The third of the Three Hex Songs soon got its nomination. It came from Little Fruits, who was studying abroad in Japan under the username [Rain Falling, Breeze Blowing, Smoke Curling Like a Painting]. Her pick was Come, Sweet Death, and her reasoning? "Jiu-yé performed this song on the show, and hundreds of Japanese fans fainted. The Yomiuri Shimbun called it one of the two great 'TV Attacks' in history."
The first "TV Attack" referred to the infamous "Porygon Incident" back in the '90s. When TV Tokyo aired Pokémon episode 38, a rapid red-and-blue flashing explosion scene triggered photosensitive epilepsy in viewers, especially children whose nervous systems weren't yet fully developed. Over two hundred kids were hospitalized, and later reports revealed that more than six hundred had been affected to varying degrees.
The Yomiuri Shimbun, however, believed the Sweet Death Incident spread even further. The shockwave it caused across Japan was enormous.
The Mainichi Shimbun wrote, "Chu Zhi can save people, but he can also drag them into the abyss. He possesses a voice that holds the power of life and death."
The media once again elevated the nickname "Voice of an Angel."
Unfortunately, Come, Sweet Death didn't make the final list. Those fans fainting weren't bewitched—they were struck down.
Now, about the follow-up to the Sweet Death Incident—
"Kirara, open up! I know you're in there, come on, open the door for the bravest warrior!"
"If you don't open up, I'll have to knock louder!"
"Pardon me, then. I'll kick it open."
Ojima Matsuka, anxious as ever, raised her foot, but her colleague Uesaka Midori quickly grabbed her arm.
"Calm down, Captain Ojima. Maybe Sasaki Kirara fainted again, that's why she's not answering or picking up our calls."
"Possible." Matsuka frowned, remembering how Kirara had once collapsed on the train while watching Music Station through her earbuds, right when her idol performed Come, Sweet Death.
Many members of [Chu Zhi's Strongest Fan Club] had wept their hearts out over that performance. Matsuka didn't cry, which was exactly why he proudly called himself a warrior.
"So, what should we do now?" he asked hesitantly.
"Let's call the police, or maybe get the property manager to unlock the door," Uesaka suggested. "I'm worried she might've fainted alone and hit her head. That'd be dangerous."
"You really deserve your title as one of the Four Geniuses of the Fan Club," Matsuka praised, crouching down.
Uesaka's mouth twitched. Four Geniuses? When did that become a thing? And being lumped together with Matsuka somehow felt like an insult.
It wasn't that he looked down on him—it was just that Matsuka did have mild cerebral palsy. Being "ranked" alongside him when he was perfectly healthy almost felt like self-slander.
Then he noticed Matsuka rummaging by the door. "Captain Ojima, what're you looking for? We need to go get the building staff."
"I'm looking for a spare key. If it were me, I'd hide it under the doormat," she said, flipping the entryway rug.
Uesaka sighed. "You're an idiot if you hide your keys under there... and even more of an idiot if you think others would do the same."
Before he could say that aloud, Matsuka triumphantly lifted a tiny key. "Found it! Kirara's key's so small."
Uesaka was speechless.
He opened the door and called naturally, "Kirara, I'm coming in!" Tossing his shoes aside, he dashed in to check the situation.
Uesaka hesitated at the entrance for a few seconds, neatly took off his shoes, aligned them perfectly, and only then stepped inside.
The apartment was cute and girly but dim. The lights were off, curtains drawn, sunlight blocked out. The place was spotless—clearly, Kirara liked to keep things tidy.
But then—
"Miss Sasaki!" Uesaka spotted her lying on the floor and immediately pulled out his phone to call 119.
Japan's emergency and fire numbers were the same.
"Don't worry, she just fainted. I've seen this before," Matsuka said confidently, grabbing a bowl of water from the kitchen.
"Wait, don't—" Uesaka tried to stop her, but Matsuka dipped her fingers into the water and flicked droplets onto Kirara's face.
Three flicks later, Kirara stirred awake. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her bangs were messy.
Her throat hurt when she tried to speak.
"Here, water." Matsuka handed her the bowl.
Kirara didn't hesitate and drank half of it in one go. In Japan, tap water was safe to drink, and most people did.
When she'd recovered a bit, she blinked at the two of them, confused about why they were in her home. They were just casual friends, not close enough for surprise visits.
"Today was our association's weekly meeting," Uesaka explained. "You didn't show up, so I got worried and came with Captain Ojima."
"Exactly," Matsuka said proudly. "I found the key under the rug and opened the door."
He didn't sound the least bit guilty for breaking in—after all, in his mind, he'd come to save someone.
"I'm sorry for entering without permission," Uesaka added quickly.
Kirara waved it off weakly. "No, no, it's me who should be thankful. Thank you, Captain Ojima. Thank you, Uesaka-san."
"As long as you're okay," Uesaka said, then gently reminded her, "But don't hide your keys in such an obvious place next time. It's not safe."
"Oh, that's fine," Matsuka said carelessly. "My mom says there are two kinds of people in this world: those who never lose their keys, and those who hide them under rugs and flowerpots. Kirara and I are just the second kind."
"By the way, why did you faint?" he asked bluntly.
Kirara glanced at her tablet. The iPad recognized her face and unlocked, showing the paused screen of Music Station.
That said it all. She'd fainted once while watching the live broadcast, and then fainted again while watching the replay at home.
"Don't be too sad, Miss Sasaki," Uesaka said softly. "Ragdoll has already moved on. Being able to perform that song again means he's no longer trapped by the past."
"But…" Kirara hit play again, and Chu Zhi's voice filled the room:
🎵 It all returns to nothing, I just keep letting me down… 🎵
"All turned to dust, everything let me down, let me down, let me down…" she whispered in Japanese, tears welling again.
"This song must've been written during Chu-dono's darkest days," she sobbed. "He must've felt so hopeless back then, like everything in his life was collapsing."
Everyone in [Chu Zhi's Strongest Fan Club] knew the name was parsed as "Chu Zhi / Strongest Fan Club," not "Chu Zhi's / Strongest Fan Club." They were the diehard of diehards. Listening to her words, and hearing Chu Zhi's gentle voice, even Uesaka's eyes went red.
Then, suddenly—
"No, no, no, you two idiots!"
The sad atmosphere shattered. If there wasn't a ghost in the room, then the voice could only belong to Ojima Matsuka.
Both of them jumped, staring as he fumed.
"Why do you think Chu-san sang that song on TV?" he demanded.
"Huh?" they blinked.
"Because he wanted to inspire us! Even when he was in hell writing it, even when he wanted to die a hundred times, even when everyone hated him and nightmares haunted him every night, Chu-san didn't give up! Don't you get it?"
His face twisted with emotion, and somehow, his words hit home.
"He sang Come, Sweet Death cheerfully not to make us sad, but to show us he's fine now! That even this song, he can sing it happily!" he cried, his voice cracking but full of conviction.
"You're supposed to feel encouraged, not heartbroken! Do you understand me?"
He stared them down, eyes blazing.
It was completely opposite logic, but the more they thought about it, the more it made sense.
Their idol was always trying to give fans strength, never sorrow. And Ojima's passion was almost infectious.
After a few minutes of silence to reboot their brains, Kirara finally spoke.
"Thank you, Captain Ojima. I feel a lot better now. Come, Sweet Death really is a song of strength."
She bowed deeply. "Please, let me treat you both to dinner tonight."
"I won't eat if it's bad," Matsuka said, already back to his usual bluntness.
Uesaka tried to decline politely, but Kirara insisted.
When they finally left, she noticed how Matsuka's shoes were kicked halfway out the door, while Uesaka's were perfectly lined up. The contrast said everything.
"She must've been that worried," Kirara thought, feeling even more grateful.
Uesaka, meanwhile, finally understood why Matsuka was in charge of PR for [Chu Zhi's Strongest Fan Club]—
—because he really believed.
From Japan to the bustling heart of China, Chu Zhi had guests visiting today. Or rather… elders. The relationship was a bit complicated.
"Mr. Chu, we'd like to ask you for a favor," said Mr. Yuan, hesitantly.
Beside him, Mrs. Yuan and their son Yuan Lian looked embarrassed.
"Please, just call me Xiao Jiu," Chu Zhi said with an easy smile. "Lian's my godbrother, no need to be so formal."
Back when they filmed Shiyi Lang, Yuan Lian had played the younger version of Chu Zhi's role. The boy left such an impression that Chu Zhi took him in as a godbrother.
Mr. Yuan hesitated at the nickname, but before he could speak, Chu Zhi grinned. "Auntie, Uncle, you're being too polite. Right, Lian? We've fought side by side, haven't we?"
Fought side by side? The parents blinked in confusion.
Yuan Lian coughed awkwardly. "He means we played PUBG together—it's a shooting game."
"Ohh." Mr. Yuan nodded, relieved. If Chu Zhi played games with his son, that meant their relationship was genuine. Maybe, just maybe, today's request would be easier to handle.
When Chu Zhi gestured for him to go on, Mr. Yuan explained their predicament.
After Shiyi Lang's massive success, Yuan Lian had been cast in Fire and Red, a China–France co-production with a 340 million yuan budget and backing from Huayi and Pathé—an absolute blockbuster.
He was to play young Zhao Wuji—not the villain from some martial arts flick, but the name of one of France's most famous Chinese painters.
But then came trouble. Because Yuan Lian was good-looking, a senior Pathé executive with a known history of child predation started taking an interest in him, sending repeated invitations.
The Yuans had refused over and over, even tried to withdraw from the project, but the contracts had them trapped.
"How the hell are there so many freaks in this industry?" Chu Zhi thought bitterly.
"That Pathé executive was never convicted?" he asked. "Even in France, that's still a crime."
"The child's parents withdrew the charges," Mr. Yuan said quietly. "And he had a very good lawyer."
"I see." Chu Zhi nodded. "Don't worry, Uncle, Auntie. This might be a co-production, but the 'China' in 'China–France' comes first."
That assurance seemed to lift a huge weight from their shoulders.
"We're really sorry to trouble you," Mr. Yuan said. "Please, accept these gifts."
They placed several expensive boxes on the table—premium wine, cigarettes, and a jade pendant easily worth six figures.
"Protecting my brother isn't a favor, it's what a big brother should do," Chu Zhi said, walking over to rest a reassuring hand on Yuan Lian's shoulder. "Next time something like this happens, just tell me right away. Your brother's got your back."
He said it casually, but his tone carried unshakable confidence.
He accepted only the wine and cigarettes. "I'll take these, since I'll actually use them. But keep the rest. I really mean it."
The Yuans exchanged glances, touched by how grounded he was despite his fame.
They wanted to invite him to dinner, but Chu Zhi's flight to Beijing was at 11:20. He walked them out, deep in thought.
Sure, one call would be enough to scare that French exec off—but there'd always be another victim.
He wasn't a saint, but if he could stop something like that when it was right in front of him, he would.
"The entertainment industry's always messy," he muttered to himself, "but not all that mess comes from within. Sometimes the real scum comes from outside. And anyone who lays a hand on a kid… crosses the line."