"Boss Chu, you didn't have time earlier, so our studio helped post a promotional Weibo for you," said Qian Lao.
"Oh, okay," Chu Zhi nodded.
Celebrity Weibo accounts are almost always managed by their agency teams. There's just no other way. Too many stars have shown they can't be trusted with their own social media—some say the most ridiculous things.
And even with agency control, you still get absurd posts. Like someone saying China should go clean up the Fukushima reactor... speechless.
Chu Zhi took a glance. It was just a routine promo. All the artists participating in Rock Night had posted something similar.
Zheng Huo: [@CapitalTV_Tonight at 8:30PM, Rock Night. Waiting for you. #RockNight#]
Master Chen Aigui: [#RockNight# Let's get hyped.]
Xu Ji: [We'll all be on Capital TV tonight at 8:30. #RockNight#]
One after another, hundreds of posts went up. Rock singers, whether in the lineup or not, helped boost the signal. Rock stars might not all be big names, but there were a lot of them.
So even before Lin Xia and Chu Zhi reposted anything, the event had already climbed the trending charts. Once they joined in, it exploded.
Fans—Chu Zhi's "Little Oranges" and Lin Xia's loyalists—were thrilled to see their idols perform. But not everyone was pleased. Some hardcore rock fans were pissed.
"Why did they invite Chu Zhi? He doesn't fit in at all," Wang Chen grumbled, his frustration practically radiating from his skin.
"I was actually excited about seeing Xu Ji and Old Man Chen on stage. But bringing in Chu Zhi is like putting a thief on a wedding cake."
Why did Wang Chen single out Chu Zhi and not Lin Xia? It wasn't that he liked Lin Xia better, just that Chu Zhi's fans were far more aggressive. If he criticized both, he'd be fighting a war on two fronts.
Wang Chen had always been a rebellious kid, beat up constantly growing up, and that only made him lean more into anti-mainstream culture. That's how he fell into hip-hop and later, seven or eight years of rock fandom thanks to Xu Ji's albums.
"I don't even feel like watching the livestream anymore," he muttered, needing an outlet for his annoyance.
@WishingForNoNukes: [What the hell? Why invite him to Rock Night?!] (Just now) [Image Attached]
You could open the image. No need to describe it here.
Within minutes, replies started rolling in:
@KleptoKnight: [What's wrong with Chu Zhi? I like his "Chrysanthemum Terrace" and "Wheat Field Wind."]
@MidnightMelody: [What's your point? You saying my boy Chu Zhi isn't good enough for Rock Night?]
@GoldenHammerOne: [It's kinda weird, not saying Chu Zhi's bad, but this is Rock Night. What's he gonna do, sing "Suddenly Thought of You"? Doesn't fit the vibe.]
Wang Chen noticed the replies. One of them backed him up, while the other two looked like casual fans or hardcore stans.
He fired back with a long reply: "It's not that Chu Zhi's a bad singer. But does he get rock? Rock is raw, full of testosterone. Can you picture Chu Zhi kicking over a mic stand and going wild on stage? I can't. His style just doesn't match."
All the way up to 8:30 PM, Wang Chen kept going, replying to people left and right in his WeChat Moments. And that's when he realized something...
His WeChat had over 400 contacts—friends, colleagues, old classmates—and within minutes, four or five people he hadn't spoken to in ages commented.
"Damn... Is Chu Zhi really that popular?" Wang Chen was stunned. He had thought top-tier idols were mostly hype, with inflated numbers and fake engagement.
He wasn't part of the fandom world, yet even his contact list had multiple fans. That ratio was... terrifying.
"So what if he's popular? Even if God himself came down, Chu Zhi still wouldn't belong on Rock Night!" Wang Chen declared.
He turned on his computer. His apartment didn't have a TV, but he could stream from his computer or phone. For this kind of show, he needed a big screen, so he ditched the phone.
"Capital TV? Never even heard of this network before."
Wang Chen represented a certain kind of rock fan—purists. To them, rock was sacred, untouchable. No pop. No fluff. Just raw music.
Most of these fans were in their thirties or older. They had their opinions, but rarely voiced them in public online. Like Wang Chen, they just posted grumbling updates to their private circles.
At 8:30, Rock Night aired on Capital TV. People tuned in from phones, laptops, tablets, smart TVs—it might have been the station's most-watched night ever.
Let's be honest. Rock music hits different live. On-screen, it's not the same. And with subgenres like hardcore, art rock, and metal, the sound can be intense—almost overwhelming.
Listeners who preferred calm, melodic music might not have the taste or tolerance. It wasn't about right or wrong, just different appetites.
Like if someone dragged you to watch Peking opera. The technique, the choreography—it's all masterful. But if it's not your thing, it's just not your thing.
So quite a few Chu Zhi fans tuned in but lowered the volume after two songs, waiting for his performance.
Meanwhile, rock fans who lived for this kind of music? They were having the time of their lives. Like ice cream in a heat wave. Pure bliss.
"If this concert were held in Chang'an, I'd definitely go. The vibe must be insane," Wang Chen muttered.
An hour and a half in, Chu Zhi took the stage. Wang Chen squinted. "What the hell... is that a gong?"
"Chinese-style rock? Are you kidding me?" He couldn't even imagine how this would work.
On a rock stage, not having a full band is a disadvantage. Even Lin Xia had scrambled to find one last-minute. But Chu Zhi walked out alone—with just a mic. Then he dropped a bomb.
"In my dreams, I returned to the Tang Dynasty—
Tonight, the wine cup reflects the moonlight,
Men plow, women weave, the Silk Road bustling...
Tonight, the wine cup reflects the moonlight,
Heaven-blessed lands, treasures and talent…"
No exaggeration—if you liked heavy metal and hardcore, you couldn't not like this.
As fate would have it, Wang Chen liked both. So the moment Chu Zhi started, his ears perked up like a dog hearing kibble.
"Back in the days of Kaiyuan's golden age,
The world bound by loyalty and brotherhood.
Eyes wide to the endless world,
Would that I had ten thousand homes to share!"
When Chu Zhi kicked over the mic stand and opened his arms, belting lines in a stylized opera-inspired voice, Wang Chen felt like he had bitten into an ice-cold, seedless watermelon on the hottest day of summer.
"Holy crap. This is insane. Chu Zhi is insane!" Wang Chen shouted. He looked at his husky, who was snacking beside him, and kicked the dog bowl over in a frenzy.
The husky: "???"
"This guy's legit. That was a shocker," Wang Chen muttered.
He'd expected nothing from Chu Zhi. Which made the performance feel even more explosive. The contrast was stark.
"Come here, boy! Listen to this with me," Wang Chen said, grabbing his confused husky and holding it close for the rest of the performance.
The dog struggled, but its owner had it in a chokehold.
"His live vocals are amazing. That range must be eighteen, maybe nineteen notes? He's the scorpion's father!" (Meaning: top tier, absurdly good)
When the performance ended, Wang Chen felt... a little empty. Even the later sets by Xu Ji and Chen Aigui couldn't match the same high.
@WishingForNoNukes: [I admit it. I was narrow-minded. Chu Zhi totally belongs in rock. Anyone says otherwise, I'll fight them.]
From mocking his place at Rock Night to hoping he'd sing more metal tracks—it took Wang Chen just three hours to switch sides. And he wasn't alone.
Chu Zhi had officially made his mark on the rock scene.