Hanoi's Nội Bài Airport was slightly unusual. It was the main airport of Vietnam's capital, yet also served both military and civilian functions.
Old Qian knew full well how bizarrely high Chu Zhi's popularity was in Vietnam. He had expected a scene similar to Singapore or Tokyo, where fans practically formed a welcoming army. Yet even with that in mind, the reception still exceeded his imagination.
The moment they descended the airplane stairs, not even stepping into the terminal yet, a massive banner came into view:
[Welcome Chinese artist Chu Zhi to Hanoi for cultural exchange.]
And beyond the banner, dozens of people were already waiting.
That was the key detail. They had only just stepped off the plane, not even out of the airport.
Even the most capable fans, no matter their tricks, could not possibly enter the tarmac. This was not a question of money or influence. With planes constantly landing and taking off, allowing fans into the area would mean courting disaster.
The only ones capable of arranging this welcome were people from the government. The official phrasing on the banner made this obvious, and sure enough, a man in gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward, introducing himself as Secretary-General Nguyễn of the Ministry of Culture.
Chu Zhi and Old Qian exchanged a subtle look, both reading the same thought in each other's eyes: "Vietnam's leaders must be awfully free these days, huh?"
After all, Chu Zhi was not the only artist invited to this exchange celebration. Were they really going to personally greet every single one?
"Minister Phan is quite busy," Secretary Nguyễn said warmly. "So he asked me to come receive you personally. Teacher Chu, you are an outstanding artist with many excellent works. You are deeply loved by our people. Welcome, welcome."
He pushed up his glasses as he spoke. His English carried a tone that was friendly yet properly distanced, striking the balance with practiced ease.
"Thank you, Secretary Nguyễn." Chu Zhi immediately responded with perfect composure: "China and Vietnam are socialist neighbors connected by mountains and rivers, lips and teeth. We share a community of common destiny with strategic importance. To be invited here is an honor. I hope to contribute, in my own small way, to the friendship between our peoples."
When it came to official rhetoric, the Emperor Beast was second to none.
"Hm? This celebrity has some depth", Secretary Nguyễn thought to himself. Empty platitudes were one thing, but delivering such polished, dignified official speech on the spot was not easy. He extended his hand.
Their handshake was immediately greeted by the flashing shutters of cameras behind them.
The people who had come with Nguyễn were all reporters, representing mainstream media such as Nhan Dan Daily, Saigon Giai Phong, and New Hanoi Daily, along with internet outlets like Ngi.Sao.
After two steps forward, the journalists began their interviews. Nguyễn spoke in rapid Vietnamese that Chu Zhi could not follow, so naturally the questions turned toward him.
"Mr. Chu, what are your impressions of Vietnam?" a Saigon Giai Phong reporter asked in Chinese. Their paper was one of the few in Vietnam with a Chinese edition.
"China and Vietnam are bound by mountains and rivers, our cultures are close, and our destinies linked. I believe Vietnam has a bright new future ahead," Chu Zhi replied smoothly.
The reporter seemed satisfied, then followed with another: "Mr. Chu, your singles have repeatedly broken domestic records, making you the most popular foreign artist in our country. What do you think of this?"
"I will continue creating music that people will enjoy," Chu Zhi answered.
Polished, meaningless but safe. Enough to deal with reporters.
Once they left the tarmac, no journalists followed. Secretary Nguyễn's enthusiasm cooled somewhat, though he still maintained impeccable courtesy. A Secretary-General was no fool.
He escorted Chu Zhi to the Capella Hotel near Hanoi's famed Thirty-Six Streets. He was busy, so the detailed reception work was handled by others. Before leaving, however, curiosity got the better of him.
"Teacher Chu, why did you specifically choose this hotel?" Nguyễn asked.
"Because the Thirty-Six Streets best represent Vietnam. I thought it would help inspire my songwriting," Chu Zhi replied.
"I hope you gain much," Nguyễn said with a faint smile, his curiosity satisfied. Then he left briskly.
"As if our culture is so easily understood," Nguyễn thought inwardly. Being Kinh himself, he held little fondness for Chinese people. But of course, he had shown no hint of this during their interaction. Representing Minister Phan, he could never allow personal feelings to tarnish official face.
…
Elsewhere, Xiao Zhuzi had settled the luggage. Lao Qian approached the event coordinator to request the schedule. Large-scale events like the St. Petersburg Cultural Forum, or this celebration, were arranged in meticulous detail even without rehearsal. Every activity had its time and place. Hmm, except for the Tokyo Olympic Games on Earth.
The Thirty-Six Ancient Streets were Hanoi's largest market for small commodities. Each street specialized in a particular type of merchandise.
Walking through them, Chu Zhi felt as if he were strolling through Hong Kong in the seventies or eighties, only to have the illusion broken by the Europeans passing by.
Most of the people on the streets were from Europe or America. Cafés were everywhere. Meili Jian had a certain affection for Vietnam, contributing the world-famous painting Saigon Iron Fist and writing the morally upright yet unconventional drama Miss Saigon.
"Brother Jiu, do you know a little travel tip for here? If a foreign man and a Vietnamese woman book a room in a star-rated hotel, they must show a marriage certificate. Otherwise, they cannot check in," Lao Qian said suddenly, noticing couples on the streets.
"So usually they go one after another," Chu Zhi replied.
"Another useless piece of trivia added," Chu Zhi muttered. Many things could only be understood through experience. He looked at Lao Qian suspiciously. "But, Lao Qian, how do you know all this?"
Sighing, Lao Qian said, "I have a friend who was young and reckless. The first time he went to Ho Chi Minh City, he almost got caught. Never trust local guides here, and if a girl knocks at your door at midnight, do not open it." Lao Qian took a neutral pen from his pocket and held it in his mouth, lost in recollection.
Though the Thirty-Six Ancient Streets were extensive, it did not take long to walk through all of them. Lao Qian bought quite a few souvenirs, while Emperor Beast looked around but bought nothing.
"Is this really Brother Jiu's way of doing field research?" Lao Qian did not say it openly but observed carefully, as seeing Chu Zhi in his fieldwork mode was rare.
Why would Lao Qian, dating a foreign girlfriend, feel the need to roughly understand a language? Curiosity drove him to want to understand the foreign words his girlfriend sometimes spoke.
He would even say, "To understand you better, I want to learn your language." Few women could resist that, and in the past, Lao Qian had always succeeded. Now, with Bing Bing, he had settled down.
Around five or six in the evening, they grabbed a casual meal at a street-side stall—Vietnamese national dishes like pho and spring rolls. Chu Zhi thought it tasted like Chinese cuisine with a touch of French influence.
After the meal, glancing at the time, Chu Zhi, Lao Qian, and Xiao Qing waited at a convenient roadside spot for parking.
The clouds above had turned gray, not fully soaked by darkness yet. Soon, a black bulletproof VinFast electric car arrived. Vietnam officially supports its domestic brand, so all three layers of the official car fleet were VinFast. The brand claimed to be the Asian Tesla. Hmm, the name sounded slightly ominous.
The car was sent by the Vietnamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, responsible for reception. The official performance would be tomorrow at three in the afternoon. Tonight, they went to familiarize themselves with the venue, which required guidance due to its special setup.
Near Bai Cao Park, security was armed to the teeth, and surveillance cameras outnumbered the surrounding greenery.
Chu Zhi walked forward without distraction. The reason for the night visit was simple: most staff at the Presidential Palace had already finished work.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the Presidential Palace press hall. The celebration venue doubled as the location for Vietnam's top leaders to hold press conferences, equivalent to the Golden Hall of the People's Assembly Hall—the nation's highest-standard press venue.
The layout had been adjusted: seats were arranged along the walls, leaving a central space for speeches and performances.
"Brother Jiu, you will be the third to perform, after Vuong Lu's speech," the coordinator informed him.
"What songs will Brother Jiu perform? We need the accompaniment," another staff member asked.
"Because of the special occasion, there is no microphone stand. Bring your own microphone," the coordinator added.
"Any other specific requirements?"
The coordinator in charge of rehearsal was a Ministry of Foreign Affairs employee. Though only twenty-seven, she was deputy director of the Foreign Guest Reception Office. In Vietnam, calling someone "Brother Jiu" indicated respect, similar to calling the top leader "uncle." It was a formal title, not a fan nickname.
"Do you have the performance list?" Chu Zhi asked, curious about who had been invited.
"Sorry, Brother Jiu, I don't have a complete list," the deputy director replied. Understandable, with leadership speeches interspersed, the list could not include the leaders themselves.
Chu Zhi entered work mode, carefully asking about camera positions, including the route from the side hall. From the answers, Emperor Beast understood that two television stations, VTV and CCTV, would cover the event.
After about half an hour of rehearsal, Chu Zhi realized that the celebration performance format differed from forums, music festivals, or concerts. The audience's view was parallel and much closer.
Staff efficiency, however, was slow. Audio adjustments took over ten minutes.
Finally, rehearsal concluded. Chu Zhi thanked the staff. Performing after Vuong Lu added a bit of pressure. Vuong Lu was China's third-ranked official and the delegation leader.
The deputy director escorted Chu Zhi out of the Presidential Palace. The sky was pitch black, as if someone had placed a sack over the ground.
"Brother Jiu, what do you think of the interior? Only one person can go in and look. I am stunned," Lao Qian muttered.
"The decor is fine, about this size," Chu Zhi indicated with his hand.
"Half the size of a football field, that is not small," Lao Qian nodded, losing interest as size implied nothing remarkable about the decoration.
Xiao Qing, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs staff responsible for guiding them, remained silent, well aware of the rules, and probably understood Chinese.
Lao Qian suddenly said, "Brother Jiu, we should set a small goal—perform at the People's Assembly Hall."
"That's an ideal dream," Chu Zhi laughed. Even attending a meeting there was more likely than performing. Not impossible, though. In three to four decades, as an established artist, a milestone party celebration could very well lead to an invitation.
Returning to the hotel, Xiao Qing left with a reminder: "Brother Jiu, if anything comes up, call me immediately. I am always available."
Chu Zhi had a bit of stomach discomfort, likely from the temperature variations in dinner, as the tripe did not sit well.
Around ten o'clock, the front desk called to inform him that a Mr. Liu had requested a meeting. Chu Zhi had no prior notice but decided to meet him in the executive lounge, assuming it was not a fan.
The visitor was in his fifties, dressed neatly, giving a clean and sharp impression, though his oily skin shone under the overhead lights.
"Consultant Chu, sorry for disturbing you. I am Liu Ya," the man greeted without invitation.
His formal address indicated official status. Chu Zhi, unsure of the visitor's role, called him Teacher Liu.
Liu Ya introduced himself. High-ranking enough: Secretary of ZongLi, equivalent to a regional governor in the civil servant hierarchy, likely accompanying the third-ranked official.
"An impolite visit. Consultant Chu, after tomorrow's celebration, will you have any arrangements?" Liu Ya asked.
"I return home the day after tomorrow," Chu Zhi replied confidently, accustomed to staying composed at cultural and tourism conferences.
"After tomorrow, there is a major commodity trade meeting with Qatar. It would be ideal if Consultant Chu could attend," Liu Ya said.
"Wait, Secretary Liu wants me at a trade meeting? I hold a ceremonial post, not a real one. How is this related to international trade?" Chu Zhi thought. Confusion was natural before understanding the situation.
Liu Ya did not explain immediately but suggested, "Consultant Chu, we can move to a different location to discuss."
The conversation required confidentiality. They moved to a more enclosed location in a car, windows rolled up. Only then did Liu Ya begin explaining the matter.
Why was the Qatari royal family so wealthy? Its natural gas reserves were the third-largest globally, accounting for roughly twenty percent of the world's liquefied natural gas exports.
China imported millions of tons of natural gas from Qatar annually, yet the export price was higher than that of the United States.
Chu Zhi understood the general situation but wondered how this concerned him attending a trade meeting. Liu Ya clarified: Qatar could export more to China at a lower price.
Now, the United States knew that Qatar wanted to court China. Qatar knew that the United States knew, China knew that Qatar knew, but none of it could be spoken openly.
Qatar could not simply approach China as if the two nations were equals in potential. They needed a cover, because political games between countries were an art of finding the right pair of underpants.
Even if they made up some ridiculous excuse, the truth could not be exposed. Qatar had to provide the United States with an opaque cover.
So this cover must be—
Hey, surely it wasn't that extreme?
Chu Zhi turned in surprise to look at Liu Ya. Since both sat in the back seat, he had to speak while turning sideways.
Seeing this, Liu Ya smiled, noting how easy it was to talk with a smart person.
"Because the Qatari Crown Prince, the two grand princesses, the deputy director of the Royal Asset Investment Office, and the sales director of Qatar Petroleum are all fans of Consultant Chu, out of love for everything associated with him, they adopted this approach," Liu Ya explained.
"Sounds like a tale from One Thousand and One Nights," Chu Zhi commented.
Even if these people were his fans, they could not influence major commodity trades. Honestly, Emperor Beast did not quite understand the meaning behind this arrangement.
"It is a tale from One Thousand and One Nights, but it is sufficient," Liu Ya said. "That is why Consultant Chu was invited to tomorrow night's meeting."
"So I am benefiting at the country's expense," Chu Zhi said.
Indeed, it was China's strength that attracted Qatar, yet the credit fell on him. If word got out that 'Chu Zhi helped the country secure more resources,' it would be a legendary feat. A gift of fame delivered right to his doorstep.
In truth, Chu Zhi did not understand the entertainment industry. The United States had used this trick long ago: employing celebrities as a cover. The biggest benefit was giving the public something to talk about, whether they believed it or not, the spread was enormous.
"Naturally, I have the time," Chu Zhi agreed.
After discussing the serious matters, Liu Ya added one more sentence before ending:"ZongLi eagerly anticipates Consultant Chu's work tomorrow."