It was a high-spec banquet in the Golden Hall of the Great Hall of the People. Fun fact, the Great Hall actually rents out the venue. If you've got the cash, you can throw a banquet there.
What made it high-spec was who showed up.
"At the top end, what note can you hit," Li Weiwen asked at the table.
There were twelve to a table, and the other eleven guests were just as curious. Anyone with a bit of theory in them would be. The only issue was the seats were spaced out.
"The top," Chu Zhi thought about it. He honestly hadn't pushed for an absolute limit. He answered, "I haven't tried. 'Opera 2,' 'Dedication,' 'Left Hand Points to the Moon,' I wrote and arranged those to stay within my means. I don't really touch the boundary."
"…" Li Weiwen.
"…" He Rongrong.
"…" Lin Shanyue.
"…" Li Degejin.
All eleven went quiet, like fish on a plate. No one knew what to say.
Li Weiwen knew him better than most. Forget "Opera 2," that one really isn't hard for him.
But cleanly biting consonants up in the sixth on "Left Hand Points to the Moon" isn't human, and free swimming through the seventh on "Dedication," that's what he calls within his means.
He Rongrong really wanted to say, "Do you want to listen to the words coming out of your mouth."
"Kid, you're a miracle in music history. You've got to take care of that voice," Chen Enfeng said. She'd heard he sometimes needed a drink to steady his mind before going on stage, so she nudged the topic out of concern.
"Young folks now are terrifying," Li Degejin laughed. He's a dancer, but even he could feel what an unbeatable voice felt like.
Midway through, the Russian guests came over to toast, each holding a bottle of vodka by the neck.
"'Dedication,' I think only angels and Mr. Zhi can sing it. For his song, cheers," Vasily raised his glass.
"For 'Dedication,' cheers," Ninell raised his glass.
"Cheers," Lyudmila raised her glass.
…
It felt like they couldn't beat him in song, so they'd try to beat him with alcohol. Problem is, he can drink. Even against Russian tanks, he didn't budge an inch.
At another table, Vladimir and Leader Zhang were talking about something different. The former wanted to give a Friendship Medal, or maybe a brick to Chu Zhi.
About that brick, quick recap. It's a fragment from the double-headed eagle removed from the Kremlin. Back when he gifted "Katyusha," they'd planned to give it, then dropped it. Now it was back on the table.
The Friendship Medal matters. It's for people who push cultural exchange among nations, or who boost friendly relations between countries.
Since it was established, nine Chinese nationals have received it. You can't even print those names casually, or the river crab god will show up. You can imagine what level they are.
After thinking it through, Vladimir decided to award the Friendship Medal.
The theater show ended, but he couldn't go back yet, he had to meet with the Culture and Tourism folks.
It wasn't some long-winded debrief. They needed help, to be precise, they needed his influence.
Chinese culture spreads slowly in the Spanish-speaking world and the Arabic-speaking world. They needed him to help. If the results weren't right in front of you, it'd sound absurd. A country's cultural outreach, needing a star to assist.
Back at the State Guesthouse, he remembered something before bed.
"Small problem. The eight-year anniversary concert next year means a ton of songs. I don't think I've released enough Chinese-language tracks," he thought.
"27115 Possibilities," "Chu Ci · Ode to the Orange Tree," "Chu Ci · Nine Songs," "Little Fruits Are Sweet," that makes four Chinese albums. Add the singles and it's still under sixty songs. If he doesn't bring guest performers, that means prepping twenty to thirty songs himself.
The stockpile really is thin. He thought about it. He couldn't just fold in the original body's two albums.
"I don't know if I've got time at the end of the year to record 'The Four Classics' concept album."
The catch is, a Four-Classics style album has a lot of tracks that don't suit where he is now. Maybe in ten years.
"And how do I brand the Chinese album," he muttered, scrolling a music app. A comment thread caught his eye, not one post, but a hundred replies under it.
"Yang Yi's dominance in folk is like Chu Zhi's status in New Chinese Style. Any questions?"
1#: "Does everyone dare to clout-chase Chu Zhi now?"
2#: "Kinda harsh, but not wrong. Chu Zhi single-handedly set up New Chinese Style as a theory, then built two peaks. Yang Yi's got lots of great folk tracks, but compared to Chu Zhi, he's way behind."
3#: "The OP's overselling it, but position-wise, Xiao Jiu's the founding monster of New Chinese Style. That's unmatched. In folk, I think Gu Peng's pretty good too."
4#: "I like Yang Yi. His lyrics are terrific. The last person who made me feel like that was brother Jiu."
…
Is there anyone in folk above social-phobic Gu Peng, he wondered. He looked up Yang Yi. The guy's legit. Even Gu Peng used to be a fan.
But Yang Yi wasn't the spark. The domestic scene had boxed him in as New Chinese Style, like that's his only lane.
"I've put out rock, and pop too. It's just that 'Nine Songs' and 'Ode to the Orange' hit too hard," he thought.
He had to make a multi-genre album.
Folk, soul, jazz, rock, pop, put them all in. He followed the thread of that idea.
He still had a bunch of songs in his pocket. "Rosemary" that he hadn't released yet was straight jazz.
"Those Flowers" was campus folk, "Three's Company" was R&B, "Blue Lotus" was rock. He could track down other Chinese-language staples across genres. He could do this.
With a new small goal, time flew. It was mid-month before he knew it.
Numbers for "All Nations, Vol. 1" dropped for month one.
"South Korea: 3.71M
Japan: 2.87M
Russia: 410k
Other Asian countries: 1.77M
USA: 2.03M
Spanish-speaking markets: 840k
Arab world: 650k
France: 430k
Other Europe: 1.48M
Other countries: 1.29M
Global total: 16.46M"
If you've been following the album, you'll notice it blasted past 11 million in five days, hit over 12 million around a week in when People's Daily posted it, then only climbed about 4 million over the next three weeks. That cliff drop screams what the internet's done to physical albums. Numbers depend on diehard fans and a front-loaded hype cycle, plus impulse buys from casuals.
It's not the golden age anymore, when a great record would pick up new buyers on word of mouth and eventually outpace its opening week.
Now, when something sounds good, random listeners go straight to streaming. So in those three weeks, "All Nations, Vol. 1" just nailed itself to top 10 on national SPO charts across the board.
It beat Aiguo's leadership's expectations by a mile. Definitely worth celebrating.
"There's still room to mine. The Middle East, the Vietnam tri-region, and the newly opened Spanish-speaking market all need a plan, fast. At least by next year, or the year after, before the next international album drops, we've got to lock them in," Niu Jiangxue said. She'd wanted to say next year, then remembered the eight-year anniversary tour would be nuts, so she added, maybe the year after.
"Isn't this supposed to be a celebration, boss Niu. We should be happy," Lao Qian smiled.
"We should," she nodded. "But the album can still go higher. If we firm up a few regions, 18 million's in reach."
At first glance, you'd peg Wang Yuan and Fei Ge as the aggressive ones, with Lao Qian and Niu Niu as the steady pair. Truth is, brave Niu Niu's the stealth gambler.
A lot of Chu Zhi's risk-heavy calls, she never tried to stop. Her philosophy, high risk, high reward.
"Boss Niu's right. We can't slack. We've got to go bigger and better," Fei Ge chimed in.
They were kind of killing the party vibe, sure, but rationally, they were right. It mattered for the company and for him.
Next year's eight-year global tour, the US Masked Singer reboot to cement his standing, there's a mountain to prep.
Rough math puts the physical plus digital revenue split at over 200 million dollars. That's why they say one blockbuster album sets you up for life. "All Nations, Vol. 1" could fund three retirements.
Chu Zhi added another ten million dollars to the staff bonus pool, because a win like this took everyone. He cut people loose early and treated the whole company to dinner plus KTV plus late-night barbecue. Sounds pricey when three hundred plus employees tag along.
At about two thousand per head across the three stops, it still wasn't much for him. He stuck to the three no's. Don't nag. Don't posture and push drinks. Don't force anyone.
The funny part, Aiguo's parties are optional. If you don't go, you can cash out half. Tonight's average is 1780 per person, so anyone who has plans or just doesn't like crowds pockets 890.
You can see where this goes. A lot of folks won't go. If you've got social anxiety, ordering great takeout and binging a show at home's perfect.
Full company gatherings are rare. Are they important? "Don't try to control employees' time outside work," the Emperor Beast said.
With those freakish numbers, Aiguo's celebration was bubbly. The industry was stunned.
IFPI chair Braden said flat out, "In a time when physical's barely breathing and digital is the new core, the world hasn't seen a first-month, ten-million-plus physical album in seven years. Seeing one again isn't a physical revival. It's the breath before death."
We shouldn't ask why "All Nations, Vol. 1" only sold 16 million, he argued. Using data from twenty years ago, if it had dropped in 2003, projections would put it over 30 million, top 20 in history. He even gave a grim forecast. By 2030, physical will be genuinely over. Breaking a million worldwide in physical will be a sensation.
Bleak, but not wrong. More top-tier singers are shifting to digital first. Physical's turning into a souvenir.
Even in mid October, it was fair to declare "All Nations, Vol. 1" the global annual sales champion. Not just 2024, but the best of the last eleven years.
The last ten-million record was in 2017, by old-school rockers Sunrain with "On the Sun's Surface." Back in July 2013, pop king Presley's final record "Seize the Day" did seventeen mil.
Global headlines screamed, "An 82× Diamond Album is Born."
When did a non Western act rule the global music market, and for the first time in over a decade.
Foreign chatter needed a ladder to climb over the wall, so people checked domestic takes first.
"What the heck is this," Su Yiwu wanted to laugh at the headline. Did someone type an extra two? With how weak local physical is, eight times diamond at 1.6 million would already be wild.
Last year's domestic champ was Lin Xia, who, miracle of miracles, hit double diamond at a little over four hundred thousand. The trick was the PR line, maybe retiring from music to focus on acting, so fans blew the bank. He looked closer. "Chu Zhi's eight-language international album 'All Nations, Vol. 1' sold 82× diamond plus 1× platinum plus 1× gold in its first month."
Few words. Great entertainment news is usually like that. Fewer words, bigger bomb.
Su Yiwu smacked his head. He'd almost forgotten that Chu Zhi is a god… Never mind… wait, no, mind it.
"Eighty-two diamonds. The bureau certifies diamond at 200k. With my perfect just-passing math grades from grade school through high school, that puts him at sixteen million."
"…"
Those digits shut him up. He'd snagged a bite of the cake when he recorded "Crossing the Yalu," riding a wave Chu Zhi left behind. It added a nice line to his resume and credit.
He'd wondered if Chu Zhi would be annoyed.
Seeing this, he realized his view was too small. With numbers like that, even the network's paper cup cupcakes didn't move the needle.
"If I remember right, Lin Xia reposted that four-hundred-thousand sales brag twice. Not even a fraction of Chu Zhi's throwaway. If I were Lin Xia, I'd be ashamed enough to ditch the 'top traffic' crown."
He'd been top traffic in the same generation as Chu Zhi, then fell off. Even a skinny camel's bigger than a horse, so he still had the second-biggest mom-fan base after Chu Zhi, but he still felt uneasy.
Will Lin Xia be ashamed?
No. Lin Xia had realized on "I Really Am a Singer" that Chu Zhi wasn't human. He'd long since quit comparing, and he'd followed the path happily. Right now he's got the second-highest endorsement fees in the country.
"When's the next New Chinese Style album, I'm sick of looping twenty plus tracks."
"Chu Zhi's a beast. Wasn't he filming the first half of the year? Then he drops this album in the second half."
"If I'm not wrong, sixteen million is the highest album sales by a Chinese singer ever."
"Not just domestic, it's all of Asia. He turned the pride of first-gen South Korean boy groups, that 12M record, into dust."
"Asia's number one. Insane."
And so on.
For passersby, the 82× diamond thing didn't change much. With years of hot searches, the idea that Chu Zhi's ridiculously strong is set in stone. Even taking the all-Asia sales crown felt within expectations.
But this time, it lit a fire under the Little Fruits.
"This joint letter plan has to work," Bing Tang Xueli Binggan clenched her fists. You could see the conviction. The fresh nail tips hurt a little, leaving half moons in her palms.
Remember that ID? She'd been a big fan of Li Xingwei, then went undercover in Orange Grove and floored it down the Little Fruits road. Now she's the Tianjin Little Fruits station head.
There are over forty station heads nationwide, absolute diehards, including Wei Tongzi, the four-time Orange Festival emcee. She moonlights at Mango TV as a host, and her main gig is running the Hunan Little Fruits station.
Angel Zhi Little Round: "If this doesn't work, we'll turn into balls."
Jiu, Lord: "We'll pull it off for sure. By the way, Meimei said she had big news yesterday, right?"
Tangtang: "@ChuLovesCranberries, you around?"
Their WeChat group lit up. Tangtang is Bing Tang Xueli Binggan. She'd started as a side account to avoid being recognized. Now it's the main.
What they were planning was simple. They wanted their idol to release a domestic physical album too.
===
"迷迭香" — Mídiéxiāng ("Rosemary"), jazz.
"那些花儿" — Nàxiē Huār ("Those Flowers"), campus folk.
"三人游" — Sān Rényóu ("Three's Company"), R&B.
"蓝莲花" — Lán Liánhuā ("Blue Lotus"), rock.