb "Xunge'er & Runtu & Cha": they succeeded singing the Spanish‑version!
But even then, they felt they barely scratched the right atmosphere.
Over the next week, dozens tried covering it. Some could limply finish—but none captured the wuxia fate emotion.
Some argued: the album might be studio‑tracked, not live‑mature. But Qi Jiao Xiong still thinks that if you record line by line, he could nail it.
Reality: Chu Zhi recorded the full song in one take after an afternoon's work—and he got it. When you can't argue with that…fact speaks.
"You laugh I wasted all my schemes / Chasing the mirage and its lovely disguise / Too afraid luck may fade in an instant…"