Reactions flooded in like bamboo shoots after the rain.
Before watching: "Why is Chu Zhi stepping onto a rock stage? What a pointless invitation."
After watching: "Why did Chu Zhi only sing one song? That invitation turned out to be more than worth it!"
"Never seen anything like this. A seven-minute heavy metal track with a two-minute intro? Tch. Only Chu Zhi would dare write something like that. And the crazy part? It actually slaps."
"Sounds amazing. Absolutely thrilling. Got me so fired up I kicked my husky for no reason other than pure hype."
"Chu Zhi's performance surprised me in two ways. First, I didn't expect him to be this good live. 'Dream of the Tang Dynasty' may be an original track, but it's clearly not simple. Most songs don't go beyond two octaves. This one? Nineteen notes, from B to F3. Yet Chu Zhi handled it with ease, no voice cracks, no going off-key. Second, he didn't just throw heavy metal and traditional Chinese music together. He actually blended them well. Which brings us to the real question—when's the next song coming out?"
We've talked before about how older rock fans, those in their thirties and up, usually don't post much on platforms like Weibo or Douban. But that doesn't mean they don't exist. They just tend to get overlooked in data reports.
Still, when they hear a great song or watch a compelling film, they're willing to pay for what they love. Many of them started seeing Chu Zhi in a new light. Some even voiced their support. One user, going by the WeChat nickname "GreyGreyGreyGreyGreyGrey," posted this:
"The line 'Back in the days of the Kaiyuan era, friends across the land were united as glue and lacquer' is from Du Fu's Recalling the Past. 'If only I had a mansion with ten thousand rooms' is also from Du Fu. But the line 'Limitless horizons, a boundless world' I had never heard. Turns out it's from Fang Gan's Inscription on the Upper Pavilion of Bao'en Temple.
Chu Zhi hasn't done anything scandalous since his comeback. The only thing people criticize him for is not attending college, saying he's not well-educated.
But songs like 'Dream of the Tang Dynasty' and 'Chrysanthemum Terrace'? Let's see those critics try writing lyrics like that. I graduated from Tsinghua University with a degree in Chinese Language and Literature five years ago, and I couldn't pull it off."
And just like that, Chu Zhi's public favorability began stacking up layer by layer.
Other singers who weren't invited to Rock Night had originally planned to question why Lin Xia and Chu Zhi got to go at all. They were ready to dismiss them as nobodies.
But now? Lin Xia's hardcore rock performance might not have been ground-breaking, but it passed the bar. As for Chu Zhi… they were all speechless.
Who nails a heavy metal performance their first time out?
Isn't there supposed to be a law against this kind of overachievement?
Rock Night shook the entire entertainment industry. Even major corporations started to feel the ripple effects. At Dahua Entertainment, a tense emergency meeting was called in the conference room.
"According to last week's private report from iMan Data, Chu Zhi's commercial value is now at 116, and his individual value is at 106," said the bald head of the data department.
iMan Data is one of the most reputable analytics and consulting firms in China. It made waves domestically and internationally with its "Artist Risk Assessment Report."
Any entertainment company with half a presence, or even independent studios, subscribes to iMan's weekly reports. There are hits and misses in showbiz, but iMan never loses money.
"What about Jo Kwon and Jung Minan?" asked the Dahua CEO, who had just lifted his teacup, only to set it down again in frustration.
"Jo Kwon's commercial score is 94, which was 96 before he joined Singer-Songwriter. His personal value is 82. Jung Minan's are 91 and 75 respectively," the bald data head replied, adding, "And those two are among the highest scorers in iMan's rankings."
He casually forwarded the report screenshots to the CEO. iMan's top rank in the industry isn't for nothing—their standards are strict.
Commercial value reflects endorsements, luxury brand attention, and the ability to convert public presence into income. Variety show fees are minor and often confidential. In short, commercial value represents market potential.
Personal value, on the other hand, considers past works, current popularity, individual skills, and future prospects as planned by the artist's management.
Most of GZ's songs were composed by Jo Kwon, which is why his personal score is much higher than his groupmates'.
The CEO stared at the numbers—116 and 106—and found them deeply irritating.
Sure, Korean stars often rank high, but they're signed to JYG. How could a member of China's so-called Big Three entertainment firms not even break 90 in commercial value?
The commercial report summary read:
[Dior, Armani, and Boucheron all favor Chu Zhi. No other celebrity has ever served as a Greater China brand ambassador for all three. Chu Zhi's commercial appeal far surpasses others in the field.]
The individual report summary read:
[Chu Zhi's immaculate public image carries a relatively high risk of collapse. However, his fanbase includes virtually all major demographics. His creative talent in modern Chinese-style music could sustain his career for life.]
A year ago, people naively believed that 100 was the ceiling for both metrics. The previous record-holder, Su Yiwu, peaked at 97 in commercial value, which already seemed exaggerated.
Then Chu Zhi showed up—and proved that the ceiling wasn't real.
After all, how could popularity have a fixed upper limit?
"Breaking industry ceilings in brand partnerships, dominating fan demographics across the board, and somehow building a massive loyal fanbase even in Korea. In an age of fleeting attention, he turned into a full-blown monster," muttered the CEO with a heavy chest.
The worst part was that Li Xingwei and the Korean boy groups—once Dahua's shining stars—had both been wrecked by Chu Zhi. One got dethroned, the other had its lead vocalist humiliated.
Dahua had lost over a hundred million yuan directly or indirectly because of Chu Zhi. Just seeing his name made the CEO's blood boil.
"'Dream of the Tang Dynasty' and Rock Night are going to boost his fanbase even more. Chu Zhi's rise is ridiculous," he muttered, his words laced with jealousy.
That bastard of a dark horse wasn't even trying to show off. He had real talent and just kept hiding it. It was absurdity opening the door for absurdity.
The CEO secretly hoped that GZ's upcoming performance on Singer-Songwriter could take him down a notch. Let's see if you can still win when it's a five-on-two team battle.
In the end, the meeting concluded with a decision: copy Chu Zhi's formula. Launch the "Positive Energy Idol" project and develop several new faces.
The bald department head walked out of the room mumbling to himself, "We've sicced every tabloid team we own on him, and still can't dig up a single scandal. With these conditions, there's nothing to work with."
He quietly opened Orange Orchard. He logged in daily and had already reached level 6.
The fan forum felt like a never-ending festival. Over 40,000 comments in a single day, ten times more than the busiest online fiction forums.
[What does a cat say? Meow meow
What does a sheep say? Baa baa
What does a cow say? Moo moo
What does a dog say? 'Jiu-ge, I really like you so much! Let's cuddle! Have you eaten? What did you eat? Who with? Good morning, good afternoon, good night, see you tomorrow.']
[Rockstar Jiu-ge is so cool! I never liked rock before, but his kind of rock is just different. It's amazing!]
[Jiu-ge, Jiu-ge, I got sick and had to get an IV drip... It's a night where I miss you.]
And so on.
The bald staffer casually replied to one post: "Top, top, top. Sis, you're absolutely right." He had developed the habit—first reply of the day earns experience points.
"This is the ideal fan atmosphere," he nodded. "Even if the idol drops something completely out of their usual style, they still get support."