"When will I ever get this kind of treatment?" Lin Xia sighed. Chu Zhi's MV had earned a special title on Bilibili—
[Bilibili's Premium Ingredient]
Truth be told, most A-list celebrities didn't care much about Bilibili. They might attend the New Year's Eve gala if invited, but opening an official Bilibili account? No thanks.
Lin Xia, however, wasn't someone who started using Bilibili after becoming famous—he had been a lurker long before his rise to stardom.
"As long as you never spend them, your B-coins will only keep growing." —Lin Xia's profound life philosophy.
Bilibili was home to countless editing masters—some who adapted novels and comics into fan-made dramas, others who seamlessly swapped actors from different shows.
[The newly aired "Dance in the Rain" is like poison-laced garbage, but I disagree with claims about its plot being full of holes. Sure, it's heavily altered, but the overall structure follows the original novel. After some thought, the so-called 'toxic' point everyone's complaining about is this: How could the Ling Palace's residents, faced with the protagonist's burly physique, not realize he's a man? Are they blind? The first five episodes revolve around this insultingly stupid 'mystery' of who the male spirit in the palace is, sparking endless scheming.]
Lin Xia clicked on a roast video by a popular UP named "Meat-Eating Bunny," known for their razor-sharp commentary. They were nearly a million-follower celebrity on the platform.
[For those who haven't read the novel, here's some context: In the original setting, the Spirit Clan is a race of ethereal beauty, essentially the Eastern equivalent of fantasy elves. The protagonist is an anomaly among them—a 'True Spirit,' a genderless being who can pass as stunningly beautiful in women's clothing. So of course the Spirit Clan couldn't tell! Let me fix this for you…]
The UP then pulled up a screenshot from Chu Zhi's "Demonic Transformation" MV—a back view of his demonic form (with the monstrous parts cropped out), then photoshopped a feminine hairstyle and a flowing dress onto it.
[See? If the male lead looked like this, wouldn't the plot suddenly make sense?]
"Holy shit, Chu Zhi looks this good even in drag?" Lin Xia was stunned. As a seasoned industry insider, even with the UP's crude editing skills, he was genuinely impressed by how effortlessly gorgeous Chu Zhi appeared.
The comments section exploded:
[Saint of Vendetta]: "Before, I thought the Ling Palace's entire brain trust was mentally challenged. Even a three-year-old could tell the difference between men and women. Now? Totally justified. Who would doubt this goddess isn't female?"
[Messy_z]: "Bilibili's premium ingredient strikes again—saving another terrible show, LOL."
[Yearning for Sheng]: "Why couldn't they just cast Chu Zhi? Even with his 'resting bitch face' acting, I'd take it."
[Regretful Second Chance]: "One edit, and the plot instantly becomes logical. Amazing."
...
Two days later, March 21st—the International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, commemorating those who died in the 1960s anti-apartheid protests in South Africa.
This fact has no bearing on the events to follow. It's just here to show I did my homework.
First, the small-scale drama—something only the Little Fruits (Chu Zhi's fandom) cared about. Chu Zhi's account posted a sponsored ad:
[Helen Keller Sunglasses—A New Vision #HelenKellerSunglasses #SeeTheWorldWithChuZhi
@HelenKellerOfficial
[Video link]
Simple enough. The previous ambassador's contract had expired, and Helen Keller's official Weibo immediately announced their new spokesperson, launching a giveaway: Follow, repost, and tag a friend for a chance to win Chu Zhi's autographed sunglasses (signature on the case).
The autograph was genuine—part of the promotional obligations in his contract—though the company had paid an extra ¥150,000 for it.
Within just half an hour, the post had over 10,000 comments.
The official account, which previously had only tens of thousands of followers, skyrocketed to 170,000—undeniable proof of Chu Zhi's influence.
The Orange Orchard (fandom) group chats pinned an announcement:
"Ninth Brother's first endorsement! Sunglasses are something everyone uses when going out. If you can afford it, go for it! (Note: Ninth Brother specifically said—no borrowing money or using Huabei!)"
Dozens of group chats relayed the message. The "no borrowing money" part was added by Wei Tongzi herself—Chu Zhi never said it—but she wanted to avoid a repeat of the "draining the pond to catch all fish" scenario seen with other fandoms.
Helen Keller's regular sunglasses retailed for around ¥300-400, but the Visual Series (three models) endorsed by Chu Zhi were priced at ¥500-600.
The purchasing power of the fandom—working adults, mom-fans, and even students with allowances—was terrifying. That very night, the Visual Series sold out across all three major e-commerce platforms: Tmall, JD.com, and Pinduoduo.
Online stores hadn't stocked much initially, but anticipating the ambassador's debut, each platform had prepared over 8,000 units per model. Yet they were wiped out in under an hour.
Emergency restocks from offline warehouses brought the total to 50,000 units across all platforms—all gone before 9 PM.
Fans who missed out resorted to buying the similar F30 model. Great idea—except the F30 wasn't even in bulk inventory, with only about 200 units per platform. Those lasted less than ten minutes.
Never underestimate fan power. Another celebrity (name withheld) once endorsed Zenith watches—a luxury brand—and their stock was cleared instantly post-announcement. The brand's marketing director went live in disbelief.
While luxury goods are expensive, online stock is always limited. Still, the Little Fruits' impact dwarfed even that.
For non-fans, endorsements work like this: If a brand hires their favorite star, they might not buy it. But if it's someone they dislike? They'll actively avoid it.
Chu Zhi's biggest advantage? Exceptional public goodwill.
Watson's and Armani, who hadn't even begun their campaigns yet, were thrilled. The Little Fruits had already demonstrated insane cohesion, but their commercial power was untested.
Today's battle? The Little Fruits cemented their idol's reputation.
But it wasn't over. If they were going to make a statement, they'd go big. Discussions flared in the Orange Orchard:
"Little Fruits in Xiamen—I missed the online drop! Just checked, there's a physical store on the first floor of Xinhua Mall near me. Who's coming?"
"Me! Let's go!"
"Too far from Xinhua Mall for me… but there's one on Fisherman's Road. Charging in!"
"Any Little Fruits in Guancheng?"
That's right—the fandom mobilized to raid offline stores. A few or a dozen fans teaming up per city.
With dozens of group chats coordinating, physical stores—already drained by online restocks—were cleaned out in no time across multiple cities.
——
Now, for the real drama. The operation to elevate Lin Xia had begun.
Lin Xia's team deployed water armies disguised as "loyal fans" to post provocations:
"What, Lin Xia thinks he can climb over our Brother Li? Dream on—not even in the next life."
Such comments spread like wildfire into Lin Xia's supertopic.
Lin Xia's fans were baffled. Neither fan groups nor leaders had any clue what was happening—everything had been fine moments ago.
The Snow Pearls (Li Xingwei's fandom), still seething from their crushing defeat against the Little Fruits, saw an opportunity. "If we can't beat the Orange Orchard, can't we at least trash Lin Xia's fans?"
What defines a top-tier idol? The apex of traffic stars isn't something any random newcomer can challenge! They charged in furiously.
Fan leaders tried to intervene, urging investigation first—but the momentum was unstoppable.
A starved camel is still bigger than a horse. Though Li Xingwei's latest album had alienated some fans (and Chu Zhi's visuals had lured others away), the remaining Snow Pearls obliterated Lin Xia's fandom.
The moral of the story? Even if Lin Xia had won Singer without interference, without a qualitative shift in his fandom's power, he'd never reach true top-tier status.
After an entire afternoon of brutal beatdowns, the Snow Pearls finally asked: "What exactly did Lin Xia's fans do wrong?"
The crime?
"Their song 'Heaven's Purity' somehow ranked above Brother Li's lead single. Then they had the audacity to comment under 'Heaven's Purity': 'Feels like this song is better than LXW's new track—why isn't it performing better?' How dare they!"
Even bystanders and the Snow Pearls themselves were stunned. That's it?
Every fandom believes their idol is the best. "Heaven's Purity" was Lin Xia's lead single—his fans were just hyping him up in their own space. Since when was that a crime? The Snow Pearls were policing harder than the Pacific Ocean's coast guard.