You can tell from the name Na Mokan's Roman. He's an Italian director, one of the very few who's taken both an Oscar for Best Picture and trophies from Europe's big three.
"Mr. Chu Zhi, welcome. Our entire post team's been waiting for you," Na Mokan greeted him like a savior.
If you think about it, it made sense. He'd chased that "Western desolation" for months, wore out two composers. Unlike Cameron's bad temper, Na Mokan never yelled, he just kept explaining what he wanted until the composers admitted they couldn't hit the mark and walked.
He didn't actually believe a Chinese singer would for sure solve it, so the warmth came from Chu Zhi's reputation and Cameron's hard push.
"I'll do my best. I hope it satisfies you," he said, then asked for the story beats.
Classic Western setup. A cowboy rides into a small town, takes out the local tyrant, brings peace, then leaves toward the sunset. Whether he gets the girl or keeps drifting depends on the director.
Na Mokan said Americans love Westerns not just for surface heroics. The core is Manifest Destiny. Wherever they go, they feel bound to be saviors, and if they don't save, the town's doomed.
So he decorated the town with a few Indigenous motifs. The cowboy isn't order, he's disruption, and he drags doom with him. His mortal enemy chases him in, their fight sprays strays all over, and ninety percent of the townsfolk get hit.
Put plainly, he's hinting at what the United States did to Native Americans. He didn't want the audience to feel like he picked the genre just to hint though. In simple words, don't think he wrapped a plate of dumplings just to drink a bowl of vinegar.
He wanted the story structure and score at top Western level. He gave three style demands too, all pure imagery. "One listen and you're standing in a Western desert," "civilization colliding with savagery," "legendary."
Sure, big-name directors are tough clients. Look at those three asks, all vague and all hard. Who knows if the earth classic The Good, the Bad and the Ugly palette would pass his bar.
They went into Legendary's scoring stage. Legendary's not one of the Big Six, but it's still top ten in America. HQ's in Burbank, the rooms were solid.
They had a plectrum guitar, a fretless bass, a bar piano, an electric, a twelve-hole ocarina and more. But for choral layers and tubular bells… he went quiet. Maybe switch tracks?
While he thought, a few quick notes. In the West, pianos are roughly "entertainment" or "performance." A bar piano's the former, usually untuned, so it's off on purpose. A fretless bass is exactly that, no frets on the neck, rounder sound. A plectrum guitar's braced for jazz picking.
"Mr. Chu Zhi, is there anything I can help with?" Na Mokan noticed the hesitation. "Short on gear? Is the room not enough?"
"I'll probably need an orchestra, and I'll need to record some voices," he said.
An orchestra? Two seconds later, Na Mokan nodded. If you want grandeur, you call strings and brass.
Los Angeles has orchestras like coffee shops. In no time they booked the Burbank Amore Orchestra.
"These are the percussion parts. Then this goes to…" He handed out charts, then explained the vocal beds he'd need to capture.
"Anyone here whistle?" he asked.
Silence. Then a female violinist and a male trumpeter raised hands. He had them both try a bit.
They traded a look, then did it. Based on tone, he picked the violinist.
Whistling? Na Mokan felt it fit cowboys. His expectations rose.
After hours, they had a pass. For a piece nobody had touched before, a few hours was nothing.
"Director, take a listen, see if it hits your brief," Chu Zhi said.
In the room with him were Na Mokan and Legendary VP Martin. The former had some hope but kept his guard up. The latter was all in. Nobody in there wanted this to work more than Martin.
His confidence came from need. He needed a score. Post had been jammed too long. When you need it to work, you believe it will.
Low drums like hooves fading into dust. The violinist's whistle cut the air. An ocarina slipped in. In an instant the desert rolled in, yellow sand curling along the ground.
Then the human voice rose, 🎵 wa wa wa… 🎵 like a saloon's silk pennant catching the wind at the edge of nowhere.
Side snare and bass set the bed. The bar piano hit, tension snapped tight. Fretless bass tugged at the keys, like two gunslingers testing range before draw.
Trumpet called, the plectrum guitar answered. The cowboy drew. Bang, bang, bang. When the dust settled, only one was left standing.
Three minutes swelled and ebbed like a legend. When it ended, Na Mokan clapped as he spoke. "This is the best Western score I've heard. The whistle with the ocarina, I'm certain that's a genius idea."
"Cameron judged you right," he said, suddenly formal. "Please serve as composer for Great Western Canyon."
Satisfied? Martin's first thought wasn't the music, it was the director's face. That's how far a VP had been pushed.
Everyone was happy. Next came the money. Martin tried to lock it right there, but Chu Zhi said to loop in his agent.
He didn't know Hollywood rates, and professionals should handle professional work.
He'd need more than twenty cues, maybe a week and change. No need to stay in Burbank the whole time.
Two things worth bragging about. Lao Qian was solid, negotiated a top-of-market Hollywood rate. Legendary needed the score, and Na Mokan had signed off.
Second, Great Western Canyon isn't The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, so he stitched a new suit from A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Strictly speaking, it was extravagant. It'd also make Great Western Canyon's score untouchable.
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Scene shift: 7th floor, Xinlong Tower, Erlong Road, the capital.
Cast: the whole leadership of the China Charity Federation.
Event: a meeting.
Chairman Wang Mao laid out policy changes, mostly "curbing fraudulent donations."
Since last year: in March, a certain star's million didn't fully arrive. In May, another star embezzled from a foundation he created. In September, a third promised school funds during a movie release, then never paid. This February, a fresh case, a fourth promised supplies to a special school, still not delivered.
Those were just the ones exposed, and famous. Whether they "forgot," pushed it to an agent, or "lost track," they didn't supervise donations.
Seeing that, the state wanted a few positive artists to set an example.
The semi-official China Charity Federation took the task. The four were Chu Zhi, Gu Minghong, Yang Teng, and Chen Enfeng.
Chu Zhi knew two. Gu Minghong loves charity, organized flood reconstruction in Henan, he joined. Teacher Chen Enfeng's sung over thirty thousand charity gigs, and they crossed paths at the 75th anniversary China-Japan gala.
"I called Advisor Chu this morning," Wang Mao said. "He cares about the country. When he heard it could clean up the industry's air, he agreed on the spot."
Vice chair Zhou Fumin laughed. "Our biggest secret won't stay a secret."
Everyone chuckled. They all knew the tree planter's true face, that the world's hottest star was the anonymous donor. Knowing what others don't and keeping it locked down is hard work.
"Docs ready, Secretary Peng?" Wang Mao asked.
Secretary-General Peng Xuan handed out a packet. It listed Chu Zhi's, the planter's, anonymous donations across nine major initiatives, from education to medical aid and disaster relief. Total, 2,178 sub-projects, 360 million yuan in real cash.
Real cash matters. Not via your own foundation, not a posthumous pledge.
"No matter how many times I read this, it shocks me," Zhou Fumin murmured.
Wang Mao nodded. "Advisor Chu's still so young, but he asks for nothing in return."
They moved to logistics for the gala. They're a charity, not a circus. Venue ideally sponsored. With a month left, the main question was how to make it look good for the least money.
Wang Mao had already talked with him that morning. Chu Zhi had agreed to unmask the tree planter. The system had confirmed revealing it wouldn't claw back any prior coins. He could just change the name on the milestone and keep going.
He couldn't stand the fakes anyway. It's not that celebrities make money so they must donate. It's that if you won't donate, don't milk the PR. You can't want the fame and keep the cash.
Studying languages, reading, throwing fan festivals, all of that set trends the younger idols copied. He wanted to make charity competitive too.
The industry had no idea a small storm was inbound.
One wind's coming. One's already here.
Hollywood's storm hit first. Like the old line says, new storms are rising, so you can't stand still. Fox's Masked Singer team went feral with promo.
They cut it into punchy clips.
On Fox slots: "Season 7 returns with the most spectacular performance in show history." The edit was a montage of audience members crying.
On YouTube: "Who is he, or she, if he can make stars say that?" They used Austin's pull-quote, "A voice that touched my soul. I'm shaken."
On Twitter via Fox's official: "Nobody makes everyone love them on this stage, except him. He's the fallen angel of Paradise Lost." The clip was host Nick nearly bursting.
"The best stage ever? Look at these damned variety people talking nonsense. My God, I'm locking in Saturday. If it's bad, I'm kicking your butt with my pointy shoes, I swear." [China, netizen]
"I don't buy promo. Feels like a ploy. Producers know they're in trouble." [USA, Texas]
"Fallen angel of Paradise Lost? Is he insulting the Lord? I'll have our church watch. If he mocks our faith, Fox will learn what a thousand-person march looks like." [USA, California]
"Their star panel's a bunch of butt-kissing clowns. They praise anyone. Their comments are even more useless than the US Constitution. I'm not watching." [Mexico]
Attention secured, right?
==
"The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" main themes. Composer: Ennio Morricone. English meaning: title is already English.
"A Fistful of Dollars" Composer: Ennio Morricone.
"For a Few Dollars More" Composer: Ennio Morricone.