"I personally advise you not to expect too much," Lolo said to her boyfriend, cutting off her words with a finality.
"Hm?"
Aha turned his head toward his girlfriend. His hair was carefully styled in an adult fashion, but when he moved too quickly, it fell slightly out of place. His expression was clear: if you don't explain, I'll be upset.
It had to be said, the show had captured its effect well. On Bilibili, which primarily posts edited videos, everything that goes out is deliberate. If something awkward airs, most of the time it's intentional, arranged by the uploader.
"Our program opened with the line: [if the star looks beautiful, credit them; if they look ugly, blame the designer]. For Jiu-yé's red carpet look to turn out attractive, the designer carries most of the fault."
Lolo tucked her hair behind her ear, her whole posture saying: let's hear how you explain this.
She continued, "First of all, it's rare for a male celebrity to walk the red carpet in just a shirt. This one was made of ice silk, which hangs heavily. On the back, there's a red pattern shaped like the character [木]. Its horizontal stroke stretches across both shoulders, while the left-falling and right-falling strokes extend to the waist. For someone with narrow shoulders and a wider waist, it simply can't be supported.
"This is the kind of outfit that's nearly impossible to wear well," Lolo concluded.
"I think my body type is similar to Jiu-yé's," Aha insisted, implying that he could pull it off.
"The main reason that the Mù Chìrè brand has had such trouble catching on is because they keep using Jiu-yé as their model," Lolo countered. "Even though I'm one of the Little Fruits, I'm also a fashion blogger. Speaking now from a professional standpoint, Chu Zhi isn't suited to be a model. His proportions and facial features make almost any outfit look unflattering."
To emphasize her fairness, she switched from calling him "Jiu-yé" to using his full name, Chu Zhi.
"Let me give an example. On January 11th at Weibo Night, Chu Zhi wore what netizens called the 'blanket suit.' Tell me, who else could make that look good? Only him."
The so-called "blanket suit" was actually a cashmere overcoat, but with its bold red peony pattern, it looked exactly like the thick floral blankets found in every household.
"If the blanket coat still barely fits into human aesthetics, then the black spider suit completely defies it. At last year's Golden Rooster Night, I was stunned." Staying true to her principle of 'don't spread nonsense without evidence,' Lolo pulled up a picture.
She had thoughtfully censored the head, leaving only the outfit. The suit was covered in beaded embroidery. From the front, the different-sized jewels resembled the eight eyes of a spider. The shoulder pads jutted out like hairy, wriggling spider legs.
"Just looking at it gave me goosebumps. It brought back the fear of mountain spiders from my hometown," Lolo said. She was especially bug-phobic. Then again, Aha, though male, also hated spiders. No wonder the outfit felt so unsettling.
"Now let's add the head back." Lolo showed the uncensored picture.
"With that face in front of it, the bizarre design turned into an embellishment. Somehow the outfit even carried a sense of deranged beauty. I like it," she admitted.
"Wipe your drool, we're still recording," Aha said, but added, "Your points are valid. If the Mù Chìrè brand keeps using Chu Zhi as a model without adjustments, in a couple years it won't survive."
"Anyway, let's not drift off topic. Back to the red carpet. What do you guys think of Jiu-yé's outfit? Do you 'cut' it or '惹' it? Tell us in the comments." Lolo dragged the conversation back from its long tangent.
Comments flooded in:
[Suddenly it all makes sense!]
[I always thought Jiu-yé's outfits looked good. Now I realize it wasn't the clothes...]
[Laughing so hard. Even the animal kingdom can't make sense of his style. Lolo is spot-on.]
[We want the crazy-beauty vibes, we want the deranged beauty!]
[I don't care about the outfit, I just want to know where Jiu-yé's Weibo Night necklace came from.]
[Most likely one of Chu Zhi's own brand pieces.]
The bullet screen was almost entirely filled with "惹," with the occasional "切" drowned out.
The video still had two minutes left, focusing on veteran actors and respected performers. For them, the only standard was to look dignified. Aha and Lolo managed to pick out a few interesting highlights.
Bilibili had long tried to invite celebrities to open accounts, with little success. Most stars preferred platforms like Kuaishou or Douyin. The main reason was Bilibili's culture. To put it bluntly, promoting a film on Bilibili had far less effect than doing so on Douyin or Kuaishou, or even buying ads on Weibo.
On the other hand, anime films thrived there.
The turning point came when Chu Zhi joined Bilibili, quickly gaining the title "Weapon Master" and frequently posting videos.
Soon after, Lin Feifei followed suit, though he barely maintained his account. Even so, his presence spurred more stars to join.
Lin Feifei's reasoning was simple: whatever Chu Zhi's management team did was never wrong.
Even stars who hadn't opened accounts were quietly watching, like Zhou Xiangsi.
Zhou Xiangsi's younger sister Zhou Qinian was also a Little Fruit. She loved watching dance videos on Bilibili. As a child, Zhou Qinian had enjoyed dancing, but one accidental commercial as a child actress had catapulted her to fame. Unlike most child stars, she grew up without losing her charm.
"Being too successful as an actress means I can't switch careers," Zhou Xiangsi once said in an interview, in a typically modest, self-satisfied way.
At her current standing, she didn't need to compete for red carpet looks. She either wore ready-made clothes she owned, or borrowed some, choosing purely for comfort.
That said, she still posted photos like the trendy traffic stars, which was a little contradictory.
She was annoyed at the critical video, yet when she saw Chu Zhi's outfit being described as beyond animal comprehension, she couldn't help laughing and left a comment under a pseudonym:
User "Sui Lian": [Weaponizing beauty!]
"I'm really envious of that face," Zhou Xiangsi thought. "If I had looks like that, I'd just be a vase. Why bother working so hard?" She also remembered that at the same award ceremony, Chu Zhi had won Best Newcomer.
"Twenty-five years old and winning the Hundred Flowers Best Newcomer... but wait, I won the Golden Rooster Best Newcomer at fourteen. Guess I'm still a little better," she muttered to herself.
Since 1992, the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers had merged. In odd years the Hundred Flowers were held, in even years the Golden Rooster. Both awards carried equal weight.
Pleased with herself, Zhou Xiangsi decided she deserved a good meal.
Even top actresses had to maintain their figures, but Zhou Xiangsi often found excuses to treat herself.
"Rewarding myself with a roast lamb leg isn't too much, right?" She quickly placed the order and soon was chewing happily while browsing Bilibili.
The red carpet commentary had sparked debate. Some viewers agreed with the blogger: if a brand wanted longevity, it needed less polarizing models. Others argued that Mù Chìrè should embrace its bold style, since only by daring could it outpace competitors.
The back-and-forth grew so intense that the original question became irrelevant.
"Beauty, whether in men or women, has always sparked wars," Zhou Xiangsi mused. She wasn't exactly a face-fan, but mealtime was the perfect chance to watch video compilations like 'Fast Forward to Handsome: Ten Seconds to Blow Your Mind', 'Those Dangerous Bathing Beauties', or 'One a Day to Prevent Puppy Love.'
Most of these edits featured male idols from over a decade ago. Few modern stars made the cut, yet Chu Zhi was always placed at the finale.
Meanwhile, in the comments section of Aha and Lolo's video, arguments continued. One thing was true: the brand was running into trouble.
Chu Zhi had pinned enormous hopes on Mù Chìrè. The brand included jewelry and clothing, hiring many talented designers from abroad, including deputy directors and head designers from major luxury houses.
Globally, the French and Americans held the loudest voices in fashion. China had less influence, though it produced plenty of talent.
But after more than 500 days, the brand still struggled to launch viable designs. In both his past and present life, Chu Zhi, the self-proclaimed Emperor Beast, rarely engaged in losing ventures.
Even so, Chu Zhi was trying to turn the losses around. For a businessman, the only reason to tolerate red ink was the promise of long-term profit.
After speaking with Mù Chìrè's design director Gao Yuanyao, Chu Zhi flew back to Shanghai. He had meetings to attend, followed by writing personalized signatures. Since business talk was boring, let's shift to that.
To keep Orang Home's daily activity high, Chu Zhi occasionally hosted small events. The latest was a prize wheel giveaway: five hundred orange-themed notebooks.
"It's been a long time since I wrote this much by hand," Chu Zhi muttered, rubbing his sore wrist before continuing.
Five hundred might sound like a lot, but with 970,000 entrants in just two days, demand had far outstripped supply.
Each signed notebook carried not just his name but a short blessing.
[Wishing Po Huihui eternal happiness. Even when you're sad, may it turn into joy. You'll definitely win over your goddess.]
[Wishing Lonely Ice Heart success on your exams. One hundred percent, double hundred percent.]
[Wishing Butterfly's Desire to fly higher and bloom like flowers.]
And so on.
Some winners used their real names, others left their IDs. Chu Zhi wrote according to the notes, many of which were surprisingly amusing.
After more than an hour of work, the signed notebooks stacked into a small orange hill. Chu Zhi stretched his arms.
"I hope all of these come true," he said, willing to share a bit of his luck with his Little Fruits.
Time never stops, whether at home or abroad. Back in Vietnam, many fans felt pained by Chu Zhi's background.
"I never knew Jiu-yé was already an orphan. My heart aches for him," said Hoàng Vũ, who pieced together Chu Zhi's past by using translation tools, searching all night until he finally got a rough story.
"What should I do?" Hoàng Vũ's first impulse was to tell every Chu Zhi fan group in Vietnam. But then he thought: if it were him, even if he had already admitted his past publicly, he wouldn't want it brought up again and again.
With that in mind, Hoàng Vũ opened Zalo and messaged the group [Anh.yêu.chu]. As one of the leaders, he knew the 1,000-plus members there were all die-hard Chu Zhi fans.
To avoid any misunderstanding, Zalo is the most widely used local social media platform in Vietnam. It has nothing to do with the private product brand "Zalo." For those who don't know, don't go searching for it in shopping apps—what you find there won't be clean.
[I'm crying, I'm crying. I miss my mom.]
[It's ridiculous. Before, when I watched TV and saw characters crying because of music, I always felt embarrassed. Today I actually became one of them.]
[Where can I download this song? Yesterday my mother passed away in an accident... I want to play this song at her funeral.]
[My condolences.]
[I'll try to look for it on foreign sites.]
Hoàng Vũ scrolled up through the comments. Unlike him, no one was scaling the wall to search the Chinese internet for information about their idol. Everyone's attention was on the song itself. And when someone mentioned that their mother had died in an accident, others immediately gathered to console them.
He exhaled in relief, silently vowing in his heart: Jiu-yé will be protected by me!
""Gp.M.Trong.M" should help Jiu-yé gain a lot of popularity, right?" Hoàng Vũ thought again. The current fans who discovered Chu Zhi had already become loyal, but new audiences were needed.
Hoàng Vũ's worries turned out to be unnecessary. As soon as the Vietnam event documentary aired, the song instantly spread through every street and alley.
Here one has to marvel at Vietnam's piracy industry. Even though Chu Zhi's team hadn't released the single officially, the song spread like wildfire online.
It was like how "Katyusha" once spread across Russia: in just one night, everyone knew about it—heaven knew, earth knew, you knew, I knew, everyone knew.
The tears shed by Hoàng Bàn Ngư and Hoàng Vũ weren't unusual at all. On the contrary, they were very common.
If someday the Vietnamese National Archives were to record the major events of 2023, they would have to write: Upon hearing the song, ten thousand households wept.
Another miracle followed: that same night, the number of people who called their mothers increased dramatically. Exact data wasn't available, but the increase was undeniable.
Many adults in their thirties and forties called their mothers, which happened to be the core viewing demographic of VTV.
Those who could still call their parents were fortunate. The ones in deepest sorrow were those who dialed, only to have no one ever pick up again.
Countless grieving souls in Vietnam turned to bars, seeking to drown their sorrow in drink. Joys and sorrows may not be shared between people, but the emotions themselves were strikingly similar.
"I can't sing it, I just can't."
"I'm done recording."
Vietnamese pop star Quách Liêu, hailed as the "Prince of Covers," had made a career out of covering Chinese songs. Nearly every hit had fallen under his "grasp."
With hype so overwhelming, Quách Liêu quickly rallied his team to cover the song. As for copyright, he figured he'd sing first and settle things later. If the cover became popular, the other side would probably sell the rights anyway—lawsuits were too costly in time.
But after a few attempts, Quách Liêu gave up.
"It's too hard. I feel like I'd have to break up with my girlfriend just to summon that kind of emotion. There's no reliance on high notes or complex falsetto transitions. It's just that the raw emotion Chu Zhi poured into this song is beyond my ability to reproduce."
Quách Liêu listened to "Gp.M.Trong.M" seven or eight times. Each time, it felt like being dropped into the sea inside a barrel of cement—utterly suffocating.
Adding the failure of his cover attempt, his despair doubled.
"Everyone…" Quách Liêu wiped his tears and turned to dismiss his team. But when he looked back, every single person in the recording studio also had tear-stained faces, the streaks more striking than zebra crossings on the street.
"Quách, stop. For others, recording is just about money. For you, singing this might actually kill me."
"Listening to the original again and again is worse than when my girlfriend insisted we needed condoms late at night but we couldn't find them in any shop. That frustration is unbearable."
"If you tries again, Nguyễn Đình will have to be sent to the hospital!."
Everyone tried to dissuade him with their own metaphors.
The hype was real, and Quách Liêu shared some resemblance to Chu Zhi, especially since he had undergone eye surgery to look more like him. It made quitting feel all the more bitter.
But the memory of being crushed under the song's emotional weight decided it for him. He gave up.
One after another, Vietnamese stars tried and failed to ride the wave of hype, until they realized a truth that Chinese singers already knew—most of Chu Zhi's songs cannot be covered.
Chu Zhi's reputation exploded in Vietnam.
"Dedicated to mothers, the warmest of greetings." —Vietnamese Net
"Chu Zhi is young, Chu Zhi looks like a vase, Chu Zhi is Chinese, but Chu Zhi has created a Vietnamese classic." —Dantri
"We all have mothers. That's why every one of us is moved by Chu Zhi's voice." —SGGP Online
"Linguistic genius Chu Zhi: Associate Professor Lâm Lại Tam from Cần Thơ University analyzes how good Chu Zhi's Vietnamese really is." —Ngoisao
Cần Thơ University ranked second in Vietnam. Professor Lâm Lại Tam's name sounded unusual at first glance, but "Lâm Lại" was his actual surname.
One headline article analyzed it in detail.
[Chu Zhi's Vietnamese, compared with his Japanese and Russian, is slightly weaker.
But given the unique pronunciation system of Vietnamese, which is harder than Russian or Japanese, this is understandable.
What's surprising is Chu Zhi's skill in lyric writing.
"Gp.M.Trong.M" was able to move millions because its lyrics evoke memory and fragility, like a blade cutting straight into the heart—"But I've already gone far away. They say those who depart turn into stars, shining in the night sky upon their beloved."
The lyrics are clear, easy to follow. At first, one would assume it's a son grieving for his deceased mother, "But you have already gone far away."
Yet the author's perspective is not of the mother leaving, but of himself staying behind, as though he failed to follow her.
He sees the living world as a shadowy realm, while the departed mother inhabits the true world of the living. So he hopes to bless his beloved mother from where he is.
This reversal leaves listeners with a knot in their hearts, especially paired with Chu Zhi's powerful singing, making "Gp.M.Trong.M" a rare and timeless Vietnamese classic.]
Professor Lâm Lại Tam's analysis was logical and convincing. Though not a music expert, he articulated his views clearly.
Many listeners hadn't thought about the lyrics in depth, but upon hearing the professor's explanation, they found it plausible. The more they mulled over it, the more the lyrics seemed steeped in death's resolve—as though the singer longed to follow his mother to the "faraway place."
Chu Zhi's fame surged. The most direct benefit was this: his album The One Gazed Upon by Gods , which had been stagnating in sales across multiple countries, suddenly saw 70,000 new orders from Vietnam's internet in just two days.
Vietnam's potential was fully tapped. In Asia, Japan seemed the next promising frontier. But before that, another matter concerning Chu Zhi's other identity arose.
"Ono, get in touch with Huainan-sensei. Make sure he attends the ceremony for the [National Book Critics Circle Award] in the United States. While attendance isn't mandatory, for the past thirty or forty years, every winner has been present."
"This will give his poetry collection a huge sales boost. You must persuade him," ordered Editor-in-Chief Echizen.
The National Book Critics Circle Award, given by the critics' association in America, covers works written in English and published in the U.S.—poetry, novels, memoirs, essays.
Everyone knew America's guild and association culture was strong, so the award carried significant influence. At minimum, it could sell tens of thousands more copies.
"Ono Akio, Huainan-sensei even refused the Italian Nonino International Literature Prize because he didn't want to attend in person. I will do my best with this task, but I think it will be very difficult for him to agree." Ono lowered his head after speaking, almost like confessing guilt.
The Nonino Prize, awarded annually to an internationally influential writer or poet, even came with a generous sum of money. Yet despite that, Huainan-sensei rejected it outright because they did not allow proxies to receive it.
"..." Editor-in-Chief Echizen fell silent, then said, "Do your best to persuade him. The Book Critics Circle Award carries real weight in the U.S. literary world. Huainan-sensei's poetry collection has sold well in Europe, but we've never broken into the U.S. market. Americans are too closed off."
Echizen fixed his gaze on Ono. "The sales of After a Long Silence depend on you."
"Yes!" Ono Akio blood surged with determination. It was the first time he had heard his editor-in-chief use a tone that sounded like pleading.
But later, when he went home and sat at his computer, his resolve faltered. He sighed heavily. He had no idea how to phrase a letter that might move a great poet. He typed and deleted, typed and deleted, over and over again.
Two hours later, he finally crafted a sincere email and sent it to Huainan-sensei, his heart uneasy.
Would Chu Zhi accept?
===
I'm really sorry if some character names from countries other than China appear differently in certain chapters. Sometimes I end up writing a different version of their name compared to earlier chapters.
As I mentioned before, it's not easy to convert "Chinese wording name" into a localized name. To be honest, I even keep a special notepad tab just for foreign names. But I often end up deleting few names on the list because I think it's only for one-time use, they will not appear again in the future chapters, or I simply forget to add new names when a new character appears.
Sometimes during a translation session I'll remember that I already used a name before, but when I check my notepad there's no record of it. I know I just translated that name recently, but going back and rereading multiple chapters just to track down a single name is really tough… especially since some chapters are very long. I honestly can't handle that kind of meticulous work (＞﹏＜).
Still, I always try my best to localize character names according to their country. I'm really sorry if you come across some inconsistencies in their names. Thank you for understanding (人 •͈ᴗ•͈).
---
淮南 (Huáinán)
淮 (Huái): Refers to the Huai River (淮河, Huái Hé), one of the major rivers in China, traditionally considered the dividing line between North and South China.
Rivers in Chinese culture often symbolize life, sustenance, and a boundary or a cultural divide.
南 (Nán): "South." A straightforward directional character.
The south is often associated with warmth, growth, and in classical Chinese context, it could represent the state of Chu (楚国), a powerful and culturally distinct state in southern China during the Warring States period.