Ono Akio had been an editor at Rōshi Shuppansha for six or seven years. Now, he was the editor-in-charge for the poet Huainan.
An editor-in-charge had to take responsibility for the works of the authors under them, which often meant offering advice on storylines. But when dealing with a great writer, a famous manga artist, or a distinguished poet, the editor's responsibility boiled down to a single task: nudging them for manuscripts.
It had been a year since the last release of Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night. The monks in the production team—or rather, in the temple—were not exactly leisurely. So Ono Akio gave a gentle reminder. Don't misunderstand—it was very subtle.
Ono himself enjoyed collaborating with Huainan.
Even though they had never met or spoken on the phone and only communicated by email, Ono considered it perfectly normal. Exceptional literary figures had their own temperament.
At first, Ono assumed Huainan-san must be Chinese. He asked a friend in China, who gave an unexpected reply: in their memory, there was no poet named Huainan.
"There's a high probability they are not Chinese. If someone had won the Yomiuri Literary Prize and the Costa Prize, would they not publicize it? Wealth without returning home is like walking at night in embroidered robes."
It made sense. Ono Akio grew curious about the poet Huainan's nationality.
After reading "After Long Silence", Ono Akio began browsing the poems.
The first poem was titled When You Are Old:
When you are old, your hair white, sleep heavy,
Doze by the fireside, please take this book of poems,
Read slowly, and recall the gentle look in your eyes of the past,
Recall the shadows that once weighed upon them…
"This love poem is exceptional," Ono Akio thought. "Has Huainan been in love, leading to this style?"
Hmm—not necessarily, he reflected, recalling that the styles of the previous three collections were all different.
A great writer could not be measured with ordinary logic. Ono Akio browsed the entire collection, since as an editor, he needed to provide promotional direction.
Having been chosen as Huainan's editor-in-charge, Ono Akio had a certain standard for poetry appreciation. It took him over two hours to finish reading. He made notes along the way, yet the line he loved most remained: "Only one person loves the pilgrim of your soul, loves the painful wrinkles on your aging face."
No wonder poets were often fickle. To dedicate such a poem to a woman as a confession—who could resist?
After calling the chief editor, Ono Akio had an idea.
Rōshi Shuppansha was a small publisher with few major authors. Huainan's poetry collection sold well overseas, making the poet a cornerstone figure. So when Ono called, an internal meeting was immediately convened.
Elsewhere, another meeting took place via video conference.
Niu Jiangxue and others debated urgently whether to collaborate with Sony Music's Ōmori Gento for business.
The team split sharply. Wang Yuan and Qi Qiu opposed the resource exchange, arguing it was unequal.
Their reasoning: based on Chu Zhi's fame, a Japanese EP could sell at least a million copies. Following revenue splits from over two years ago, the cost would amount to over ten million yuan.
Spending ten million yuan to promote in the United States would already yield great results. Why the need for collaboration?
Additionally, Wang Yuan had personal reasons. Last year, recording Nine Songs left Chu Zhi exhausted. Adding a Japanese EP this year meant even less time to rest.
Fei Ge, Lao Qian, and others held the opposite view.
Sony's promotion capabilities could not be bought with money alone. With proper channels, investing more to pave the way was worth it, especially for a first English album.
Once the album became a hit, their company could establish its own relationships in Europe and America.
Chu Zhi was indifferent about producing a Japanese EP, leaving the decision to the brave Niu Niu.
At that moment, Emperor Beast was attending the Strait Youth Forum on Egret Island. Worth noting, he was not there as a "youth" participant but as a supporting "leader," listening throughout the sessions.
Ever since People's Daily revealed Chu Zhi's position as chief advisor, numerous semi-official events sent invitations relentlessly.
The forum had four leaders, including Emperor Beast; the other three were the Chair of the Youth Federation, the head of the Wanyuan Youth Association, and Egret Island's third-ranking official.
Nearly a thousand elite youths from Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, and overseas attended, spanning fields such as science, finance, and literature.
For certain areas, Chu Zhi sometimes drifted. In such large forums with over a thousand participants, the events usually ran in two sessions, morning and afternoon, with elite representatives speaking briefly.
Thirty-year-old Associate Professor from the College of Information and Electrical Engineering, twenty-eight-year-old founder and creative director of jewelry brand 51.E. JOHN.INC, twenty-nine-year-old co-founder of trend brand ROARINGWILD, twenty-nine-year-old assistant professor at Tsinghua Interdisciplinary Institute of Information—seeing these gatherings often left Chu Zhi feeling like he was just filling a spot.
Of course, Emperor Beast did not feel this way. Even on Earth, he had achieved remarkable success in business around the age of twenty-eight.
The forum's primary purpose was resource integration and opinion exchange.
The St. Petersburg International Cultural Forum emphasized the latter, while today's focused more on resources. A single day of exchanges could generate numerous business opportunities.
By the end, dinner approached. The organizers had a hotel but no prepared banquet.
Chu Zhi sighed slightly; his [super high-carb diet day] was ruined.
High-carb intake, smoking, and going makeup-free were the easiest public habits to display. Emperor Beast took them seriously, though he avoided smoking in public and indoors.
"Teacher Chu, any plans tonight?"
As he exited the building, a voice that was both playful and coquettish spoke. The speaker was Lin Rui, a thirty-eight-year-old female entrepreneur from Wanyuan.
"We are all your fans, absolute Little Fruits. I have all four versions of Little Fruits Are Sweet. I was also at the Strawberry Music Festival. Truly, I am a super loyal fan."
Lin Rui emphasized that the dinner was not a private date but a group event. She even gestured to a few shy people waiting some forty meters away.
Regardless of identity, Chu Zhi had fans. Since Emperor Beast was hungry, he hosted a late-night meal and brought along Xiao Zhuzi.
Emperor Beast's principle: never make fans spend money unnecessarily.
After a full day of discussion, Niu Niu's core team decided to accept Ōmori Gento's resource exchange proposal and proceeded with detailed negotiations.
The agreement: the English album would receive Sony Music's level-B promotion, and a Japanese EP would release within the year in collaboration with Sony Music (Japan).
It was clear that Chu Zhi's 2023 would not be an easy year. Climbing upward is never effortless; only rolling downhill is.
Ōmori Gento, who orchestrated the deal, was ecstatic. He aimed to create a historically top-50 album, the only way to advance further.
"Chu Zhi-san's popularity in Japan is top-tier, but…" Ōmori Gento pondered. Based on previous EP sales, part of it came from Hokkaido fan meetings. To be safe, he wanted to do more.
"Wait, if I recall correctly, Chu Zhi-san's background has some issues."
Sometime earlier, Ōmori Gento had read a post online. He searched Japanese websites.
As a post-60s individual, Ōmori could navigate the internet skillfully—a rare ability, even among prominent figures.
Half an hour later, he found it: about two years ago, Yahoo had published Revealing Chu Zhi's Background, describing his early orphaned life.
"Really?" Ōmori Gento doubted, then called in several Chinese employees.
By luck, one male employee, Lu Guang, was a hardcore Little Fruit fan and recounted Chu Zhi's experiences in detail: depression, parents were martyrs, and so on.
Ōmori Gento remained skeptical. "If Chu-san's experiences are that tragic, why do his many fans in Japan barely discuss it online?"
Lu Guang explained, "Brother Jiu never mentioned this on Japanese internet. Even on variety shows, language barriers kept it obscure."
He compared it to Suzuki Kano, whose popularity in China was high, yet her revelation about abuse by a stepfather remained largely unknown.
Ōmori Gento commented, "Young fans really follow blindly. They do not know character or history, yet still adore."
Lu Guang fell silent. Was fandom now a matter of census-level investigation? He dared not argue with his boss.
Satisfied, Ōmori Gento sent the staff away. He was not sentimental; he saw opportunity.
He contacted Mango TV to purchase broadcast rights for Red·Mansion and Back to the Countryside.
The former exposed Chu Zhi's severe depression and suicide attempts, the latter his background.
Mango TV agreed instantly, seeing foreign broadcasting as an opportunity for overseas fame, offering a very cheap price, almost free.
Years as Sony Music's executive had built Ōmori Gento's network.
He also contacted Asahi TV to air both programs with editing and subtitles, titled: Chu Zhi—He Prevented Suicides but Took His Own Life.
Asahi TV had popular variety shows like Men and Women Patrol and All-Round Home Renovation King.
With Chu Zhi's popularity in Japan, the broadcast would not lose money. Combined with Ōmori Gento's connections, the program would air during the Japanese EP release, boosting EP sales into the top 20.
Ōmori Gento had no qualms about ruthless tactics. In fact, he acted without notifying Chu Zhi's team—an audacious move.
Japanese Chu Zhi fans were unaware they were about to be stabbed.
"Mining Bitcoin, making money from accounts? My god, foreign fans are so rich, I almost want to sell mine." Dian Dian watched account prices hit 8,000 yuan and above, feeling constantly tested.
Dian Dian owned the fan club account Listening to Rivers Enter Dreams, a Little Fruit. Recently, due to online concerts, account prices soared in Japan, Korea, and Vietnam.
Fan club accounts held steady at around 6,000, vine-pattern accounts at 3,000. Now even vine accounts surpassed 5,000 yuan.
"Do these people have money blowing in the wind?" Dian Dian, a true Little Fruit, couldn't comprehend. Purchased accounts were just placeholders, not truly theirs.
Unlike her, a loyal fan since the Future's Star period—her devotion was genuine.
Watching foreign fan forum posts, Dian Dian sensed sheer frenzy.
"I can practice singing with the professor. So happy. Why are Chinese people so lucky? I must own this account."
"If I buy this account, the name on the Ragdoll singing room will belong to me? Others cannot steal it? If so, 160,000 yen is not much."
"Can anyone guarantee I won't be scammed? I want to see my ID in the Ragdoll singing room."
"Watching the online concert, seeing the wall and ceiling patterns are formed by accounts… as a member of the bride Chu-yuan Association, and a future Ragdoll bride, I must have it."
Curious, Dian Dian searched "Bride Chu-yuan Association" online and was shocked by the shameless fan organization.
Rising account prices attracted scalpers, though most hesitated. They speculated on concert or meet-and-greet tickets, but accounts lacked third-party protection.
Meanwhile, Emperor Beast pursued achievements. [Eat Spicy Food *2500 times] was nearly complete. According to Chu Zhi's estimates, in half a month, eating twice daily could earn ten personality coins.
"[Smoke *12000] seems massive, but actually only 600 packs. Some finish in two years easily; I've spent four and am still incomplete." Chu Zhi felt his efficiency was slow.
A small quitting-smoking tip: purchase cigarettes that display total smoked—huge numbers curb cravings.
Meanwhile, Chu Zhi's English debut album The One Gazed Upon by Gods was scheduled for March 25 release in Europe and America, and Sony Music had started promotion accordingly.