"Apologies for using public resources for a personal matter" was the official statement, subtly implying that everyone should stop discussing it. But when a tree wants to stay still, the wind does not stop blowing.
There was no way media outlets and clickbait accounts would ignore such a big story. What kind of joke was that—this wasn't the Soviet Union.
The three photos released were hospital documents showing that it was just ruptured capillaries in the throat. No tuberculosis, no liver issues, nothing serious. Of course, the depression report was not among them.
Sure, anyone could fake a hospital stamp, but since these documents were easily verifiable, doing so would be incredibly stupid.
Facts speak louder than words. Clickbait accounts and media blogs quickly spread the news.
"Confirmed PTSD! Even with a damaged throat, he needs white liquor to sing on stage." — Today's Hot Topics
"Ruptured capillaries and torn vocal cords—will this end Chu Zhi's music career?" — Top News
"Without alcohol, can Chu Zhi still sing? And if he relies on it, how long can he last?" — Sina News
The headlines became increasingly sensational. That Top News one made it sound like Chu Zhi might never sing again.
In this battle for clicks, whoever exaggerated more, grabbed more attention, and stirred more emotion was the winner.
Chu Zhi posted:
@EatingABigOrange_ChuZhi: [Sorry for worrying you, Little Oranges. I'm fine. Take care of yourselves too. Also, there's a surprise on the way. You'll know soon enough.]
He shared this after carefully burning a handkerchief and a plastic bag. Cautious as ever, Chu Zhi wasn't taking chances with paparazzi digging through his trash. Turning things to ash felt much safer.
The same message was also posted on Orange Home. With both the studio's official account and Chu Zhi's personal account posting at once, the frantic Little Fruits (his fans) finally began to calm down.
Comments poured in:
"Take care of yourself, Jiu-ge. Eat more pears, they soothe the throat."
"So glad it's nothing serious. When I heard it might be terminal, I nearly fainted."
"Do you like bitter melon, Jiu-ge? No? Then try mung beans. Mung bean porridge is good for the throat."
Meanwhile, Wang Yuan was chatting with some mom-fans she knew well. She never talked much about her own background—it involved politics—but she had no such reservations when talking with these fans.
One of them was Zheng Xianbi, born in 1977 in Shanwei, Guangdong. She was the founder and CEO of Chi Fang Technologies, a company specializing in glass manufacturing for over 20 years. Her firm held over a dozen patents in specialty glass and was one of China's biggest suppliers for smartphone and watch glass.
By every standard—social, financial, or personal—Zheng Xianbi was a power figure. So you might wonder, how does a woman like that end up a fan?
It's not that surprising. Plenty of top stars on Earth had fans who were PhDs and successful entrepreneurs. Some of the "mom fans" of four-character stars even ranged up to age fifty.
Zheng Xianbi became a Chu Zhi fan during the "Starry Pattern and Vine Tattoo" incident. She felt he was sincere and grateful. Even when he tried to end his life, he still treated the world gently. He seemed so foolishly kind. Her heart ached for him.
"The doctor really said that?" she asked, her heart tightening.
"I think the doctor meant, how can someone with such severe depression still be so gentle to everyone around him?" Wang Yuan said, her tone heavy. "I had mild depression once, and even then, I felt irritated by anyone who approached me."
"But Ah Jiu... his condition is severe."
"That boy's got such a good nature. With you by his side, I feel a little more at ease," Zheng Xianbi replied.
"This should stay between us. Just a few of us knowing is enough. Ah Jiu is strong and doesn't want others to find out."
"Understood," Zheng Xianbi nodded. They had nothing more to say and hung up. Wang Yuan still had another mom-fan to inform.
As CEO of a major corporation, Zheng Xianbi's daily schedule was packed with meetings. Her only free time during the day was at meals.
It wasn't until dinner that she had time to watch Chu Zhi's performance at the university music festival. The full video was online, starting from when he stepped on stage. The camera shook a bit, but it wasn't a big deal.
The sound quality was clearly affected by being filmed on a phone, and didn't match the original, but even so, the emotional power of the performance came through.
"He's too considerate... living like this must be exhausting," Zheng Xianbi murmured.
The more uplifting the song, the more her heart ached. After all, Wang Yuan had just told her Chu Zhi had severe depression.
"Jiu-ge felt his earlier version of the Dream of Red Mansions song was too gloomy, so he picked a more encouraging one. Even if it was just a little, he didn't want fans to feel any negativity." She felt her heart clench.
"He's already bruised all over... and still thinking of encouraging others? Child, what about yourself?"
In the video, Chu Zhi was about to sing again when he coughed twice. His brow furrowed as if sensing something. He quickly pulled out a handkerchief and covered his mouth—blood bloomed across the cloth.
Watching it felt like a needle driving into her chest. She didn't cry. Years in business had taught her to keep emotions off her face. But her heart was bleeding.
"He knows something's wrong with his throat. He's aware of his fear of the stage. But he'd never refuse his fans," she thought. Should she assign him a personal doctor?
Zheng Xianbi, Wang Yuan, and four others made up the mom-fan circle even Huang Bo, CEO of Taiyang Chuanhe, didn't dare underestimate. The massage therapist Ma Weitao and nutritionist Winston were all hired by them.
Her own child was in college now and doing well, so she didn't need to worry much. But this other "child," Chu Zhi, still needed her attention.
"He's too naive... how can someone like him survive in the entertainment industry?" she thought. Was Chu Zhi really that naive? She knew the answer. No scandals, no messy private life. Even people who only worked with him once had nothing but praise.
During Dream of Red Mansions, he had bought chrysanthemum-goji tea for the crew. On Singer-Songwriter, he got bubble tea for the production staff. If Zheng Xianbi hadn't looked into it herself, she wouldn't have believed a celebrity like him still existed in this industry.
And this "child" wasn't just a good person—he was ambitious, too. He'd won the Southern Media Music Awards and was leading the charge in creating a new wave of modern Chinese-style music. A truly gifted artist.
She barely touched her dinner. No appetite. She continued scrolling through the comments under the video.
@LonelyMoonBend: "I said it before, Jiu-ge's condition can't be that bad. If it were stomach bleeding, the blood would be pale. But this was bright red—clearly just a capillary rupture. I've never had a throat bleed, but I've had nosebleeds. Same idea, blood everywhere."
@LittleShuFu: "Here's a detail—his thermos cup. If it was just warm water, he would've taken a sip. But he lifted it and put it back down. Clearly white liquor."
@CPST_XiaoYu: "Honestly, I'm not surprised he coughed up blood. Who else but Chu Zhi would? I don't mean anything bad, just... think about it. He drinks high-proof liquor before every performance. And nothing's ever happened? I even wondered if it was fake... cough, cough. I just want him to get better. There aren't many good new songs lately. Chu Zhi has to take care of his throat."
"I have to hire a proper doctor for him," Zheng Xianbi made up her mind.
But then she paused.
"Wait…"
She remembered Wang Yuan had said that Chu Zhi was completely stiff during the hospital visit. Was that discomfort from the doctor—or from the hospital itself?
She needed to find out. She dialed Wang Yuan again, but the line was busy.
Meanwhile, the fan community's sudden online uproar had brought about some unexpected benefits…