The loudspeakers blared across the venue:
"All nine stages are now set up. Guests, please choose your preferred stage."
The announcement cycled through Japanese, English, and Chinese, three times over.
Why was Chinese included? It wasn't because Chinese rock had massive global clout—it was simply because Chinese consumers were financially reliable.
There were twenty-four countries represented and over three hundred guests arriving. It might sound like a lot, but with each band averaging four to five members, the crowd thinned quickly as they dispersed to their chosen stages.
The Thai band was a notable outlier, having a rare seven-member lineup.
Their name was written in Thai, because its translated meaning was... less than flattering: Plowing Fields on Someone Else's Back.
In Northern Thai slang, it referred to exploitation. Their debut song openly criticized the Red Bull heir scandal—bravely calling out capitalist corruption. The name stuck. Among fans, they were simply known as the Farming Band.
Each stage was spaced far enough apart to prevent one performance from bleeding into another. Musicians moved toward their arenas, and fans gathered in anticipation, forming neat lines as they waited.
Stage Three, labeled [Pop (Art)], was packed. It was the one Chu Zhi had chosen.
The Emperor Beast had originally wanted to scope out every stage, but reality hit hard—he didn't have enough material stockpiled for that.
Following Chu Zhi to Stage Three were several other acts: Liao Yiwu and the Pain Flower band, Pattern Fourteen, the Farming Band, and also Zheng Huo.
Zheng Huo had no real intention of performing. He was preparing to become a stage master instead, and at most, had defended the stage three or four times in past rounds. His stamina just couldn't keep up anymore. Live rock performances were exhausting.
He came mainly to watch the so-called "Hope of Chinese Rock" in action.
"Last year, Brother Zheng was watching us. Now that brother Jiu is here, he's switched sides. Guess the wheel of history keeps turning—talent after talent."
"Well, you can't deny Chu Zhi's talent. Forget about that 'Back to the Tang Dynasty' dream show—just take his vocals. Didn't you see the Tri-Nation Showdown? That voice could scream your soul right out of your body."
"Is that what we're calling it now? Soul-Summoning Rock?"
"Hahaha, if Stage Three weren't so damn competitive, I'd head there too."
That was the inner chatter of the Upward Band. They were stationed at Stage Eight, labeled [Metal (Hardcore Emotions)]. Two South Korean bands were queued up there as well.
South Korea had poured resources into idol groups—boy bands and girl groups dominated the scene. Rock had no real market, to the point it was even less viable than in Cambodia. Cambodia! Of all places.
Half an hour passed—
"Special coverage by Asahi TV. The first edition of the music festival took place near Mount Fuji back in 1997..."
Drones hovered overhead, capturing aerial shots of the crowd—more than forty thousand strong. The sweeping footage wasn't for sound, just spectacle. For live audio, each stage had a dedicated film crew stationed exactly seven meters away.
Whoever stepped on stage first would automatically become the initial stage master.
The Emperor Beast was a proactive type. He had just lifted his foot when someone beat him to it.
Liao Yiwu darted forward like an arrow.
"Fast. Better reflexes than me. Clearly someone who works out," Chu Zhi muttered under his breath.
The Emperor Beast noticed something else. The captain of Pain Flower band, Big Eyes, let out a visible sigh—he had wanted to be the first too.
Liao Yiwu grabbed the mic. Just like that, he became the Stage Three master. He handed his backing track to the audio crew and began.
"I'm Liao Yiwu, a singer from China. Today I bring you a rock version of Ode to Joy."
The crowd gave polite applause, "clap clap clap," as the prelude began: piano keys mingled with Liao Yiwu's bass guitar. Performing rock without a full band? Definitely a disadvantage.
Ode to Joy was originally a Beethoven symphony. Liao Yiwu had inserted a fierce bass solo, creating tension in contrast with the classic melody of the Ninth Symphony's fourth movement. It gave the lyrics a fractured, dramatic feeling.
The arrangement had ambition, but as Chu Zhi listened, his eyes wandered, his ears alert—he overheard Zheng Huo muttering softly beside him:
"He's going for art rock, fusing classical motifs. Then he should've picked a grander piece. This is an outdoor stage—if you're not loud, if the rhythm doesn't punch, it's basically a slow death. Yiwu is on the wrong track."
At a wide-open venue like a ski resort, the subtle brilliance of Liao Yiwu's composition was lost.
To put it bluntly: there was no heavy beat, no pulsing rhythm. Nothing that made you want to nod your head or stomp your feet.
Even the chorus lacked that infectious hook that latches onto memory instantly.
"He's the one."
"Good choice. Pattern Fourteen is too strong. I hope the opener wins."
"Buddha Hand also needs something short. He's short."
"Chu Zhi's vocal skills are formidable. Even if it's not pure rock, we probably can't win anyway."
The Farming Band was speaking in Thai among themselves. Thanks to the tens of millions of views on Left Hand Pointing to the Sky on YouTube, Chu Zhi's reputation preceded him. He was someone to avoid if possible.
"This song was written last year. Thank you, everyone," Liao Yiwu said, wrapping up his performance. He gave a brief background on its origins.
There was no host at any stage—every guest had to manage things on their own. Luckily, Liao Yiwu wasn't someone like Gu Peng who suffered from social anxiety. He handled it smoothly.
Applause followed—then, layered within the claps, came the loud BZZZ alarm tone. No surprise: someone was challenging the stage.
Each guest had a leaf-shaped token. Pressing the raised mark on its surface signaled a challenge.
The Farming Band immediately stepped up. Their captain raised his token, now blinking red, and the other six members followed him onto the stage.
Needle against needle—exactly the kind of showdown the audience loved. The cheering and clapping that erupted surpassed even what Liao Yiwu received.
"Missed by seconds." Polygon tried to press his token too, but it didn't flash red. He was too slow.
"What kind of music do Thai rock bands play?" Polygon was curious. He had no memory of this group.
The Farming Band had chosen Stage Three because they, too, played art rock. Their music incorporated traditional Thai instruments.
Why seven members? Besides the lead singer, drummer, two guitarists, and bassist, they also had a crocodile zither player and a circular bamboo flute player.
If you've heard the crocodile zither before, you'd know it sounds like a guzheng played inside a clay jar—both resonant and muffled. It's commonly used for funerals and religious ceremonies.
Liao Yiwu fused rock with symphonic elements. The Farming Band fused rock with Buddhist chants. It was... bizarrely hypnotic.
"This style is so eerie. Is this what you'd call Buddhist Rock?"
Chu Zhi could only picture a bald, bruised Buddha performing a rock solo in his mind.
When both bands finished, the crowd's response was clearly in favor of the Farming Band.
As rock veteran Zheng Huo had whispered—competitions are competitions, and outdoor venues are outdoor venues.
Put on headphones at home, and Liao Yiwu's track might win. But right here, right now? It was a crushing defeat.
"Anyone else want to challenge us?" the Farming Band's captain asked, standing proudly on stage.
Liao Yiwu stepped off, head lowered. Frustrated, but not broken. If he wanted, he could still switch stages and try again.
"I'll challenge! I'll challenge!" Polygon frantically pressed his token.
BZZZ—the alarm went off again. But his token still didn't light up. Someone else had beaten him to it.
===
The "Red Bull heir scandal" refers to the 2012 hit-and-run case involving Vorayuth Yoovidhya in Thailand