An ordinary Saturday. An ordinary early morning. Ordinary disco music. Two ordinary high school freshmen were hard at work.
"So tired… so tired…" Xiao Qi pounded her aching lower back, which felt stiff and heavy, as if weighed down by iron blocks.
"I think it's pretty meaningful. And I'm not tired at all." Xiao Zi's words would have been more convincing if she weren't hunched over while saying them.
The two skinny-armed, skinny-legged girls were responsible for cleaning the area between three trash bins. But after an hour and a half, they had barely made progress.
"Auntie Jiang's group is almost done. We need to speed up." Xiao Zi cheered herself on. "Believe in your potential!"
"Why did you drag me into your fangirling activities?" Xiao Qi's face scrunched up into a frown. With her already round face, her features now looked like they'd all crowded into the center.
Ten minutes later, they finally finished cleaning the small area. The two high schoolers then brought over three breakfast meals.
One for each of the three sanitation workers—two aunties and one uncle—in their assigned zone.
"You two good girls worked hard, coming so early to help us clean and even bringing breakfast." Auntie Jiang, clad in an orange vest, smiled warmly.
"No, no! This is part of the Little Orange Sunshine Charity project, a collaboration between us and the Chongqing Municipal Government. It's called Breakfast of Love for Sanitation Workers. From now on, Auntie Jiang, you can pick up breakfast every morning at the newsstands." Xiao Zi quickly explained.
"All for free?" Auntie Jiang was skeptical. How could breakfast just be free?
"Yes, completely free! As long as you're wearing this vest." Xiao Zi added, "It's sponsored by the Chongqing Municipal Government and our Little Orange Sunshine Charity."
The municipal government's involvement was a long-term investment, while the Orange Garden Charity had funded the initial setup of the breakfast newsstands (30,000 RMB per kiosk). The ongoing costs would be covered by the city's welfare budget. Objectively, the government's contribution was greater, but Xiao Zi glossed over that detail.
"Little… Saw… Sunshine Charity?" Auntie Jiang didn't quite catch the name, but she did hear "free breakfast."
"It's a charity run by a really, really good celebrity—Chu Zhi. His name is written with the character for 'wood' and the one for 'small.' The breakfast program is available for all sanitation workers in Chongqing!" Xiao Zi explained.
"That Chu Zhi must be a wonderful celebrity." Auntie Jiang's expression softened when she heard the program covered the entire city.
"Yeah! Brother Nine is the best!" Xiao Zi beamed with pride. "Auntie Jiang, take care of yourself. Today was my first time helping out, and I finally understand how exhausting this job is. I'll never litter again."
Meanwhile, her exhausted best friend Xiao Qi stayed silent, watching her usually lazy friend chatter enthusiastically.
It was surreal. Xiao Qi knew Xiao Zi well—a girl who slept till noon on weekends and refused to walk more than 500 meters without calling a ride. Yet today, she had dragged Xiao Qi out at 3 a.m. to help sanitation workers.
Xiao Qi didn't follow celebrities, so she couldn't fathom what kind of magic an idol wielded to make someone change so drastically.
After a few more minutes of small talk, the two girls bid farewell to Auntie Jiang and her colleagues.
Under the glow of streetlights, the road looked clean and bright, the orange hues pushing back the night.
Xiao Zi felt a pang of irritation at the thought of people carelessly tossing cigarette butts and bottles onto the streets she had just cleaned.
Meanwhile, Xiao Qi's brain was mush, her entire being yearning for her bed.
"If it weren't for Brother Nine, I'd never have gotten up at 3 a.m. to sweep streets. So tired…" Xiao Zi sighed.
Sanitation workers' shifts varied—some started at 3 a.m., others at 4. In Chongqing, the early shift ran from 3 to 5.
On their way back to their neighborhood, Xiao Zi spotted a discarded potato chip bag on the ground. Normally, she'd ignore it, but today, she instinctively picked it up and tossed it into a trash bin.
[Little Fruit · One Piece of Wood reporting in! Woke up early to help sanitation workers clean. Saw the Breakfast of Love we donated—it's amazing!]
Even though it was already 6 a.m. when she got back to her room, Xiao Zi posted the message in the Orange Garden group chat. Instantly, night owls flooded the chat with replies.
[@One Piece of Wood — So awesome!]
[All the Little Fruits are so kind. I want to join tomorrow!]
[Because Ah Jiu makes us better people!]
Reading the responses, Xiao Zi felt the soreness in her back was worth it.
One Piece of Wood: [Yeah, Brother Nine treats everyone around him with kindness. I want to be like him! Let's work hard!]
(The rest of the chat is omitted.)
This was a prime example of how an idol's influence had no limits. High schooler Xiao Zi was just one of hundreds—if not thousands—of Little Fruits inspired by Chu Zhi.
The Little Orange Sunshine Charity, organized by fans, was progressing smoothly, covering multiple areas of aid.
Meanwhile, over the next week, Chu Zhi finalized his new team—thirty-one members, including two personal assistants—under his careful scrutiny.
Taiyang Chuanhe had branches in Xuzhou, Shanghai, Hangzhou, and other cities, each specializing in different sectors. The Hangzhou branch focused on e-commerce, while the Shanghai branch primarily trained idols.
To streamline operations, the company rented a 300-square-meter office space upstairs for Chu Zhi's team, led by Niu Jiangxue.
Chu Zhi was deep in thought, inspired by Big Bowl's earlier suggestion. The original owner of his body did have the looks for period dramas—if he'd been on Earth, he might have earned a title like "Four Beauties of Tianya" or "Southern Jiao, Northern Gu."
Not putting that face to use for thirsty fans to drool over felt like a waste—okay, fine, he just wanted to show off.
His idea? Film a historical-style MV.
But—his debut album had no traditional Chinese or ancient-style songs. It just didn't fit.
He'd have to wait for his next album. For someone as proactive as Chu Zhi, this was frustrating. When he saw an opportunity to benefit himself, he preferred acting immediately.
As the saying goes: If you're not eager to eat, there's something wrong with your head. Or in this case: If you're not eager to improve, you deserve to stay weak.
"Brother Nine, what's on your mind? If it's something we can discuss, feel free to share," Niu Jiangxue said.
The meeting room housed eight people—Chu Zhi, the main agent, executive agents, and PR managers—all brainstorming and summarizing current projects. Niu had noticed the slight frown on Chu Zhi's face.
"I want to shoot a historical MV, but the album's theme doesn't allow it," Chu Zhi summarized.
Niu Jiangxue paused before asking, "By 'doesn't allow it,' do you mean the album's concept restricts it?"
When Chu Zhi nodded, she explained:
"If I recall correctly, MVs originally existed to promote albums on TV. Later, as promotional methods evolved, MVs started serving the lyrics. Then, to attract fans, Western artists began producing high-budget MVs that looked like short films."
Her point was blunt: Who cares if the theme doesn't match? If you want to shoot it, shoot it.
This was new to Chu Zhi. "Wouldn't it feel disjointed if the MV has nothing to do with the lyrics?"
"We can ask for others' opinions," Niu said. "Personally, I don't think it'd be jarring."
One of the executive agents, Old Qian—a man whose 39-year-old face looked 45, giving him a perpetual "dad" aura—chimed in:
"I like some Japanese idol groups. Several of their MVs have zero connection to the lyrics. I don't know much about domestic ones, though."
Another executive agent, Wang Yuan, a stern-looking 32-year-old woman with an unremarkable face but elegant demeanor, added:
"An album usually has around ten songs, with seven or eight MVs. If we pick one to make a historical MV, it could act like an easter egg. From my perspective, discovering that would be a pleasant surprise."
PR manager Fei Ge disagreed. "Historical MVs are expensive. Who even watches MVs these days? Most fans don't, let alone casual listeners. The cost-benefit ratio isn't worth it."
There was some truth there. Old Qian only watched Japanese MVs because of the suggestive content—he wasn't there for the music.
Wang Yuan countered, "If no one's watching, can't we promote it?"
"We can, but the ROI is too low. How do we guarantee the MV will go viral? There are tons of historical-style MVs—how many have actually blown up?" Fei shot back.
"So you're saying Brother Nine's MV won't go viral?" Wang Yuan tapped the table sharply, nearly cracking her freshly done nails.
Fei, the youngest in the room at 27, uncrossed his legs and softened his tone. "Sis Wang, no need to get worked up. I have absolute faith in Brother Chu. I'm just thinking from a PR perspective."
The other two PR managers also opposed the idea, sparking a heated debate.
Chu Zhi wasn't annoyed by the arguing—on the contrary, it was a good sign. A team that debated meant they were invested. Otherwise, what was the point of paying them to sit around?
Internally, he'd already made his decision. He turned to Niu Jiangxue.
"Final thoughts, Sister Niu?"
"I support investing in a promotional highlight. There's another reason." Niu lowered her voice. "I received word from the company—Lin Xia and Li Xingwei are dropping new albums in mid-March. Wu Xi's Greatest Hits is also coming out then."