Gu Peng and Qi Dake sat far apart, each occupying one of the two opposing single-seater sofas. When they noticed someone entering, Qi took the initiative to stand and greet the newcomer.
"I'm Qi Dake—just call me Dake," he introduced himself, then added, "I think you're a great idol. My younger sister has been hyped up like she's on stimulants for the past two weeks, determined to get into a top-tier university."
"At first, my family was a little worried, thinking she'd made some pact with a boy to attend the same school. Turns out she was just inspired by her idol," Qi Dake said.
Huh… The family's imagination was a bit too vivid. Shouldn't they be happy their kid was improving?
Of course, Chu Zhi was inwardly pleased—his plan to motivate his Little Fruits was progressing smoothly.
Grow well, Little Fruits. Then this "big tiger" Chu Zhi will pluck you all when ripe.
"The Sky Isn't Late Yet" is still the most-played song in my playlist," Chu Zhi said. He'd looked up the two early arrivals' names after overhearing Xiao Xi and done a quick search.
Qi Dake had sung many familiar hits, but everyone had their favorites. In interviews, he'd named The Sky Isn't Late Yet—an early-career piece—as his personal best. Usually, artists' preferred works weren't the most mainstream, often reflecting a tension between self-expression and mass appeal.
"Oh? That song's ancient," Qi Dake said, surprised. Hearing this from Chu Zhi gave him a favorable impression—this new-gen idol had taste. The distance between them shrank effortlessly.
This wasn't deliberate flattery. When Chu Zhi played hardball, he preferred overt tactics. In daily life, he simply molded himself into whatever others found likable.
But he was fundamentally different from people-pleasers—his approach served long-term gains, not just making others comfortable at his own expense.
"Folk singer," Gu Peng introduced himself, as if trying to sound enthusiastic, but his words came out lethargic: "Your Wind Through the Wheat is great—I like it a lot. And Like Smoke's lyrics could be an outstanding folk song with a tempo change."
Folk music prioritized lyrics, so Gu's focus on wordcraft was natural.
"Third Brother's lyrics read like modern poetry. You clearly study verse," Chu Zhi responded.
Gu Peng's folk songs often centered on ethnic minorities, earning him the teasing nickname Mountain Song King—later softened to the respectful Third Brother as his work gained acclaim.
He opened his mouth to continue but blanked.
"Where'd my talking points go? I prepared so many!"
"Awkward. What do I say now?" Gu Peng regretted standing up at all.
"Let's exchange lyric-writing tips privately sometime," Chu Zhi smoothly suggested. "And we should all sit—standing around is weird."
"Right, right." Gu Peng eagerly reclaimed his seat, his chaotic mind calming once settled.
Qi Dake sat too, steering the conversation toward songwriting. Chu Zhi's acquired albums and tracks all came with creation insights, so he could discuss them endlessly.
Gu Peng initially tried to participate, forcing himself into the group chat, but soon decided he'd met his weekly social quota and lapsed into comfortable silence.
Xiao Xi, who'd gone to fetch hot water, seemed too busy to return. Over ten minutes later, she escorted two more guests.
Both around thirty. The taller one wore a striking orange-red coat, his cold expression warning against approach. The shorter man's stern face and monochrome outfit amplified his unapproachable aura.
"Teachers Yuan He and Wang Dong, please wait a moment. Once all invited guests arrive, Director Jiang from our Online Cultural Dissemination Center will join you," Xiao Xi explained. Then, apologetically: "Teacher Chu, I'm so sorry—we're short-staffed today. Your hot water is coming right up."
"No problem," Chu Zhi said.
Wang Dong and Yuan He were both China Conservatory graduates who'd taken the state troupe/theater route. With few albums, their fame was limited, but their vocal skills were formidable—if not outright surpassing top-tier stars like Lin Xia or Li Xingwei, they could certainly hold their own.
"What would you two like to drink?" Xiao Xi asked.
"Iced water. With ice cubes if possible. Thanks," said Yuan He (the taller one).
Wang Dong (shorter): "Hot water for me."
"Three teachers, please wait a little longer," Xiao Xi said before closing the door behind her.
The newcomers exchanged greetings, but their aloofness acted like social coolant. Though the conversation continued, the awkwardness thickened.
Gu Peng observed covertly. His verdict: Yuan and Wang have history. Bad blood.
One wants cold water, the other hot—polar opposites! Though socially anxious, Gu was excellent at reading into things.
"But Yuan He and Wang Dong share one trait: they both look down on Chu Zhi." Gu wondered why. His brief chat with Chu had left a positive impression—no overbearing friendliness to trigger his awkwardness.
Amid the stilted talk, Chu Zhi pieced together the meeting's purpose: next year's China-Japan-Korea Cultural Exchange Performance.
In his original world, only China-Japan music festivals existed—Korea wasn't invited. But this parallel world's butterfly effect had expanded it to a trio.
From the original host's memories, the tri-nation event occurred every four years, carrying a hint of competition. Audience votes would determine a top three for commendation.
"No wonder Huang Bo said the company fought hard for this." Comparing the other four attendees to himself, he did seem slightly out of place.
"But international performances like this are usually reserved for national-team-level artists like Hou Yubin. The others here aren't old enough either."
Xiao Xi reappeared with two hot waters and one cold (apologizing to Yuan He for the lack of ice).
Following her was Director Jiang from the Federation, a smiling fiftysomething clutching a black briefcase. After scanning the five celebrities, he dismissed Xiao Xi and closed the door.
"Thank you all for making time," Director Jiang began. "You represent China's finest young singers—our future cultural leaders."
"Since 1997, the China-Japan-Korea Performance has commemorated normalized diplomatic relations and fostered cultural exchange among our nations. Over twenty years, it's been highly successful," he explained. "Kyoto hosted in 2017, Seoul in 2013, and next year, Shanghai will hold the next edition."
"After discussions between our three nations' cultural ministries, next year's theme is A New Future—emphasizing younger artists' participation." Director Jiang laid out the context, then produced three documents from his briefcase.
"You five were jointly recommended by various associations and departments. If you're willing to represent China, please complete these forms."