Ma Jing caught a cold. He usually had no trouble with flights, but this time he felt nauseous and dizzy. Worried that it might affect his performance on tomorrow's stage, he decided to take a walk along the banks of the Vanye River to clear his mind.
There were quite a few tourists nearby, mostly drawn to the viral restaurant The Flying Dutchman. After wandering around for about fifteen minutes, he gave up.
He headed back to the hotel.
Ma Jing hadn't experienced any of the so-called cultural charm of Russia. All he felt was the bitter cold. Winter in Saint Petersburg? What a joke.
"This is just great. Walked out without my room card," Ma Jing muttered to himself, his tone sarcastic. Taking a deep breath to stop himself from snapping, he picked up the hallway phone and called the front desk.
The receptionist promised to send someone up right away. But standing there like a fool waiting for the door to be unlocked felt even more ridiculous, so he began pacing the corridor.
After a couple of laps, a female voice called out, "Hey, you're here to run into brother Jiu too, right?"
Ma Jing turned to see a long-haired girl glancing around as if she were about to commit a crime.
"Huh?" Ma Jing blinked, confused.
"Uncle, don't act all cute now. Don't tell me you're not here to see brother Jiu? Don't be shy. My mom's a Little Fruits too," the girl grinned. "The way you're sneaking around, I can tell you're here for the same reason as me."
Sneaking around? What sneaking around? Ma Jing carried himself with righteousness, thank you very much.
"How did you find out brother Jiu's staying here? One of my friends ran into him, so I rushed over from Shyeltorov and booked a room, hoping to bump into him," she said, assuming they were fellow fans.
"Who's this 'brother Jiu' you keep mentioning?" Ma Jing asked with a frown. He definitely ruled himself out.
The moment he asked, the girl's expression changed. She quickly apologized. "Sorry, I thought you were one of us."
Trying to smooth things over, she added, "It's just... never mind. I shouldn't have joked about you sneaking around."
Clearly, this Chinese girl was a fangirl. If she came all the way from Shyeltorov just to possibly catch a glimpse of someone, there was only one person it could be.
"Is it Chu Zhi?" Ma Jing asked.
"Yes, yes, yes! I..." Her phone rang. One glance at the caller ID, and her face turned serious. She apologized again before hurrying away.
"She actually thought I was a Chu Zhi fan?" Ma Jing chuckled, his smile filled with complex meaning. He was a confident man. Even toward his mentors, he felt respect, never blind admiration.
Soon, the hotel staff arrived to unlock his room. Ma Jing returned to rest.
There were over thirty vocal performers invited from China, including five from the Shanghai Opera House and seven from the Beijing Grand Theater. The rest were all nationally recognized singers, each with solid credentials.
Xiao Ke from the Shanghai Opera House was in the room. He had previously claimed that Chu Zhi wasn't qualified to lead the group. But that didn't mean he was a Chu Zhi hater. In fact, Xiao Ke was half a Little Fruits himself—his playlist on his music app was full of Chu Zhi's songs.
He just never showed it in public. He even went out of his way to hide his preferences, which is why he said what he did earlier.
That evening, Chu Zhi gathered everyone for a welcome dinner as their team leader. All thirty-plus members showed up.
"When they asked me to lead the team, I was a bit caught off guard. But after thinking it over, I agreed. Being the team lead just means making sure everyone's taken care of, right? That's something I'm good at."
He said this before anyone had started eating.
"But if you run into any issues outside that, please don't ask me. Compared to all of you seasoned performers, I still lack experience with these kinds of cultural forums."
His words were straightforward and sincere, and they put everyone at ease. He'd reframed "leader" as "caretaker."
"He knows how to talk," Ma Jing thought. Even the resentment buried deep in his heart had quietly dissolved.
Because they had to perform the next day, no one drank. But Chu Zhi, the so-called Emperor Beast, had outstanding social skills. In the span of one meal, he had added most of them on WeChat, chatting with ease and making everyone feel like old friends.
That was how things stood on Huaxia's side.
As for the foreign vocalists—
Dessen Sterling was dining with several well-known musicians. The sound of clinking cutlery echoed in the room as they chatted over their meal.
Some believed that using knives and forks was more civilized than chopsticks. That notion was nonsense. Even without chicken, one shouldn't say such things. But many Westerners believed it anyway.
Thankfully, in artistic forums, talent speaks for itself. You either sing well, or you don't.
"My expectations are sky-high thanks to Dessen. I'm really looking forward to Rigoletto."
"Mr. Parsifal wore a hat today. That means he's in great condition."
"Will we get to hear Madam Klarama's Un Ballo in Maschera this year?"
"Please don't expect too much from me, Mr. Dessen."
"Oh? You won't be performing Un Ballo in Maschera? Then tomorrow's stage will have two regrets."
These singers were flattering each other, but to be fair, everyone present was a heavyweight in the world of bel canto.
Klarama was a world-class contralto and the principal contralto at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Even more shocking, she'd achieved that status at just forty-two.
"Two regrets? Then what's the other one, Mr. Dessen?" Klarama smiled. Her charm could change the whole atmosphere.
"Mr. Chu Zhi, the singer of Opera 2, isn't performing a high-register piece this year," Dessen replied.
"Last year, he declined the invitation because he was busy releasing an album. But many of my friends shared videos of Opera 2," Parsifal said. "His talent would make the gods jealous."
Parsifal, a baritone now fifty-seven, was once considered the finest interpreter of British opera. With his golden hair, he was also dubbed the Tiger of Wales. A bit dramatic, but the title stuck.
"Yes, his dazzling high notes stir the soul."
"If he pursued a career in bel canto, he could've been a top-tier tenor."
"A real pity."
Out of the dozen or so singers at the table, at least eight were familiar with Chu Zhi. Even those who didn't know him personally had heard of Opera 2. They all agreed: not performing a high-note piece was a questionable choice.
Night fell. Saint Petersburg's streets held no warmth. There were no stars in the sky.
By morning, snow still blanketed the ground. Pedestrians hurried along the streets.
International events like this one attracted many tourists. With Chu Zhi's name listed as a performer, many Little Fruits studying abroad bought tickets to show support.
The China team piled into a bus and headed to the venue. Some sang quietly. Others rubbed their hands like flies. A few bit their nails absentmindedly.
"Don't be nervous. Just perform your best," Ma Jing told the group, and himself.
But let's be real. That kind of pep talk was pointless. Of course they were nervous. Even grandmasters got anxious before going on stage. Most of these performers were in their thirties, and without any of the old masters around, it felt even more daunting.
The Chekhov International Theater Festival was to blame. If not for that event, many of the older generation from China's top theaters would've come.
That festival was just as important as the cultural forum. But many veteran performers chose it over this because two sessions ago, when China was the main host, the theme "Chinese Culture in the World" had already stolen the spotlight.
"Last night, I looked up clips of the performances by Wang Ge and Feng Ge's theater. They weren't just good. They were excellent," Chu Zhi said, first complimenting others, then turning the spotlight on himself. "And I'm the first one on stage today. If anyone should be nervous, it's me."
The Emperor Beast was twisting logic again. Just because he was nervous didn't mean the rest couldn't be. Still, everyone's attention shifted to his last words.
"You're the opening act, Mr. Chu?" Xiao Rongxu asked, uncertain.
"I am." Chu Zhi nodded. Everyone was stunned.
Just like a film festival's opening movie, the opening performance carried weight. It meant the organizing committee valued Chu Zhi.
Maybe it was thanks to Lullaby and Opera 2. Chu Zhi didn't think too deeply about it.
After a moment, Ma Jing asked, "Is it a lot of pressure, Mr. Chu?"
"Of course it is. My heart's pounding." Chu Zhi was honest. He was nervous now, but he wouldn't be once he hit the stage. He had even filled his water bottle with vodka, just in case.
Strangely, that made Xiao Rongxu feel a bit better. If Chu Zhi was under more pressure than he was, maybe things weren't so bad.
He wasn't the only one who felt that way. Others did too. Ma Jing realized that Chu Zhi had revealed his performance order to ease their nerves.
"This kid... he really knows how to take care of people," Ma Jing murmured.
There was a bit of traffic, so it took them over ten minutes to reach the venue: the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic Hall.
Chu Zhi noticed something different this time. As the main guest, he was seated in the first row. Last time, he'd been in the third.
Maybe it was because more European singers were attending this year, but there were also more journalists from the UK, France, and Germany. In the world of art, cultural rivalry was an invisible war. More elusive than finance. Its results weren't seen immediately, but in ten or twenty years, they would be felt.
Just look at America. What made it the beacon of the world? Weapons, sure. But also Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse.
"The 10th Saint Petersburg International Cultural Forum welcomes all artists and guests. Art may not be as vital as life, but without it, our spiritual world would be barren."
"And the advancement of art requires dialogue between nations, a clash of ideas. Just like underwater volcanoes erupting with new inspiration."
Chairman Aleksei gave the opening remarks. While he spoke, Chu Zhi got up to prepare backstage. He barely had time to warm his seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first performer."
Polite applause rippled through the hall.
Among the 1,500 attendees, more than two hundred were Little Fruits.
On the large screen behind the stage, in several languages, the words appeared:
Performer: Chu Zhi
Signature Works: Lullaby, Opera 2
"Today, I will be performing a song called Katyusha," Chu Zhi announced.
"I came across the story while self-studying Russian. It's a local tale from the town of Tomat, about a young woman named Katyusha and her love during the war. That story inspired me to write this song."
He took a swig of vodka before stepping onto the stage.
He was ready.
He was more than ready.