Chu Zhi's words carried an underlying question—why was Shangbai going to such lengths to help him?
Moreover, he had a bold speculation: Was it possible that the original host's soul had transmigrated into Shangbai's body? It didn't seem far-fetched and could explain why Shangbai was so wholeheartedly devoted to helping him.
"Helping Ninth Brother is actually helping myself." After a long silence, Su Shangbai finally spoke.
So it is!
Was this now an open and honest conversation with his "landlord"? Chu Zhi felt no fear—after all, he had paid his "rent" in full during the leasing period.
As he listened attentively, Chu Zhi realized Shangbai didn't continue. They kept walking along the bustling night streets, and Chu Zhi shot him a puzzled look.
Noticing his expression, Shangbai organized his thoughts and said, "Due to family reasons, participating in Future Star was the result of my greatest effort."
"Even if I hadn't been eliminated in the top four, I would have withdrawn from the competition." Shangbai spoke with chilling calmness, as if discussing someone else's affairs.
Oh?
Chu Zhi followed up, "Do you really love singing?"
The Acting Beast himself had no musical dreams—to him, singing was just a professional skill. He couldn't understand those who would abandon a comfortable life for the sake of music.
But understanding or not, despite his many flaws, Chu Zhi's greatest virtue was accepting people with different worldviews—except for idiots who spouted nonsense like "The Chinese should reflect on themselves first regarding the Nanjing Massacre." Those morons didn't even have a worldview.
"Love singing? Maybe. But the bigger reason was that I didn't want to join the family company. The scheming and politicking were exhausting." Shangbai analyzed coldly. "I wanted to escape my predetermined fate, but the effort I put into practicing during the show and the competitive mindset fostered an ambition in me—to become a pop music king."
That was also the origin of the "Ninth Brother" nickname. During the celebration banquet after the top ten finalists of Future Star were decided, everyone present was in their early twenties, caught up in the moment, and thoroughly drunk.
In their intoxicated state, they ranked themselves by age, much like college roommates. Chu Zhi was the second youngest, while Shangbai was the youngest.
Though they debuted from the same show, their career paths diverged. At best, the runner-up and third-place winners were third or fourth-tier singers now, and most of them had lost contact. Currently, Shangbai was the only one who still acknowledged the nickname.
"Ninth Brother is the most successful among our batch—the one most likely to become a pop king." Shangbai adjusted his glasses and continued, "I don't want to see any obstacles on Ninth Brother's path to the throne, so I offer whatever help I can."
Now Chu Zhi understood. It was like when someone couldn't achieve their own dreams, so they projected them onto someone else—or more bluntly, it was like playing an idol-raising simulation game.
As for Shangbai's explanation, Chu Zhi only half-believed it. But he didn't press further.
"Aside from Ninth Brother, I've also privately helped the other eight finalists from Future Star." Shangbai added, "The funds came from my investments during university, but the results were poor."
Damn, the rich really live in a different world—throwing money at problems without hesitation. Chu Zhi thought about hanging Shangbai from a streetlamp for wasting money like that. Why not just invest in an entertainment company and sign them properly?
"Especially Mr. Yu Lan. I privately arranged for a golden-record producer to collaborate on his debut album, but the musical quality was terrible." Shangbai said.
Yu Lan, the third-place winner of Future Star that year. Based on their drunken ranking, Shangbai should've called him "Third Brother," but he didn't.
"Mind if I ask—what does your family business do?" Chu Zhi asked curiously. "You know golden-record producers, have connections with Southern Media Group… You could easily venture into the entertainment industry."
"The entertainment industry doesn't contribute much to national welfare." Shangbai replied.
For the first time, Chu Zhi felt his own pretentiousness paling in comparison. Shangbai's tone was utterly matter-of-fact when he said those words.
"We're in the sugar business. Not a big company." Shangbai said. "Market cap is only about the same as Dahua's. We just have more dealings with officials, so I know some people. If Ninth Brother ever needs help in this area, feel free to call me. Don't think of it as trouble—just take care of your health."
Dahua's market value was entirely propped up by its celebrities, floating around 4-5 billion yuan on the A-share market. A sugar business with that valuation was "not a big company"? Chu Zhi couldn't help but feel like this was peak humblebragging.
"Sugar, huh? I actually have a bit of a sweet tooth." Chu Zhi remarked.
"I'll bring some for Ninth Brother next time." Shangbai said.
By the time they finished talking, they had reached the hotel. Chu Zhi watched Shangbai enter before calling Xiao Zhu to arrange for the company car to pick him up.
"Humblebragging in front of Ninth Brother is surprisingly satisfying." Shangbai couldn't help but smile after returning to his room.
But he quickly composed himself and opened a folder on the desk. He still had work to do tonight. Guangxi Datang Sugar wasn't just on the provincial government's radar—it was monitored at the national level. Every move had to be cautious.
Vietnam's sugarcane industry was highly developed, and coincidentally, its third-largest sugar factory, Thanh Hóa Sugar, was facing financial difficulties. Shangbai had drafted a proposal to acquire it via bank loans.
However, after multiple discussions, the proposal was rejected. Shangbai took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. "My personal funds are too limited. Acquiring Thanh Hóa Sugar alone is far beyond my reach."
"In 2019, domestic sugar consumption was 15 million tons, but domestic production was only 10 million, with a self-sufficiency rate of about 70%. We still need to import 4-5 million tons." Shangbai knew all too well that if Brazil or India faced issues, price inversion (import costs exceeding sales prices) could easily occur.
His plan was to acquire Thanh Hóa Sugar and, combined with the domestic high-yield sugarcane base, stabilize the self-sufficiency rate at 80%.
"Sigh—children's right to eat sugar shouldn't be compromised." Shangbai owned four mid-sized sugar factories in Brazil, but they were a drop in the bucket.
Beyond that, the sugar industry faced an even greater threat—sky-high production costs. If not for protective tariffs, even industry leaders would collapse. Guangxi Datang Sugar was also under pressure to transition into starch sugar.
As Shangbai pondered deeply, Chu Zhi also came to a realization.
"I was really stupid. Shangbai had been closely following the original host since the cyberbullying began. There's no way he could've been possessed by the original soul. Besides, if the original body had Shangbai's logical thinking, he wouldn't have been screwed over by Kaifeng and Dahua in the first place."
Chu Zhi often had moments like this—reflecting on past judgments with regret.
Time flew quickly in the entertainment industry. Whoosh— a week passed in the blink of an eye.
Lin Xia received one piece of good news and one piece of bad news.
The bad news was that Dance in the Rain flopped hard. For a big IP adaptation, script changes angering book fans were one thing—but managing to make even the hired celebrities look bizarre? That was a feat. Both book fans and stans united in fury.
It opened with a 3.4 on Douban, with room to drop further. While high ratings on Douban could be questionable, anything below 4 was guaranteed to be utter trash.
The good news? Lin Xia's theme song, "Heaven's Purity", blew up. As the saying goes, "Bad movies spawn divine songs." While "Heaven's Purity" wasn't divine, it was undeniably a hit—even rivaling "Against the Light" in popularity.
But here's the kicker: Chu Zhi's viral ancient-style MV, which didn't quite match the lyrics of "Like Smoke," had been tested by video creators with various songs, but none fit quite right.
Yet "Heaven's Purity" was a perfect match. Just like how "Kiss Everywhere" paired seamlessly with Hong Kong's 80s-90s beauties, "Heaven's Purity" and the MV were a match made in heaven.
"The roc soars ninety thousand miles with the wind! Hello everyone, my nickname is Lin the Roc." Lin Xia muttered to himself.
Lin Xia was being modest. To be precise, "Heaven's Purity" had reignited the popularity of the ancient-style MV, which had naturally cooled after a week.
"With Li Xingwei losing ground, Brother Xian, has our company made arrangements?" Lin Xia asked.
"All settled." Brother Xian smiled. Seeing his artist climb higher was a joy.
During his lunch break, Lin Xia opened Bilibili—only to find his feed flooded with Chu Zhi-related recommendations.