THT TV—short for "Your New TV"—had become hugely popular online in Russia. Their hit show in China had been Psychic Showdown, which was oddly more compelling than Mysteries of Science, largely because there was no regulation against seances abroad.
[After many days apart, the Marvel Warriors—Elite Tier team—have arrived in Russia to assist the local branch. First, find the local branch.]
A familiar mission letter arrived with a string of Cyrillic text: the mission hint.
Cai Jia was fastest. She whipped out her phone and used offline translation mode via camera."I don't know why they didn't take our phones. I downloaded the Russian language pack just in case," she explained.
The translation popped up:
"Eat pineapple, chew pine chicken—your end is here, bourgeoisie!"
Cai Jia read the results aloud. "This sounds like the Soviet poet Mayakovsky's Eat Pineapple. I won't read the entire analysis—but this poem was used as a battle song during the Winter Palace uprising."
"Could the clue be at the Winter Palace?" Min Jeongbae guessed immediately. "They didn't take our phones so we could research."
They opened Google Maps. Cai Jia nodded. "It's only two or three kilometers from our hotel. Not far."
Zhang Ning eyed her teammates. "Wait—what's pine chicken?"
Across the room, Lo Jianhui lit up. "In China, pine chicken is a protected species. In Russia, they used to eat it. It was even in a famous Russian salad—along with crayfish."
"But they've replaced it now with carrots and chicken," he added.
Suddenly everyone understood.
Cai Jia and Zhang Ning spoke over each other with excitement. That's why Chu Zhi commanded such warmth—he never let the atmosphere falter.
Chu Zhi waited for a pause before speaking quietly. "Lo-Ge, you were saying something?"
"Yeah. When I scoped the hotel after check‑in, I saw two wings—the 'Soak Wing' and the 'Basting Wing.' We're in Soak, which has a Western menu. Basting serves Russian food. Their signature is pineapple stew with pine chicken. Staff recommend it to every guest. The pine chicken is farmed—not the wild species."
Chu Zhi caught the clue. If both wings were open for filming, staff must have been briefed. "Then it must be Basting Wing. Jia‑Jia, look up Mayakovsky's birth and death dates."
Cai Jia used her reflexes as a gamer. "He was born July 19, 1893, and died April 14, 1930. Our hotel has thirteen floors. Room numbers are three digits—so 719 and 414 match. Maybe also 893 or 930."
"Let's go—now!" Zhang Ning jumped up.
"Take it slow!" Chu Zhi noticed Zhang Ning's left arm was still plastered. "Bones take a hundred days to heal."
Zhang Ning shook him off. "I've had heavier injuries filming. And it's not my leg—you're fine."
They rushed toward the Basting Wing.
Inside a room, two guest performers lounged bored—just like on Otaru Island. THT TV always introduced its guest stars early.
To everyone's surprise, these were two Russian singers: a man and a woman.
The male singer, Mikhail, was 32. Not the stereotypical burly look, but handsome with prominent eyebrows, a strong nose, and a lean figure.
The female, Aurora, was 28 with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes—translucent as a gemstone. Both had won the Victoria National Music Award.
"Where are the others?" Aurora asked.
Mikhail, playing Minecraft, replied calmly, "We've only been here thirty minutes."
Aurora impatiently pulled up the bios of the five Chinese celebrities—in Russian. She focused on Cai Jia and Chu Zhi. Of course, Cai Jia caught her eye first, as Aurora was openly a lesbian. Girl meets girl, right?
They had a THT videographer in the room.
Meanwhile Chu Zhi and Cai Jia reached room н.д7‑19. They knocked on 414—no answer. Then 719—nothing. 893 and 930 also silent.
Cai Jia felt panic creeping in. Had they been wrong?
Lo Jianhui was quiet and tense. Chu Zhi sensed his concern and took responsibility. "It was my conclusion—your information was sound."
Cai Jia reevaluated her logic.
Suddenly, the door at Basting Wing Restaurant opened. No cryptic coordinates—just a direct reveal. Aurora and Mikhail sat there, the Russian meal with pine chicken and pineapple confirmed the clue. The puzzle was simpler than they thought. Cai Jia inwardly groaned at overthinking.
Back at the control center, Che Lun was smug. He replayed the failure of logic—because Chu Zhi never followed standard logic; he saw the full picture first. High emotional intelligence. Or zero adherence to rules.
Zhang Ning asked, "So the pine chicken and pineapple clue was pointing to that restaurant?"
Cai Jia nodded. "Previous puzzles were easy—this fits."
Chu Zhi quietly noted: if they hadn't had real-time translation, this whole exchange would be a headache. He needed to bring out the interpreter.
Moments later, after the two groups struggled through a few awkward phone translations, a staffer—no Big-Cat sweater, so they called him "Blue Man"—stepped forward.
"Would you like to exchange your phones for Bluetooth translation earpieces?"
"That explains why they didn't confiscate phones," Cai Jia said. "But can we exchange only half?"
Blue Man replied firmly: "No. All or none. A reminder—you'll need to hand in phones during a mission. Think carefully."
Chu Zhi tilted his head. "That feels unfair."
Blue Man paused. "Why? Phone for earphones is reasonable."
"But I speak Russian," Chu Zhi said.
At this, Min Jeongbae gasped: "The team leader speaks Russian?"
Chu Zhi turned to Mikhail and Aurora. "Miss Aurora, Mr. Mikhail—is my Russian understandable?"
"Of course," Mikhail said, surprised. "Fluent enough. Did you study here?"
Aurora nodded. "Yes—the pronunciation is so perfect I thought you studied abroad."
Flattery multiplied. His interest in their culture elevated the connection.
"Your Russian—if unseen, I would think you are Russian," she said.
In Russia, people include the patronymic when addressing formally. Call someone by their first name to be polite in daily life. The two artists addressed him respectfully.
Min Jeongbae jumped in with a grin: "I knew you weren't human. Come out, shape-shifter."
Cai Jia groaned softly. "Why pull both Japanese and Russian? Are you trying to be our translator?"
Zhang Ning laughed. "Chu Ge—would you like to be my daughter's godfather?"
Chu Zhi quietly smiled. Some might think a single person can't be that exceptional. But others—like Lo Jianhui at Chu Zhi's age—could hardly finish two bowls of rice.
The crew from Journey Among the Stars and THT TV filmed the scene simultaneously, doubling the coverage.
The feeling returned—exactly that moment when as a producer you lose control of the show's direction.
"Chu Zhi, aren't you slacking off again?" Che Lun rubbed his forehead. He'd studied abroad and learned languages casually—it wasn't normal for a star to self-teach multiple tongues. Chu Zhi was... not a normal celebrity.
"You can call me Aurora." Aurora reached out to Cai Jia in friendly Russian.
Transnational guests chatted through Bluetooth translators, which worked smoothly with just a one- or two-second delay.
After some discussion, the Russian guests swapped their phones for the devices—but Chu Zhi kept his.
The show's producers honored the rule: new Russian guests received special perks.
Disciple of the God of Wine: free drinks at the Russian branch.
Disciple of the God of Cuisine: free meals at the Russian branch.
Strong support—food and drink covered.
Local dishes lined the table: beef soup with pickles, grilled salmon, signature salad, yellow bread with cured pork, jellied meat, and of course, pineapple-braised pine chicken—plus creative cherry dumplings.
Chu Zhi couldn't stomach salted raw pork drowned in vodka. The aroma was overpowering—even buttered bread couldn't cut it. No wonder it was served as a chaser.
"How can he eat it so well?" Chu Zhi looked at Lo Jianhui in wonder—who happily ate everything, even fine kaiseki in Otaru. Lo had a pirate's appetite; Chu Zhi's favorite dish that night was the salad with creamy potato and diced ham.
Night fell.
On a silent, freezing November evening, Chu Zhi opened the window and listened to cold air sharpen his senses in near-zero Saint Petersburg.
He cued up the new album by Gu Beisheng—yet to be released—for a listen.
"A songwriter with real chops," he thought. Without training, he wouldn't distinguish chords or production quality—but with his creative background now activated, he could.
Seven noticeable originals out of eleven tracks. He smiled and shared on Weibo:
"In the Mandarin pop scene we need more singer-songwriters like this."
Then he posted a casual update:
"Heard a lovely song, sharing it now. #SodaNight# Good night!"
He forgot they were five hours ahead. His 10:30 PM was 3:30 AM back home.
After posting, he closed his phone to read. Even on the road, his nightly studies never paused.
The next morning, under a low, chilly sky, commuters bundled up.
A drone delivered a mission briefing... followed by a remote-controlled toy car weaving through chairs and stopping in front of them.
"There's a letter," Zhang Ning said as the little car halted.
Aurora grabbed the envelope and ripped it open in three swift moves—impetuous as ever.
"Hey, don't run off!" Min Jeongbae caught the remote with nimble reflexes, halting its escape like stopping a small turtle.
The crew laughed. Min Jeongbae couldn't resist turning everything into cash. Their wallets were intact—especially Lo Jianhui's, who had 200,000 RUB (~20,000 RMB) for post-recording feasts. Chu Zhi admired his thrift with a thumbs-up.
The letter read:
"An evil regime is preparing to invade St. Petersburg. We must win the support of the stationed general's family—only with their help can we resist. When victorious, shout: 'We are invincible.'"
Below, an incomplete map. Aurora volunteered to lead: she'd lived in the city over a decade and knew it well, though the map was partially blurred.
Mikhail shivered—Aurora was notoriously terrible with directions.
She led confidently, all wearing Bluetooth translators. Zhang Ning, Lo Jianhui and the others followed Chu Zhi—natural and trusting.
"Why did the youngest lead?" Mikhail thought. Even if Chu Zhi spoke Russian, how could someone just twenty match a adult general?
Chu Zhi cleared his throat, interpreting map locations to Chinese on his phone. Cai Jia checked the points too. Data-enabled phone—priceless.
Poor with directions or not, Aurora was sincere—yet lost. They'd now been wandering for over an hour.
Finally they reached building No. 48 on Litov Street. It stood near the train museum, with a sign above the door: "General's House", in both Chinese and Russian.
THT crew gear surrounded the front yard. Aurora, eager, rang the bell.
A burly man in his fifties opened it in both languages: "Welcome. My aide informed me you'd arrive."
They stepped in. No shoe removal—clearly expected. Inside was a blend of Eastern and Western decor, tastefully arranged.
They entered the living room to find the general's wife—and their teenage son.
Zhang Ning recognized the woman immediately: Lin Feifeng, a famous Chinese actress from the '80s–'90s who married abroad. Her husband, Fedotov, was a sturdy Russian painter and professor.
"It's been so many years." Lin Feifeng greeted them warmly.
Her Chinese still perfect—with an accent of a mother's care.
She seated everyone and served tea.
"This is my son, Onegin," she introduced.
Fedotov entered solemnly, adopting a commanding tone like reciting opera.
"If you wish to earn the support of General Petrov's family," he said, "you must show your sincerity." He paused dramatically.
"Through music. Music speaks best to the soul. Sing for me, General Petrov's wife, and young Onegin. If all three of us are moved," he raised his voice, "General Petrov himself will aid you!"
Chu Zhi knew the setup—the "Petrov" name was a generic equivalent of Li Yong or Wang Yong in Russian. Using a Chinese mother, Russian father, and biracial child created believable authenticity.