South Korea's fandom culture was intensely competitive. Even Chu Zhi's fans there were divided into two groups: the Apostles and the Students. The rivalry between them was complex and could not simply be split by gender.
The Apostles admired strength. They worshipped their idol's nickname, the "Great Demon King" of the music world. Looking at Chu Zhi's achievements, the title fit perfectly. He had conquered the Fuji Rock Festival, the Three Kingdoms Song Festival, and twice the Saint Petersburg Cultural Forum. Every event where his name was known demonstrated his overwhelming power. No wonder the Apostles grew larger by the day.
The Students, meanwhile, were mostly fans drawn by looks, inspired primarily by the character Professor Baek.
The Apostles thought the Students were just a bunch of face fans who did not understand the music. The Students believed that the idol's greatest asset was his appearance, accusing the Apostles of losing the bigger picture over trivial details. Sometimes the two groups would even fight in the fan cafes.
Yet, in a rare show of unity, the Apostles and Students banded together against the Ragdoll fans from Japan.
"Damn little Ragdolls! They want us to lose face in front of all Asian fans."
"They're mocking us for not supporting our idol enough. Everyone knows Chu Zhi's love for South Korea surpasses even that for Japan and Russia. The Japanese Ragdoll fans are definitely trying to ruin his good image with us."
Conspiracy theories flooded the fan cafes. Even the most absurd ideas spread because collectively, internet users' critical thinking paled in comparison to individual independent thought. Both Apostles and Students believed the wild rumors.
Some added fuel with claims like "The reason Gmarket has no stock is because the Japanese fans are organizing planned raids," "Our 1.24 million first-week sales for 'Great Demon King' are faked, according to the Japanese fans," and "Japanese fans want to surpass our sales numbers."
To clarify, "first-week sales" means the total albums sold in the first week. This album was expected to sell around four million copies. South Korea's population of fifty million contributed a quarter of those sales, a terrifying number.
South Korea's boy band culture had always been extreme. The GZ boy band itself had a two million first-week debut. So the high sales were believable, not exaggerated.
The accusations of data falsification stemmed from a news article in the Seoul Express: "Today, Kim Nara, female CEO of the Flower Guizhou Cosmetics brand, required each employee to purchase 10 copies of 'Great Demon King'. Does this forced purchase mean the sales data is fake?"
That news was slightly false. Kim Nara had only distributed 10 copies per employee, not forced purchases, and the report had no connection to Japanese fans at all.
Still, the hatred piled onto the Ragdolls, prompting furious Korean fans to attack on Yahoo and Mixi forums.
"Japanese people just love to snatch things, nasty by nature, all assholes."
"Envious of the Korean version's exquisite quality?"
Among the four physical versions, the most refined album was indeed the Japanese one, but only because it was the most expensive.
Yet, with keyboards in hand, anyone could type anything.
"Admit it, you're jealous. Professor Baek's 'My Love From the Stars' swept Asia. The Korean EP 'After the Clouds Clear' became Asia's highest-selling EP. Use your words: you envy the bond between us and Professor Baek."
"So disgusting. Your disgust made my online purchase arrive five days late."
More offensive words circulated but were unworthy of repeating. Japanese fans were shocked. Many South Korean fans already annoyed them by buying tons of Japanese albums, and now they had the nerve to attack proactively?
Yahoo was infamous, basically the men's restroom for Japanese people, known for vile comments. Could anyone endure that? No.
The key figure leading the charge was Koguchi Yoshihiro, who updated his Instagram with a message.
"'My Love From the Stars' became Asia's highest-grossing youth romance film. 'Once I Wanted to End It All' was named the song of the year, followed by the Korean EP and drama."
Chu Zhi cared about both Japanese society and culture. For South Korea, he was a popular idol. For Japan, he was a young pillar with social significance.
All fans of Chu Zhi hoped to put aside their conflicts.
Looking at Koguchi Yoshihiro's message, he first emphasized Japan's priority and then closed with a call for friendship. But it was a soft blade aimed at South Korea, implying that Chu Zhi was merely an idol there but a faith figure in Japan.
They were not even in the same league.
This situation was strange. For the same star's two countries of fans to clash so fiercely was unheard of, and even more surprising was another idol joining the fight.
With Koguchi Yoshihiro speaking out, Japanese fans surged like a tidal wave. South Korean fans had no answer. Even with their own idols supporting them, none matched the straightforwardness of the face-obsessed Koguchi Yoshihiro.
"Ragdolls' Japanese is definitely better than their Korean, because the Japanese EP sounds better than the Korean one."
"Deluded little idiots."
"Koguchi-san is the voice of the internet. He said everything I wanted to say."
Online, Japan held a slight advantage.
When two tigers fight, there must be a hunter to win both. Chu Zhi's album was expected to sell between 3.8 and 4.2 million copies, according to the studio's estimate.
Now, with Japanese and Korean fans crazily buying, sales would likely hit 4.5 million copies.
How staggering was that number?
For those who haven't traveled through parallel worlds, on Earth in 2020, pop prince Justin Bieber's new album "Changes" sold just over 200,000 copies in the first week and ranked third for the entire year.
Physical albums were struggling on both worlds.
"Thought this was just a fan celebration, but they created a godlike record. That's our Jiu-yé!" fan leader Wei Tongzi said as she sorted through data.
Many fan leaders and site admins made their living off such data and were not always genuine fans.
Of course, die-hard fans always were, like a certain Ding artist who recently made headlines. Around eighty percent of her entire career funding came from fan leaders.
"This is definitely a fan celebration. But the reason it's legendary is because Jiu-yé has so many fans." another fan leader, Mao Min, said excitedly.
Mao Min also worked at Mango TV, not as a host but as a director. Two fan leaders at one TV station — imagine how deeply the fandom culture had penetrated.
"In today's era, album sales mostly rely on hardcore fans and nostalgia buyers. Casual fans rarely purchase. The album is like a love letter to all fans, so such a frenzy is understandable." Mao Min added. "But I believe the next album will do even better."
As a career fan, Mao Min felt an exhilarating rush following Chu Zhi, like a rocket launch. Across the whole country, no star gave career fans such a sense of security.
"Four million plus in sales is rare and hard to repeat. Don't put too much pressure on Jiu-yé," Wei Tongzi warned quickly.
Legends are hard to copy and even harder to surpass. Demanding more is just too much.
Wei Tongzi was not losing faith in the idol. She just hoped that Chu Zhi would pursue his dreams happily, rather than being forced upward. More than sales, she cared about the idol's health.
Wei Tongzi and Mao Min represented the difference between fans who supported the person and fans who chased numbers.
"Two TV programs have invited Jiu-yé. Not sure if Jiu-yé will agree," Wei Tongzi changed the subject.
The fan leaders kept updating the sales data live.
One week after release, 3.61 million copies sold.
Eight days after release, 3.72 million copies sold.
Nine days after release...
Half a month since the album dropped, the total sales reached 4.61 million. After that, sales basically stalled, much like a movie's opening day and opening week box office.
The global publication ranked seventh in circulation, Asahi Shimbun, ran a report announcing Chu Zhi as Asia's king of superstars.
The front page featured a side headline: "'Spring Rain Song,' the last wailing echo of the Bronze Age of Records!"
Asahi Shimbun was roughly equivalent to China's People's Daily. Entertainment news was rare even on secondary pages, but Chu Zhi had appeared twice on their secondary pages before. Today he made the front page sidebar.
The article explained: "The golden age of records was from the 1960s to the 1990s, producing countless masterpieces. The peak global sales were reached in 1999. In 2000, the rise of P2P networks began, followed by the 2001 launch of the iPad and iTunes, as well as widespread piracy through HDVD. The music industry suffered a one-fifth crash in global sales. The 2000s were called the Silver Age.
"Ten years later, mobile phones and the internet accelerated the collapse of physical albums, plunging the industry into the Bronze Age, which the International Recording Industry Association chairman, Mr. Rambo, called 'the worst era.'
"The last quadruple diamond record in Asia was fifteen years ago, by the legendary rock band Gandhi Band's 2007 album 'O·K.'
"It was a miracle for Gandhi Band to achieve that during the Silver Age. Chu Zhi created a 4-diamond, 2-platinum album in the Bronze Age — a true creative demon and a living miracle!"
Each country had different certification standards. Mainland China required 20,000 copies for gold, Hong Kong and Taiwan 15,000, Thailand 10,000, Singapore and Malaysia 5,000.
Compared to America's 500,000 copies for gold, the disparity reflected regional buying power.
Asahi Shimbun clearly used Japan's standards. Many Asian media followed the report, trying to analyze how Chu Zhi could defy the market with such staggering results.
The conclusions were similar: mastering three or more foreign languages and studying cultures from Japan, South Korea, Russia, and others. These qualities would be expected of a world-class historian or linguist, not just a pop star.
For an idol, that was an extraordinary burden.
The fierce battle between Japan and South Korea was long-lasting, back and forth. Normally, internet memory was short, but someone kept fanning the flames with rumors and conspiracies.
Japan and South Korea had a historic rivalry. What started as fan quarrels escalated until ordinary bystanders joined the insults, twisting the original conflict.
It was entertaining for onlookers.
"I don't know why, but as a Chinese person, I find the fights between Japan and South Korea very entertaining," Li Sixi scrolled through Twitter.
Guan He and Li Sixi were trainees sent from China to South Korea. After being helped by Chu Zhi, they became loyal fans.
They were quite capable themselves. Initially assigned for one year as trainees, they fought for their chance and became members of FNC's dazzling debut group, recently active.
South Korean trainees earned low pay before becoming famous, especially Guan He and Li Sixi, who also had to send money back to their companies in China.
Guan He became an idol for the money, supporting a struggling family. His salary barely lasted to the end of the month, yet he still bought three copies of Great Demon King. Li Sixi, from a wealthy family, purchased over thirty copies.
"I think Jiu-yé can surpass what South Koreans call 'their pride,'" Li Sixi said confidently.
"The first generation group sold nearly twelve million copies on one album. South Korean media bragged about that for years," Guan He said. "But that was during the golden age of records. Asia can't even produce a ten million seller now."
Li Sixi was very confident. "That's because Jiu-yé's album isn't physically released in China. If it were, it would definitely break ten million!"
"Don't be silly," Guan He rolled his eyes. "Even with the Chinese market, adding one million sales, it would only hit five million tops."
"The Little Fruits are so loyal. How could it be just one million? Five million is the bottom line," Li Sixi said. He was a Little Fruits and frequently browsed the Orange Grove forum, so he knew fan activity well.
"Si Xi, you're really bold. Lin Xia's physical album never even broke five hundred thousand copies. His 2021 album World Without Nonsense sold 310,000 copies," Guan He said. Though close friends, they seemed to come from different worlds, their views shaped by upbringing and experience — perhaps even financial background.
"Hey, isn't Lin Feifei really popular?" Li Sixi was puzzled. "Why is he so bad? Any rookie boy band in South Korea sells two or three hundred thousand copies. Does he have fake fans on Weibo with tens of millions of followers?"
Lin Xia had appeared on a reality show and sometimes lost his temper with wild gestures. Haters turned him into a meme, calling him "Baboon."
At first, the fans strongly resisted and started cursing. But the meme was just too well-made, so eventually fans accepted the nickname "Baboon" for their idol.
"Jiu-yé's Weibo has over 30 million followers. Lin Xia's Weibo has 60 million. Isn't it obvious which one has inflated numbers?" Guan He said. "Lin Xia isn't bad. Since Jiu-yé's album isn't physically released in China, Lin Xia's album World Without Nonsense was the top-selling album of the year. Also, South Korean album sales are high because many fans who chase Korean idols here in China buy them."
"Yearly top-seller or not, I still feel Baboon sucks," Li Sixi said. "Compared to Jiu-yé, of course."
"Compared to Jiu-yé, that's definitely a loss," Guan He nodded without hesitation.
Lin Xia: First of all, I didn't provoke any of you...
Their conversation paused, but not long after, Li Sixi seemed to find something amusing and shouted, "Come see, Kang Long posted an announcement. There was a program error, hahaha, this is hilarious."
Kang Long was once a junior Chu Zhi, later a junior Lin Xia, and now a junior Wu Tang. His popularity soared through opportunistic marketing.
Aside from his first failure, his next two attempts succeeded.
His Weibo followers increased by 40 million in a month, then a bored major influencer screenshot it with the caption: "Chu at 30 million, Kang at 50 million, joke's on you — Kang Long's popularity beats Chu Zhi's."
This went viral and trended. Whether his agent was secretly a mole nobody knew, but immediately the bot accounts were removed and his followers dropped to 20 million... well, that just brought even more attention.
"Weibo says, I don't want to take this blame," Li Sixi commented while scrolling.
Chu Zhi's Weibo had gone through several ups and downs, finally settling at 34.61 million followers — the ceiling for Weibo data.
Some stars had more followers — 60 million, even 80 million — but those were bought before Chu Zhi rose to the top.
Even those top influencers were helpless. They couldn't admit to fake followers without hurting their commercial value, so they pretended ignorance.
Since then, no celebrity dared to buy followers beyond 34.61 million. Chu Zhi's control over the Chinese entertainment scene was powerfully clear.
"Si Xi, I need to handle matters for the mutual aid association," Guan He sighed, looking up.
"Oh, I won't disturb you. You're busy," Li Sixi said, going back to Weibo scrolling.
Currently, the Ninth Overseas Mutual Aid Association had 97 branches across Japan and South Korea. It was an association created to support those helped directly or indirectly by Chu Zhi.
Because Guan He and Li Sixi were among the first to join, Guan He spent his spare time volunteering for the association. After more than a year, he was now the secretary general.
As for Li Sixi, he spent his free time resting.
With the association's existence and Chu Zhi's immense fame in South Korea, there was no longer a need for JYP's backing — his deterrence alone was huge.
"Hello, I am Guan He, secretary general of the Ninth Overseas Mutual Aid Association. The Ninth is a group founded by Asian superstar Chu Zhi to help overseas trainees. Your company has been bullying Chinese trainees as a group, so we would like to understand the situation," Guan He said.
Companies like SM and DSP, the giants of Korean entertainment, would actively cooperate upon hearing this. Why not? Even Chu Zhi's fans were so wild they attacked their own.
Better to avoid trouble altogether.
As long as they stopped bullying Chinese trainees, it was not a major issue affecting interests.
Guan He sorted through complaints from members. Some were dismissed because, honestly, total fairness was impossible in a foreign land.
Seeing an email from Yang Fudi, Guan He frowned and thought, "Bullied again?"
Yang Fudi was a man from Shandong Province, a trainee at Cube Entertainment. He helped a Bruneian trainee who had been beaten, only to become the target of bullying himself.
What was hard to understand was why the Bruneian trainee would turn around and bully the very person who helped him.
Like Guan He and Li Sixi, South Korean bullying was both physical and psychological. Yang Fudi was even forced to have nude photos taken.
"Thank you so much, Brother Guan. For the past half month, no one at the company has laid a hand on me..."
Opening the email, Guan He breathed a sigh of relief. It was a thank-you letter — everything was fine now. The letter had a sense of pride to it.
"Hey, hey, look at this guy's dancing skills. Is this edited?" Li Sixi excitedly showed his phone to his companion.
Guan He said nothing, his gaze on Li Sixi full of helplessness.
"I get it, you're busy," Li Sixi mumbled, taking back his phone and continuing to watch.
"..." Guan He wanted to say so much but couldn't find the words. He gathered himself and replied to emails.
"Mainly should thank brother Jiu..."
After writing two or three hundred words, Guan He murmured, "Just his name alone can protect compatriots abroad from bullying. Jiu-yé really is my one and only idol."