"Two hundred yuan gift card, not bad at all. This star's actually pretty thoughtful." Xiao Wei had been in a foul mood, working overtime until one or two in the morning sucked, but once Captain Wang handed out those gift cards, the dissatisfaction faded.
It was basically the same as getting two hundred yuan in overtime pay. Not bad at all.
"Chu Zhi's always generous. Every September he throws that Orange Festival, and whenever the police help maintain order, they leave with bags of snacks." Lao Huang spoke with the voice of experience.
"Wait, Captain Wang, didn't your autograph request fall through?" Xiao Wei suddenly realized.
"Of course not. There's another gift too." Captain Wang pulled two albums from his small black bag, the same one he'd used to fish out the Walmart gift cards earlier.
"Here, everyone who helped maintain order gets a signed album as a gift. Nobody's left out."
Xiao Wei and Lao Huang stared in surprise when the albums landed in their hands.
"Wasn't Chu Zhi's wrist all swollen? How'd he still find the time to sign albums?" Xiao Wei muttered.
"Must've been prepared in advance. When we wrapped up last night I noticed his wrist was already puffed up like a little balloon," Captain Wang replied.
"Signing nonstop for eleven hours would wreck anybody's hand. That manager, Wang something, kept trying to persuade him to stop, but he refused. He could've wrapped up around six in the evening." Lao Huang shook his head.
"I'm not really into idols, but Chu Zhi feels like a damn good one," Xiao Wei said.
Captain Wang agreed. He'd thought five thousand signatures would be the max, but Chu Zhi signed ten thousand, double the plan. Still, what Captain Wang cared about most was nabbing a signed album for his kid. Just imagining his child's smile made it worth it.
Too bad Wang Haoxian, his kid, wasn't smiling at all. With #ChuZhiHandSwollenFromSigning# trending, how could he?
Plenty of Little Fruits at the event had taken pictures from all angles, clearly showing the state of Chu Zhi's wrist.
Most passersby and gossip-eaters wouldn't click into that hashtag. Celebrity studios buying hot searches to brag about hardship was old news. But with the sheer number of Little Fruits posting, the topic shot straight into the top three of entertainment trends.
#ChuZhiHandSwollenFromSigning#
#WhyHasHeStayedPopularForFiveSixYears#
The first sat at number one, the second at number three, squeezed around a random trending item about "Wanliu's flawless skin at forty-two."
That second hashtag had spun off from singer Gu Peng, who reposted the first hot search and added, "Why's he stayed popular for five or six years? Because he's always treated fans with the same passion. For Jiu he's crazy, for Jiu he'll smash into walls headfirst!"
Gu Peng was one of the few folk singers with mainstream recognition, but in public he had a reputation for being socially anxious. His excited post made him look like a rabid fan, and the contrast sent it flying onto hot search.
The truth? Gu Peng forgot to switch accounts and accidentally posted from his main.
Moonlit Shadows: Xiao Jiu really is the definition of spoiling fans with no bottom line. Is the injury serious?
Southern Star Song: The limit was two thousand signings. That was hit around six, but brother Jiu didn't want fans disappointed, so he kept going…
The Ideal Me: I was there. He started half an hour early. I got stuck in traffic and arrived late. By then there were definitely more than two thousand people. Honestly, I lined up thinking I wouldn't get an autograph, but he kept going past midnight without stopping. I got my signature and felt happy, but also guilty.
MhmMhmBounceBaba: I'm speechless at the management team. Don't they understand Jiu-yé's popularity? Set up an online reservation system. Once the quota's full, Little Fruits won't go. Otherwise, with Jiu-yé's personality, he'll keep signing no matter what, even if it wrecks his health. I heard he was taken straight to the hospital after the event.
The fanbase split into three groups. Most were heartbroken over their idol. Some blamed the management team. And a small minority scolded fans at the event for not leaving once they saw Chu Zhi struggling, calling it moral blackmail.
The next morning, Qi Qiu saw how bad it was getting and didn't wait. Aiguo's official Weibo posted a health update, relaying the doctor's diagnosis from the night before. It didn't cool the hype, but at least it stopped the fans from fighting each other. Once they knew their idol was okay, everyone relaxed.
Why did the heat keep climbing? Because this was a "soft knife." It wasn't like that time Da Sen slashed at Japanese Ragdoll fans with a cleaver. This one made people ache the more they thought about it.
Especially since Little Fruits were masters of imagining the worst.
zs123: Crying. I'm a doctor, so I can judge from the pictures. Looks like soft tissue injury leading to joint inflammation. Not too serious. With some anti-swelling meds and rest, he'll be fine in a few days. What breaks me is that Xiao Jiu's handwriting never faltered once. "Brother Jiu's Thermal Pants" posted their signed album, and it looked the same as the early ones. Do you know how much that hurts? Even holding a cup of milk tea would feel like needles. And he still signed perfectly. The pain must've been insane.
Fans flooded the comments.
"Ugh, I had something like that once, copying papers all night. My wrist hurt even holding a drink."
"Hugging my poor Xiao Jiu!"
"Next time limit the numbers. His health matters most."
"By the way, that fan's username 'Thermal Pants' is pretty funny."
Little Fruits had a knack for stabbing themselves in the heart, or more accurately, empathizing to the point of pain.
Joint inflammation is already brutal. The Emperor Beast on top of it? Impossible without rest. Yet he forced himself to keep going. It stunned people into silence.
Even Zhang Ning, now a "mom fan" thanks to Journey Among the Stars, was shaken.
"How can someone like Chu Zhi, with his status, still hold offline signings? And how does he let himself get hurt like this?" Hong Hu couldn't wrap his head around it. He'd watched his old buddy, once unknown and unsupported, become China's face abroad.
"What status? Fans are fans. Don't say stuff like that," Zhang Ning shot him a glare.
"If I were him, I'd never wear myself out like this. One stomp of his foot shakes the whole Asian entertainment circle," Hong Hu argued.
"He never lost his original heart. No matter how popular he gets, he treats fans the same. That's why he's still standing tall in this industry." Zhang Ning poked her husband. "Not everyone's like you, forgetting people once you're successful."
"I'm not some ungrateful bastard," Hong Hu muttered. "But still, he's technically got an honorary leadership post now. He should take care of himself."
"Xiao Jiu's still the same as when he started." Zhang Ning's tone was firm.
From that alone you could tell—industry bosses, producers, and music directors all saw Chu Zhi as a heavyweight, on the same level as bureau leaders or heads of cultural institutions. Yet trending or not, he hadn't changed a bit.
The next day, fangirls across the internet jumped on their favorite activity: comparing other stars to Chu Zhi. "So-and-so left after two hours at their signing," "so-and-so canceled halfway" … and so on.
The Emperor Beast really had raised the bar for Chinese entertainment. New idols popped up every year, but Chu Zhi was still the strongest fan magnet.
"Thank god I didn't go overboard." Gu Peng, waking late, finally realized he'd posted from the wrong account. His head buzzed with regret.
At least he hadn't said anything outrageous. He sighed and thought, "Guess I should plan more signing events myself. By the way, where do I even buy his new album?"
Offline, only a handful of libraries and record shops sold albums. Most fans bought them online.
Besieged on All Sides had only been on sale for two days, and the numbers were already insane. On JD's flagship store, it sold 150,000 copies. On Taobao's flagship store, 240,000 copies. Dangdang and Amazon together added another 100,000.
The highest single-channel sales came from Pinduoduo. Original price was 86 yuan, but with the "Hundred Billion Subsidy" deal, it was going for just 77. That tiny 9-yuan difference ended up pushing 310,000 copies.
Add in all the other channels and scattered platforms, and in just two days, Besieged on All Sides had racked up 940,000 sales. Almost a million.
The whole industry was stunned.
And "stunned" really was the perfect word here.
Let's break it down with a few comparisons—
Lin Xia's retirement album sold 431,000.
Zhou Yiyu, the hottest rising star who blew a fortune on promotion, only managed 247,000.
For the entire year of 2024, across China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Macau, only five albums even managed to break 150,000 sales.
Ever since the broadcasting bureau set the "Diamond Record" honor, in three years only 28 albums had earned that certification.
Now Chu Zhi's two-day blast was sitting right under a million. It didn't even feel like the same world.
Think about it, Zhou Yiyu nearly killed himself promoting his album and still only sold a quarter of what Chu Zhi pulled in two days. What was even the point?
On the third day sales dipped a little, but it still held steady around 270,000 across all platforms.
Even a single day like that was enough to crush Zhou Yiyu. It was like he was fighting with a sword, while Chu Zhi was holding a Desert Eagle. Absolutely ridiculous.
And "ridiculous" was exactly what every singer across the three regions was thinking.
Other agencies would throw a celebration if one of their singers sold 50,000 albums. Meanwhile, Aiguo's people were calm as ever, treating the near-million milestone like it was just another Tuesday. They'd seen storms before.
"Brother Chu, don't you want to enjoy this a bit?" Fei Ge suddenly asked.
"Huh?" Chu Zhi was confused. If it was something about enjoying himself, it should've been brought up in private. Saying it in front of everyone like this didn't sound good.
Sure enough, everyone in the break room turned to look. Enjoy what, exactly?
"I mean, remember when United Brands got ordered to pay us ten million in damages, plus another eight million fine from the market regulators? There's more to that story," Fei Ge said.
He grinned. "I've gathered details on some other lawsuits against United Brands."
Everyone deflated. Oh, that's what he meant by "enjoy." Still, no one tuned out. United Brands was the enemy of the whole company.
That woke Chu Zhi right up. The Emperor Beast leaned forward. "Tell me everything."
"First off, President Mei of Huaneng New Materials sued United Brands for false advertising.
Shancheng's an industrial city, and Huaneng ranks in the top 100. President Mei bought five tons of oranges, and now he's demanding a refund and compensation—"
"Wait, wait," Chu Zhi cut in. "Five tons? You sure you didn't mix up the units? Who the hell buys five tons of oranges?"
"Turns out President Mei's either a fan of yours, or his procurement manager's a Little Fruit. Before New Year, they gave out employee welfare packages—rice, oil, thermos bottles, and fruit—for all 2,500 staff. The oranges were just one part."
That made more sense. Big corporate bulk buying.
Fei Ge went on, "Brother Chu, your fanbase really covers everything. Huaneng's just one example. Plenty of other companies are doing bulk orders too. I even heard Li Guixun ordered about a hundred jin to give out as welfare."
"Fanbase covers everything? What kind of phrase was that?" Fei Ge's use of idioms was starting to sound like Zhan Ge, that scatterbrained agent from the badminton.
Li Guixun was the head of Aiguo's Japan branch. He was based in Tokyo most of the time. Even though the branch wasn't that big, with about twenty people, handing out five jin per person added up.
"Pretty sure Mr. Ou gave each of his employees a 20,000-yen welfare budget this year," Lao Qian tossed in, not that anyone asked.
Still, it wasn't farfetched. If hundreds of companies across Asia hadn't been bulk buying, it would've been impossible to move over three million tons in half a year. Shancheng's annual citrus production was only around that much. And honestly, Aiguo's leadership had been slow to react to United Brands' infringement. Niu Jiangxue and the entire decision-making team couldn't escape blame.
But given the situation, it was understandable. Aiguo had always been short on manpower, and with their strong public goodwill online, they'd never even set up a dedicated "anti-black" department.
"By my count, over a hundred Chinese companies bought Little Fruit Oranges as staff welfare. Over forty of them are now suing United Brands for damages." Fei Ge held up three fingers. "At least this much."
At least thirty million. Whatever United Brands swallowed, they'd have to cough back up.
On top of that, the [Little Fruit Oranges] trademark had already been canceled by the trademark office. And Fei Ge hadn't even counted overseas companies yet. Firms from Vietnam, Japan, South Korea, and Indonesia had also been buying in, riding on Chu Zhi's reputation.
When you hit someone, you make it hurt. Adidas had learned that the hard way. Years later, their sales in Asia still hadn't recovered. The market doesn't wait. If you step out, someone else will immediately fill the gap. By the time you want back in, it's already too late.
United Brands' strength lay in its channels. After leaving the "United Fruits" era behind, they didn't produce their own stuff anymore. They made money by leveraging distribution and slashing logistics costs. But now that their main consumer-facing channels across Asia had been wrecked, even if it wasn't fatal, it was a serious wound.
"Since we're already on this topic, let me add something." Wang Yuan happened to walk in, just in time to hear.
"This fiasco has an upside too. Xiao Jiu's commercial pull has been proven beyond doubt, especially in the food sector," he said. "Brands like Pagoda and Freshippo have already sent us offers to collaborate."
"How much are they paying for Brother Chu's endorsement?" Fei Ge asked.
"Pagoda's being sneaky. Instead of paying, they want to co-invest in a new brand with us. Basically, they'd provide the distribution channels, and we'd provide the star power."
Pagoda had distribution? Of course they did. They were China's number one fruit retailer. Think about it—if you're gonna buy fruit anyway, wouldn't you go for the one tied to Chu Zhi?
"Alright, back to work." Niu Jiangxue walked in too. By now, most of the decision-makers were here. She shooed the other staff out, turning the break room into a makeshift meeting space.
"Since Brother Chu's here, let's quickly discuss the idea of setting up a joint company."
Wang Yuan listed out the offers from four different capital groups. Freshippo, backed by Alibaba, had the most generous terms.
"What do you guys think?" Chu Zhi asked. He was tempted. Who wouldn't be? Money was money. But he wasn't exactly itching for it either.
Niu Jiangxue spoke first. She thought it wasn't urgent. Right now, the company's priority was breaking into the European and American markets. Splitting their focus would hurt more than it helped.
"I agree with Niu Tou," Lao Qian said. His reasoning was simpler: as long as Chu Zhi's popularity held, business opportunities would always be there. Building fame was the company's number one task.
With the leadership aligned, Chu Zhi shelved the idea for now. Side businesses could wait.
It was just a quick impromptu meeting anyway. Once the topic was settled, everyone headed out of the break room.
Lao Qian called Niu Jiangxue "Niu Tou," meaning the head of the herd. It wasn't wrong. She was the one steering the whole agency. Like with the Golden Melody Awards in Taiwan, Aiguo had maintained its stance: refusing nominations, refusing awards.
Still in her early thirties, she'd been ranked by the Hurun Report as one of the twenty most powerful people in China's entertainment industry, sitting at number seven.
Number one was the head of China Film, while number six went to the CEO of Penguin Music, whose clout had skyrocketed with the rise of digital albums.