Afternoon.
The golden sun hung high in the sky, casting its gaze upon the world below—a rare sight after days of absence.
In March, Shanghai's average temperature hovered around 12-13°C. The sudden return of sunshine seemed to amplify the frustration of drivers stuck in traffic, their honks and curses filling the air.
Chu Zhi never expected to get caught in a traffic jam.
"It'll clear up soon. Usually, it takes about half an hour," said Xiao Zhu, his life assistant, worried that the artist might grow impatient.
"It's fine. We left plenty of buffer time," Chu Zhi reassured her.
The spacious back seat of the nanny van felt oddly tense. Xiao Zhu fidgeted, her words stuck in her throat.
Her cousin had begged her for Chu Zhi's autograph, and given how much he'd helped her in the past, she couldn't refuse. But asking for favors wasn't in her nature—even in college, she'd preferred doing extra work over relying on others.
Now, stuck in traffic, was the perfect opportunity.
But Chu Zhi had closed his eyes to rest. Was he asleep? Speaking up might disturb him…
"Xiao Zhu, did you have something to tell me?" Chu Zhi suddenly asked.
"Cough—" Startled, she nodded. "C-could I get your autograph? My cousin is a huge fan. He's in Orange Orchard Group 44."
She mimicked her cousin's cringey catchphrase: "My looks are second only to Nine's in all of China!"
"Your cousin is both confident and discerning," Chu Zhi chuckled. "Pass me some paper and a pen."
As a life assistant, Xiao Zhu always carried stationery. She pulled out a notepad and a gel pen from her Peppa Pig-themed crossbody bag.
"Don't you have something more formal, like a notebook? For signatures," Chu Zhi asked.
"Oh, the notepad is fine—"
"But this is your first time asking me for an autograph, and it's for your cousin. It should be special." Chu Zhi smiled. "What's his online nickname?"
"Wan Bin—the 'Wan' is the traditional character," she said.
After checking the complex character on his phone, Chu Zhi wrote:
[Thank you for your support, Little Orange.
To Wan Bin—whose looks are second only to mine.]
"Is this okay?" he asked, handing it back.
"More than okay." Xiao Zhu was touched. Despite her lowly position as a temp assistant, Chu Zhi had treated her request with sincerity—asking for details, choosing better paper.
Her brief stints with other celebrities had shattered her idol fantasies—many were two-faced off-camera. But Chu Zhi? He was better in person.
Most male fans were rare among top idols, but Chu Zhi had a solid following of guys. A few more hit albums, and he could cement their loyalty. (While five male fans might not match one female fan's voting power, their devotion ran deep. Just look at Warcraft's box office.)
After 20 minutes, the traffic began crawling. Ten more minutes, and it cleared—no accident, no red light, just pure congestion.
By 5:30 PM, they arrived at Huang's Crab Specialty Store near Xinhua Road—a spot Xiao Zhu had scouted after much research.
"You two can explore the area. No need to wait around," Chu Zhi told Xiao Zhu and Qiu before heading in to order.
For three people:
—Six male crabs (5.8-6.2 taels), steamed.
—Nine female crabs (4.2-4.5 taels), drunken-style.
—The decor was mid-tier, but prices weren't cheap—each crab cost over 250 RMB, totaling 3,700 for fifteen.
(Note: Crab is cooling in TCM. Those with weak stomachs or cold feet in winter should avoid it.)
Half an hour later, his guests arrived. Su Shangbai looked unchanged from their last meeting—navy-blue suit with metal buttons, dark tones, paired with a brown spear-collar shirt. No tie, just a collar chain. Same glasses, same elite aura.
From his predecessor's memories, Chu Zhi recalled that Su Shangbai had always worn suits, even during Future Idol—just more casually. A man who lived in suits.
Su Shangbai companion was a fifty-something man in a black tracksuit with white stripes—a classic design.
"Long time no see, Dabai," Chu Zhi greeted.
"Nine." Su nodded. "Glad to see you haven't lost more weight."
(Chu Zhi ate like a horse daily. Without the No-Gain Weight Loss Pills, he'd have gained 10 pounds.)
Su Shangbai introduced the man: "This is Director Tian from Southern Media Group, also editor-in-chief of Southern Metropolis Daily."
This unassuming, non-balding man ran Southern Metropolis Daily—a top-10 circulation newspaper in China, dominant in the Pearl River Delta. Southern Media Group itself was a media behemoth.
"Your songs are good. Unlike today's nonsense—can't understand a word," Tian said bluntly. "Yao, editor of Mingpai magazine, keeps wanting to interview you. Probably a fan."
Southern Media owned 11 publications, spanning politics, business, culture, and fashion. Mingpai was their luxury magazine—flashy but shallow.
Over dinner, Tian's subtle disdain for celebrities (common among mainstream media) was palpable. Yet he deferred to Su—hinting that Su's influence went beyond mere wealth.
(Southern Media's chairman held deputy-ministerial rank. Tian's respect suggested Su's family had serious clout.)
Plot Twist: Su Shangbai hadn't brought Tian to ask for a favor—he was expanding Chu Zhi's connections. Tian even promised Southern Media wouldn't publish baseless gossip about him.
Strangely, Su Shangbai seemed more concerned with Chu Zhi's physical health than his mental state.
By meal's end, two crabs remained untouched. Out of habit (his predecessor hated waste), Chu Zhi asked to pack them.
Tian left for Guangdong that night—clearly, Su Shangbai had pulled strings to get him here.
"I'll drop you at your hotel," Chu Zhi offered.
"It's close. I'll walk," Su Shangbai said.
"Then I'll walk with you."
The two strolled through Shanghai's bustling yet oddly lonely streets.
After a while, Chu Zhi spoke:
"Dabai, you've helped me so much, and I've done nothing in return. I feel... guilty."