Huang Mi specialized in imperial and noble roles—characters exuding dominance.
But what exactly made a character "dominant"?
Piercing eyes? Exaggerated, sharp styling? These were part of it, but not the full picture.
A professional had his own interpretation: A ruler's dominance stemmed from the cold-blooded power to decide life and death for millions. The outward manifestation of this aura was an "inhuman" quality—an aloofness utterly divorced from ordinary people.
Herman Melville once wrote in Moby-Dick that if one stripped away the sacred and religious connotations artificially imposed on the color white, what remained was sorrow, fear, and revulsion. For instance, wrapping a corpse in white silk and placing it in a white marble tomb made white a symbol of the unknown—and the fear lurking within that unknown.
Thus, "white became a color both solemn and terrifying, joyous and melancholic, pure and repulsive." Though Melville didn't exist in this parallel world, Huang Mi understood this principle deeply.
Chu Zhi's skin was already flawless, free of blemishes. Huang Mi only needed to conceal slight dark circles from late nights with concealer before applying Koh Gen Do's Aqua Foundation to brighten his complexion. This foundation worked well for photography, though Huang Mi had specific reasons for choosing it—it wasn't ideal for daily wear.
Why did makeup artists always praise Chu Zhi's skin? It wasn't just its fairness and smoothness, but its condition. Normally, foundation had to be heavily applied around the eye sockets and cheek grooves to compensate for skin laxity. Chu Zhi needed none of that. Combined with Huang Mi's highlighter, his skin took on an almost supernatural porcelain glow.
This was the legendary "jade-like purity" of immortals—skin like translucent jade and snow, evoking an untouchable aura.
White hair cascaded like a silken waterfall, his lashes equally snow-white. A single glance from him radiated icy detachment.
The masterstroke, however, was the choice of contact lenses. Instead of complex colors, Huang Mi opted for pure black. While most Chinese irises were brown or dark, true jet-black pupils were rare. Against the white backdrop, his eyes—deep and abyssal—seemed to swallow light itself.
Skin like congealed cream, eyes like inked jade—a celestial being made flesh.
"For the first time, I've seen someone pull off white hair this flawlessly in real life. I used to think it only worked in anime," Fei Ge muttered, snapping out of his daze.
"Holy shit, I was an idiot for saying period MV had no appeal. This is the appeal. Maybe no one watches MVs, but everyone watches pretty faces. Beauty is the ladder of human progress—we'll push this through short videos..."
Fei grew increasingly excited. As a PR man, he knew the market too well. Viral transformation clips and dance trends? All just thinly veiled thirst traps.
With this trump card, threats like Li Xingwei and Lin Xia were negligible. As for Wu Xi? Please—who listens to rock these days?
"If I don't make this look go viral as the god-tier beauty standard, I don't deserve to be in PR."
He even considered scrapping the Drunken Swordsman and Scholar roles—just the Heavenly Emperor would suffice.
As Fei pondered how to tactfully suggest this, Big Sis Niu's voice cut in: "Fei Ge, did you step in dog shit and decide to camp there? Why are you just standing around?"
"Stepping in shit brings luck. I wouldn't mind more, but fate's not cooperating," Fei quipped. "Niu Jie, here's the Armani campaign plan: three ads, fifteen portraits, and five commercial appearances."
Niu Jiangxue skimmed the document and nodded. "This works. The promo strategy's solid. Oh, add a clause that the brand covers our team's travel and lodging for events. It's industry standard, but better in writing to avoid disputes."
"Got it." Fei nodded, then broached the shoot: "This Heavenly Emperor look is the showstopper, right? Should we extend its screen time?"
"Not necessarily." Niu shrugged. "Teacher Huang said given Nine's bone structure, the demonic 'Fallen Immortal' makeup will be even more stunning."
"?" Fei refused to believe anything could top this.
"Anyway, I'm grabbing food. You and Wang Yuan hold the fort." Niu checked her watch. "Call me if Teacher Huang or Director Liao need anything."
"Roger."
"Our Big Sis is pretty, shame about her early-onset airport chest."
"Wang Yuan's more my type—curves in all the right places..." Fei's gaze flicked to the executive assistant, though he averted it immediately, too timid to linger.
Wang Yuan, meanwhile, was glued to Chu Zhi, her stare unwavering.
——
The shoot, originally slated for three days, stretched to five due to heightened directorial demands. Liao Dachong, enamored with his "perfect canvas," charged a mere 50,000 RMB for the extra two days—a "friendship rate."
"30 grand for five days? That's 6K daily." Touched by this "generosity," Chu Zhi vowed never to hire him again.
On their last day at the studio, Chu Zhi told Niu: "Get the crew and extras some bubble tea. Charge it to the company—my treat."
"Unnecessary. Wang Yuan already treated them twice this week," Niu said.
Classic fangirl behavior. Wang Yuan was both an assistant and a Little Fruits.
——
The remaining seven MVs, all contemporary-themed, wrapped in two weeks. With simpler lyrics-based narratives, they required no scriptwriters or A-list directors—just a standard commercial director.
Eight MVs for one album? Unheard-of generosity.
Amidst this, Chu Zhi attended a court hearing. The verdict: Gai Qing Entertainment owed him 23,658,060 RMB in damages, while Li Tingyu was fined 1,356,480 RMB. Both defendants received one-year suspended sentences.
Neither snitched on their backers, but Gai Qing declared bankruptcy immediately after the ruling. Court-mandated asset auctions would cover the compensation.
Revenge served.
With the legal victory, Chu Zhi sensed the original soul's presence had fully dissipated. He expected catharsis, but his body felt nothing. Good—full control now.
Yet it wasn't satisfying enough. Punishing the pawns is meaningless. The mastermind behind this deserves worse. He began drafting meticulous retaliation plans.
"No one crosses me and walks away unscathed. Not even Jesus. I said what I said."
A bank notification chimed—millions deposited. Chu Zhi's mood lifted instantly.
What cures sorrow? Sudden wealth.
——
Contract details and first payments from endorsements trickled in. This wasn't sluggish—most brands negotiated with new spokespersons while the previous ones still had months left on their terms.
Chu Zhi's deals hadn't been announced yet, so the Little Fruits purchasing power remained untested.
If they proved as formidable as expected, his endorsement fees could skyrocket. Currently, the domestic ceiling was held by idol Su Yiwu, whose "mom fans" splurged enough to net him 25–28 million RMB annually.
Chu Zhi was confident. Fans forged through hardship are the most loyal.
——
March 6th
One week until the four-way showdown:
Chu Zhi's 25,117 Possibilities: Drops March 11 on NetEase, KuGou, and QQ Music.
Li Xingwei's No Li, No Way: Physical + digital release March 10.
Lin Xia's Early Summer: Physical + digital release March 10.
Wu Xi's Wu Xi's Greatest Hits: Physical-only release March 12.
(The last one stuck out like a sore thumb. A compilation of old songs already available online, sold via JD, Dangdang, Tmall, etc.)
The battlefield was set. The final sprint of album promotions had begun.
As Taiyang Chuanhe's top artist, Chu Zhi's promotional resources matched Li Xingwei's. More crucially, his current online clout surpassed even Wu Tang's—in the digital arena, he was already crushing Li and Lin in buzz.