American singer Darius: [This Chinese guy's English is terrible. I suggest he re-enroll in community college. Overturn the music industry? No, the only thing you can overturn is your baby crib.]
Mexican-American producer Emmanuel: [As a producer, I'd love to see a creative album drop. But we all know it's impossible now. This is 2024, not 1924. Oh wait, there's one guy who doesn't know.]
Composer Otencia: [Oh my God, come quick, someone's lost his mind.]
Atlantic Records CIO Radu: [Anything can happen in the music market. Before an album's released, nobody can predict the outcome. But when someone gets too arrogant, it's always the prelude to destruction.]
Rapper Mured: ["The Lying Singer."]
And on and on.
Truth be told, Radu had a point. Whether an album succeeds or fails depends on the fickle market. But Atlantic's own artists had pulled the same promo tricks countless times. It was a bit of a double standard.
As for rappers, don't be surprised they can crank out a diss track instantly. Throwing insults into rhymes is practically a reflex. A lot of them can do it, and apparently Horman could too.
"Serves him right for being so high-profile," Horman gloated. He'd wanted to write a diss track himself, but since his buddy Leighton was a die-hard Chu Zhi fan, he held back. Still, holding back didn't stop him from enjoying the show.
Horman happily scrolled through the attacks on Chu Zhi, then remembered something and checked his phone. His mood exploded. "Fuck! Where's my sushi? Is the delivery guy walking it over here?"
Japanese food was popular in America, usually mid to high-end. A casual takeout order ran fifty, sixty bucks easy.
Horman called the restaurant and cursed them out. The staff quickly apologized, explaining the driver had been delayed by a traffic accident.
"What, are you blaming me? You're saying it's my fault he crashed because I placed the order?" Horman snapped.
The staff was dumbfounded, they hadn't meant that at all. But before they could explain, Horman's voice tore through the phone like a machine gun.
"In half an hour, I'd better see my sushi!" He ended his rant with that.
He hung up, then set a timer on his phone.
Given he hadn't even gotten the food yet, Horman really wasn't worried someone might spit in it?
"Damn it, Leighton's a hardcore fan of that Chinese singer. Won't these comments set him off?" Horman began to worry.
It wasn't his style to call, so he opened Leighton's Twitter feed instead. Nothing new.
After hesitating, Horman made a decision that went against his instincts.
Horman: [I met Chu once at the opening ceremony. He's a genius singer, and geniuses always want to change the world. I don't think ambitious visions are something to criticize.]
The only Western figure who publicly supported Chu Zhi turned out to be Horman, who barely knew him. The irony was absurd.
Twitter was a battlefield. Singers, producers, industry insiders, everyone jumped in. The buzz around Chu Zhi's new album skyrocketed, like a runaway donkey that couldn't be reined in.
Some watched to laugh, some watched with curiosity, some said "none of my business."
For Chu Zhi and his management, this was the definition of "ask for heat, get heat." But don't think it was just hype.
Stirring controversy was only part of the plan. Manager Qin Fei's real goal was to trigger dissatisfaction early. A Chinese artist who outsold pop diva Gibaldi, stole the World Cup opening show from Bale and Megan, and just kept on winning? Of course backlash was inevitable.
If it didn't erupt now, it would later, once Chu Zhi climbed higher. So Qin Fei chose to unleash it on his own terms.
The team had debated this fiercely. Wang Yuan opposed it, arguing it would dump pressure and hate on the artist. And Mama-fan Da Wang definitely wouldn't be pleased.
But since the promo was rolling, it meant Wang Yuan had eventually been persuaded.
An interesting detail: many of the harshest voices were from minorities. Ottensi was Latino, Darius was Black.
In America, "racial equality" often meant "my group must get equal treatment," or even "because of my group, I deserve extra."
"The plan's working," Qin Fei said excitedly. "All Nations will hit ten million. First album to do it since 2015!"
"Calm down, Fei Qin. Don't get ahead of yourself. The album's not even out yet," Lao Qian reminded him.
Old Qian, king of nicknames, flipped Qin Fei's name and started calling him "Fei Qin" (Flying Bird).
All they needed was a "Beast" to complete a "Bird and Beast" combo. Lao Qian regretted not having one.
"I'm calm, I'm totally calm." Qin Fei's voice then soared with passion. "Two million from Japan isn't much, right? One and a half from South Korea isn't much, right? Five hundred thousand from Russia, two million from the rest of Asia, that's six million already."
"Four million from Europe and America isn't doable? This time we've even got the Arab world and Latin America onboard. We're holding all the trump cards. If we don't hit ten million, I'll eat this monitor!"
Lao Qian glanced at the monitor he pointed at. It wasn't even his, it was Qi Qiu's. But seeing Qin Fei so fired up, he didn't break the mood.
Besides, promo was Qi Qiu's job. Why was Qin Fei more excited than him?
Niu Jiangxue and Wang Yuan exchanged looks. They both thought the same: Qin Fei had been locked in production all year, and he was completely pent-up.
Originally, Chu Zhi had given Qin Fei a ten-day vacation. But Qin Fei waved it off, saying, "Keep it. It's livelier at the office than at home." That one line spoke volumes.
Once Qin Fei's excitement cooled, everyone went back to work full of energy. If All Nations Vol. 1 really hit ten million, the whole team would share in the glory.
Niu Jiangxue headed to the meeting room to recruit a new assistant. She wasn't HR, but she needed someone who fit her rhythm.
Aiguo was stuck in an endless cycle of expanding, running short on staff, then expanding again.
Ever since Chu Zhi broke out globally, the workload had skyrocketed, forcing the creation of new departments.
Just think—when the album dropped, workload in the Spanish-speaking and Arabic markets would explode. Of course they'd need new hires to stabilize the fanbase.
Distributors worldwide had already prepped over four million copies. The confidence was obvious.
"Anyone know how to buy overseas? I know I can stream it for free, but I want a physical copy to keep."
"If you're buying, best bet's through Russia. Cheaper than importing from Japan or Korea. But Little Fruits, only buy what you can afford."
"Right. Jiu-yé's always said he sings for free, so we can save our money for things like milk tea. He just wants us to live well. Don't go broke just for a collector's copy."
The Orang Home forum was buzzing with album talk. Chu Zhi and Wang Yuan deliberately kept the tone healthy. They never pushed fans to buy multiple copies.
But realistically, with domestic Little Fruits alone, they could force sales into the millions. The Emperor Beast had too many die-hard fans after years of work.
As the release date drew closer, not just in China but worldwide, Little Fruits rallied. It felt like everyone had agreed, "To crown our idol, we'll give it all we've got."
And really, that shared determination came from the outside pressure—the endless Twitter attacks on Chu Zhi's new album.
It was Mid-Autumn Festival in China, mooncake time.
Chu Zhi's album launched worldwide at the same moment. When the real tracklist dropped, fans in every country went crazy.
They were ecstatic.
So happy they hadn't even listened yet.
The New Long March Rock, Chronicles of the Gods, Glorious Years
Chinese fans: "Three Chinese tracks, plus a Cantonese one! I thought we wouldn't hear Jiu-yé sing in Chinese this year. I'm crying."
Moscow Nights
Russian fans: "Mr. Zhi hid a Russian song in here? Is this a surprise gift? It really is. Reminds me of Katyusha and those old lullabies."
Despacito, Sofia, Danza Kuduro
Spanish fans: "So many Spanish songs. Cup of Life is my all-time favorite, and now I'm excited for this too."
French: Les Champs-Élysées
French fans: "Chu Zhi sings French? Who knows. I'll listen first, then judge."
And then there were three countries where the joy went beyond joy.
Korean: IF YOU
"Our professor's heart still belongs to us Korean fans."
"We gave him love, and he's always loved us most."
"I'm buying ten copies, minimum!"
Japanese: Fireworks (打上花火)
"He just dropped a Japanese album, now there's another track. Who wouldn't love Chu-san?"
"Hope I can snag a first-batch copy. Ragdoll's records are always impossible to get."
"I'll prove to every hater how powerful Ragdoll really is."
Arabic: Autumn in Arabia
Fan Gabe was in tears. He felt Chu Zhi had written a song just for him, in Arabic. Promotion or not, even if the song wasn't great, Gabe swore he'd push it everywhere.
And so, All Nations Vol. 1 took the stage.
Chu Zhi hadn't forgotten a promise either…
Heinze Agüero, director of the Eva Perón Memorial in Argentina, was once Buenos Aires University's brightest student, a biochemistry major, even a finalist for "World's Outstanding Students." Nobel Prize winners had invited him to their labs. Everyone thought he'd be a brilliant researcher.
But to everyone's shock, Agüero chose instead to become caretaker of the memorial. He'd worked there fifty or sixty years, living inside, through seven or eight renovations. Always in the same little village where Eva Perón was born and raised.
"Director, your package."
Postman Monson handed him a box. "This one's from America."
"How's Mrs. Cordova's health?" Agüero asked as he signed.
"My mother just came back from the hospital. She's still recovering, but her spirits are good. She keeps urging me to work hard," Monson said.
"Once you recognize your mistakes and keep moving in the right direction, you'll succeed," Agüero replied. He'd watched Cordova's mother grow up. There was no blood tie, but he still fussed over her like family.
"I understand, Director. I've got more deliveries, so I'll head off." Monson waved and rode away on his little scooter.
Agüero smiled as he watched him go. He'd adopted a daughter, but she had her own life to live. This whole neighborhood, he treated like his juniors.
Carrying the package back inside, Director Agüero walked to the west wing of the memorial. That section wasn't part of the original building, it had been added later. The floor tiles marked the divide, with dark stone on the inside and pale wood planks outside.
Chairs and tables lined the west wing so visitors could rest. Agüero sat down and opened the package. Inside was a letter and a vinyl record.
Dear Director Agüero,
This is my new album All Nations Vol. 1. We once made a promise: when it released, I'd send you a copy.
Now I've fulfilled that promise. I look forward to your thoughts. After all, when it comes to Madam Eva Perón, what I know isn't even one percent of what you know.
Wishing you good health!
Chu Zhi, September 18, 2024
"What a thoughtful young man," Agüero murmured. At over eighty, he'd seen a lot in life, and learned even more.
Just a month earlier, that Chinese star had visited for filming. While guiding him through Eva Perón's record collection, Agüero remembered Chu Zhi casually mentioning he preferred the sound of vinyl.
He hadn't doubted Chu Zhi would send a record—he'd sensed from their conversation the man had a careful heart. He just hadn't expected such a gift.
Back in his small living quarters above the west wing, Agüero placed the record on his old phonograph, a tabletop horn model the size of a nightstand. He set the needle, and music slowly spilled out…
He glanced at the tracklist. Song #3 was Don't Cry for Me, Argentina . But first came Les Champs-Élysées and Moscow Nights.
"The French is flawless, and the music's got that true Parisian flavor." Agüero knew French culture even better than Spanish.
As for the Russian song, he couldn't judge, since it wasn't his area.
Still, Chu Zhi's artistry filled him with confidence. By the time the third track began, he was ready.
As a top-tier vocalist, Chu Zhi could shift his voice and technique to suit each song's emotions. Les Champs-Élysées had elegance, with delicate mixing like a fine French meal. Moscow Nights carried more chest voice and heavy resonance, like the cold wind of the night.
And now, Don't Cry for Me, Argentina. Chu Zhi's soaring head voice rang out, as if even the stone steps of heaven trembled with the melody.
🎵 "It won't be easy, you'll think it strange, when I try to explain how I feel. Yes, I made mistakes, but I longed for your love, even if you never believed me. You'll see someone dressed in riches, yet never quite belonging…" 🎵
The piano and accordion danced like drops of water sliding through a rainbow. Tears welled in Agüero's eyes—not only because of the lyrics, but because he knew Eva Perón's story too well.
Born in a poor Argentinian farming family, she and her siblings were called bastards because their father abandoned them. Her mother worked herself to the bone raising five kids. That childhood pushed Eva to claw her way up, using her body and connections in Buenos Aires to chase status. That was the "mistakes" the lyrics hinted at.
🎵 "I wanted to change my life, I refused to stay in the shadows. I wouldn't sit by a window, powerless to reach the sun. So I chose freedom, traveled far, but nothing left a mark…" 🎵
After marrying Juan Perón, Eva threw herself into promoting Peronism, fighting for equality in a deeply unjust Argentina.
The song swelled into its climax. The oboe rose sharply, like climbing those heavenly steps:
🎵 "Don't cry for me, Argentina. The truth is I never left you. Though it may seem reckless, though I once fell, I always kept my promise. Please, don't keep your distance." 🎵
The phrase "Don't cry for me" shattered the old director. Tears rolled freely. How could Argentina not cry for her?
His lips moved, whispering something. If you leaned closer, you'd hear: "I lied."
Yes, Agüero had lied. For decades he'd told visitors, "In 1948, I met Eva Perón, she shook my hand." It was his lifelong story, his pride. But it wasn't true.
She had indeed visited his school for charity that day. The First Lady's Fund she founded still exists in Argentina, helping women and children.
But he'd been sick at home.
Anyone who knew him would be shocked. His greatest pride, the story he'd told his whole life, was self-deception.
🎵 "As for riches, as for fame, I never truly sought them. To the world they looked like my only goals, but they were fleeting illusions. The answer was always here. I loved you, and I only wished for your love in return." 🎵
Agüero believed it, of course he did. Even while dying of uterine cancer, Eva gave Argentina's women the right to vote.
She should've rested, maybe lived beyond thirty-three. Instead, she gave seven speeches in two days, later propped up by a metal corset just to stand.
When Eva said, "I'll burn my life for the poor," she meant it.
And now Chu Zhi's voice carried a gospel-like radiance, blending with the melody.
🎵 "Don't cry for me, Argentina. Don't cry for me, Argentina." 🎵
Before, Agüero's tears were for his own regret. Now, they were only for Eva Perón.
"How could Argentina not cry for you?" the frail old director whispered, trembling.
===
"新长征路的摇滚"(Xīn Chángzhēng Lù de Yáogǔn) — The New Long March Rock by 崔健 (Cui Jian).
"万神纪"(Wànshén Jì) — Chronicles of the Gods, tribute reference to Chinese rock epics.
"光辉岁月"(Guānghuī Suìyuè) — Glorious Years by Beyond