Why did the band Seven Man have such a strange name? Because, as the rumor went, "Two of our bandmates' souls travel with us." From this alone, it was clear that Seven Man primarily played death metal and black metal, though they occasionally released Brit-rock albums—after all, the members were British.
It could be said that Seven Man was the most commercially successful death metal band, with cumulative album sales reaching 40 million.
If there was a genre with lyrics even more unsettling than death metal, it had to be black metal. The two were often intertwined, making it hard for most people to distinguish between them. Black metal was bleak, resembling Japanese horror films, while death metal had a grittier texture, more like American horror.
"This unique vocal style—is it black metal growls? How is it different from death metal growls?" Chu Zhi rubbed his temples, finding it hard to tell the difference. "Honestly, whether it's death or black metal, listening to either leaves you dazed for a while. The aftereffects are strong."
The act following Seven Man was in for a rough time. Wait—who was next?
Oh, it was him. Never mind then.
Originally, the Emperor Beast had prepared Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin for WOA. But before arriving, he realized Adidas might pull something, so he switched to Bohemian Rhapsody. It wasn't about which song was better—tastes varied—but the latter was undeniably more stunning.
After the encore, Seven Man performed their second song, Triumphal Arch, maintaining the eerie, spine-chilling tone of black metal lyrics.
"There's a reason this genre is rare in China. Anyone with a weak heart might pass out after one listen," Li Cui remarked.
"Environment and culture shape music," Xu Ji added.
Despite its triumphant name, Triumphal Arch told the story of a boy committing suicide at the Arc de Triomphe.
🎵 I want to spill my blood on the Arc de Triomphe—should I crash into it or jump from the top? Po… 🎵
The snare drum rolls, sluggish and relentless, suddenly interrupted by a distorted guitar, mimicking the sound of the boy's fatal fall.
At this line, many in the audience punched the air, mimicking the "po" sound.
The song confronted death head-on, with lyrics so blunt they might not even pass censorship.
After the performance, the vocalist, two guitarists, bassist, and drummer thanked the audience. Each had something to say, though most of it was unimportant and thus omitted.
"This is our third time at Wacken, and each visit brings new experiences," lead singer Leighton continued. "Now, let me introduce the next performer—someone I personally adore, an incredibly talented rock artist."
"Our whole band loves him. We've listened to his albums on repeat. When we heard he was invited to WOA, I was so moved I ate two extra slices of pizza," Leighton said. "He's a rock singer from China—Chu Zhi!"
There were Chinese audience members who recognized Chu Zhi, some even casual fans. But the vast majority of Western listeners were unfamiliar with the name, their expressions filled with confusion.
"One of WOA's strengths is discovering amazing artists."
"Who's Chu Zhi?"
"Never heard of him, but if Leighton recommends him, he must be good."
"Chinese rock? I've never listened to it, but I'm curious."
They murmured among themselves.
"A setup. That British pig knows exactly what he's doing."
Hahaha, the British had always been cunning.
Higuchi Hanato understood—Seven Man was already a powerhouse as the most commercially successful black metal band. Following them was a tough act, and now Leighton had raised expectations to impossible heights. Even a decent performance would seem mediocre, and a mediocre one would appear terrible.
The worst part? This was an open scheme. Chu Zhi couldn't just say, "Oh, I'm not that great."
"A singer who can spew so much nonsense and still stay relevant must have some skills," Higuchi thought. He had expected Leighton to openly mock Chu Zhi, but this was subtler—and deadlier.
Under the weight of immense anticipation, Chu Zhi and the Revival Band took the stage. Despite his lack of fame here, the crowd erupted in applause, thanks to Leighton's introduction.
Then, to everyone's surprise, staff carried out a piano.
A piano?
It felt out of place at WOA.
Xu Ji, Zheng Huo, and Li Cui got into position while Chu Zhi sat at the piano and began—
🎵 "Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"
"Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality."
"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see—I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy." 🎵
The piano-led intro unfolded slowly, with backing harmonies.
Folk rock?
More like country folk.
Everyone had the same thought: Is this the wrong song?
Weird. Not sure. Let's keep listening.
The audience's waving hands slowed as they focused on the lyrics. And the more they listened, the more they felt the sorrow in them.
🎵 "Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead."
"Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away." 🎵
Definitely country folk. The song felt out of place, but the audience kept listening—because Chu Zhi had layered it with Voice of Despair.
"Giving up?" Higuchi watched Chu Zhi's calm demeanor at the piano. No, that's not it.
🎵 "Mama, I don't wanna die. Sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all." 🎵
Chu Zhi's voice carried the weight of utter despair.
Backstage, the other performers were starting to catch on.
"Is he starting with country folk and then switching to rock? That's bold," the Sail Away Band discussed.
Most bands were skeptical but willing to wait and see.
But the weirdness was just beginning.
It wasn't surprising people were confused. Even when Bohemian Rhapsody was first released on Earth, critics tore it apart for being bizarre. Yet as rock evolved, it became Queen's signature song—a defining anthem of the genre.
If it were released 20 years later, it would've become the third best-selling single in British history.
🎵 "I see a little silhouetto of a man—Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?"
"Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me!"
"Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo Figaro—magnifico!" 🎵
The repeated "Galileo" was hypnotic, but why was there suddenly an opera segment? Somehow, this Frankenstein-like fusion of styles was… oddly compelling.
The audience's minds were completely scrambled. What is happening?
"His songs—you can never predict the next part. It's like spinning a roulette wheel; you never know if it'll be a surprise or a shock," the Phoenix Fire Band's vocalist remarked.
"Hey, don't say that. I like this Chinese singer. It's interesting so far," their drummer countered.
The crowd was in a collective state of "This is weird, but let's hear it out."
The next segment was something most singers couldn't pull off—but Chu Zhi's operatic training came through.
🎵 "He's just a poor boy from a poor family, spare him his life from this monstrosity!"
"I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me—he's just a poor boy from a poor family!"
"Let him go!"
"No, we will not let you go!"
"Let him go!" 🎵
What the actual hell is this?!
The audience reached a new level of unity—not in headbanging, but in sheer bewilderment.
Frozen Man Band's vocalist, Jack Ray, felt his scalp tingle. "Multi-part harmonies and operatic solos—why is this in one song? Am I at an opera house?"
Hardy, their bassist, looked around. "Pretty sure we're still at Wacken Open Air."
"Who wrote this? The lyrics and melody are like a split personality," Jack muttered.
The Frozen Man Band, who had already performed, was ready to relax—but now they were frozen in confusion.
Just when the audience thought the song would shift again, it didn't—another unexpected twist.
🎵 "So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?"
"So you think you can love me and leave me to die?"
"Oh baby, can't do this to me, baby!"
"Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here!" 🎵
Finally, hard rock kicked in. Xu Ji and Zheng Huo's instrumental skills shone, and Chu Zhi's rock vocals were flawless.
The band was essential—without their harmonies and call-and-response, the song wouldn't have worked.
The familiar rock elements brought the audience back from the sensory overload.
"Country folk, opera, hard rock—how did he even combine these?" Higuchi, a songwriter himself, was baffled.
Backstage, Seven Man was silent. Leighton opened his mouth several times but couldn't find words.
As the song neared its end, the melody shifted back to a slow, melancholic ballad:
🎵 "Nothing really matters, anyone can see."
"Nothing really matters… nothing really matters to me."
"Any way the wind blows." 🎵
And with that, it was over.
Chu Zhi, Xu Ji, Zheng Huo, and Li Cui bowed together.
But the audience remained stunned.