Tan Lu shared a room with the new guest, Chef Lan and Kun Yun shared another, leaving the last room to the big goofball Zhou Dakong and Chu Zhi. The Mushroom House actually had three more guest bedrooms, more than enough to house additional guests. But for the sake of show content, having them share rooms made for better TV.
"Brother Jiu, what book are you reading?" Zhou Dakong asked curiously.
"Dongguan Han Ji," Chu Zhi replied. "This edition is collated and proofread by Professor Wu Shuping."
"What kind of book is that?" Zhou Dakong tried to search his memory. He had never heard the title. He peered at the book and saw pages full of classical Chinese:
[Emperor Xiao'an, given name Hu, was the second son of King Xiao of Qinghe. As a child, he was intelligent, perceptive, kind, and generous. He was tolerant, loving, and enjoyed acts of charity…]
"It's part of the Twenty-Four Histories, alongside Shiji and Han Shu. You must've heard of those, right?" Chu Zhi said.
Even if Zhou Dakong had never actually read them, any Chinese university student had at least heard of the Twenty-Four Histories.
"Dongguan Han Ji used to be listed with Shiji and Han Shu as the Three Histories, though it later faded from attention after Hou Han Shu came out," Chu Zhi continued. "I've read all the Twenty-Four Histories, so now I'm reading other historical texts. Guo Que, Tongjian Jishi Benmo, and Dongguan Han Ji are all quite good."
Zhou Dakong didn't understand much, but figured any book ranked alongside Shiji had to be impressive.
Watching his roommate read so seriously, Zhou Dakong suddenly felt out of place. Desperate to keep the conversation going, he asked, "Brother Jiu, you really like reading history books, huh?"
"Don't you think people who understand their own country's history are cool?" Chu Zhi replied. "Learning from history gives us perspective. I think that kind of person is really awesome."
Cool? Zhou Dakong had a head full of question marks. If someone else had said that, it would've gone in one ear and out the other. But it was Chu Zhi—universally recognized as extremely handsome. Hearing him say that made Zhou Dakong feel like picking up a history book himself.
"No wonder Brother Jiu could write songs like Chrysanthemum Terrace, A Thousand Miles Away, and The Unspoken Sutra." Zhou Dakong seemed suddenly possessed, or perhaps fired up with adrenaline. He sprang up from the bed.
Standing on the mattress, one finger pointed toward the ceiling, he declared, "Starting today, I'll read history every day! If I give up, may lightning strike me five times—!"
"Whoa whoa whoa, no need to go that far," Chu Zhi quickly cut him off.
Since they shared a room, lightning strikes were a threat to innocent bystanders. The blameless Chu Zhi had to intervene.
"Ow, my back…" Zhou Dakong groaned, lying back down. He asked, "Brother Jiu, you worked harder than me today. Isn't your back hurting?"
"Nope," Chu Zhi answered honestly. He had activated his Sick Leave Persona filter.
"Alright then, I won't interrupt your reading." Zhou Dakong turned over and started mumbling softly to the camera so as not to disturb his roommate.
"No way his back doesn't hurt. Back in Season 2, even Brother Yunfeng was exhausted after an afternoon harvesting corn. Brother Jiu must just not want others to worry."
Zhou Dakong muttered toward the camera. The "Yunfeng" he referred to was Shi Yunfeng, a new-generation action actor.
Even a week's worth of footage could be cut down to 120 minutes, or 150 for the extended version. When guests were alone, they rarely got much screen time.
Despite his goofy appearance, Zhou Dakong was clever. His strategy was to frequently comment on other guests—those bits almost always made the final edit.
Chu Zhi didn't need to change his routine for the show. Studying three to four hours a day was already above average.
Meanwhile, in the room shared by Kun Yun and Lan Wuyi, a quiet off-camera conversation was underway.
Longtime viewers of Back to the Countryside would know that these two rarely appeared on the "resting in room" footage. That's because they were also producers of the show and often needed to discuss things privately.
"The network assigned us a special task," said Kun Yun.
"What kind of special task?" Lan Wuyi replied with visible irritation. He was emotionally attached to the show and didn't want anything interfering with its ratings.
"Centennial anniversary of the Party," Kun Yun said.
"Oh, that's fine then," Lan Wuyi responded immediately. "What's the plan? Invite veteran guests?"
Many old veterans weren't well known to the public, but held high Party status.
For instance, Lan Wuyi's father-in-law had joined the Capital-Peiping Student Anti-Japanese Drama Troupe in Jinling and led the third anti-Japanese performance team, acting in many resistance plays.
"No need to invite anyone new. The network and Central Propaganda think we already have the perfect guest," said Kun Yun.
"Who?" Lan Wuyi asked in confusion.
"Chu Zhi is the orphan of two martyrs," said Kun Yun. Seeing the disbelief on Lan Wuyi's face, he added, "I only learned this today. His father was a firefighter, and his mother a police officer. Both died in the line of duty. He was raised by his grandfather from a young age."
"A double martyr family…" Lan Wuyi's expression darkened. "And yet he was pushed to the brink of suicide? Is the entertainment industry loyal to the Party or to capital?"
"Please calm down," said Kun Yun. "I was just as shocked. On top of that, I found out that his grandfather passed away two years ago—during the time he was being falsely accused."
Lan Wuyi clenched his brow. Nearing 50, with a college-age child, he viewed Chu Zhi as a polite, likable junior. Learning about his past erased the happiness he'd felt all day.
"That's why the authorities want this episode to make it clear: Chu Zhi is someone the state officially honors. He's not someone just anyone can bully," said Kun Yun. "His song The Chinese People was selected for the centennial tribute and even received an excellence award."
"So we're supposed to reveal his background on the show?" Lan Wuyi cut straight to the point.
"By naming him as a double martyr's descendant, the government gives its backing. Any capital forces that try to mess with him…" Kun Yun began.
"Stop, stop, stop. Let me guess, next you'll say, 'It's for his own good,' right?" Lan Wuyi interrupted. "If there's nothing online about it, that means he doesn't want people to know. We have no right to expose someone's privacy under the guise of doing it for their benefit."
"I agree with you," said Kun Yun. "But if we do reveal it, it would offer enormous protection. Especially after his patriotic remarks and calling out Adidas directly, exposing his background would at least make those people behave."
"I'll think about it," Lan Wuyi replied.
The price of fate's so-called gifts had already been marked. The original version of Chu Zhi had paid in full.
The moonlight was sparse, and the stars faint. At midnight, Zhou Dakong yawned, "I'm out. Gotta sleep."
"Good night. I'll sleep after finishing this page," Chu Zhi replied.
"Don't stay up too late, Jiu-yé," Zhou Dakong said.
Chu Zhi had been reading all night. Zhou Dakong found that incredibly boring—he'd go crazy if it were him.
Luckily, Zhou Dakong could fall asleep in three minutes flat. High-quality sleeper.
At 2 a.m., Zhou Dakong was deep asleep. Outside, the camellias stayed awake.
Chu Zhi finished his studies for the day, translated Phoenix Tree Rain into Japanese and Russian, and resisted the urge to chat with night-shift cameraman Da Jun, since Yearning didn't allow guests to interact with crew.
But Da Jun made a mental note to report it to the producers in the morning.
"System, I have a question," Chu Zhi said mentally while putting away his book.
[Go ahead, Host.]
"If I activate my Sick Leave Persona to simulate major depressive disorder, will I have constant nightmares, or will my Dreamy Chocolate suppress them?"
This body had textbook depression—complete with physical symptoms, especially sleep disorders. If not for the Dreamy Chocolate, nightmares would be constant.
"I mean, if I simulate major depressive disorder, will nightmares override the Dreamy Chocolate?"
The system seemed to consider this rare question for a few seconds.
[Host may manually adjust weight values.]
"Beautifully done. That's why you're the best, my system bro. You never let me down," Chu Zhi praised lavishly.
After all, kind words were free.
"Activate Sick Leave Persona to simulate severe depressive sleep disorder—nightmare type. Set weight higher than Dreamy Chocolate and Dead Pig Pills," Chu Zhi commanded internally.
Sleep disorders come in different forms—trouble falling asleep, light sleep, or recurring nightmares.
Chu Zhi didn't even need to exaggerate. Just faithfully displaying this body's original state was enough.
"Things look grim. But the fact that I'm still alive thanks to fan support… even I feel a little moved," mused the Emperor Beast.
The Chinese-speaking internet, especially the Little Fruits fandom, was deeply concerned about Chu Zhi's depression. This yearly pain-drop was part of fan culture—only once a year, just as promised.
Tonight was the drop.
After washing up and lying down, Chu Zhi quickly drifted into sleep—though "dreamland" was far too kind a term. It was more like hell.
It was a lucid dream. Chu Zhi was aware he was dreaming but felt his body sealed inside a glass coffin, like a plastic mannequin. He couldn't move.
Worse, he couldn't speak. Not even to argue or curse back.
All he could do was listen to countless voices say,
"Why is he here again?"
"So annoying. He doesn't deserve to be a celebrity."
"I feel sick just seeing his face."
"He's probably got a one-page family register."
"His parents must regret not smashing him against the wall."
Chu Zhi tried to focus on their faces, but in the dream, no matter how wide he opened his eyes, he couldn't see them clearly. They stood in the sunlight—on the moral high ground.
Malicious gossip was like poison. Even the rational Emperor Beast could barely endure the abuse in this lucid dream.
His only escape was to wake up. Chu Zhi focused all his will on waking.
Eventually, the dream shifted. The glass coffin was placed on a rooftop and thrown off.
Crash!
The moment it hit the ground, he woke up—escaped from hell.
"Gasp… gasp…" Chu Zhi panted like someone who'd nearly drowned.
No wonder some depressed patients would rather die than fall asleep. Nightmares truly felt like a trip through hell.
"This was worse than any dream I've had before. So, was it because my mental state improved when I crossed over, which lessened the nightmare intensity?" Chu Zhi asked.
[Yes.]
He'd had nightmares right after transmigrating—even without any magic items—but those were nothing compared to this.
His heart pounded painfully. Chu Zhi had always thought he was an emotionless Emperor Beast. Turns out, even his heart could ache.
The noise he made didn't wake Zhou Dakong, who slept like a rock.
Cameraman Da Jun had already left the room after Chu Zhi fell asleep, but the camera continued recording in night mode.
Chu Zhi, dazed, checked his phone. It was 3:30 a.m.—barely an hour of sleep.
He got up to drink some water and calm down.
[Host, would you like to deactivate Sick Leave Persona?] the system prompted gently.
"Not yet," Chu Zhi replied internally.
Tonight wasn't peaceful in China, nor abroad—especially in Japan. As the saying goes, a triple star beside the moon is an omen.
Chu Zhi continued filming Back to the Countryside 4 as usual, while over in Niigata Prefecture, the Fuji Rock Festival at Naeba Ski Resort had just ended after four and a half days of performances. Videos were uploaded to Yahoo and YouTube.
The official Fuji site had all the audio files—more than a hundred live tracks across eight stages in just a few days. The festival's value lay in this sheer volume. Even people unfamiliar with rock would tune in.
Audiences came from South Korea, Thailand, Vietnam, and more.
[First in music fest history—Chu Zhi, five-stage sweep!]
[If tonight has a name, it's Chu Zhi!]
[Fuji Rock welcomes music genius Chu Zhi! Ooh-la-la boom!]
Sound dramatic? That was just standard Japanese marketing. These lines were plastered across the official homepage.
It confused many new viewers. Most didn't even know what "sweep" meant.
No worries—the site had an explainer.
Organizer Hojo Koshi's strategy was clear: if your opponent is strong, losing doesn't look bad. By hyping up Chu Zhi, they could actually boost the festival's prestige.
The website even listed his performance history and competitor profiles.
Name: Chu Zhi
Nicknames: Music Overlord, Human-Fairy Cat Ragdoll, Human Suicidal Breaker, Rock Star Hero, Brother Jiu, Jiu-yé
Identity: Asian solo debut megastar with over 100 million global fans. His Japanese EP Slightly Looking Forward to the World broke domestic mini-album records. His Korean EP After the Clouds Clear broke South Korean records. "If records are meant to be broken, why not by me?" says Chu Zhi.
Style: Master of multiple genres—rock, jazz, pop. Creator of an entirely new musical style beloved by over a billion fans. Asia's most exceptional musical genius.
Even some Little Fruits wouldn't dare praise him like this. And that quote about records? Total nonsense.
But thanks to Hojo Koshi's PR efforts, Chu Zhi's fame spread across the Asian rock scene.