The emcee spelled it out, the piece was "Dedication," a wordless song.
Wordless? Lyudmila felt a little let down. She'd thought he'd get to hear the legendary, heaven-tier high notes from Chu Zhi.
Truth is, she still wanted a head-to-head.
On tonight's stage, she told himself, her only rival was that Mister He.
"The man who wrote 'Moscow Nights' and 'Katyusha' is finally up. I've waited hours for this," thought Aleksei, the Russian culture ministry's external bureau chief. He's a scholar official who's written two papers on Chu Zhi, so he knew the Chinese prodigy inside out.
"Look what I've got here, a performance that just lit up my eyes," thought Ulyana, number two in the ministry. In plain talk, someone very good-looking had stepped out.
You don't wear anything weird to a 75th anniversary gala, so he went with a simple dark tailcoat. The only flare was a satin peak lapel set with tiny crystals.
It really popped. When the specials hit, the collar looked like stars were set in it.
Chu Zhi walked out from behind the left backdrop. He looked like a prince torn from a manga panel, what the internet calls a "ripped-from-manga guy," what Vadjim called a "vampire," what Ulyana called "an artist who makes your eyes jump."
The Emperor Beast sat at the piano, eyelids drifting closed for two seconds. The notes were already running in his blood. He's Russia's most famous Chinese singer, no, scratch that, the most famous non-Russian singer. He hits the Russian web's front page several times a year.
Vasily, Ninell, Pavel, and the rest all leaned in. Pavel, who'd been slouched back, suddenly braced both hands on his knees and cupped his chin, eyes locked forward.
"The anticipation's huge. The air itself shifts when Chu Zhi walks on," Li Degejin rubbed his bald head. Too much hype can backfire, he thought…
He struck the keys. The prelude opened.
Piano, triangle, and a soft synth laid out a picture. Morning light was gray and hazy. A forest path was empty and wet with clear dew. You walked it alone.
"A minute-long intro, and in this room, only he'd dare," sighed Minister Zuo from Culture and Tourism.
Yep, "Dedication" starts with a full minute of prelude. Every listener got pulled onto that forest path. Even if you walked slowly, you still stepped in.
A few people even wanted to ask, isn't a wordless song still supposed to have singing?
The prelude shifted. A richer pad joined. The melody felt like the path opening into a canopy, where treetops and mist became one.
He began.
🎵 "Fa fei fa fa wa fei fa fa wa fa, Fa fa wa wa fa fa fa wa fa ei…" 🎵
Triggers: Thousand-Heads Effect, Crowd Freak, Drunken Immortal, Perfect Voice.
Stack three passives and this flex turns royal grade. He hadn't even needed to hum to proc the first passive he drew after crossing over.
It was like an angel speaking an oracle. He didn't add the Angel's Gospel timbre, but it still felt that way, pure beauty on its own.
A beautiful voice.
🎵 "Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa…" 🎵
His ten fingers were ten sprites dancing through a black and white world. His mouth kept spinning the four syllables, "fa," "a," "wa," "ei."
Those sounds don't tell a story, but they were too beautiful. Ulyana, who's more emotional, was the first to tear up. It felt like her ears could see a sky full of stars.
Then the ache in the melody hit. Most of those stars we see are light from tens of thousands of years ago. By the time we see them, many are gone.
Why does something so beautiful end up destroyed? That was the feeling.
"So this is a wordless song," Lyudmila thought. She felt she'd already lost… no, hold it. She hadn't lost yet. "Dedication" and "Opera 2" live in different realms.
He shines, I shine, she told herself.
Whatever she'd felt before walking on, expectation, whatever, it all evaporated the instant the singing started.
🎵 "Na ji na oh oh la ji la, La la ji la la ji en en en…" 🎵
On Earth, rumor says "Dedication" holds Vitas's highest note, but it's only D#6. High for sure, not his limit, and not uncopyable.
If you're chasing high notes, "Emotions" whistles up to E7, and live whistles blow past A7. That's higher than the C6 Chu Zhi blasted in "Left Hand Points to the Moon" at the Tri-Nation show.
But Chu Zhi bit out full words on C6, while whistles shoot to A7. If we're talking beyond-human, the former's crazier.
Anyway, that's Earth talk. In this parallel, Chu Zhi's version hits harder.
🎵 "Fa fa fa fafa fa fa fa wa fa ei." 🎵
He stayed seated, posture unchanged, but his sound sprinted from the foot of the Himalayas to the summit. Gooseflesh rose across the hall.
🎵 "Wu wu wu wu wu wu wu wu, Wu wu wu wu." 🎵
🎵 "Aaa a a a a a a a…" 🎵
He'd fully digested Farinelli's gifts and kept a hand on his feelings. So he started showing off. With head voice, he slid "fa" and "a" up to F7. Not a skim and squeak, either. The Emperor Beast strolled around C7 to E7 like it was nothing.
🎵 "Na die na da da ji na na na na na na…" 🎵
He was having a blast. Aleksei felt the high notes shoot from his toenails to his skull. It was absurd, then it took flight. Absurd became a pilot and left the atmosphere.
🎵 "Die na na na ji na na na na." "Wu a a a a…" 🎵
The hall went quiet. Reactions split between insiders and outsiders. The culture officials like Aleksei and Ulyana were half insiders.
Insiders first.
"He was sitting," Lyudmila stared. She'd just thought there'd be no high notes, wrong song for them, then those highs rode his ears like a thunderbolt. And he tossed them off like a shrug?
Could we show a little respect to seven registers of high notes?
She remembered her "Opera 2" just now. The gap was huge.
Ninell's eyes were round. He wanted to speak, but words failed, so everything condensed into, "Dear Mila, your thoughts?"
Lyudmila tipped her head back, like a man at prayer.
She understood now. She understood why everyone, fans included, used "Xiao Chu Zhi" as praise. It really was praise.
Being called "Russia's Xiao Chu Zhi" wasn't bad at all.
And her "Opera 2" had been good. Her confidence surged. She absolutely deserved the name.
"Those internet rumors that call Mr. Chu a vampire count have a shred of logic," Lyudmila said.
Ninell got it. The subtext was that Chu Zhi had just sung like something not quite human. He agreed completely.
Outsiders' turn.
"Mr. Chu's singing, the art in it's towering. It sounds like an angel crying," said Vladimir, Russia's top leader.
Until now, both leaders had kept to standard smiles and courteous claps, no matter the act. Vladimir speaking up first wasn't a formality.
China's top leader, Leader Zhang, felt a little proud. Their singer had conquered another country's head.
"If only they knew he's also a world-famous poet," Leader Zhang thought.
Culture export was his core plank, so he followed overseas praise for Chinese poets closely. One search and he knew the masked identity.
Aloud, he said, "Chu Zhi is our country's most outstanding young vocalist."
Around him, people sat up. In art, there's no absolute ranking, but a leader's sentence sets a tone. On Earth it's like putting Lu Xun and Lao She into the old schoolbook pecking order.
🎵 "Die na da da die na da da da a." 🎵
🎵 "Wu, wu." 🎵
The closing cry felt like it called to something, leaping past height, length, and breadth to reach the soul.
Done.
Chu Zhi dipped a slight bow in thanks and exited stage right.
After "Dedication," the hall felt hollowed out, that strong ache of wanting more. Two or three seconds passed before the place erupted, nothing like the polite pattern before.
"I finally understand why Mr. Zhi's so loved in our country," Ulyana said. "It's like how I knew childbirth was painful, but only when they pushed me into the delivery room did I understand."
"Same deal. I'm a fan now," she added.
Aleksei wanted to follow that, then realized he had no idea how to respond to that analogy.
The Russian side buzzed on the west. The Chinese side murmured on the east.
"In front of Chu Zhi's highs, fourth and fifth octave singers are kids," He Rongrong sighed.
"Fourth and fifth what," asked Chen Peng, who was sitting in the second-to-last row. He's a low-key billionaire building a business park in St. Petersburg, hugely helpful to bilateral trade, which is why he had an invite.
"We map voices to piano registers, C D E F G A B, cycling up. For men, from G4 on is considered high. Handling the fourth and fifth registers well means you've stepped through the gate," Chen Enfeng explained.
Highs in the fourth aren't lesser than the fifth. On Earth, Lin Zhixuan is called the King of A4 for a reason.
"The body's got limits," Chen Enfeng continued. "Even a gifted singer might touch the sixth. I mean sing well, not just squeal into a mic."
That gave Chen Peng the idea. He asked He Rongrong, completely green, "Then how high did he go? Teacher He, were you in the sixth or seventh just now?"
He Rongrong is a beast, or he wouldn't have wowed the pros, but you can't stack them side by side.
He paused, took a breath, and stayed polite. The man meant no harm, and he was a major boss.
"He sang up to F7 in head voice. My top note was B5," He Rongrong said.
"Huh," Chen Peng blinked. So that's two full registers off?
He realized he'd asked something rude. He thought about apologizing, which also felt wrong… then it hit him.
"If those were human ceiling notes, how come he didn't even look strained," Chen Peng asked.
Exactly. He Rongrong nodded. The layman had nailed it. Chu Zhi was shameless in the best way.
Lin Shanyue couldn't help applauding. "Brother Li, wasn't Xiao Jiu's performance just now insanely over the top?"
Dancers know music. She knew he'd crushed the field, but she wanted the measure of just how much.
"Women's ranges sit higher. At the top, sopranos usually dominate. That's physiology," Li Weiwen said. "But Xiao Jiu just floated through the seventh with bel canto ease. I don't know a female singer who can do that."
He added, "I mean worldwide."
Crystal clear. Li Weiwen's a world-class lyric tenor. Even if he doesn't know someone personally, he knows who's who.
So the verdict was simple. No one topped that "Dedication."
All forty-plus guests from both countries showered praise on his act. That's what extreme showboating sounds like when it hits like a comet.
And the culprit everyone was raving about wasn't calm either.
"Singing pure technique without loading it with emotion feels so damn good," the Emperor Beast grinned. He didn't go back to the holding hall. He headed for makeup and changed out of the tailcoat.
"This wooden, scorching outfit, even a dog wouldn't wear it," Chu Zhi muttered, roasting himself.
He hadn't noticed when he wasn't singing, but the vest that came with the tails was pressing his chest. During the performance, it was faintly uncomfortable.
"Not selling these is the right call. It's fine if normal folks can't wear them well, but don't make it like certain luxury brands where wearing it's pure suffering."
He griped, fished his regular outfit from his bag, and thanked his past self for packing it. The wooden, heat-trapping brand had disappointed him. He gave it a one-year leash. If nothing changed, dust to dust.
===
"Emotions" — reading Emo-tions, by Mariah Carey