The phone rang a few times before it finally got picked up. Park Hoi straightened his back and put on his most respectful tone. In the piano world, the difference in status between them was too great. Respect came naturally, backed by fame and skill.
"Hello, Mr. Deng, I'm Park Hoi, one of the members of the [Excellence Program]. I once had the honor of performing with you," Park Hoi introduced himself and quickly apologized. "Sorry for bothering you out of the blue, but there's something I'd like to confirm with you."
"Oh, alright. Please, go ahead, President Park," Deng Taishan replied.
Hearing himself addressed as president made Park Hoi's chest tighten with excitement. He suppressed the feeling and asked, "Our Asian Music Association received a membership application email, so…"
"Was the form filled out incorrectly?" Deng Taishan asked. "I left that to my assistant, so it's possible he messed it up. If there's any problem, just tell me over the phone and I'll have it corrected."
This response caught Park Hoi completely off guard, and the words he'd prepared vanished from his mind.
After a few seconds of silence, he finally said, "What struck me most when I first heard your performance was that even the softest note carried evenly to every corner of the hall. You're such an extraordinary pianist, Mr. Deng, and our association would be absolutely honored to have you join."
"Just call me by my name," Deng Taishan said lightly.
"As long as you're joining, that's enough," he added.
It all still felt unreal to Park Hoi. To be clear, Deng Taishan was such a towering figure that Park Hoi had never dared to send him an invitation before. Not out of fear of rejection, but because it would've seemed laughable. Deng Taishan was a council member of the World Piano Teachers Association. By comparison, the Asian Music Association looked like a backwater club.
"May I ask… was there someone who invited you?" Park Hoi asked cautiously, voicing his biggest doubt.
"Yes, a friend did," Deng Taishan replied. "You should know him, the world-renowned artist Chu Zhi."
Chu Zhi?! Every South Korean in the music world knew that Chinese star. Park Hoi froze for a moment, then automatically said, "Then I won't keep you, Mr. Deng."
After they hung up, Park Hoi scrolled through the association's inbox. Out of over a hundred new applications, the very first had been sent by none other than Chu Zhi himself, around 7 p.m. last night. Then, between 8 and 10 p.m., the applications from all the other big names had rolled in one after another.
Now it all made sense. The association must've had some use for Chu Zhi, and at the same time he'd pulled on his vast network. It was a domineering move. Put mildly, it was like upgrading the association. Put bluntly, it was like planning to overthrow the whole leadership. But honestly, Park Hoi didn't mind.
Because Chu Zhi's connections were outrageous—music company executives, star pianists, legendary producers, opera singers, even Asian-level pop groups.
If they all joined, the association would leap from a third-tier Asian group to the absolute top tier. Park Hoi felt that even if he had to step down and hand over leadership, it would be worth it.
Secretary Fang stayed quiet beside him, but from the fragments he overheard, he guessed it was all true. Over a hundred applications, all real.
Fantastic. His first thought was that they'd never have to beg and scrape for sponsors again. With these giants backing them, sponsors would be lining up at the door.
"These applications are real. Handle them carefully, and call a meeting with the vice presidents and the board at two this afternoon," Park Hoi instructed.
It wasn't difficult work, but it was incredibly time-consuming. Once he saw the president had no further orders, Secretary Fang hurried off to start.
Two hours later, Park Hoi's friend Choi Min called back after finishing his performance. His words confirmed Park Hoi's suspicions: he too had joined because of Chu Zhi's invitation.
"In the past, Asia didn't have a continental-level authority. China had its Musicians' Association, Korea had the Music Copyright Association, Japan had its Composers' Association, but all of them were confined within their own countries," Park Hoi mused. "With this lineup, who knows, maybe this time it'll really…"
Over the next two days, the Asian Music Association put out two announcements—
The first welcomed Chu Zhi, Li Weiwen, Deng Taishan, Park Jinwoong… over a hundred new members.The second declared that new leadership elections would be held.
To outsiders, this didn't make much of a splash. Domestic fans were just surprised that even Chu Zhi was joining.
But to industry insiders, it was an earthquake on the level of the Hanshin disaster. Everyone knew the superstar was about to make a huge move.
Europe didn't feel much of the shock. Their headlines were still dominated by yodels and Azazel.
Fan Forum, "Seven Men – Leighton":
I love She Taught Me How to Yodel and Jesus Loves Me. Azazel is the model every singer in the world should learn from. I respect him.
Replies:
"I'm watching Masked Singer right now, and Azazel is the treasure of our Western music world."
"I'm a Seven Men fan, but Azazel's songs touch my soul in a way nothing else does."
"I had road rage earlier, went home fuming, wanted to blast rock music to vent. But when I played Azazel's new song, my anger just… melted away, and I even felt happy."
Perfect. Leighton scrolled through the replies with satisfaction. Whoever Azazel was, he was definitely better than that damned Chinese star.
While Leighton was basking in his pride, Chu Zhi was smiling just as brightly. In two days, he'd be performing The Internationale on FOX in the US.
This version's arrangement and melody came from the rock band Tang Dynasty's take on The Internationale. Chu Zhi would sing the English lyrics, because really, what was the point of Chinese lyrics if no American could understand them?
"Jiu-yé, what's got you grinning from ear to ear?" Lao Qian asked curiously. "If there's good news, share it so I can be happy too."
"I'm happy every day," Chu Zhi replied, then quickly changed the subject. "How's the Orange Family's fan wish campaign going?"
"The winner, Apu, really is your fan," Lao Qian explained. "He only left that message casually on the board and even forgot about it himself. But when we reached out, he agreed right away to help."
"That's good," Chu Zhi nodded.
Every year, they picked one fan's wish to fulfill, but it couldn't go in weird directions.
After some discussion, the team came up with a plan. They'd fulfill Apu's wish and publicize it heavily, then Apu would apologize for ruining the overall atmosphere and donate the money to charity.
Originally, the company was supposed to cover the cost, but Apu turned out to be a genuine fan who was willing to donate his own money. That was even better.
The official account would approve it and make it clear that similar wishes would be filtered out in the future, to avoid repeats.
Running a fanbase was exhausting. It really wasn't easy.