The crowd that had gathered was packed shoulder to shoulder, their emotions still caught in the lingering notes of the song. Some quietly wept, some wore stunned expressions, others stood in silent awe.
Back on Earth, in a Japan where the music market had long entered decline, Kenshi Yonezu had become the most beloved Japanese artist among Chinese listeners. But in his own country, he was even more revered. Perhaps the praise had been exaggerated, but few would contest his position as Japan's number one male solo artist.
"Lemon" was one of his signature works, a song that once echoed through every corner of Japan. Now, Chu Zhi's version had added a new glow—infused with a performance modifier called "Voice of Despair."
He didn't know whether the crowd had reached the 200 mark, but honestly, did that matter? If the music was good, wouldn't people tip out of appreciation? Chu Zhi thought to himself.
"Cried my makeup off. Ninth Master will always be Ninth Master."
"Oh my god, what's with that song? He sounded so heartbroken."
"The way his voice trembled, it just made me want to cry."
The Chinese tourists were the first to react. Most of them didn't understand Japanese, but they could hear the emotion. And when it came to spending power, Chinese tourists were among the most generous in the world. Moved by the performance and living by the motto "We're already here, might as well buy something," they began tipping—1,000 yen, 2,000 yen bills steadily filling the open guitar case.
The Japanese crowd came to their senses and started clapping, applause erupting like a fizzy tablet dropped in water. Sudden, loud, and heartfelt.
"His voice was like a soap bubble—floating in the air, pierced by sunlight, so beautiful, but gone in a flash. Incredible singer."
"That moved me. Honestly, I came to hear how bad a Chinese singer would sound in Japanese. I never thought he'd actually move me."
"I don't have the words. I need to know more about him. His voice, his face, it's all so striking."
"I just looked him up online. He's Chu Zhi, a Chinese star who Koguchi Yoshihiro highly recommends."
"I'm speechless. That performance was incredible. The sorrow in the chorus hit even harder because it was so restrained. I felt that."
Though the Japanese onlookers were full of praise, few actually tipped. Most offered kind words instead. Some began calling for an encore.
"Don't be sad, man."
Before Chu Zhi could respond, Yang Xinbo pulled him into a bear hug, muttering at his ear, "I don't know what kind of pain you've been through, but it's all good now. Old Yang's got your back. Once we're back in Yong City, I'll take care of everything."
Does this kind of person really exist? Chu Zhi wasn't sure if Yang Xinbo could be called extroverted anymore. This guy was practically a social demolition expert.
"But seriously, you're something else. Chinese songs with a modern Tang Dynasty flair, and now a Japanese song that hits this hard?" Yang Xinbo shook his head in awe. "You weren't joking about self-studying Japanese, were you? You sure you're not a language major?"
"I've got a bit of a knack for languages," Chu Zhi replied. "Wrote a few foreign songs too. Inspiration usually hits late at night when I can't sleep."
Then he turned to the staff. "Did we get over two hundred people?"
"Two hundred and ten," a staffer answered. "Forty-plus were from earlier, about fifty were Chinese tourists or exchange students, which means over a hundred came just for your song."
"A bit less than I expected," Chu Zhi thought to himself. Street performances had their limits.
Still, the mission was complete. He now had the Party Pass. It would be crucial tomorrow.
"Thanks, everyone, for stopping by. We're filming a variety show right now and have more tasks to finish, so we won't be performing any more songs."
"Oh, right. Our show is called Journey Among the Stars. Don't forget to check it out."
He made sure to say it first in Chinese, then in Japanese. That detail mattered to him. Whether Japanese audiences could find the show was not his concern.
Back in the surveillance center, where the live feed had some delay, Chu Zhi's performance had just ended. Silence hung in the air. The smirk froze on Director Che Lun's face.
He turned to the assistant director. "Has the entertainment world always been this competitive? You have to be a multilingual songwriting genius now?"
"I don't know anymore," the assistant muttered. He thought he understood what made a top-tier celebrity, but Chu Zhi had completely surpassed expectations.
"What's he saving the Party Pass for?" Che Lun was starting to get nervous. A director should always have a grip on the show's pacing, and right now, he didn't.
Everyone in the control room shook their heads. Chu Zhi delivered great variety show moments, no doubt about that, but he never followed the rules. He held onto titles and items. Like some hardcore Souls game player optimizing a hidden route.
Back at the performance spot in Sapporo, as word spread that the show was over, the crowd dispersed. A few Chinese fans asked for autographs, which Chu Zhi happily signed.
He checked the tips in his guitar case. Not bad—87,600 yen and 300 yuan in notes.
The crew handed them their next objective. Chu Zhi and Yang Xinbo were to head to Ramen Alley and regroup with the rest of the team.
Now that he had a little extra cash, Chu Zhi left his rented bike in a monitored parking lot. The ramen street wasn't far from the station. They took the N-Line bus—less than ten minutes.
On the ride, Chu Zhi reflected.
"Just knowing someone's city or birthday isn't enough. Gotta memorize their phone number too. If I'd remembered Koguchi Yoshihiro's number, I could've asked him to promote the show. Then I wouldn't have had to spend my last Song Ticket."
He made a mental note. Time to level up. Next time, memorize phone numbers too.
That said, spending a ticket on "Lemon" was totally worth it. It was a great way to break into the Japanese market. Plus, that song had been a hit back on Earth in China too. Once the show aired…
He had originally planned to save Lemon for Koguchi Yoshihiro's concert tour in Hokkaido, but oh well, plans had changed.
Chu Zhi glanced at his progress bar. Smoking 1,000 cigarettes would complete another challenge, earning him 8 Character Coins.
It sounded like a lot, but really, it wasn't. Just 50 packs. Compared to chain smokers, he was practically a monk.
With no more Song Tickets left, and unwilling to spend an Album Ticket on a Japanese album, he figured he'd try his luck.
"System, draw twice from the reward pool."
The first draw didn't have exactly what he wanted, but the options were decent:
[French: Fluent]
[Poetry Collection: Selected Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley]
[Curio: Mosquito Coil-Flavored Gummies]
[Bundle: "Blue Lotus" Music Pack]
[Bundle: "South Mountain South" Music Pack]
[Album: "Custom Collection" Pack]
"Another language? Am I turning into some multilingual monster? That'd actually be kind of cool."
Back in his previous life, Chu Zhi had picked up a little English for business, but beyond that, learning new languages had always seemed out of reach.
But who could resist the fantasy of speaking eight languages?
Shelley, huh? The poet who wrote "If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" and "The past belongs to the dead, the future belongs to you." Definitely a classic.
Still, what Chu Zhi wanted most was the album reward. He needed to expand his song library.
So he prayed, to Taishang Laojun, to Buddha, to God, to the Eldritch Ones—
"Give me what I want!" he shouted in his heart.
And the prize rolled in.
[Album: "Custom Collection" Pack]