"This is infuriating—the dirty foreigners!" Xiao Qing fumed at her phone screen.
"What happened?" Professor Xiao grabbed his jasmine tea, unbothered as he prepared his draft.
"We used our Xingyun and Tengman accounts—" she began, then paused, adding an explanation since her father wasn't usually into fan circles.
"Think of Xingyun accounts like Chu Zhi's karaoke-room 20 million–strong ID pool," Professor Xiao finished calmly.
Xiaoqing stared—what was her quiet dad doing monitoring fan IDs?
She pressed on: "Domestically, these accounts go for ¥6,000–7,000 each."
"Not expensive," he noted. "Concert front-row tickets in the '80s and '90s were around that price."
"But lately, Seoul- and Tokyo-based accounts are bidding too," she muttered. "No chance at ¥6,000."
"Brother Jiu's fame in Japan and Korea is real," she continued. "But fans who don't even read Chinese—this is absurd."
Her father raised an eyebrow. "Does Weibo have an international version?" he asked, halting her.
Caught speechless, she simply watched.
Currently, the prices for those fan IDs were skyrocketing—
They'd need to find another way.
"Let's eat first," he said after a thoughtful pause.
"?" she stared. He never made plans like this.
"Crab Royal's on me"—he announced.
Grinning, she dashed to change into fresh clothes and makeup in just twenty minutes. Never underestimate a food lover.
While eating, Professor Xiao revealed his motive: he wanted Xiaoqing's help gathering data—only die-hard fans like her could get close to the real numbers.
Deep down, he worried about teen Little Fruits feeling undue stress. Chu Zhi's song "Proud Youth" inspired many—but what if some heard encouragement in his lyrics ("Even brother Jiu believed in me") and overpressed themselves with college entrance exams?
With results due in mid-June (around June 24th), time was short.
Beyond fan circles, impermanence loomed—just as the weather shifted from sunny to light drizzle above Rongcheng.
The Tri-National Pop Showcase — Rongchieng, Jinniu District
Chu Zhi and company arrived at the outdoor Music Park—built like an open eye with a translucent canopy. It was the region's premier festival venue.
This two-day China–Japan–Korea showcase had been relocated from Shanghai due to an incident in mid-May.
A towering welcome board read:
China–Japan–Korea Tri-National Music Festival
A major pop music event, co-hosted by CCTV, KBS & NHK, rotating every four years, aimed at fostering friendship and cultural exchange through music.
Chinese Delegation: Chu Zhi, Gu Peng, Yuan He, Wang Dong, Qi Daqiao. Pop, rock, folk, dance—balanced lineup, led by Yuan He.
Japanese Delegation: Izawa Iro, Kubo Todoren, Toyohara Shin, Toriyama Jirou, Fujiwara Keiki. No handsome idol like Koguchi Yoshihiro this time—team led by enka prince Toriyama Jirou.
(Enka—a traditional Japanese ballad genre—was niche in China, so Toriyama wasn't well-known there despite his fame in Japan.)
Kubo Todoren was Japan's rock prince. His name sounded odd in Chinese, but in Japanese, "人" (person), "土" (earth), and "門" (gate) were all pronounced similarly ("to"). So, names like Uzumaki Naruto, Namikaze Minato could just as easily be translated as Uzumaki Nato, Namikaze Minto.
Toyohara Shin was known as Koguchi Yoshihiro's rival, after a car accident injured his face and shifted public attention overnight.
Korean Delegation: Jeon Ajeong, Lee Yongjun, Kim Ryuhak, Byun Jaejung, Nam Junmo.
Lee Youngjoon and Kim Ryuhak had previously participated in the Hokkaido Encouragement Song Festival, where they bribed their way to victory, ensuring their senior Seong Yoon perform before Chu Zhi only to be eclipsed by him.
The team captain, Byun Jaejung, was a 63-year-old vocal monster dubbed the "Throat Beast" by the media.
Korean conservatives still favored older performers, choosing experience over youth—showing no sign of progress despite promises of giving younger artists more chances.
Yesterday, June 11th marked the first day of the showcase, with visitors and artists from Japan and Korea flooding into Róngchéng.
"Guest ratio 4:4:2—is that fair for tourism?" asked coordinator Dayu.
"Why not? Tickets are ¥2,000 RMB each; out of 20,000 seats, even Koreans and Japanese attending boost the economy," countered stage director Jing Yong. "Tourists add spending power."
"But the audience vote determines 'most popular' award. With only 4,000 locals vs 16,000 foreign fans, we're at a disadvantage," fretted Dayu.
"Cultural confidence isn't built in a day. It relies on national strength—not one event's outcome," Jing Yong explained. "Like hoping for a World Cup semifinal—inspiring just to host."
Dayu remained unconvinced. Past festivals (2013 Seoul, 2017 Kyoto) saw hosts dominate voting. Why flip the pattern now?
While organizers managed logistics, deeper issues emerged—favoritism, regional biases, hidden agendas.
That evening, the Chinese singers—Yuan He, Gu Peng, Wang Dong, Chu Zhi, Qi Daqiao—gathered for a dinner in Tongzilin's Hope Road.
Captain Yuan He was supposed to treat—but shy Gu Peng covered the tab. He picked pricey hotpots to avoid mistakes: fresh abalone, fish-soup broth—locals expected spicy.
Two types of abalone: Dalian and New Zealand blue. Chu Zhi didn't care—just expected abalone, not quality critiques.
Gu Peng mused, "What am I singing tomorrow?"
"I wanted to perform 'Lugou Bridge,' but it got rejected," he grumbled.
The song's lyrics reference the July 7 Incident—unlikely to be approved for the festival.
"I wrote a folk-rock track called 'No Cringe Folk,'" he announced. "That's what I'll sing."
Chu Zhi, thanks to his music studies, recognized folk-rock fusion—reminiscent of Dylan's style. The term "acid folk" (folk with electric and psychedelic elements) fit perfectly.
Gu Peng's message? Live with clarity—no spiritual fog.
"What about you, Qi Daqiao?" Chu Zhi asked.
"That's under wraps—would ruin the surprise!" Qi Daqiao replied with a grin.
Wang Dong and Yuan He traded no words, quietly finishing their meals.
Tomorrow—June 11th—the tri-nation concert officially begins.