The awards ceremony originally scheduled for late June was postponed to July 20. The venue was set for the Huaxia Financial Information Center in Lujiaz Z Street. The awarding officials were high-level—who exactly, no one would say.
Of the ten Outstanding Youths of Shanghai, nine had backgrounds that didn't quite match Chu Zhi's. Still, the socially anxious Chu Zhi breezed through the awkwardness. They shared polite conversation and exchanged WeChat contacts.
WeChat has a limit of five thousand friends. Unless someone is a sales account, that cap is hard to reach. Now Chu Zhi was closer than most. Technically he was now also a businessman, since Su Shangbai had transferred fifteen percent of Da Bai Candy's founding shares to him.
That move increased Chu Zhi's respect for Su Shangbai on a personal level. He really understood influencer endorsements—who gives equity to a celebrity for product success? Hardly anyone. And yet Su Shangbai did, with no impact on their friendship.
"By sharing ownership, it ties our fates together. Success becomes a shared outcome. That's someone you can really get along with," thought Chu Zhi, secretly admiring the business instinct. A man with capitalist ambitions, he admitted he probably couldn't do it himself.
Su Shangbai was busy overseas and couldn't stay long. Even with DingTalk's video functions, many deals had to be made in person.
On the drive to the airport, Chu Zhi asked, "Business is full speed ahead. Are we doing candy blind boxes now?"
"Yeah, blind box culture is big these days," said Chu Zhi. "Thought you might be into it."
"Not at all," Su Shangbai frowned. "Though blind boxes have created high market cap companies—Pop Mart is worth over eighty billion HKD—Da Bai Candy won't take that route, I hope you understand."
"Totally get it," Chu Zhi replied. "I only asked."
He continued, "Blind boxes feel like hidden gambling. Their prize pools are even less regulated than games. Flashy at first but short-lived. Eventually the government will step in."
Since becoming a shareholder, Chu Zhi had full access to the company's business plans. Everything Su Shangbai planned was steady progress. He relied less on internet hype and more on real-world operations.
A traditional entrepreneur with a strong work ethic, but conservative in strategy, Chu Zhi reflected.
The award was being marketed internally so that peers in the industry would recognize Chu Zhi's legitimacy. Externally, Niu Jiangxue thought minimal promotion was wise—it would avoid stirring waves.
"The New Drunken Concubine" had been released as Chu Zhi's only standalone Chinese-style track. "Chrysanthemum Terrace," "Materia Medica," and "Dream Back to Tang Dynasty" were being held for next year's album.
Netizens dubbed the three operatic songs "The Tang Dynasty Trilogy." A bold but niche fusion of Chinese instruments, opera vocals, and pop melodies. None truly broke through on their own.
Chu Zhi's schedule for the next two months was packed with ads and press conferences. His earnings surpassed two hundred million RMB—a staggering pull.
He declined an interview with Bass Fish Chat—with his fame, yes he could, but no need to squeeze it in. His online omnipresence cleared room for others in the entertainment world—new dramas premiering, rising stars showing off acting skills, even social media scandals.
Those other stories didn't involve Chu Zhi, so they weren't worth more than a glance.
The one relevant news item was Wu Tang's new album As Expected. Sales were strong—even without an aggressive push, she nearly matched Li Xingwei's numbers.
Music critic Gu Duofu said, "When did Chinese music shift toward 'dark style,' 'bel canto,' and 'fusion'? Was it Chu Zhi's Chapter Seven of the Night? Still, Wu Tang has far more talent in composition and arrangement. Her lyrics were promising, but the music itself feels uneasy."
That was her third album. He called it a forced pastiche.
"It's been a while since I heard anything genuine. I hope we'll soon hear more authentic songs, not these Frankenstein fusions."
His review on Music Hearth landed at a middling score.
Wu Tang was a top-tier artist. She wasn't the strongest singer, but her fan base was huge. Gu Duofu's critique stirred up a hornet's nest.
Fans known as "Toffee" started commenting nonstop:
"Calling it dark trash? That's low-key bashing Chu Zhi."
"If you hate it, don't listen."
"Liu Si Ma, how can you compare Chu Zhi to our Wu Tang?"
Gu Duofu was used to fan heat. He calmly observed the insults on his page:
"Why can't we compare Chu Zhi and Wu Tang? Neither had formal training, Wu Tang has two more years' singing experience, and Chu Zhi is younger."
"Chu Zhi has Peking opera master approval. Such talent isn't common. Doesn't your heart break over the comparison?"
"Wu Tang's team includes Best Producer and Best Lyricist award winners. She's talented, we're the new generation."
"Chu Zhi founded the new Chinese style. Respect, but we can't afford that. We're fans."
The debate got under Gu Duofu's skin—he admitted they had fair points. He deleted the review—his first deletion in his career.
Wu Tang herself watched as her fans defended her. She found herself admitting under her breath, "Does Chu Zhi have a problem? I don't. How am I supposed to battle depression like he does?"
Fans, casual viewers, critics—even Wu Tang herself—had come to agree: Chu Zhi was operating on a whole other level.
Chu Zhi's packed promotional schedule continued until late September, when things finally eased up. He was set to join Star Journey's production team soon.
"We don't need to bring this much gear, right?" Chu Zhi asked, noticing Xiao Zhu and Lao Qian's luggage-filled arms. The last time they went to Seoul, it was day-trip minimal.
"This isn't the same," said Wang Yuan. "To Sapporo we're staying a week. Better to overprepare than not enough."
"Good point," said Chu Zhi. He didn't argue further, but he sensed fewer personal items would suffice on these programs.
For the show, they'd brought along nutritionist Winston and masseuse Ma Weihao.
The group flew first to Tokyo, then to Sapporo's Okadama Airport. Hours of transit behind them, they were finally standing firmly on Hokkaido ground.