Many people didn't notice that besides the Spring Festival Gala, the state broadcaster also held a Lantern Festival Gala. Of course, its viewership could never compare.
Meanwhile, the Lantern Festival Gala could not hold a candle to Chu Zhi's online concert. In just four days of promotion, it hit nineteen trending topics.
#Which phone is best for the livestream
#First in the livestream equals front row
#Four thousand yuan
These unusual trends flooded the trending lists. Unlike movie or drama promotions that often inflate rankings artificially, this was real: fans were genuinely excited.
At eight o'clock in the evening, whether students or office workers, most people were free. ByteDance was fully prepared.
Many savvy streamers, like Quan Mei, were ready to livestream Chu Zhi's concert, while some viewers tuned in to watch the stream of the stream. It was inception-level nesting.
The Little Fruits eagerly anticipating the concert came from all walks of life. Many were celebrities. Badminton prodigy Zhou Yuyi, who usually scrolled short videos, had been waiting early.
He had started traveling on the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, and of course, he was away for the Lantern Festival, acting in a small role in Hengdian.
The company arranged it. If a singer's main work wasn't enough, they would become a full-fledged actor as well.
"Never thought it… Jiu-yé's first concert is online. But it's fine, I probably wouldn't have gotten tickets anyway," Zhou Yuyi said as he entered the livestream, a ticket graphic popping up.
[My Heart Burns Concert (Douyin Station)
2023.2.5—20:00
Entrance: Douyin Livestream
Area: Section Eleven
Seat: Anywhere on the planet
Price: Priceless
"Welcome, Hongcheng Chu Zhi, to the livestream"]
[Save Ticket] [Return]
Without a doubt, Hongcheng Chu Zhi was Zhou Yuyi's Douyin ID. He had always felt he resembled Chu Zhi when playing sports.
Zhou Yuyi clicked save. The countdown had five minutes left, yet the online number had already reached 4,215,473.
"Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, millions, dad, grandpa, over four million online? This isn't even popularity?" Zhou Yuyi could hardly believe it.
If it were four million in popularity points, it wouldn't surprise him. Anyone familiar with short videos knew that points could be inflated through gifts and watch time.
But this was live online viewers. If Zhou Yuyi remembered correctly, the record for simultaneous online viewers was 4.93 million. This was about to break.
Comments streamed in like waves, dense and overwhelming, making it impossible to see clearly.
[Why can't we give gifts?]
[Looks like gifting is off]
[Ugh, I want to spend money on this man but can't]
[Three minutes left]
[I'm ready, I'm ready] …
This livestream was different. Not only was the popularity metric gone, the gift function was disabled as well.
Three minutes passed in the blink of an eye. The black screen lit up, revealing a familiar rehearsal room. Zhou Yuyi immediately went full-screen.
The vine patterns and star clusters were vividly displayed. The concert stage was… a rehearsal room?
A rehearsal room appearing publicly for the second time—it was perfect.
In the comments, anyone familiar got excited; those who didn't understand didn't matter. Some explained the special meaning behind the patterns. Predictably, accounts associated with these explanations would rise in value.
ByteDance provided full technical support. With such a large audience, the comments were anchored to the bottom left corner to avoid covering the screen.
Even with filtering, the comments could easily swamp the image. Disabling them entirely would feel lacking. After all, in offline concerts, audiences could sing along.
Chu Zhi entered from the left side of the screen, wearing a plain shirt layered with a tea-colored cashmere vest, the waist slightly cinched with two thin red stripes adding a playful touch.
On his feet were a pair of serious brogue shoes. Chu Zhi sat on a high stool, relaxed. His proportions were striking, his long legs casually draped.
Comments erupted in a frenzy. Zhou Yuyi whispered to himself:
"This face… even a man can admit it's unfair. Why close one door when the whole roof is lifted?"
He muttered about his own struggle learning English. If he had even a fraction of Chu Zhi's looks, he wouldn't need to memorize ABCs daily.
"Thank you everyone for coming to my concert," Chu Zhi said.
"I've wanted a chance to chat with everyone for a long time, but there was never a proper occasion. Today, thanks to Sister Niu, Sister Wang, Brother Qian, and the rest of the team, we made this online concert possible."
Chu Zhi continued: "Let's start with a simple song, a warm-up."
The familiar intro played. Zhou Yuyi thought "It sounded like Left Hand Pointing to the Sky."
He laughed. Surely Chu Zhi wouldn't start with Left Hand Pointing to the Sky, that's crazy.
🎵"Wasting my heart on laughter, chasing illusions of beauty, afraid that luck will vanish in a blink…"🎵
It really was.
Simple? Human? Many singers and music influencers recalled the terror of a certain cover challenge.
And the chorus? Chu Zhi was sitting while singing! Basic decency and morality seemed forgotten. Zhou Yuyi was stunned.
After the first song, the online viewer count surpassed five million and was still climbing.
"What is an Asian superstar?" the head of ByteDance's marketing department exclaimed, leaning back at the data.
Let's call him Baldy.
The Lantern Festival Gala was completely overshadowed. On Weibo, there were almost no posts complaining about it, only complaints about Douyin lag.
Any other star's online concert could never reach this level. Chu Zhi's fanbase was massive, from ages eleven to sixty.
"How's the server setup?" Baldy asked.
"Even another five million viewers is fine," the technician assured. After spending so much on the concert, they had to prepare properly.
For context, the peak online viewers for the LOL World Finals overseas was just over four million.
Baldy and the others had forgotten—five million viewers wasn't just domestic. Fans from Japan, Korea, Thailand, and beyond were spreading the load.
Douyin's versions were also split regionally. Mainland China's viewers alone were represented. Taiwan and Hong Kong used the traditional Chinese version—essentially a different server.
As viewers surged, Chu Zhi sang Angel, Blue and White Porcelain, Night's Seventh Chapter, and The Most Beautiful Sun, four songs in total.
It was a Little Fruits carnival.
"Stop screaming, stop screaming! People charge for singing, you sing and I die?" Associate Professor Xiao Yue shouted in frustration.
He wore pajamas in the living room, brewing red tea, reclining leisurely.
Xiao Yue was following the concert on a 42-inch projector TV. It was enjoyable—tea, music—but his daughter Xiao Qing was screaming in her bedroom. Particularly during The Most Beautiful Sun, it sounded like she was slaughtering pigs.
Xiao Qing emerged from her room, eyes glued to the concert, defending herself:
"You have to sing along for the atmosphere!"
Hmm? Something felt off. Xiao Qing looked up and realized her father was watching the same online concert, projected on the big screen.
"A big screen works miracles," Xiao Yue said calmly.
Xiao Qing agreed, shutting off her phone and rushing to grab sodas and snacks, moving like a tiny hamster transferring home supplies to avoid missing any of the concert.
Half a minute later, she plopped onto the couch:
"Dad, move over."
The next song was Moonlight. Xiao Qing's favorite lines—"This battlefield of the mortal world…"—went wildly off-key.
Xiao Yue's eyes practically exuded his disdain.
It wasn't just Xiao Qing screaming. Many fans, familiar with Little Fruits Are Sweet and Chu Zhi's recent Chinese-style albums, were singing along. Many had been looping songs for months, naturally joining in.
The livestream had permanent attendees: Little Fruits, casual viewers, self-media, journalists, even New Summer Society reporters.
The heat was overwhelming.
Under millions of witnesses, Chu Zhi sang with effortless mastery. No matter the difficulty, he performed seated, only occasionally straightening his back slightly.
The transitions in Moonlight were smooth and silky. Fans went wild.
［So beautiful, I want to be there live］
［Finally heard Night's Seventh Chapter again］
［Brother Jiu is a cover destroyer, who dares cover his songs］
［66666］
［9999, Brother Jiu 6'd it］ …
One badminton prodigy remarked: After tonight, no one will ever doubt Jiu-yé's singing again. It's like he has a cheat code.
"I'm backstage. Online viewers are nearly six million," Chu Zhi said. "I didn't expect so many. The servers should hold. Any lag?"
"I especially enjoy singing for everyone."
Behind the scenes, reflectors, lights, screens, microphones—all equipment was ready. Even for a first-time concert, everything was well-prepared.
The small screen opened on the Douyin interface. From backstage, it was easier to see user comments, although "easier" was limited when facing such a huge audience.
"The comments are overwhelming, my eyes are spinning. I can't read them all, but I can feel the Little Fruits' enthusiasm," Chu Zhi said.
After singing one or two songs, Chu Zhi would speak a few words to the Little Fruits. Each time, the comments section became a thick, layered wall. Before anyone could focus on one pattern, it was covered by another.
"Tonight is our night. For our next song, let's perform an original, The Wind Rises."
To have an original song in a concert was rare. Perhaps in the entire entertainment industry, only this person did it. The Little Fruits erupted with excitement.
Chu Zhi often shared original songs at music festivals and cultural forums, a practice that was far from standard. So far, no one had dared to imitate him.
The Wind Rises was included in the system's miscellaneous song collection. It was a favorite of the Emperor Beast. Chu Zhi opened a black thermos cup and drank half in one gulp. The "Immortal of Wine" effect triggered—
🎵"Along this journey, walking and pausing, following the traces of drifting youth, stepping out from the station, hesitating just a little."🎵
🎵"Cannot help but smile at the nervousness near home, yet it cannot be avoided."🎵
🎵"And Nagano's sky remains warm, the wind stirs memories from the past."🎵
Chu Zhi lightened his tone, giving his voice a youthful timbre.
It sounded slightly naïve—not due to technique, but in the feeling it conveyed.
It was like watching heavy rain wash the playground from a dormitory window, counting puddles foolishly on a drizzly day.
Fresh and faintly melancholic.
🎵"When first encountering this world, so many delights, gazing at the horizon as if it were near, willing to brave all to walk it once."🎵
🎵"Now, having walked through this world, so many delights, flipping through the different faces of time, unexpectedly encountering your smiling face."🎵
At this moment, the comments in the bottom-right corner slowed down and quieted. Everyone was listening attentively.
Even with each account allowed one comment per minute, the sheer number of viewers meant the rules didn't matter. To read the comments clearly, viewers had to zoom in.
🎵"I once got lost in the vast world, indulged in childhood dreams, unsure of truth, without struggle, fearless of ridicule."🎵
🎵"I once turned my youth into her, and even played out midsummer from my fingertips. Wherever the heart moves, let it follow fate."🎵
The earlier melancholy felt ephemeral, like smoke. It was invisible and intangible. Once the chorus began, the emotion thickened, almost tangible yet impossible to grasp, swirling in one's hand.
Chu Zhi's performance was expressive. In the chorus, his enunciation carried a tinge of world-weariness, forming a striking contrast with his earlier youthful tone. It was like returning to school seven or eight years after graduation.
The playground was renewed, the teaching building aged, and people couldn't tell what was old or new.
［Jiu-yé's new song never disappoints!］
［It's so good! I skipped a date with my girlfriend just to hear Jiu-yé's concert］
［Great song, but it's a bit of a challenge to follow along］
🎵"The evening wind lifts your silver hair, smoothing scars left by memories. In your eyes, light and shadow mingle, a smile blooms."🎵
🎵"Twilight hides your unsteady steps, entering the picture tucked by the bedside. In the picture, you bow your head to speak."🎵
Just as Su Shi praised Wang Wei, saying "poetry in painting, painting in poetry," Chu Zhi's voice conjured vivid imagery for listeners, evoking memories with ease.
Lin Xia sighed slightly, recalling the days when he was a hopeless fanboy. Back in high school, dark-haired and overweight, he delivered late-night snacks to his crush—crayfish, barbecue—and in one semester, had successfully made her gain thirty pounds. Thinking back…
During his student days, Xi Yao had a different experience. Attractive since childhood, he even aged well into adulthood. This song made him reflect on how absurd his younger self had been.
Indeed, two of the top four influencers were listening to Chu Zhi's concert. Lin Xia had even turned down a Dior event.
🎵"I still marvel at the vast world, intoxicated by childhood promises, unsure of truth, without struggle, indifferent to ridicule."🎵
🎵"I ultimately return my youth to her, along with midsummer from my fingertips. Wherever the heart moves, let it go with the wind."🎵
🎵"In the name of love, would you still be willing?"🎵
The performance ended, leaving a lingering echo.
Then the comments exploded:
［Once left, only memories remain. I think this is my first love］
［Crying, not from sadness, but because Jiu-yé's voice seems to embrace everything, letting me cry freely］
［Brother Jiu's singing is too good, the switches between chest and head voice are so frequent, like dancing at a club. Only Brother Jiu could manage this, others would collapse］
［One song makes countless people relive their student days］
［Is it about friendship or love? I hear the soaring youth］
The Little Fruits were moved.
Clever journalists recorded the stream. Foolish journalists were lost in their own memories.
Music knows no borders. Even without understanding the lyrics, Japanese and Korean fans felt a touch of melancholy.
However, Chu Zhi's diehard fan, Ojima Matsushika, didn't watch the livestream on time. He had done something wrong and was confined to the attic for reflection.
His father, Ojima Clan Chief, had instructed him to organize the study on Saturday.
As mentioned before, mild intellectual disability allowed him to perform normal work.
Matsushika had organized his study for four or five years without issue. But today, the room was chaotic. Forty or fifty books were scattered, a coffee cup shattered, and the mess made him realize he couldn't finish in time.
Fearing scolding and implicating his mother, the immense pressure made Matsushika collapse emotionally, waking the drunken clan chief. This was why he was punished in the attic.
He was accustomed to kneeling or facing the wall in the attic.
Through years of experience, Matsushika learned the rules: if he was at fault, kneel; if his father was at greater fault, face the wall.
Matsushika had a clever trick: he secretly stored snacks in the attic. Normally, it was fine. But today was concert time…
In the rehearsal room, Chu Zhi finished The Wind Rises and moved to the next song, Against the Light. This song was considered the Emperor Beast's comeback hit, impossible to skip.
Wang Yuan used her authority to listen live, so besides the technical director ensuring the livestream, one more person was present.
She happily listened, especially to familiar songs. Wang Yuan struggled to resist singing along. Suddenly, Wang Yuan received a message and her expression changed slightly.
"Brother Jiu, the total audience from Japan and South Korea alone exceeds one million. Add Vietnam, Thailand, and Russia, and it's close to two million," Wang Yuan typed on her tablet.
Chu Zhi, without needing glasses, could see clearly. The Douyin officials were suggesting that with so many foreign fans, maybe he should include two foreign-language songs.
It was worth considering. He still had two cards in hand: Riding on the Back of a Silver Dragon and Even Though Our Hands Are Empty. Either one would work.
Wait. Something wasn't right.
There was no backing track. These two songs had been prepared for the Hokkaido concert, but no recorded accompaniment existed. Singing them a cappella would be a waste. Better to save them for Summer Supersonic. Both songs were healing, empowering tracks.
The cards couldn't be played—but that didn't mean there was no solution.
After calmly finishing Dreaming of Swords and Blades, Chu Zhi spoke: "Just now, my manager told me that many foreign fans are watching this online concert."
He took a sip of water. Even after collecting orders from Nongfu Spring, he couldn't just take money without showing up, so he needed to make an appearance a few times.
"I really appreciate it," Chu Zhi said. "The song I performed earlier, The Wind Rises, has two versions. The other one is the Japanese version, Yakimochi (Jealousy)."
As soon as he said this, cheers erupted on the Japanese TikTok app.
［I really want to see South Korean fans' faces. They always say Ragdoll has a deeper bond with them］
［A brand-new Japanese song! I'm so glad I came to the concert today］
［I love whatever Ragdoll sings, but a Japanese song is the best］
Fortunately, the Japanese and Korean versions of TikTok were separate apps. Otherwise, chaos would have ensued.
🎵"When you told me about the person you dated before,
I could not listen with honesty, and caused you loneliness."🎵
...
The Chinese and Japanese lyrics carried entirely different meanings. The Chinese version reflected personal feelings and nostalgia, while the Japanese version was a love song. Both versions sounded beautiful.
It wouldn't be fair to neglect anyone. If there was a Japanese song, naturally Korean and Russian fans deserved their share.
There was no new Korean song in stock, so Chu Zhi sang the EP's lead track Go With the Flow. For Russian fans, he performed Katyusha. Both songs were outside the original plan and required a few extra minutes to record accompaniment.
The combination of 30% Voice of Despair and 40% Voice of the First Emperor energy created the same flavor in Katyusha, and Russian viewers went wild. After a year and a half, the song had almost become a staple in Russia.
"Ura ura!" Vadim Grasim danced a tap dance in the living room. Back in the day, he wasn't yet the seasoned veteran he was now. As a young gun, his moves had dominated disco halls.
"I'll invite my dear Aurora as well," Vadim added.
Aurora refused. She would dance jazz, thinking her father's folk-style moves were a little outdated.
"I've said it before. Chu Zhi might have vampire blood, but vampires have good and bad sides. His lineage is from an Eastern family," Vadim explained. "I asked a medium, and in the East, they call vampires 'jiangshi'."
Aurora sighed internally. This wasn't going away. Now even the Eastern family was involved. Mediums were all unreliable.
Her father loved watching TNT's Spirit Wars. Aurora believed in science, so she ignored him.
"After so many songs earlier, I almost fell asleep. This one woke me up," Vadim exaggerated, then asked: "Aurora, do you think Chu Zhi's singing can compare to yours?"
"??"
Aurora felt that her father actually respected her. The earlier song with its almost Buddhist style had drained all her energy; what could possibly compare?
Chu Zhi performed familiar songs like Listen to Mother, Bohemian Rhapsody, Drunken Red Cliff, and Fireworks Cool Quickly. He also kept two "wildcard" songs for Little Fruits to request via comments. To ensure the success of the first online concert, Chu Zhi had planned meticulously.
He also felt again the extraordinary talent of the peerless beauty. After singing for so long, his throat felt no strain.
Online concerts obviously lacked the atmosphere of a live crowd. Live, people's voices could tire their throats, but online, one could shout freely at home. It was perfect for those with social anxiety.
Many Little Fruits could not resist singing along. Excluding some original and foreign songs, most sang from start to finish, some even hoarse by the end.
Even the Emperor Beast couldn't resist the Little Fruits' enthusiasm. The concert was planned for 20 songs and 120 minutes, but with the fans' encouragement, it lasted 160 minutes—five extra songs.
At two hours and forty minutes, the online concert ended at 00:40. Both the technical director and Wang Yuan had worked hard. Chu Zhi naturally treated them to a late-night snack.
"Brother Jiu could easily hold an offline concert, even an Asia tour," Wang Yuan said, her face flushed like a sunset, thrilled as the only mama fan who witnessed it live.
"Perfect control. The ending song Left Hand Points to the Moon, the high notes floated effortlessly. Even with such great recording equipment, distortion almost occurred," the technical director praised, hungry as he skewered three portions into one bite.
"So today's online concert was a success," Chu Zhi said. "That's a relief."
"Not only can you relax, you can eat this roasted pig heart too," the technical director handed over a skewer. He loved all kinds of offal—grilled beef liver, pork kidneys, lamb testicles—though the last one wasn't offal.
Chu Zhi said, "Go ahead, Brother Qiu. I prefer beef."
The three chatted casually. The King ate little to maintain his figure but couldn't resist a late-night snack with Brother Jiu.
Chu Zhi ate while ByteDance eagerly showed off. They had spent tens of millions in sponsorship, so they wanted to flaunt the achievement.
Douyin: ［My heart burns for Chu Zhi* Online Concert Completed Successfully. Thank you, Teacher Chu Zhi @EatABigOrange, for bringing us wonderful songs.
Mainland China
Peak concurrent viewers: 9.75 million
Total views: 280 million
Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan
Peak concurrent viewers: 260,000
Total views: 6.13 million
Japan
Peak concurrent viewers: 870,000
Total views: 24.58 million
South Korea
Peak concurrent viewers: 640,000
Total views: 20.13 million
Russia
Peak concurrent viewers: 510,000
Total views: 14.1 million
Other 20+ countries combined
Peak concurrent viewers: 3.42 million
Total views: 66.52 million］
At peak, over 15 million viewers across Asia watched simultaneously.
Notice: these are "people," not "views."
How valuable is this? Roughly equal to the combined population of Finland, Norway, and Denmark.
Even ByteDance was shocked and released third-party monitoring reports.
Initially, Zhao Yifan, director of the Lantern Festival Gala, thought: "Huh, a single livestream overshadows everything. What is this?"
Seeing the data, he realized: "Why should I compare myself to Teacher Chu Zhi's concert? Who am I?"
The Emperor Beast's online concert alone could dominate trending searches with its sheer strength.
Once ByteDance posted about it, Chu Zhi's name instantly flooded the internet.