"[Popping Up] is the photo album section, and [Orange Trends Are Good] is for schedules. I get that it's supposed to represent my career steadily rising, but something feels... off about the names," Chu Zhi said, directing his words at Wang Yuan.
As the team's designated "Little Fruit" (his fandom name), Wang Yuan had been deeply involved in designing [Home]. The names [Orange Trends Are Good], [Popping Up], and [Orchard Events] were all her creations.
"What would you prefer, Ah-Jiu?" Wang Yuan asked eagerly. "As long as the spirit stays positive, the names are perfect! Your Weibo and Instagram are both [Eating a Big Orange], so it fits."
"What does everyone else think?" Chu Zhi turned to the rest of the team.
The seven-seater SUV was packed—Fei Ge, Niu Jiangxue, and other core members were all on board, heading to Hongqiao Airport for a flight to Harbin.
Fei Ge was still negotiating with TikTok's business department. His asking price was 50 million per year (including endorsement fees and account management), while TikTok's counteroffer was 38 million—a sizable gap.
Hearing his boss' question, Fei Ge paused his haggling and pondered. "I think they're fine, Brother Chu."
Why "fine"? Because this app was essentially a money-losing passion project—no memberships, name-change cards, or other monetization schemes. For something that was pure fan service, the pragmatic Fly Brother couldn't be bothered to overthink it.
"If Big Sis Wang says it's fine, then it's fine," Old Qian chimed in, effectively echoing Wang Yuan without adding anything new.
Only Niu Jiangxue offered constructive feedback: "If we're sticking with this naming theme, maybe [Video] could be [Orange is the New Black]? And for the photo album, [Lost in Orange] might work better than [Popping Up]."
Wang Yuan's eyes lit up—that made sense! After some back-and-forth, the [Home] app's sections were finalized:
[All Orange in the Heart] (schedules)
[Lost in Orange] (photo album)
[Orange is the New Black] (videos)
[Orange You Glad] (events)
The app's overall orange color scheme tied everything together seamlessly. Chu Zhi then tested the "goal-setting" feature—it worked as intended. After some quick debugging, the app was ready for release.
The team was en route to Harbin for the conceptual conference of the Harbin Summer Music Festival, where Chu Zhi was one of two celebrity advocates.
To put it bluntly, "advocates" were artists who lacked the prestige for the opening ceremony but whose popularity the organizers wanted to leverage.
Harbin was UNESCO's designated "City of Music," and the Harbin Summer Music Festival was a high-profile event, featuring vocal ensembles from over 20 countries.
"I've heard so much about you—I've been wanting to meet and discuss music," said Li Fei, the other advocate, greeting Chu Zhi warmly.
Li Fei might not be a household name, but his fanbase was infamous for once petitioning the Xinhua Dictionary to revise a Chinese idiom.
He was the "Fei" in [Wu Tou Chu Wei, Yi Xing Yun Fei]—a graduate of the Central Conservatory of Music's vocal opera department, dubbed the "Prince of Bel Canto" by fans.
In reality, he'd never released a bel canto single, only occasionally showing off his skills on variety shows.
"Brother Jiu, are you familiar with bel canto?" Li Fei asked. (Despite being older, he still used the honorific "Brother Jiu.")
"Bel canto? Just a tiny bit," Chu Zhi replied.
"My bel canto training days were exhausting—daily drills, endless practice—but they were the happiest times of my life," Li Fei sighed. "Now, with all these schedules, I barely have time to sing. Life is about trade-offs, you know? Honestly, I don't even care about popularity."
"Who's flexing this hard?" Chu Zhi studied Li Fei's earnest expression and decided to play along.
"Absolutely. Success makes you nostalgic for the grind—it's those hardships that paved the way for comfort," Chu Zhi said solemnly.
Li Fei froze. His friends usually cringed at his humblebrags, so it had been ages since someone took him seriously. Chu Zhi's clear-eyed sincerity floored him.
"Even without chasing fame, you're still a star. I can feel your passion for art," Chu Zhi added.
"Let's head inside—the conference is starting," Li Fei coughed, suddenly sheepish from the praise.
The "conceptual conference" was essentially a pep rally, with Harbin officials and organizers taking turns giving speeches.
It wasn't entirely pointless—they revealed the festival lineup, including the International Accordion Arts Week and Award-Winning International Musicians Concert, both of which sounded intriguing.
"Mr. Teroquet is a renowned accordionist, hailed as the 'Second Lawrence Welk,'" Li Fei explained. "Welk pioneered 'champagne music,' and Teroquet is his spiritual successor."
He then launched into a tangent about his own musical talents, nearly getting steered into piano instead of voice during conservatory days. (Irrelevant to accordions, but Li Fei couldn't resist.)
Chu Zhi listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments.
Good conversationalists are rare, but good listeners are rarer. This was one of Chu Zhi's secret skills—masterful listening. The team stayed in Harbin for two extra days at Li Fei's insistence, as he played tour guide. (Never mind that Li Fei wasn't even from Harbin.)
As time passed, things stayed quiet domestically—no major news. But overseas, a storm was brewing...
[The Sleepless Cat in a Box] ranted online: "Why are these K-pop stans so smug? Just because their oppa landed a Chanel endorsement, they're acting like he's God's gift?"
"My Brother Jiu has one blue and one red—did he ever brag?"
("Blue blood" and "red blood" brands refer to top-tier fashion houses like Chanel, Dior, etc. Chu Zhi endorses Armani [red] and Dior [blue].)
The Sleepless Cat—real name Li Gun—had become a fan after watching the Like Smoke MV.
"How is there someone even handsomer than me?" he'd thought, instantly stanning.
Now 31, Li Gun had worked in Gwangju, South Korea, for years. Life had smoothed his edges but sharpened his claws—keyboard claws, that is.
Today's target? Fans of ZG Boys' Kwon, who were acting like a single endorsement made their idol untouchable. After two hours of online warfare, Li Gun sheathed his keyboard and checked the time. "Crap, running late!"
He quickly opened his phone to watch MBC's King of Masked Singers. He didn't usually tune in, but he wanted to see which Chinese superstar had wandered into the noob zone to wreak havoc. (So cruel... yet so satisfying.)
He missed Spinning Lady and Devil King's performances entirely—by the time he tuned in, Devil King had already lost and the unmasking began.
Then—
"BROTHER JIU?!"
Li Gun's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. The voice had made him suspect Devil King was Chu Zhi, but he'd never dared say it aloud.
That first performance—Opernaya—was so vocally insane that even as a fan, Li Gun couldn't believe his idol had those pipes.
"I didn't want to embarrass him by spreading baseless rumors," he thought. But now—
"What kind of monster did I just stan?!"