On paper, the Orang Home app fell under Wang Yuan's jurisdiction. But since she was buried in building her personal brand and managing merchandise, she basically had no time to care. Still, for such a huge plan to be completely hidden from her—it was kind of a miracle.
"Is there some issue with the app? I've seen Xiao Jiu going upstairs a lot lately."
"Just a little secret you don't need to know yet, Sister Wang."
As she dug through her memory, Wang Yuan remembered this exchange from about seven or eight months ago.
She might've been company staff, but everyone knew she was also a Little Fruit. So letting her discover the surprise at the same time as the fans actually worked better. It hit harder, it moved her too.
Once she realized that, a smile spread across her face. She muttered under her breath, "Xiao Jiu even kept it from me."
The words sounded like blame, but in her heart she felt her support hadn't been wasted. When she snapped back to reality, she noticed things had gotten quiet around her. A glance to the side showed dozens of mom-fans already downloading Orang Home.
They doted on their "kids," but mom-fans had one thing in common: they had their own jobs and families, so they were busy. If something happened to their idol, they could drop everything for a while, but in daily life, they didn't have time to play on Orang Home.
Tonight was different. The feature called "Little Fruits Planet that will never be deleted" hooked them all.
"You can even build relationships with friends here. What's your username?" Yan Xin had just registered and discovered the forum allowed binding relationships with fellow users.
The options were [Couple], [Friend], [Brother], [Bestie], and [Custom].
Yan Xin set hers as a custom "Little Nemesis." Don't get the wrong idea, it wasn't weird. It was just a way girls teased each other. Silly if you wanted to play it off, sweet if you wanted to lean into it.
"Permanent messages, we'll always be on Little Fruits Planet… ugh, I feel like crying."
"Let me ask—if you wanna store data forever, don't you have to rent servers? How much would that cost every year?"
"They say a person dies three times in life. Heh, Little Fruits will never face the third."
The crowd of Little Fruits whispered back and forth.
Meanwhile, the concert rolled on. Chu Zhi sang three English songs: Counting Stars and Enemy.
"People always say the atmosphere at concerts can't compare to music festivals…"
He paused deliberately. Eighty thousand fans raised their glowsticks and roared. The sound alone could've toppled the twelve towers and five cities of Baiyu Jing.
"But I don't think that's right," he said. "Tonight, we're the most hyped people in the world."
As he spoke, the backstage crew scrambled to set up DJ equipment: turntables, condenser mics, mixers, soundboards, monitor headphones, the works.
What's the difference between monitor headphones and regular ones? Condenser mics and dynamic mics? If you know, you know.
Even though the staff were skilled, it still took about five minutes to get everything wired and running.
Once everything was ready, he declared, "Tonight, let our voices shake the sky!"
The next song was Waiting for Love. The Emperor Beast transformed into a DJ, spinning live. Since he'd drawn Avicii's album, of course he could spin, and he wasn't half bad either.
"Xiao Jiu knows how to DJ too? How many surprises has he kept from us?"
"Good thing I brought loquat syrup in advance. Let's keep this party going!"
The audience went wild.
🎵 "Where there's a will, there's a way, kinda beautiful And every night has its day, so magical…" 🎵
If rock concerts were about being rowdy, then electronic ones were about going absolutely crazy.
Especially after the chorus, when the beat exploded, the entire stadium seemed to shake. Eighty thousand legs bouncing in rhythm felt like the building itself was trembling.
Everyone knew this night at Shanghai's Eighty Thousand Stadium was destined to be carved into music history, a classic people would talk about for years.
The next three songs shifted back to Chinese-style classics: East Wind Breaks, A Thousand Miles Away, and Hair Like Snow. Some fans even noticed the setlist was arranged in units of 3-3-2.
Song after song, the dance troupe kept up. The modern choreo group was from Capital Dance Jiamu, and they appeared the most. Lead dancer Yang Hao was panting hard, gulping water like crazy. He knew chugging after intense exercise was bad—blood sodium levels could crash—but he couldn't help it.
Once he quenched his thirst, he leaned on his knees, eyes glazed.
"Is this guy made of iron? Even an ironman should've melted by now." Watching the singer on stage still holding perfect pitch and breath, he felt like he was staring at an alien.
The concert had been going for three hours straight. Thirty-four songs, from 7 PM all the way to 10.
Chu Zhi closed with Applause Rings Out.
🎵 "Standing lonely on this stage, hearing applause ring out, my heart overflows with emotion." 🎵
🎵 "So much youth is gone, so many feelings have changed, but I still have your love." 🎵
🎵 "It feels like my first stage again, hearing that first cheer, I can't stop my tears from falling…" 🎵
The song came from the fan-dedicated album Little Fruits Are Sweet. It wasn't one of the big hits, but it was perfect for a closing track.
The arena quieted, letting everyone sink into his voice.
🎵 "Applause rings out, my heart understands, in the crossing of our voices lives our love." 🎵
Those words weren't sung but spoken, one by one, like a confession to the fans.
The upper stands roared in response.
"If it weren't for you, I'd never have become a singer. Thank you for coming to hear me sing."
"That boy named Chu Zhi, knowing he has so many supporters, will be happy, so, so, so, so, so happy. Five 'so's, because it's important."
He bowed deeply to thank the crowd.
Sensitive Little Fruits covered their mouths, eyes red, tears spilling. To many, their idol was the one who had always led them forward.
As a seller of dreams, Chu Zhi had nailed it.
The Emperor Beast's ability to draw tears was top tier, but there was truth in his words too.
With perfect timing, the mechanical lift descended, lowering him from sight.
"Encore!"
"Encore!"
"Marry me, husband!"
The arena thundered with encore chants… plus a few questionable extras.
It was practically tradition. Singers always came back for extra songs, a bonus outside the planned runtime. Usually twenty minutes, maybe four or five tracks. The generous ones stretched to half an hour.
So what about Chu Zhi?
The big screen lit up with a progress bar. Huh? It looked like it was charging energy, slowly climbing.
The bar rose with the crowd's passion. Once they realized, their shouts grew even louder. Two minutes later, the bar hit 100 percent.
A clear "ding" rang out, crisp as a metal clock striking the hour, even over the noise.
The next second, the singer reappeared.
Encore time.
"What song do you want? I'll sing it for you."
As soon as he asked, the neat encore chant shattered into chaos, fans yelling random titles.
No wonder. With five Chinese albums and over sixty total tracks, half of them hadn't even made the setlist tonight.
It was even messier than the sixty-six clan wars of Japan's Sengoku period, louder than the noise itself.
"Opera 2, I want to hear Opera 2!" Zhu Zhan's veins were popping, his face flushed red as he shouted with all his strength.
Inwardly, he muttered, since the live version sounds way better than the CD, is there seriously anyone who doesn't want to hear Opera 2 live?
"Don't strain your throat," Chu Zhi said. "Since everyone's shouting something different, we'll use the lights to randomly pick one audience member."
Made sense. Otherwise, with voices splitting in every direction, there was no way to decide.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, the stage lights swept over the audience.
Seconds later, they stopped. Whether it was fate or coincidence, they landed on Zhu Zhan.
When the lights hit him, the display screen lagged by a couple of seconds. For a moment, his curious face didn't show. Then it popped up, and curiosity quickly turned into shock. He straightened his collar, stood up, and under the gaze of tens of thousands, his legs trembled a little.
"This audience member, please wait, the mic's on its way," Chu Zhi said.
"I'm not nervous, I'm really not nervous!" Zhu Zhan nodded to himself, reminding his heart to sound bold when he spoke. After all, he'd bought the ticket with real money. That made him an investor, right?
Soon enough, a volunteer brought the mic over.
"Jiu-yé, I… I'm your die-hard fan. I want to hear you sing Opera 2." For some reason, all that boldness he'd been rehearsing disappeared once the words came out.
"This song?" Chu Zhi looked doubtful, then in the next second, he flipped it around. "Of course, no problem."
The first half of that sentence had made Zhu Zhan sweat, thinking maybe he was too exhausted to sing it. The second half made the stone in his chest finally drop. Damn it, why'd he have to pause so long?
But annoyance faded quickly. Because when Chu Zhi started singing Opera 2 live, it was absolutely earth-shaking.
🎵 Ooooo ahhhhh ahhhhhhh, ooooo ahhhhh ahhhhhhh! 🎵
The high notes felt like they were peeling the top of his skull open.
Compared to a couple years back, his skills had clearly leveled up. His technique, his control, and how fully he'd drawn out Farinelli's body—all of it was more refined. If two years ago he was in full form, then tonight's Emperor Beast was the ultimate form.
Even with his stamina burned down to a tenth, with his two passives Drunken Immortal and Frenzy stacked together, hitting C6 was easy. For context, at the St. Petersburg International Cultural Forum, the limit was only C5. He'd jumped an entire octave higher.
Put it this way, listening to his high notes was like sailors in the endless sea hearing the song of a siren. Beautiful, seductive, and impossibly high.
"Holy shit, this is basically the quality check song for audio equipment. But the sound system at brother Jiu's concerts really is top notch."
"Fuck, this reminds me of the time I searched for a 'sleep aid playlist' on my music app during a nap, and—holy fuck, who the hell put this song in there?"
"Not sure if it's just me, but the live version feels even more overwhelming."
"Same, I feel that too."
Amateurs could only describe their feelings, but pros heard the details.
In the first two rows sat people who'd pulled strings for tickets, like industry peers. A lot of celebs had come to watch, including Hou Yubin and his family.
"Jiu-yé sounds even better live than on CD, doesn't he? Dad, wasn't that high note higher just now?" Hou Zhenzhen asked in a not-so-soft voice, though in this noisy outdoor crowd, whispers would've been pointless.
"You just need to understand this—it was a high note most singers wouldn't dare touch," Hou Yubin replied, staring at the man on stage. After five or six years of refinement, his singing really had reached this level.
No exaggeration, even if you ignored all his works, just Chu Zhi's vocal ability alone was enough to call him a true master singer.
When Opera 2 ended, he didn't rest. It was encore time anyway, no need to change outfits, so he kept it light and casual.
The same routine, lights searching for a lucky fan.
Next came "Stars," "Seventh Chapter of Night," "Rosemary," "Backlight," and more. Someone even cheekily requested "Visit Home Often," and he actually sang it too.
Night deepened.
Time slipped by with the music, and for the audience, it felt even faster.
Some fans were still buzzing with energy, but fatigue was creeping in. When they finally pulled out their phones to check the time, shock hit—this concert had gone on way longer than expected.
"If I'm not mistaken, the encore alone had sixteen songs, over an hour… that's as long as a whole concert for a lot of singers!"
One Little Fruit who knew her way around fan culture muttered to herself. Her throat was sore from screaming when she noticed it was nearly 11:30. Ticketing sites had all said the show would last 150 minutes, about two and a half hours.
But now they'd blown past it by an extra two hours.
More and more people began realizing it, mainly because they were exhausted. Even if you were an armored robot or a Transformer, you'd be feeling it by now.
"My god, what kind of ultra-value bundle is this?"
"A single ticket for four and a half hours of hype? At first the price felt steep, but now I feel like I underpaid."
…
Did Chu Zhi not know he'd gone overtime? Of course he did! A singer might stretch it by two or three songs, but to go over by two hours? No way. Not even if he was the Barbarian King or Kay with his ult.
The truth was, pulling in half a billion in one night, if he didn't sing longer, the Emperor Beast felt like the money would burn a hole in his hands. If conditions allowed, he'd go all night.
"For the last request, I'd like to use a little bit of privilege. Can I designate a listener myself?" he asked.
The crowd answered yes, though their voices were weaker now. Their throats couldn't take much more.
"I want to give the last request slot to my manager, Wang Yuan. Sister Wang," Chu Zhi said. "She's always treating company staff to meals, handing out perks at events, all out of her own pocket."
"I'm sure you've all guessed by now, Sister Wang's also a Little Fruit. People in the company often joke she works on a loan."
He turned toward the volunteers' rest area and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Sister Wang, for everything."
Mama fans were one of the strongest groups among Little Fruits, and Wang Yuan was their figurehead. The Emperor Beast knew how to win hearts with small acts of kindness.
For him, it was nothing. But for Wang Yuan, who carried herself with queenly grace, hearing it live on stage in front of everyone made her cover her face in tears. Who could handle that?
Mama fans never really asked for anything in return. Well, not exactly. Their return was seeing their idol grow and thrive. That's why they were called mama fans—because they treated their idols like kids they were raising, hoping they'd soar high.
And who could be more rewarding to raise than Chu Zhi himself?
Add to that how thoughtful he was in daily life, always sending gifts on birthdays, always checking in when someone was sick. Wang Yuan felt like her journey as a fan was already bliss. But now, to be publicly thanked in front of thousands? How could her heart bear it?