The song carried the playful groove of funk and the warmth of soul music, set at a comfortable 124 beats per minute. It stayed within a cozy vocal range, the kind of tune not only sung at weddings but also at many major events around the world.
Chu Zhi's voice was sweet, filled with blessings for his fans.
🎵 Your sugar, yes please. Won't you come and put it down on me 🎵
This was his second time singing an English song, and with his mastery of the language, the pronunciation was flawless. His performance ended in perfection.
Applause and cheers rose like waves, transforming the venue into something that felt like a live concert.
Off to the side, Lao Qian felt his determination grow even stronger: when he and Bingbing got married, he would absolutely invite Jiu-yé to sing. With Chu Zhi there, the wedding would be unforgettable for a lifetime.
"Get the audience camera angles, and capture all of these reactions," Lao Qian reminded the photographers.
They were professionals, hired specifically for the event. Every angle Lao Qian thought of, they captured, and even the ones he didn't.
"I checked on Google. This song doesn't exist online. It's confirmed—another original."
"I love this! Funk with a disco flavor—it's making me want to dance."
"I just asked the staff. The Chinese singer on stage is Chu Zhi."
"I like him."
The foreign guests were more outward in their reactions; two women even blew kisses toward the stage.
The Chinese guests were quieter.
"This alone made my life worth it—seeing a superstar perform live for free."
"No wonder his fans call him the king of live performances."
"What a unique wedding. The couple on stage is so lucky."
"This is my twenty-seventh wedding this year, and it's the most memorable."
"Wait… it's only April and you've been to twenty-seven weddings? How's your wallet holding up?"
Everyone who heard the song loved it. The most enthusiastic, though, were the Little Fruits. They squeezed to the front row—no reason needed. They had to get closer to their idol.
"Heh heh, Dongdong Yao-ge, calm down," said an irritated Liu Yi when he noticed Xuanyuan Xianglong 001 next to him looked like he was about to faint from excitement.
He quickly helped support him. What in the world was going on?
Even Ye Bai, who was known for being emotionally expressive, wasn't reacting this way. Xuanyuan, who looked more like a businessman than a fangirl, was on the verge of losing control?
Another person needing support was one of the day's main stars, the bride, Sadie.
Her face bore the trace of tears, the mix of excitement and emotion leaving her legs weak. Her groom, Hou Jun, carefully held her steady.
Host Xiao Ao's cheeks puffed up—if it weren't for his professionalism, he would have rushed up for an autograph.
He wasn't a Little Fruits fan, but his friends had once told him the back of his head looked like Chu Zhi's, so he had a certain fondness for the singer.
Silently, Xiao Ao handed Chu Zhi a microphone.
"Was my arrival a bit sudden?" Chu Zhi asked the bride.
"A surprise from Mr. Hou Jun to Ms. Sadie. Please accept it," Chu Zhi said, crediting the entire idea to the groom instead of mentioning that the performance was his own gift to a fan.
Hearing this, Sadie turned to her husband. They came from middle-class backgrounds, and having an Asian superstar of Chu Zhi's caliber sing at their wedding wasn't something money alone could buy. She had no idea how much effort he had put into making this happen.
The love in her eyes was so strong it was almost tangible.
"My love, thank you," Sadie said.
Hou Jun replied, "Your happiness is my greatest happiness."
The couple showered the stage with public displays of affection.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sweetness, Chu Zhi offered his blessing. "May the two of you have a lifetime of happiness. I hope you'll come to my concerts hand in hand."
"We will, we will. We'll be there for your eighth anniversary concert," Hou Jun promised.
"Then I'll head down. I see seats with name tags—there should be one for me, right?" Chu Zhi said with a smile.
"Yes, yes!" Hou Jun quickly added another chair to the main table. Shangri-La's New Pavilion tables were large, meant for twelve, though this one only seated ten. Adding a seat was no trouble.
Hou Jun watched Jiu-yé leave the stage, still amazed. Not only had his idol come, but he had performed live for their wedding. What other celebrity would do that?
Being a Chu Zhi fan was a profit in itself.
That was Hou Jun's first thought. His second was that Orange Home's "fulfill a fan's wish" campaign was truly genuine.
No, wait—anything Jiu-yé did for his fans, he did with sincerity.
The wedding still had to continue. With Chu Zhi's reminder, Xiao Ao returned to his role.
"The groom's surprise has brought joy to us all," he said. "The room is overflowing with happiness."
"Mr. Hou Jun, do you take the beautiful lady beside you to be your wife?"
"I do," Hou Jun replied without hesitation.
"Not loud enough," Xiao Ao prompted.
"I do!" Hou Jun declared, louder.
"Through your voice, we hear your sincerity. Do you promise to love the bride forever, in wealth or poverty?"
"Yes! More than forever."
"And Ms. Li Daqiao, do you take this man to be your husband?" Xiao Ao asked.
"I do!" Sadie replied in Chinese. Her accent was unusual, but clear enough.
"No matter his health, will you stay by his side forever?" he asked again.
She repeated her answer.
"Let's have some applause so the bride can answer even louder."
"I do. I love Chase. No matter what happens, I will," Sadie said.
Applause filled the hall as they exchanged rings, tossed the bouquet, and thanked their guests. Every step flowed naturally.
At the end, both sets of parents came on stage to offer blessings. Sadie's mother had passed away when she was six, so her younger stepmother and father came up together, with more than ten years between them.
The emotions reached their peak during the parents' words of advice, leaving many in tears.
"Did you get it all on video?" Ye Bai asked Liu Yi, who had been holding his phone. She had been too excited to remember to film her idol.
"The song was so good I forgot…" Liu Yi admitted. He glanced at Xuanyuan Xianglong, who still looked ready to pass out. No need to ask.
"I filmed the whole thing," Siyi Anran said calmly.
"Send it to me later. I'm going to study it when I get home."
Chu Zhi had taken the day off, so he stayed for the banquet. The dishes were lavish: Imperial Fortune Pork Knuckle, Astragalus-Braised Beef Shank, Boston Lobster with Curry Fish Balls, and more.
Unfortunately, during filming he had to maintain his figure, so he couldn't eat much. Playing the Emperor Beast meant strict control.
"Filming is hard work. So much food will probably be left over. I wonder if they'll pack it up? If not, it'd be such a waste," Chu Zhi thought to himself, his mind hopping from one idea to another.
He thought of gluttonous Luo Jianhui—if Hui-ge were here, he would finish everything. He was always chasing his high-carb achievements, and Chu Zhi respected him for it.
After the meal, Chu Zhi signed autographs for the Little Fruits before finally leaving.
Outside, Lao Qiu was already waiting in the nanny van. Time off from the crew wasn't meant for resting—his schedule was still packed.
"Brother Qiu, what did you have for lunch?" Chu Zhi asked.
"Drove to the diner next door and grabbed something quick," Old Qiu replied.
"As long as you ate," Chu Zhi said, relieved. He had been worried Old Qiu might have skipped lunch just to wait for him.
"Wedding candy." Chu Zhi handed him two pieces, letting him share in the good fortune.
In the car, Old Qian asked, "Jiu-yé, when will this MV be released?"
Chu Zhi replied, "Since we're aiming for Europe, we'll put it straight on YouTube once the post-production is done."
"Good, good. I have high hopes for this song. People in Europe and America like this kind of vibe. I feel like it could even make it into the top ten most-clicked MVs." Old Qian added.
Currently, the most-viewed MV on YouTube was a song by the band Frozen Man, with a staggering 5.4 billion views worldwide.
As for the YouTube top ten, they were all dominated by Western artists.
The entry threshold for the top twenty was 2.1 billion views, with only one Asian artist on the list—a first-generation South Korean boy group whose album sales had exceeded ten million copies.
South Korea had adopted Western music trends early on, so it made sense they could produce artists who broke into the top twenty. Even Gangnam Style was still in the top twenty.
Earlier waves of Hallyu acts, like the boy group GZ and the girl group Nine-Colored Deer, had peaked at two or three hundred million views for their biggest hits.
Still, that was nothing to scoff at. In the entire Chinese-language music scene, there were fewer than fifty songs whose MVs had broken one hundred million views on YouTube.
Chu Zhi himself had two—Left Hand Pointing to the Sky and We Will Rock You. As an Asian megastar, he was holding his ground in every aspect.
"Don't set the goal too high at once," Chu Zhi said. "Take it step by step. Let's start with something smaller—say, hitting one hundred million views."
For him, breaking a hundred million was a "small goal." One could only imagine how other singers might react to hearing that.
Half an hour later, their car pulled into the Capital Airport. They bought tickets to fly to Hong Kong, where the Metro Radio Hit Awards would be held that night.
The name might sound overly dramatic, but the event styled itself as the "Grammys of Hong Kong," boasting more than a hundred award categories.
In reality, it was just the big record companies carving up the pie. Mainland singers rarely had any part in it.
Chu Zhi's overwhelming popularity, however, meant that even though he wasn't under one of the "Big Three" companies, he still received over a dozen nominations this year.
Why bother attending in person? Listen to Chu Zhi's muttering on the plane:
"With great power… it just means this person has great power…"
He knew there were troublemakers everywhere—drug syndicates, terrorists—people causing chaos all day long. But most compatriots were good. It was always a few rats spoiling the pot.
And because his popularity in Hong Kong and Taiwan was so high, he could use this platform to express his stance.
Two of his songs, The Brightest Star in the Night Sky and To Everyone Who Knows My Name, had been selected as part of the year's 21 "Hit Songs."
Out of 17 nominations, Chu Zhi won 13, including: Metro Hit Streaming Index Award (Singer), Metro Digital Music Station's Most Admired Male Singer, Metro Hit Creative Singer Gold Award, and Metro Hit Audiophile Album.
We'll skip the full list and focus on his speech for the final award he received.
"Thank you to all my fans for your love. I only ever wished for a ray of sunlight, but you've given me an entire sky. Thank you to Sister Niu, Brother Qian, Sister Wang, Brother Qi, Brother Fei, and everyone—without you, I wouldn't be able to sing with peace of mind." Chu Zhi smiled. "And thank you to the judging panel for giving me this award. Thank you."
After the speech, the host came on stage.
"You have many fans here in Hong Kong who hope you'll hold a concert at the Hong Kong Coliseum. When will we get the chance?"
"I've been preparing for a concert for a while. If there's news, I'll let my fans know right away," Chu Zhi replied. "I really want to meet the audience face to face."
"That's something to look forward to. Metro Radio's music segment receives a flood of messages from listeners about you every week."
When he stepped down, the applause was still going strong. With so many awards in hand, the Emperor Beast was the undisputed star of the night.
Back at his seat, Chu Zhi looked at his trophies. They were shaped like oversized glass bamboo shoots—questionable in taste—and at thirty-four centimeters tall each, carrying over a dozen of them was a workout.
The Metro Radio Hit Awards dragged on for more than three hours, making it the longest award ceremony the Emperor Beast had ever attended.
Over a hundred awards—if nothing else, they had already surpassed the Grammys in sheer number.
Then came the announcement for the Metro Hit Hall of Fame Award, essentially a lifetime achievement honor.
This year's recipient was Hong Kong singer Wai Daodi, now in his sixties. He had no particularly iconic songs, but with his age and long career, the committee had given him a consolation prize.
Wai Daodi shuffled on stage, his back hunched so much he couldn't stand straight. He adjusted the microphone lower before speaking.
"First, thank you for this award," Wai Daodi said. "Second, there's something I want to share."
"I've found that Chinese people pride themselves on being strong, but treat tableware and food only as mere utensils. In contrast, Japanese people elevate these to a spiritual level. In this regard, China, especially the mainland, is far behind."
He continued, "The same can be seen in music. Many mainland songs are very crude. The Metro Radio Hit Awards are authoritative, and I don't want fake sales from large numbers of unrefined listeners in the mainland to result in too many awards being given to mainland singers. That would lower the prestige of the awards."
He even added that "locusts" were plentiful—and that they were pests, bringing no benefit at all.
The audience erupted in shock. He hadn't named anyone, but everyone knew his words were aimed at Chu Zhi, sitting right there.
This was a broadcast disaster. Even the host froze, staring at Wai Daodi as if to say: What on earth are you talking about?
If Wai Daodi had just criticized Chu Zhi, the Emperor Beast wouldn't have been too upset. He wasn't the currency; not everyone had to like him. And who was Wai Daodi, anyway? A nobody not worth his time.
But those remarks had stepped on the dignity of the mainland. The smile on Chu Zhi's face tightened instantly. He stood and asked the staff for a microphone.
"Mr. Wai Daodi," Chu Zhi said as he rose, "I hope you can apologize for what you just said."
"What did I say that was wrong?" Wai Daodi shot back, unafraid.
"Isn't forgetting your roots wrong?" Chu Zhi's tone sharpened. "You say many mainland songs are crude. Then tell me—which songs do you think are not crude?"
"The works of singers like Hirokumo RyĹŤko, Oida Yoshihiro, KudĹŤ HyĹŤ are all excellent," Wai Daodi replied without hesitation, listing three Japanese artists.
"Mr. Wai Daodi, you are an adult," Chu Zhi said quietly. "You need to take responsibility for the consequences of your words."
Wai Daodi sneered. Why should he be afraid? His songs were never released in the mainland anyway. He had backing. What could a young singer do to him?
With the Hong Kong and Taiwan markets, he could live comfortably. More importantly, Wai Daodi knew all too well that the mainland authorities wouldn't intervene.