Even if you didn't watch Little Mango Tea Party Invitation, it didn't matter—in the age of big data, as long as you'd ever browsed related topics, your phone would push the news to you. And even if you hadn't—say, you were an elderly person completely disconnected from the entertainment world—certain apps on your phone would still bombard you with notifications. There was no escape.
Quark News, 10 minutes ago – Headline: [A Star Destroyed by Rumors! Chu Zhi, Once a Top Celebrity…]
Baidu Maps, 7 minutes ago – Breaking: [Chu Zhi @'d You: Voice Pack]
Kuaishou, 36 minutes ago – Trending: [The Biggest Plot Twist in Entertainment—Don't Miss It!]
Mafengwo Travel, 65 minutes ago – Urgent: [Vindicated! Chu Zhi: "I Hope the World Has Fewer Misunderstandings."]
Travel apps were the wildest. Mafengwo's push notification even came with a bonus: [Weekend Plans? Check Out These 3 Themed Libraries!]
Studying news push notifications was fascinating—every app had its own personality. Baidu Maps was particularly shameless, framing headlines like spam messages: "XXX sent you a voice pack!" But when you clicked, it was just a regular news article.
If the traffic from two or three months ago had crashed Weibo, this time, Chu Zhi's vindication set the entire internet ablaze.
Weibo's Top 5 Trending Topics:
#TheTruthAboutChuZhi
#ChuZhiIsGentlenessPersonified
#SpreadingRumorsIsACrime
#WeOweChuZhiAnApology
(The lone outlier: a paid promotional hashtag for some drama.)
Under #WeOweChuZhiAnApology, over 180,000 comments flooded in within two hours:
"Little Fruits, we're sorry, Ninth Brother!"
"I should've believed in Ninth Master…"
"I just want to hug him—being misunderstood by the whole world…"
"Sorry, sorry, sorry! Please forgive us!"
Former fans who had abandoned Chu Zhi were hit the hardest. Imagine thinking your idol had betrayed you, only to realize you were the one who didn't trust him. The guilt was unbearable—and the only way to ease that pain was to direct their fury at the real culprits.
By midnight, less than three hours after the episode aired, netizens had exposed every account controlled by Gaiqing Cultural Media: Fandom Beauty; This Is Britain; Entertainment Stock Market; Celebrity Gossip Broadcast
…and many more, including several accounts with millions of followers.
"Bailemen's Mouthpiece" (the gossip account that started it all) was the first to fall. Then, thirty more accounts were swarmed—no mercy given.
There's an old saying: "When the Emperor's Bar attacks, not even grass grows." Now, it was: "When fandom strikes, chaos reigns."
The accounts couldn't even control their comment sections. The moment they deleted one post, ten more popped up: "You took dirty money!", "You twisted the truth!"
While Weibo seemed like the battleground, Douyin (Chinese version of TikTok) and Kuaishou were where Gaiqing's accounts suffered the most damage. Why? Video spreads faster than text.
Netizens spliced together clips of Chu Zhi:
—At his peak, healthy and radiant at concerts.
—On I Am a Singer, lips pale, body swaying weakly.
Set to the gentle hum of "The Wind Blows the Wheat", with captions like:
"Even when the world misunderstood him, he still chose kindness."
Another trending edit featured Chu Zhi's interviews with Gu Nanxi and Huang Youru, titled:
"I Hope the World Treats You Gently."
The impact? Not 1+1=2, but 1+1=11.
Comments poured in:
"Come here, Orange Baby, my embrace is warm!"
"My fists are clenched—I'd have fallen into depression. My heart aches for him."
"I wasn't a fan before, but this won me over."
"Talented, kind, and handsome—how did I miss him before?"
Let's be real—a big reason this blew up on Douyin was Chu Zhi's face.
Manager Zhao, the mastermind behind Gaiqing, was panicking. He frantically called Weibo and Douyin's customer service, demanding his accounts be reinstated.
"Why the hell did Chu Zhi have to crawl out of the trash heap now?!" he fumed.
But by 10 PM, the damage was done:
—Accounts were flooded with hate.
—Posting privileges were frozen.
—Accounts were banned for "spreading rumors."
—Each account was a golden goose, and now they were all dead.
Zhao called his big boss, Wang, a shadowy figure with ties to Dahua Entertainment.
Wang's response?
"Lay low. We'll appeal the bans later."
Zhao nearly choked. "Appeal my ass!"
Feeling betrayed, Zhao decided to pull his own strings. Gaiqing wasn't a small fry—they had connections.
He dialed a ByteDance (Douyin's parent company) executive, buttering him up before begging for help.
The executive's reply?
"Bro Zhao, I can't help. Each account had thousands of reports, plus big-name influencers personally calling you out. At most, you'll get two or three accounts back."
Zhao was stunned. "Why are these influencers even involved?!"
The executive then asked, "So… dinner tonight?"
Zhao gritted his teeth. "Sure. Same place."
But after hanging up, he checked Douyin—and his blood ran cold.
The algorithm, knowing Zhao followed his own accounts, helpfully showed him videos trashing Gaiqing:
V-God (7M+ followers):
"Be human. I hate toxic fandoms and talentless idols, but Chu Zhi is just a good guy destroyed by your lies!"
Winter Girl (5M+ followers):
"'Influencer' wasn't a dirty word until accounts like yours ruined it. @Douyin, clean up this mess!"
Erhuzi (10M+ followers, a dance influencer with a killer bod):
"I checked with a lawyer—what Gaiqing did was criminal. Also, my heart breaks for Ninth Brother. From today, I'm a Little Fruit!"
These weren't small creators—they were top-tier influencers, all women, all from different niches, all united in fury.
Some did it for clout, but most were genuinely moved by Chu Zhi's story.
Chu Zhi's vindication was just the beginning.
The fallout had only just started.