It wasn't that Xiao Qi was trying to rain on her parade, but Fudan University's admission score really was a heavy burden for Xiao Zi.
"No one's going to know if you don't reach that goal. Why take it so seriously…" Xiao Qi couldn't understand. She'd watched motivational videos too, even left comments saying she was aiming for Peking University.
"But everyone else in the group is working hard. And if you finish the goals you set in the community, you get a little star next to your name. One of the girls finished a major project and got promoted. A bunch of them already have stars." Xiao Zi really wanted that silver star next to her account name.
"..." Xiao Qi couldn't see the appeal. What was so great about a virtual badge? If you want shiny things that badly, just buy a membership on Penguin. They'll throw all the badges you want at you.
If Penguin had one talent, it was milking money. Like a sow in a bra, it had no shame and endless tricks.
"You don't get it, Xiao Qi. You remember how Brother Jiu printed the names of his early supporters on the ceiling and walls of his practice room? I told you about it. I was late and missed it—my name wasn't there." Xiao Zi said with conviction, "Now that we can earn stars, it's like a new constellation of growth. I don't want to miss out again. I want my name to shine bright this time."
She spoke with grand determination, but deep down she regretted not setting a simpler goal. Something like "wake up early for 100 days." Some of the other girls in the group had chosen that.
For a moment, she even considered deleting her account and starting over. But then she thought about how Brother Jiu had kept singing through coughing fits and PTSD. That shameful idea vanished in an instant.
"I'm hanging up. I really need to study now." Xiao Zi ended the call.
With "Chapter Seven of the Night" playing in the background, she took a deep breath and returned to her books. Brother Jiu was working hard. She couldn't afford to fall behind either. Her grades were average, and without extra effort, there was no way she could get into Fudan.
Xiao Qi looked at her phone and suddenly didn't feel like going to the movies anymore. Her best friend was studying like her life depended on it, all because of a celebrity. Meanwhile, her own grades had slipped since she got into fandom life. That didn't sit right.
In a cozy apartment in Shanghai, Chu Zhi was wrapping up his day.
"I think Brother Qian hasn't been putting his lighter in his mouth for two days. Good habits are hard to build, bad ones even harder to break. Probably just lost the lighter." Chu Zhi muttered to himself as he opened Tmall Global and ordered another engraved lighter to send to Qian.
There was also an email from Sister Niu—it was an invitation from the Rock Association to be a special guest at their "Rock Night." After translating the term "special guest," it became clear it meant no appearance fee, just reimbursement for travel and lodging.
Invitations like this were always left up to the artist to decide.
"The Rock Association? Isn't Brother Zheng their president?" Chu Zhi searched it up. Zheng Huo, now in his 60s, should be called "uncle" based on seniority, but insisted Chu Zhi just call him "brother."
Zheng Huo had founded the first rock concert in this parallel world's Huaxia. He held immense status in rock circles, but didn't actually manage much. He was more of an honorary figurehead. In this world, the chairman of the Huaxia Rock Council wasn't Cui Jian either. That was typical—the people at the top often weren't the strongest.
"If there was something important going on, Brother Zheng would've messaged me ahead of time." Chu Zhi asked his assistant, Xiao Zhu, to send over his schedule. Rock Night was packed into an already full day in Beijing, but he could spare an hour or two.
He considered calling Zheng Huo, but it was already past 11 PM. Too late. Better to leave a message.
"Got the invite for Rock Night. If it's real, I'll cancel my other plans that day and go."
To be honest, performing at Rock Night wouldn't boost his visibility much. His commercial gigs paid millions. If he accepted, it would be to return a favor to Zheng Huo.
Getting into the Musicians' Association executive circle had come thanks to Zheng Huo's recommendation. Chu Zhi believed in repaying kindness. Whether friend or mentor, you shouldn't always expect to take advantage.
After watching a 90-minute episode of Jin Shengtan Reviews Water Margin, he went to bed. He made a habit of reading every night, quietly laying the groundwork to one day become a Nobel Prize-winning poet.
Reading and learning were supposed to be joyful—what a joke. Honestly, Chu Zhi thought short videos were way more fun. But if he wanted to impress others in the future, he had to put in the work. So he watched, like it or not.
The next day, although the buzz around the "Singer-Songwriter Festival" had cooled slightly, his management team's promotional push had just begun.
Around 11 AM, as usual, Left Oxygen Morningstar posted a short review on the Left Ranking:
"Chu Zhi has strong mid-to-high vocal range. His performances in 'Opera' and the music festival version of 'You Are Not Truly Happy' really showcased his upper register.
What surprised me was his deep voice. It took me back to the era of old films. It matched perfectly with the marimba's lower tones. His high notes felt almost like an aria, layered with the sound of over twenty violins. I don't usually become a fan of celebrities, but I nearly did.
Since his return, Chu Zhi has been bursting with creativity. His new blend of Chinese styles and unique rap melodies put him ahead of others his age.
With the release of 'Chrysanthemum Terrace,' the seeds of new Chinese-style music were planted. After 'Chapter Seven of the Night,' we may see a rise in darker, gothic-inspired works. I selfishly hope he continues to lead the way."
Compared to Left Oxygen's subtle praise, hardcore fan Zhang Ming was far more direct in his music column "Ming's Brief Reviews":
"Chu Zhi's creativity and live performance skills leave the 90s-era stars in the dust. I've praised him so much I'm tired of it.
But I didn't expect 'Chapter Seven of the Night' to show me something completely new. His stage performance followed a three-act film structure.
Act One: Low-pitched rap introduced the characters and the story.
Act Two: Falsetto highs alternating with low raps represented rising conflict and plot escalation.
Act Three: The final falsetto chorus and mixed vocals resolved the story's tension, blending musical theater with cinematic scoring. Chu Zhi really is a live-performance genius.
I think he'd do great scoring films too."
Meanwhile, Gu Duofu added his own perspective on the show Music Roundtable, praising a different strength—Chu Zhi's songwriting.
"Many of us can eventually write lyrics and choreography if we drag it out long enough. Chrysanthemum Terrace, for example, is just a six-tone variant on the palace mode, rhymed every half-line, with a simple arrangement using hulusi and zither. Give us a year or two, we could build something similar.
But something like Chapter Seven of the Night can't be built by effort alone. It takes a flash of genius, a spark that goes beyond ordinary thought.
Chu Zhi wrote the lyrics, composed the music, and arranged it all by himself. I've never seen this level of creative force in a young artist. He's one of a kind."
Though the reviews came out at different times, all three critics agreed on one thing: Chu Zhi was the leader of the Gen Z generation.
Many artists watching these reviews realized the same thing—someone was being set up as the new standard.