To avoid breaking the audience's immersion in grief, Chu Zhi waited a full minute before speaking. He said, "Everyone, please make your choice. Who do you support?"
With their emotions gathered, the audience began to vote with their voices. The support for "Chu Zhi" roared through the air, overwhelming any opposition.
He had won. Chu Zhi was now the number three stage champion.
The members of Winter Snow Explosion didn't exactly concede willingly. Still, they accepted the result. Their eyes had already grown misty mid-performance; their hearts had prepared for this outcome long before the vote.
Listeners from China, Japan, Korea, Malaysia, Thailand, and beyond, once they regained their composure, erupted into discussions about the song that had just been performed.
"I let my guard down. I didn't dodge, and brother Jiu hit me when I was wide open." — a Chinese viewer
"First time crying to rock music. Chu is the man who stole my first." — a Thai viewer
"The only thing more painful than this song was my circumcision surgery. The doc almost took the whole thing." — a Malaysian viewer
"Chu Zhi is a singer who can do anything. He has no limits." — a South Korean viewer
And the comments went on.
Pain Flower Band silently left the number three stage. They felt Chu Zhi was destined to dominate it, so sticking around seemed pointless.
"I'll have to ask him later," thought Zheng Huo.
Not to ask how Chu Zhi had written such a song. A story or even a film could inspire a song like that.
What Zheng Huo wanted to know was how to sing like that — how to deliver such raw emotional impact.
Zheng Huo was no newcomer. He'd been praised on many shows for the stories in his voice. But Chu Zhi? Chu Zhi didn't just tell a story — he lived one the moment he opened his mouth.
Still, new challengers came forward. First was a Malaysian rock band. Chu Zhi defeated them decisively.
The second was a solo rock singer from South Korea — like Chu Zhi and Wu Xi, he came alone.
The third challenger was a Singaporean rock band that had found popularity in Hong Kong and Taiwan, and had a modest following in China as well.
The fourth was AFZ, a Japanese band and a group Zheng Huo had flagged as a serious threat.
Yet none of them could unseat Chu Zhi. With four wins in a row, he was on a roll.
AFZ was a strong act, certainly stronger than the three who came before. Their keyboardist and bassist dazzled the audience with back-and-forth solos that brought the crowd to a frenzy.
It took some effort, but Chu Zhi closed out that battle with an encore performance of "Faith Soars in the Sky".
Because of his powerful rendition of "In Springtime", more and more people were gravitating toward Stage Three.
Just like the performers, festivalgoers at Fuji Rock could wander freely between stages, though singers and audiences used different passageways.
Wu Xi, having failed to defend his spot in two rounds on Stage Eight, made his way over — not to challenge, but to see how his best brother, Chu Zhi, was doing.
"What's he doing here?" Wu Xi spotted someone familiar in the crowd.
Not just familiar to him — familiar to everyone.
Higuchi Hanato. Asia's number one guitarist.
At some point, Higuchi Hanato had slipped into the crowd around Stage Three. His eyes were locked onto the stage. When Zheng Huo noticed him, his face darkened. He knew exactly what this old fox intended.
"A fifth consecutive win? Letting a Chinese artist do that? Impossible," thought Higuchi Hanato.
Zheng Huo's record had been an accident, a moment of momentum that nearly slipped through their fingers. A decade ago, Higuchi Hanato had witnessed two rock legends come together just to shut down his sixth win.
Don't be surprised at how easily someone can activate a challenge badge. The act of halting a winning streak carries symbolic weight.
"Talents like Zheng Huo don't come around every generation," Higuchi Hanato murmured as he watched Chu Zhi. He was completely confident he could end the winning streak of the man on stage.
"Any more challengers?" Chu Zhi asked from the stage. Just a few seconds passed before a shrill, familiar sound cut through the air — the beep of a challenge badge activating, its red light blinking.
Higuchi Hanato raised his hand and stepped onto the platform. When the audience saw who it was, murmurs broke out like a wave.
"Higuchi Hanato! It's him! We actually get to see him perform!"
"This is everything I ever wanted. It was his performance that made me fall in love with rock."
"This is going to be a showdown for the ages. No better place than Stage Three."
"Asia's top guitarist. I wonder if we'll get a solo today?"
His name carried such weight in the rock world that even people at neighboring stages — performers and fans alike — were drawn to the scene.
As one of only two artists inducted into the Rock Hall of Fame, Higuchi Hanato was a god in the eyes of many musicians. And when a god steps onto the stage, the rest of the island's performers will come to witness it.
Stage Three grew crowded.
"He couldn't wait any longer," Zheng Huo thought, tension creeping into his chest.
Even Zheng Huo, who loathed being anyone's mouthpiece, would still name Higuchi Hanato if asked who best represented Asian rock.
"Figures they'd send Higuchi. Can't take the heat, huh?" muttered Big Eyes from Pain Flower Band.
The band that had quietly withdrawn now returned — loudly protesting on the surface, but secretly eager for the show.
Even Liao Yiwu, the very first stage champion who had left long ago, made his way back.
"Brother Zheng." Liao Yiwu respectfully greeted his senior.
"How did it go?" Zheng Huo was visibly worried, but he still showed concern for the younger generation.
"I held the number one stage for two rounds," Liao Yiwu replied.
"Why is Chu Zhi facing off with Higuchi Hanato?" he asked.
"Four straight wins," said Zheng Huo, short and firm.
Onstage, Higuchi Hanato took the mic and announced, "The song I'll be performing is 'Sherry.' I know you'll love it."
One of his signature hits — it topped the Oricon charts and was also used as the theme song for a wildly popular drama. This was a veteran's move — fast, sharp, and ruthless.
"Sherry" was a lyrical rock song, but its arrangement packed a strong rhythmic punch. By the chorus, the crowd was singing along in waves.
Not everyone knew the lyrics, but the atmosphere was electric. Even those unfamiliar with the song found themselves humming along.
When a lion hunts a rabbit, it still uses its full strength.
Higuchi Hanato didn't consider Chu Zhi to be as dangerous as Zheng Huo had been, but he didn't hold back. His song choice was meticulous, and his high-energy "sword-strike" guitar solo drove the crowd into a frenzy.
That sword-strike technique is lethal, thought the onlookers. Chu Zhi was no slouch on guitar, but duplicating Higuchi Hanato's stagecraft was nearly impossible.
The performance wrapped in just over four minutes.
Then came the voice vote. The names "Chu Zhi" and "Higuchi Hanato" echoed through the crowd — the latter slightly louder.
But not overwhelmingly. The chanting went on for ten seconds, maybe more, before a new wave swept in.
"Encore!"
The cries grew louder and louder until they drowned out everything else.
Chu Zhi hadn't lost. Even when faced with a living legend, someone regarded as the ceiling of Asian rock, he had held his ground. That showed the power of "Voices of Despair," especially now that the audience had had four rounds to adjust emotionally.
"Good thing I prepared for this," Chu Zhi muttered as he returned to the stage.
This time, he took a moment to change into the outfit Lao Qian and the team had prepared.
After handing the backing track to the sound booth, Chu Zhi took the mic again and addressed the crowd.
"I want to ask you all for a favor. There's a bit of crowd interaction in this next song. I'll need your claps and stomps."