"I can beat esophageal cancer. I believe in what brother Jiu said: as long as I'm alive, good things will come my way. I believe it, because he said it."
"I don't like talking about myself. All you get online are strings of 'stay strong.' No one truly understands what you feel."
"Both of my parents were seriously ill at the same time. I'd be doing homework and suddenly feel chest pains or break down sobbing, my head aching unbearably. Relatives would just keep saying 'stay strong'—I honestly thought of ending it all. But brother Jiu inspired me with his actions. You don't drown by falling into water; you drown by staying there. That's why he keeps pulling people to shore."
"There are two sources of light in my life: Ultraman, and Jiu-yé."
"Now I understand this lyric from 'Once, I Also Thought of Ending It All': 'Because people like you exist, I started to look forward to this world, even just a little.'"
"I've really wanted to die. But I don't want to make my grandma and mom sad. When I was at my lowest point last year, it was Jiu-yé who saved me. He's my light."
Chu Zhi's social media comment section was flooded with over 100,000 messages within just five hours that morning. The top-liked comments were filled with pain and grief.
Society isn't just luxury influencers on Xiaohongshu or rich people flaunting their wealth. Nor is everyone earning less than 50,000 yuan a month a "loser" like some claim on Douyin. For many, life is a tangled mess of hardship.
And that's exactly what the comment section felt like: a place where countless fans said that Chu Zhi was their emotional anchor, their guiding light.
It might sound silly, relying on a celebrity as your emotional support.
But… if your family is in crisis, and that crisis bleeds into your own life—while you haven't yet stepped into society and have no means to fix anything—when you can't even find someone to talk to, and all your pain festers inside you until it becomes unbearable… is it really silly that a celebrity becomes your lifeline?
No. As long as it isn't illegal, any source of emotional support should be free from mockery.
Does it feel like a burden to be that anchor for so many people? Maybe it would to some. Carrying the hopes and lives of others is no light task. But to the actor who plays the Emperor Beast? It feels secretly thrilling.
Pressure? What even is that? For the Emperor Beast, acting is a passive skill. It doesn't tire him in the slightest. He's 100% confident he won't self-destruct.
"If I could be someone's lifelong emotional anchor… damn, that would be amazing," Chu Zhi murmured while scrolling through comments during the crew's lunch break.
He came across the second most-liked comment: a man whose wife had been diagnosed with depression over 700 days after her death. Many replied with comfort, saying things like, "Your child has already lost a mother. They can't lose a father too," and "Your wife would want you to keep living well." All the replies were well-meaning.
Chu Zhi, using his alt account "Big Orange," replied: [ I hope you choose to keep living. ]
After reading through the comments, Chu Zhi replied to about seven or eight messages before the crew started returning to the set.
"Mr. Chu, here's your lunch." The logistics manager, Mr. Liu, personally brought him his meal.
"Thanks, Mr. Liu," Chu Zhi replied.
"No problem at all! Mr. Chu, you're the backbone of our crew. The success or failure of the production rides on your shoulders," Liu said warmly.
This was what you called preferential treatment. Chu Zhi's meal box was filled with his favorite Chinese dishes. Even the lead actress, Song Minghee, got standard crew meals.
Even the person delivering the food was different. Liu just wanted more chances to talk with Chu Zhi and get on his radar—a chance to be remembered by an Asian megastar.
Chu Zhi was working toward completing the [High Carb Day *550] achievement. Finishing it would reward him with 10 personality coins. He could eat three lunchboxes a day. No one in the crew ate more than he did.
"Chu-ge's suffering… binge eating like this," muttered Xiao Zhuzi quietly while eating her own meal in the break tent, watching as the actor devoured box after box.
She thought to herself, "The internet was right. Chu-ge is really... sigh..."
Earlier that morning, Sister Wang had even called to remind her: "Take good care of him."
Stir-fried pork with fermented black beans, shredded pork in garlic sauce, and spicy rabbit with green chili. Three dishes, all gone in under forty-five minutes.
Then Chu Zhi headed to the designated smoking area. He started working toward another achievement. With a soft ding, he unlocked the [Smoking *2500] milestone, gaining nine personality coins.
His balance went back up to 19. It seemed like a lot, but once he finished customizing his album with 12 songs, 10 coins would be deducted. That left him with only 9 truly usable coins.
The system had gotten smarter—it now froze coins in advance. If it didn't, you could technically skip picking the final song and "borrow" those coins. But now they were locked.
He still had eight songs left to choose for his custom album. Glancing at the achievements panel again, the "King of Looks" and "Carb Lover" achievements were almost complete too.
"Haven't picked a blind box in a while."
First, a daily ritual. Chu Zhi opened the Orang Home app on his phone and used the built-in [Today's Fortune Card]—basically a fortune-telling mini program.
Why did Orang Home have something like that? Because [Today's Fortune Card] always gave good results. You literally couldn't draw a bad one.
Chu Zhi pulled a [Supreme Good Luck Card: Everything will go your way today. You'll shine brightly and attract good fortune.]
"A perfect day to open blind boxes," he told the system, initiating a prize draw.
[Voice of the First Emperor]
[Title: Grass, I Am Grass]
[Rare Item: No-Fear-Cold Jelly]
['It's Dawn' Prize Pack]
['Sparrow' Prize Pack]
[Special Grand Prize: Ray Charles' Musical Talent]
The "No-Fear-Cold Jelly" allowed the user to wear short sleeves even in sub-zero temperatures.
But... "Reduplicated words are cringe," Chu Zhi thought to himself.
The special prize caught his eye again: Ray Charles. Yet another music legend he hadn't heard of before. He did a quick search.
Ray Charles was once called "the only genius in the music industry"—a bit exaggerated, maybe, but he did invent soul music. That genre that Yang Guiyun always went on about—"soul."
Ray Charles didn't exist in this parallel world. In this version of history, someone else became the Godfather of Soul. But Charles' genius, as it existed on Earth, still translated through. Anyone who could invent a genre had to be top-tier.
The prize packs 'It's Dawn' and 'Sparrow' were also excellent. Han Hong and Li Ronghao's representative works. Especially It's Dawn—its lyrics were powerful, meant to be sung with deep sorrow. It could move an entire audience. That song also had a tragic origin—
In Guizhou's Maling River Scenic Area, a cable car once fell during operation. In that fleeting moment, a couple lifted their two-year-old son high into the air. When rescue arrived, the boy had only minor injuries.
🎵 "I heard a thunderous boom echo through the valley. It was that autumn—I would never again see my father's face…" 🎵
"This song is too emo," Chu Zhi muttered.
"Voice of the First Emperor again. Before that, there was the 'Voice of the Emperor.' That's two or three times now, and I still haven't pulled it."
He checked the rest of the prize pool.
[Grass, I Am Grass] was an epic-tier title. When worn, the user would grow more energetic under sunlight, just like a sprouting blade of grass.
"Let's do this. Time to pick a box."
Six prizes were shuffled into six identical boxes. The boxes spun wildly, completely indistinguishable.
Thirty seconds later, the spinning stopped. Chu Zhi picked one at random.
He opened it—blue light flared.
[Voice of the First Emperor]
Chu Zhi grinned. Honestly, he preferred this over the special prize. The "Voice of Despair" and "Angel's Gospel" were great too, but…
"To speak with the conquering voice that once unified six kingdoms? Now that's pure dominance." If he wasn't on set right now, he would've launched into Serve My Country With Loyalty on the spot.
After picking a blind box and taking a short break, it was time to resume filming.
When the day wrapped up, the lead actress Song Minghee approached him.
"Mr. Chu, do you have time tonight? Want to grab dinner together?"
"Sorry, I made a reservation at GAON two weeks ago," Chu Zhi declined politely.
"GAON? That's a famous fine-dining restaurant. It's hard to get a table. I hope you enjoy the meal," Song Minghee smiled and said they'd find time another day.
She had been acting alongside the man dubbed "the succubus who lures girls into darkness" by South Korean media. Naturally, she'd developed a crush. Song Minghee wasn't exactly superficial, but…
Chu Zhi, however, showed no sign of interest. Outside of the script, he kept a strict distance, with no intention of forming anything deeper.
Was Song Minghee beautiful? Absolutely. But so what? It didn't shake Chu Zhi's focus.
He had actually booked a table at GAON, Seoul's Michelin three-star restaurant. They claimed to serve authentic Korean royal court cuisine. He wasn't swayed by hype—he was just curious about what royalty actually ate.
While on the way to the restaurant, his friend Li Fei called him. He was also in Seoul.
Li Fei was one of the "Big One and Little Five"—the rising stars of the Chinese entertainment world. The "Little Five" were Zhou Guowu, Lin Xia, Wu Tang, Su Yiwu, and Li Fei. The "Big One" was Chu Zhi.
Some fans disliked the "Little" label, saying it sounded immature—like "little flower actresses"—and preferred the title "One Titan, Five Powerhouses."
They met up in Myeongdong. It had been a while. Li Fei now sported a buzz cut. Was he going for the rugged look?
"Jiu-yé, you've put me through hell," Li Fei said the moment they met.
Chu Zhi stayed silent, waiting for the next part.
"I've been trying to learn Japanese and Korean. My brain's about to explode," Li Fei groaned like a true academic underachiever.
"Huh?" Chu Zhi was aware that trainees were getting more competitive lately, but Li Fei was a top star back home.
Seeing his confusion, Li Fei quickly explained.
"Not hard to understand. Both my Japanese and Korean EPs sold over a million copies. Jiu-yé, you really are something. You've blown open the market. Back home, selling 200,000 copies is considered phenomenal.
After some discussion, my management decided we should shift some focus to Japan and Korea. Try to expand."
Not just me. Wu Tang and Shen Yun are here too," Li Fei clapped Chu Zhi's shoulder. "You sounded the trumpet for the Chinese Wave to counterattack South Korea."
The cultural pushback into South Korea was a great thing. But could they really rival K-pop idols? Even GZ boy band, whom Chu Zhi had utterly crushed, was still a top-tier force in Asia.
"All that aside, Jiu-yé, do you have any language-learning hacks? I'm dying here. It took me two months just to barely learn Japanese." Li Fei suddenly changed the subject.
Maybe he had bottled it up for too long. The moment they met, he unleashed everything. Chu Zhi didn't say a word.
"…Forget it. Let's just go eat first." Li Fei finally ran out of steam.
"Japanese and Korean are both tough to learn. You managed to pick up Japanese in two months—way better than me," Chu Zhi responded, easily picking out the one sentence that revealed Li Fei was just showing off. "With your talent, Fei-ge, a bit more patience and Korean will be just as easy."
"I'm hungry too." Chu Zhi took the lead. "Let's go. I've already reserved a spot."
A Michelin three-star restaurant wasn't necessarily worth the hype, but most of them required booking at least a week in advance. The only reason Li Fei had a reservation was that Chu Zhi had originally booked the table for Xiao Zhuzi. Since plans changed, he decided to treat a friend instead and save the date with Xiao Zhuzi for another time.
They made their way to the basement level of the Horim Art Center on Dosan-daero in Gangnam, where Chu Zhi and Li Fei sat down to a meal advertised as "Korean Royal Cuisine."
Starters: Raw marinated beef with lettuce wraps, fresh sea urchin sashimi, and chilled citrus-marinated crab sticks.
Soup: Creamy corn soup.
Steamed dishes: Abalone steamed in white wine and fish steamed in red wine.
Mains: A rice set with small filet mignon cubes.
Out of everything, the dish Chu Zhi liked best was the kimchi in the rice set.
Li Fei's meal was more or less the same. The dominant cooking methods were steaming, grilling, and boiling.
If this really was how Korean royalty ate, then their royal lives must have been miserable. And if it wasn't, then the restaurant was straight-up lying. Either way, Chu Zhi would not recommend the place.
At 380,000 won per person, it wasn't the most expensive meal ever, but definitely not worth the price. Fortunately, Li Fei wasn't picky. His stance on food was simple: as long as it's edible, it's fine.
After dinner, Chu Zhi dropped Li Fei off at his hotel. Since he was filming nearby, Chu Zhi had chosen a hotel close to the set, while Li Fei was staying at the Shilla Stay Seodaemun near Myeongdong—quite a distance away.
"No wonder Jiu-yé is so beloved by the whole fanbase. Being around him is more comfortable than being with my mom," Li Fei mumbled.
He'd grown up in a single-parent household and had lived with his mother ever since he became famous.
Back at his hotel, Li Fei didn't go to sleep right away. He had a short video call with his language tutor to study for a bit.
"Flying wore me out. Let's stop here for today," Li Fei said.
The tutor had no objections, and they ended the call. Li Fei had felt tired moments ago, but as soon as the call ended, he was wide awake.
Excuses always sound flawless to the person making them.
Li Fei knew full well how important it was to learn Korean quickly if he wanted to break into the South Korean market. But knowing something and actually doing it were two different things.
Tonight, Li Fei gave up. He sprawled out on the bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. His notifications bar was flooded with app alerts.
Baidu: "If all of life is suffering, then Chu Zhi is a piece of candy."
Quark Browser: "If thinking of others becomes a habit, is there still room for the self?"
Douyin: "I have a friend with severe depression. He's doing well. His name is Chu Zhi..."
Weibo: "Why Chu Zhi has become a psychological anchor for so many fans."
Duolingo: "Why is Chu Zhi fluent in multiple languages? Because he has a unique study method."
"All these notifications with Jiu-yé's name... And what's up with Duolingo? Even they're trying to cash in on the hype?" Li Fei muttered in frustration. He sometimes used the app to practice languages, but the notification title really rubbed him the wrong way.
He tapped on Baidu out of curiosity. The comments were full of things like:
"Jiu-yé is definitely candy, so sweet, I want to eat him!"
"Hehehe, Chu Sugar Sugar, hehe."
"A piece of sweetness in this bitter life."
"This candy makes my days just a little better."
On Quark, the fans were arguing. Some believed Chu Zhi should be more selfish and take better care of himself, while others argued that this selflessness was what made him who he was. The comment section was a battlefield.
"You're all fighting here, but do you think Jiu-yé is actually going to change?" Li Fei grumbled. He liked to think of himself as a rational person—someone who wouldn't lose his temper online.
A Weibo post analyzed why Chu Zhi had reached such heights. The advice? Keep expanding your knowledge, keep learning, keep trying. Even if you couldn't be a full Chu Zhi, you could at least become half of one.
Plenty of netizens agreed in the comments:
"Why do so many celebs crash and burn? A while back it was Li Xingwei's scandal with his girlfriend, then Zhou Guowu cheating with multiple people. Is it really that hard to be like Chu Zhi?"
"Not asking them to be totally selfless like Chu Zhi, but is it really that hard to be a positive role model?"
One by one, the commenters compared other celebrities to Chu Zhi. And none of them measured up.
"What the hell? Keeping up your knowledge and constantly learning is easy? Who are these out-of-touch idiots?" Li Fei exploded. His schedule was packed to the brim. Outside of Chu Zhi, who else in the entertainment industry had time to study every day? Unrealistic.
Still fuming, Li Fei bought a South Korean SIM card and created a burner account to argue with people online.
He didn't stop until four or five in the morning.
The next day, Li Fei had a meeting with SM Entertainment to discuss his Korean-language album. Meanwhile, Chu Zhi continued filming as Professor Bai.
My Love From the Stars would wrap in about a month, though Chu Zhi's scenes would be done in two weeks. As the saying goes, "No boss without trouble, no drama without a bug."
With China's top support player Liao Dazhong on his team, Chu Zhi figured even a dog on a leash could carry. Compared to that, his acting was at least better than a dog's.
Since Chu Zhi had to travel back and forth between China and South Korea, the production crew adjusted the schedule to concentrate his scenes. It was clear how much clout he had. Fame had its perks.
Once filming wrapped, Chu Zhi planned to treat the entire crew to a celebration dinner. He knew they were accommodating him because of his popularity, so a gesture of thanks was only fair.
Even after shooting wrapped one evening, Chu Zhi couldn't relax. He still had to head to SBS to record a song.
The show's theme song, My Destiny, was produced by Choi Ho, a well-known South Korean music producer and mid-level executive at the network.
"Mr. Chu, we're all confident in your singing. One of the strongest voices in all of Asia," Choi Ho greeted him with praise.
"Appreciate the hard work, Producer Choi," Chu Zhi replied as he entered the booth.
Recording began. Chu Zhi's vocals had reached a whole new level. With the combined talents of Farinelli and Cheng Dieyi, calling his progress "leaps and bounds" might be an understatement—but not by much.
Even without using any of his abilities, or triggering any vocal buffs like "Drunken Immortal" or "Perfect Voice," Chu Zhi was already a top-tier singer.
The first take of My Destiny could've easily been the final one, but to be safe, the production team recorded two full versions. The session wrapped in under an hour.
"Mr. Chu, ever been to Cheongnyangni 588? If not, we should swing by tonight," Choi Ho suggested afterward.
Whoa. Cheongnyangni 588—the most infamous red-light district in South Korea. Although it took a hit after the 2004 anti-prostitution law, everyone who really knew the scene understood that it hadn't disappeared. It had just gone upscale.
"I've got scenes to film tomorrow. I'll pass," Chu Zhi declined.
There were too many temptations in the entertainment world. Fortunately, the Emperor Beast was someone who knew how to stay in control.
During this phase of filming, both Netflix and SBS began promoting the show. Even though production wasn't finished, the hype machine had to start early.
Online headlines exploded:
"Chu Zhi's first on-screen kiss. Chu Zhi and Song Minghee form the ultimate screen couple."
"Live performance of the theme song—Chu Zhi, the on-set 'final boss,' showcases his musical talent."
"Netflix and SBS team up for the most anticipated K-drama of the winter."
"Over ten million fans across Asia—this is the drama you can't afford to miss this year."
South Korean media went wild, centering their promotions entirely around Chu Zhi. Understandably so—after all, they were paying big bucks for his star power.
On Naver Movies, the show's anticipation rating surpassed 190,000. Since every vote had to come from a unique user posting a comment, that kind of number all but guaranteed the show wouldn't flop.
Back in China, though Chu Zhi wasn't physically present, his name still stirred waves—this time in a government-led media meeting.
The venue was a modest one: No. 5 West Chang'an Avenue in Beijing. Those familiar with the city would know exactly what kind of place that was.
"This celebrity has seriously upright values," said Chief Editor Hu of Prosecutor's Daily while watching a projected video of Chu Zhi's rescue efforts from Back to Basics and earlier footage of him saving people during an earthquake.
"Born of heroes, a hero himself. The brilliance of that bloodline can't be erased," added Chief Editor Lin of Guangming Daily.
"His personal conduct is full of positivity. His album Chu Ci: Ode to Orange Trees is rooted in traditional Chinese aesthetics. He even encourages fans to study for their college entrance exams. He's not only talented but represents China in the arts—a perfect idol," said Chief Editor Huang of Liberation Daily.
"I agree. Remember the Adidas incident? Chu Zhi boldly said no to foreign capital interests. That alone shows his patriotism. And he has a solid family background," said Chief Editor Jiang of People's News.
The four major state media outlets—People's News, Liberation Daily, Guangming Daily, and Prosecutor's Daily—along with five others, including People's Daily, Xinhua News, Economic Daily, PLA Daily, and Workers' Daily, all participated. While each editor's words might not individually represent official policy, when all nine shared the same stance, it undeniably reflected the government's position.
This meeting was deliberately arranged by the Publicity Department, aiming to push Chu Zhi into the national spotlight.
The timing was also intentional, coinciding with the airing of Back to Basics season four, episode two. Though the episode hadn't been filmed yet, its general outline was set—it would center on descendants of martyrs.
By mid-August, Chu Zhi flew back to Magic City to take a few photos with Grandpa Chen at the airport, then boarded another flight to Spring City, heading to Xishuangbanna to film the next episode.
===
"天亮了" (It's Dawn) – Han Hong / 韩红
"麻雀" (Sparrow) – Li Ronghao / 李荣浩
It's Dawn- Inspired by a real-life cable car accident in Maling River Scenic Area, Guizhou. A couple lifted their child before impact. The parents died; the child survived.
Cheongnyangni 588: South Korea's most notorious red-light district, which underwent major changes after the 2004 anti-prostitution law but still exists in more discreet and upscale forms.