Don't let thorns prick you, don't let bugs bite your fingers. Even the tiniest little things can ruin your happiness for the day.
Xiao Wa was that kind of sensitive person. The smallest actions from people around him could flip his mood, whether it ended up being a happy day or not. Normally he enjoyed his quiet walks, where he could lose himself in the glow of streetlamps and near-empty roads.
Compared to fancy, luxurious places, it was the quiet and shabby spots that touched him more.
"Another concert?" he muttered.
He lived nearby, and had the habit of strolling around eight after dinner. "Walk after dinner and you'll live to ninety-nine," as the saying went. He knew whenever the Magic City Stadium hosted concerts, traffic clogged up the area, but tonight the crowd was insane.
He cut his usual hour walk in half and turned back toward home.
What a shitty day!
But just as he grumbled in his head, he heard a familiar melody. Sure, the sound was distorted, the vocals a little faint, but it was still clear enough—
🎵 "The world's so big, I just wanna fly, even if I'm covered in scars I'll never regret. No one's cheering but I'm still expecting, the rainbow after rain is always so amazing." 🎵
🎵 "In the blink of an eye everything's changed, a new starting point, a new world's right in front of me…" 🎵
"Proud Youth?" Xiao Wa instantly recognized it. He knew the song well, and even when he went 0–5 on the solo lane in King of Glory, just hearing this track gave him the guts to turn it into a 5–0.
Without realizing, he followed the sound. By the time "Proud Youth" ended and he snapped back, he was already at the south gate of the Eighty Thousand Stadium, surrounded by a whole crowd of "outside listeners."
And not just a few either. He looked around and saw at least a thousand people packed into the empty space.
"Is it really that crazy?" he thought.
Then he overheard a conversation that shocked him even more. A newbie reporter from Toutiao, hair as sparse as an online author's word count, was giving a report to his senior. Let's call him Xiao Xi.
"Brother Liao, I checked the surrounding high-rises—the Huafu Building, Beihai Building, Dongya Hotel, every tall place you can get into. All of them are filled with Chu Zhi's fans. They brought telescopes to watch the concert!" Xiao Xi said. "I even checked Dongya Hotel. Room 1311 usually costs a few hundred yuan, but today more than ten people tried to book it at a high price. The manager said someone had already locked it down two weeks ago. The balcony in 1311 faces the stadium perfectly."
Xiao Xi smacked his lips. "I randomly interviewed a few people. Hundreds, maybe thousands of Little Fruits are ready to watch the entire concert from rooftops with telescopes. Two years as a reporter, and I've never seen anything like this."
"I've been at it for more than ten years, and this kind of scene's rare even for me. Last time was ages ago," the senior said. "Take more photos, this could blow up."
"How about the headline 'Tens of Thousands of Little Fruits Singing Outside the Stadium'—put that in the entertainment section, clicks for sure."
"Better yet, 'Breaking! Superstar Chu Zhi Draws Tens of Thousands to Sing Outside the Venue.' That'll hook not only entertainment readers, but anyone remotely interested in him."
"High, really high."
"Lots of tricks to learn," Xiao Xi replied, flattery dripping.
Xiao Wa tuned out their back-and-forth. Still, the thought of thousands outside the stadium listening, even renting hotel rooms for a glimpse, left him speechless. Did young people today really have nothing better to do?
He was about to leave when another familiar lyric hit his ears:
🎵 "At the edge of the world there's only sand, stories of the mortal world are all about longing, the blade sheathed hides away by the eastern fence…" 🎵
That sounded like "Red Dust Inn." He had that one on repeat himself. Sure, outside the stadium the vocals weren't crystal clear, but it was still basically live.
He stayed put, especially when the chorus came,
🎵 "The sword's drawn, grudges ended, who's laughing now? All I want is to hold you in my arms tonight…" 🎵
The thousand-strong crowd outside sang along in unison.
Xiao Xi thought the whole thing was surreal. What was even crazier was that he found himself singing along too. The song was too familiar, and he couldn't resist. He'd seen Bilibili "don't-sing" challenge compilations built around it.
If the outside atmosphere was this good, the inside must've been electric. Chu Zhi changed outfits every two or three songs.
Almost every chorus had the eighty thousand Little Fruits inside singing in full force. An hour passed, and aside from the opening new track "Kepler," he'd already sung "Legend," "Beauty," "Blue Lotus," "Blue and White Porcelain," "Red Dust Inn"… eleven songs in total. Even without dancing around wildly, he still had to move across the stage, which was tiring enough.
Good thing his Emperor Beast body had fully recovered. His vocals and stamina held up fine.
🎵 "Wine banner rustling in the wind, the sword's drawn, grudges ended…" 🎵
With the last lyric, the timing was perfect. A massive wine banner dropped from above, the kind you'd see in ancient dramas, just blown up bigger to cover his six-foot frame.
Concert costumes had to fit the theme and lyrics, but also be quick to change, giving fans that seamless thrill.
The next song was "Moonlight," and he reappeared in a black short coat.
Now, "short" here didn't mean length. It came from ancient folks miswriting "裋 (shu)" as "短 (short)." Same as how "石" became a unit for volume because illiterate people used it instead of "儋." Over time dictionaries adjusted. Language evolved with usage, unlike Latin, which is dead. That's why science uses Latin names—it won't change with time.
Anyway, the point was: don't picture shorts and T-shirts. Chu Zhi wore black tiger-leopard boots with firm grip, a crimson sash tied at his waist, wrist cords, a knotted headband, and a few loose strands of hair falling free. He perfectly embodied an ancient swordsman.
The banner lifted, and the audience screamed as they saw his new look. Meanwhile, the last notes of "Red Dust Inn," with its hulusi and flute, finally faded.
All that in ten seconds flat.
"Isn't tonight's moonlight beautiful?" he asked.
Maybe it was good weather, maybe it was just the mood, but to the Little Fruits, the sky really did look stunning.
"Beautiful!" "So pretty!" "Not as pretty as Jiu-yé though!" came the shouts.
"Then let's sing 'Moonlight,'" he said.
🎵 "Moonlight glow, the scent of a woman, tears break the sword, how long's love? How much pain can words not say…" 🎵
With the first line, he drew the crowd straight into a martial world. He didn't dance, but a concert needed hype, so he worked himself to the bone. Tickets were expensive—if you're cutting leeks, at least make sure they feel they're getting their money's worth.
When the chorus hit, dancers rushed the stage in black night gear, faces hidden by eerie ghost masks, moving in wild motions.
The wire rig yanked him upward. Even expecting it, he staggered, but quickly regained balance. With his mic switched for a prop sword, he glided as if walking on water, landing light as a feather.
He swung once, and the front row of dancers flipped back, as if slashed by invisible sword qi.
🎵 "Who dares cross the gate of love, beneath the bright moon my heart is chilled." 🎵
🎵 "Reincarnating through eternal hate, eyes closed, who's the wildest of all?" 🎵
🎵 "This world's fickle ways, it's doomed that those who love will be scarred for life." 🎵
He kept his breathing steady. Even with Farinelli's freakish natural gifts, singing while performing like this wasn't easy.
The masked dancers swarmed him, while the wires let him spin and flip through the air—somersaults, side twists, midair swordplay.
It wasn't just a chase scene. Every move had beauty to it, more like opera than simple dancing.
The performance was worth every penny. All eighty thousand fans felt pure joy.
What's happiness?
This was happiness!
"Holy shit, holy shit! He's singing 'Moonlight' while on wires? Every cover online flops because they can't catch the original vibe, and Jiu-yé's here flying midair like it's nothing?!"
"Wait, isn't the song's range not even that high? Is it really that hard?"
"Of course it's hard. Try singing it yourself. The runs twist and turn eighty-one times, the falsetto switches are seductive but not tacky, just unique. Even pro singers crash trying to copy brother Jiu's runs. And he's doing it while on wires. In other singers' eyes, brother Jiu's a total freak."
"I've seen plenty of concerts, but Xiao Jiu's on another level. Every song has its own stage design. That firework burst during 'Blue Lotus'—not just random sparks but flower-shaped fireworks filling the sky. Stunning and romantic."
Fans could feel it: his insane physical ability, his vocals, and above all, the thought poured into every detail.
In the seats, Wang Zexun frowned. "Rock and fireworks are a perfect match. I've seen other rock singers' concerts, why don't they do this?"
He stared at the stage. By the end of "Moonlight," Chu Zhi wasn't panting, but sweat soaked his forehead.
The stage rained down red confetti like drops of blood. The next track, "Dream Like Swords," kept the martial theme. He didn't need a costume change, but the stagehands and dancers did, and he needed a quick wipe of sweat.