Indian netizen: "This plot twist is as interesting as Mahabharata. Who made the original author and Yamaha retract? I bet three Third Brothers."
Korean netizen: "The shield built by the Chinese music world is just too sturdy. I'm a Little Fruit—what can I really say? All I can do is [Congratulations on the successful opening of China's Expo]."
Russian netizen: "Messages of congratulations came from Siberia, Moscow, St. Petersburg and beyond. I don't particularly love Chu-dono's songs, but my parents do."
Middle Eastern netizen: "I knew it. Mr. Chu Zhi had to take action."
Vietnamese netizen: "Because it's Chu Zhi, I really believed this reversal from the start."
Middle Eastern netizen: "When I saw the stars involved in the chorus, including Mr. Chu Zhi, I knew this case wasn't simple. So I never jumped to conclusions based on the internet."
All kinds of remarks. The focus in most was on Chu Zhi.
Among the many international comments, the ones from Russia were notable. In Russian-speaking youth culture, Chu Zhi's Lullaby and Opera 2 are quite popular. But songs like Katyusha and Moscow Nights are so iconic they overshadow everything else. So some comments were like, "I don't even listen to Mr. Chu, but my elders do."
To return to the story: most netizens were limited by one-sided information and easily manipulated, but none were stupid. Everyone paying attention to this scandal knew the problem was that Chinese officials failed in their duty and let the plagiarized song take center stage.
Put more plainly: both face and reputation were lost. Even if you wrote a flawless Expo song next, it wouldn't matter. Because "you plagiarized your last song" is a death sentence in public opinion—no amount of explanation fixes it.
Director Zhou of the Expo Bureau was relieved when he saw Yamaha Music Communications and Hirokumo Ryoko's tweets.
Though public opinion was fierce, there was no official censure. Silence didn't mean they could ignore it—he still had to file a report upward.
"Mr. Chu as an advisor has overfulfilled his role," Director Zhou said. "There's no one more reliable in China's entertainment world."
Director Zhou wore two hats: head of the Expo Bureau (a temporary unit that would dissolve after the Expo) and head of the Copyright Bureau. He received Chu Zhi's call.
At first the call was pleasant. Director Zhou thanked him for intervening. But as it continued, his expression grew serious.
After seven or eight minutes, Director Zhou hung up and summoned his secretary, scanning through all the "divine songs" trending online. He knew plagiarism was common in music, but seeing it all laid out… it was everywhere.
Legally, plagiarism is judged on two fronts: access (did you have contact with the original work) and substantial similarity. Whether someone had access is often hard to prove. But substantial similarity requires professional review. You can't just say "four bars sound the same."
In effect, Chinese courts set the bar for musical plagiarism very high. Director Zhou understood that this high threshold caused the current mess.
"No wonder Mr. Chu emphasized this matter," Director Zhou muttered after a moment. "It's time for real reform."
He decided to draft a document to submit to the State Council. The Expo song case would be a textbook example. Of course if Chu Zhi hadn't helped so much, Director Zhou probably wouldn't have dared. Many times, officials prefer not to act rather than risk doing wrong.
Meanwhile, Chu Zhi, before leaving Tokyo, messaged Xue Qi, the current head of the Ninth Overseas Help Association's Japan branch, plus other trainees, to meet for a meal.
Compared to South Korea, Japan's entertainment industry was in flux. Some Chinese trainees had come there to "polish their image," others genuinely to learn. Either way, they were excited when told the plan. Xue Qi (a trainee in the Conservatory system) leaped for joy.
"Woo woo woo!" he flailed his arms.
"Xue-san, calm down. The neighbors downstairs, Mr. Kabuto, might complain."
"Then we'll get the police called!"
His roommates, Oze Yo and Mushi Shirō, hurriedly intervened. The name "Kabuto" hit Xue Qi like a choke. He zipped his mouth and stopped squirming.
The neighbor, Mr. Kabuto, lived downstairs and was known to be strict about noise. Last month, when the trainees got too loud, he came up and left a lasting impression on them.
"Today's gonna be the most unforgettable day this year." Xue Qi declared, excitement still vibrating in his voice.
"What happened, Xue-san?" Mushi Shirō asked.
Oze still watched TV, not curious. When Xue Qi had said "news," Oze didn't expect much.
"Huh." Xue Qi cleared his throat and said loudly, "Mr. Chu Zhi—i.e. Jiu-yé—invited me to lunch today."
He raised his voice so roommates wouldn't miss it. He expected shocked faces, pride, envy—all of it.
But nothing happened. He looked at Mushi Shirō and saw a strange expression.
Just then, the room door flew open. Another roommate, Sands, a trainee from the Bahamas, entered. He sensed the strange mood and asked in broken Japanese, "I'm back… is this a bad time?"
"You're just in time," Xue Qi crowed. "Jiu-yé invited me—your country's big superstar—in Tokyo to lunch!"
It was still daytime, but this felt like a dream. A world-class superstar inviting an undeveloped trainee to lunch? Sands felt his face twist in disbelief.
"Let's be real," Sands said finally.
Xue Qi, surprised at Mushi and Oze's expressions, replied, "I'm not kidding. You all know I'm the head in Japan. Jiu-yé knows how hard it is overseas. He just happened to be in Tokyo and asked us along. And I was first to be invited!"
He emphasized "first" heavily.
It sounded plausible. Sands and Mushi exchanged glances.
"You're really going to lunch with Mr. Chu? The reigning king of physical album sales?" Oze finally stepped away from the TV to ask.
"Yep. I got the address. I think it's at Noda Iwa? Also called "5th-gen Noda Iwa?" Glasses. I didn't think Jiu-yé, so busy, would carve out time to invite us. Noda Iwa's known for unagi restaurants though. I don't even like eel."
Before he could finish, a shrill voice cut in—
"You lucky bastard! How dare you dine with Chu-san!"
"Can I go to that banquet too?"
"If it's an invite from Jiu-yé, I'll even drink bathwater!"
The three handsome boys shouted with envy. Not to exaggerate—these were attractive trainees. High-bar for looks is part of their criteria.
"Drinking bathwater? You're sick." Xue Qi pushed Mushi Shirō's hand off his thigh.
He basked in their envy, because that's what he wanted—roommates envious. As Oze Yo asked "Why you, though?" he thought: Because I'm a Chinese trainee. He puffed out his chest. If he had a red scarf, it'd be even brighter.
"Sands, sorry man, but tonight's lunch is just for Chinese trainees…"
"Hey, I can be a Chinese trainee, go get dual citizenship or something," Sands cut him off.
"That's a nice idea, but China doesn't allow dual nationality," Xue Qi snapped the bubble.
"Mm…" Sands frowned, then grit his teeth. "Then I'll keep my own nationality. I actually love my country too much."
Xue Qi laughed. "When you eat, can you think of me a little so I'm not left out?"
They joked around, but among them, envy had its shades. Mushi Shirō and Oze Yo admired strength. Getting to meet the era's top seller made them envious. Sands, coming from overseas to dream in Japan, had zero protection. If a senior from his own country protected him abroad, that meant everything.
To make a strong impression, Xue Qi started prepping himself two hours early.
They reserved the biggest private room on the second floor of Noda Iwa.
"In Tokyo, getting used to things?" Chu Zhi asked the group.
"At first the food was odd. Then I discovered they have Hot Pot and skewers here, just very pricey."
"J Agency's energy kills you."
"In Stardust Promotion, the vibe's fine, but I suspect they don't care much about training trainees."
They all leapt into complaints like kids airing grievances to the patriarch of the family.
Why invite over twenty Japanese trainees to dine? It was to remind them: "Even if Chu Zhi didn't publicly appear, his support in the Overseas Help Association is the highest."
The Emperor Beast invested deeply in youth training: Asian Musician Association awards, Overseas Help Associations, collaborating with CCTV to revive the Youth Singer Contest.
The Youth Singer Contest (CCTV's Youth Singer Television Awards) exists both in this parallel world and Earth, producing many talented singers.
He didn't need to fill the world with disciples, but he wanted that years down the road, half of show business would owe him.
Because support breeds staying power.
After Tokyo, Chu Zhi jetted home and plunged right back into tour mode.
At the concert at Shimen's Olympic Center, he sang a song he shouldn't have. During the encore, the lights picked a fan—she was a university girl, skin fresh and rosy. Maybe due to excitement or shyness, her face blushed deeply.
"Jiu-yé, when are you marrying me?" she blurted into the mic.
Little Fruits weren't about to let that slide. The crowd erupted: "No way," "I refuse," "I formally oppose this marriage!" Their cheers echoed like thunder.
"You see? They don't approve," Chu Zhi said, then gently asked, "What song do you want to request?"
"'Run Away Together' (私奔), I want to hear Run Away Together." the girl said.
That rock song had come from a festival performance and was later released as a duet with Beautiful World's Orphan. It's a song easy to name but often overlooked by fans.
Encores answered demands, so he began to sing.
At first it was fine. He'd tested his endurance in so many concerts. Jumping, dancing three hours, he could still nail rock songs.
But when he sang: "I want to take you away and run away, be the happiest people..."
"Don't be sad anymore, I see hope again..."
"Do you still have the courage, to leave with me..."
Something about his instinct took over. With the "Siren Voice" buff active, his tone gained a seductive layer. People call it "a little intoxicating."
Then…
The girl in the front row, Longlong, heard "run away together" from her idol, with sweat damp hair clinging to him, he looked like a bending flower stem.
During the fiery rock moment, then a look, a whisper—Longlong's mind shut down. She cried out "I will" and lunged forward.
She wasn't alone—many Little Fruits did the same, losing sense, pushing forward.
Crowd surged!
Chu Zhi sensed danger instantly and cut the song. Security—paying for big contracts—immediately handled the chaos.
"Little Fruits, don't crowd. Too much pressure can cause injuries."
"Trampling can lead to casualties. Then we can't have concerts anymore."
He repeated those phrases over and over across the arena. With words like "casualties" and "no more concerts," people cooled down. Logic overtook mania.
He stopped just in time. No injuries happened.
It took ten more minutes to set benches upright—many plastic stools had been knocked over.
"Brother Jiu's charisma grows even more." Wang Yuan recalled the music festival version of Run Away Together. That was big, but nothing like this. Thank goodness no one got hurt.
Not just she, but Chu Zhi himself broke into cold sweat. He'd seen first-hand the power of "Crowd Freak+ Siren Voice." He'd have to use Enigmatic Voice more carefully in the future.
Since no one was hurt, and this was a concert backstage incident, and nothing was broadcast live, it only made a minor trending topic.
Few outsiders cared, but Little Fruits got even more obsessed with ticketing.
In the Orang Home app, fans voted on the Three Hex Songs:
1. Combust and Explode — on-site injuries, many nosebleeds
2. Run Away Together — half a song nearly caused a stampede
3. To be determined—pending Brother Jiu's choice