No one could say for sure whether the entertainment industry had turned into a charity circuit, but the second Orange Grove Festival certainly set the bar high.
"Hahahaha, Chu Zhi: Want to spend money? Not a chance!"
"Uncle, not just you—even us Little Fruits can't find a place to spend. The album's free, no merch for sale, concerts nowhere in sight... I'm crying."
"I used to have so many favorites, but ever since I started following this man, there's been no one else. Once you've experienced how Chu Zhi pampers his fans, everyone else just seems indifferent."
"Mention other celebrities? Eh!"
"Haha, I was there! My mom came with me, and on the flight home she kept asking about Jiu-yé. After learning his story, she became half a Little Fruit herself."
"Envy those who went in person... though, sis, calling it his 'life story' feels weird. I know it technically means biography, but it still reads off somehow."
The chatter online was constant.
In addition to the post by Qi Qingqing's father on Weibo, a short video also blew up on a video-sharing platform. Uploaded by user 青荣荣荣—likely Qi Qingqing herself—it was titled "That Moment When a God Reached Out to Me." It was less than twenty seconds long, just a clip of Chu Zhi borrowing a fan's phone, but it garnered over five million likes on Douyin alone.
Qi Qingqing and her father were causing waves—on short video platforms, on forums, everywhere. And at the center of it all was still Chu Zhi.
Maybe passersby wouldn't feel much, but to fangirls, it was a fatal blow. Hundreds of thousands of comments poured in, all full of envy.
Among the top five hottest celebrities of the new era—Zhou Guowu, Lin Xia, Wu Tang, Su Yiwu, and Li Fei—not one dared to speak up. They all chose silence.
The next day, internet-famous idols tried to play dead, hoping they could just survive a few days of silence. After all, in the entertainment world, no trend lasts long.
Gossip-hungry netizens always want the freshest tea. If a single story drags on for more than a few days, people start to lose interest.
But humans plan, fate acts, and nothing beats the precision of a computer. On Zhihu, where snark and expertise live side by side, a seasoned fangirl named "Extremely Lazy Fish" dropped a bomb.
[Just a few words, so I'll just say a few.
Ever since Chu Zhi held his fan festival, almost every major celebrity has tried to copy him in the past year. I've (reluctantly) attended quite a few. Talked to many friends who went, too. So let's get specific.
ZGW charged 1,500 per person. No airfare, no hotel. One boxed meal. That was it. I turned from fan to anti right there.
Their slogan? "Wuguo Tianxia, Forever Young." Ugh. I paid 1,500 for this?
SB—not insulting, just initials—has been in the biz 31 years and sure knows how to "treat people."
She charged 6,000 per ticket for her fan meet. My poor friend paid it, and all she got was 15 minutes with a manager, not even the celeb herself. 300 fans, 15 minutes, 3 million made. Incredible.
LX was a bit smarter. Included flight and hotel. Then sold merch at auction during the second half. One stage outfit sold for nearly 50,000. Rich fans everywhere.
FHSN (a five-member boy group) only had three show up. No events, no reunion, nothing.
FJ? Honestly felt more like a company year-end meeting. Just speech after speech.
Look, I don't expect celebrities to pay for my travel or food. That's fine. But could we stop disguising cash grabs as fan appreciation events?
1,500 for a boxed lunch? 6,000 for a no-show? Merch auctions? Groups not even fully assembled?
It's hilarious. Or it would be if it weren't so damn sad.
These stars act like they're giving back. But really? They're just farming fans like crops.And don't come at me, stans. Maybe there's no full livestreams or videos of these events like at Orange Grove, but the two dozen celebrities I mentioned—this is all firsthand. No exaggeration.]
This post didn't just lift the curtain. It stripped it off entirely and left dozens of stars standing in their metaphorical underwear. The gossip crowd went feral, even more hyped than they were for the Orange Grove Festival itself.
Because Orange Grove appealed mostly to fangirls. But exposing the dirty laundry of celebrities? That gets everyone's attention.
The initials in the post weren't hard to crack. LX and "top-tier" clearly pointed to Lin Xia. FHSN? That was the boy group Scarlet Youth. SB + female + 31 years old? That was Sun Bing. ZGW and "Forever Young"? Had to be Zhou Guowu.
Scarlet Youth was formed through a survival reality show and had major popularity. Sun Bing was one of the "Four Little Actresses." Zhou Guowu and Lin Xia were straight-up top-tier. This was no small wave.
The firestorm exploded across the internet. Marketing accounts and independent creators spread the post like wildfire.
How bad was it? Imagine an ant walking by and getting slapped, chickens in a coop scattering their eggs, worms in the soil getting chopped in half. That's how dramatic it was. At least a dozen celebs took damage.
"This comparison really shows how good Jiu-yé is."
"No one probably noticed, but at this Orange Grove Festival, little Jiu donated a million in the name of the Little Fruits. That's what I call a gap."
"I don't chase stars, but damn. The difference is like comparing the author and the reader's looks."
"All this disguised exploitation… then you see the news yesterday… same industry, but such different people."
"Your fandom culture is wild. Chu Zhi doesn't even feel like he belongs in the same world."
Meanwhile, fangirls were just watching the drama unfold.
K Ke: "Hahahaha, hahaha, hahahahahahaha, haha… I just remembered something hilarious."
Ku Chazi replied: "What is it? Tell us so we can laugh too."
K Ke: "I remembered a girl who said Sun Bing is the female version of Jiu-yé. Super doting on fans."
Cue collective laughter.
What's the female version of Jiu-yé, anyway? Jiu-nai? Jiu-po?
The top-tier stars were quick to react—except for one.
Zhou Guowu's studio admitted to the 1,500 fee, claiming they meant to offer a high-quality hotel and meal but failed due to internal mismanagement. Full refunds would be issued. Apologies followed.
Lin Xia's studio went another route: they posted a 2-million-yuan donation receipt. They said 1.4 million came from the auction of fan merch, and the rest was covered by the artist herself.
Was the donation even made back then? Who knows. The receipt didn't have a date. Charity, after all, is like a patchwork quilt—plug a hole wherever it appears.
Other studios had their own ways of dealing.
Scarlet Youth? Played dead. No statement.
One of their managers just vaguely posted that some "industry bigwigs" couldn't be turned down, so only three members rushed back in time.
Some teams outright called the post fake and threatened to sue "Extremely Lazy Fish." But she was no easy target. A fan with disposable income, she clapped back immediately.
The boldest? Sun Bing's team, hands down.
They simply said: "Whether the fan meet ticket is 6,000 or 600, it's between the artist and fans. Outsiders have no say."
The gossip crowd loved it. Different responses from studios led to wildly different public outcomes.
"I used to be a die-hard Sasa fan. Last year's fan fest broke my heart. She only sang one song, then it was all about spending money."
"+1. Happy Beans was disappointing too."
"Now I believe what they say: 'Orange Grove is the last refuge for fangirls.'"
By nightfall, even B- and C-list celebs were being dragged into the comparison game. Another round of gossip hit.
If someone were to write an entertainment history, this part would read:
"On the 8th day of the 9th month, 2021, Lazy Fish posted a thread comparing celebrity fan festivals. The murky secrets of the industry were revealed, shaking the internet. All named parties were left in fear. This was known as: The Chu Zhi Disturbance."
Without this contrast, many Little Fruits might not have realized just how good they had it. But now? The comparisons made it obvious. Chu Zhi's behavior wasn't just rare. It was one of a kind.
On Zhihu, tons of questions popped up:
"What do you think of how other celebrities handle fan festivals?"
"Why do they copy Chu Zhi without learning the heart of it?"
"How much did Chu Zhi spend from his own pocket?"
"How do you evaluate the Orange Grove Festival triggering a celebrity scandal?"
Many answers came in, some insightful, but few went viral.
Outwardly, Chu Zhi gained reputation and countless new fans. Behind the scenes? Who knew what unseen benefits were also flowing his way.
One special person, during a moment of idleness, happened to stumble across Chu Zhi's fan-festival Peking opera look.
That person was the renowned director Wang Anyi.
Movies typically take months from planning to casting. His project, Eleventh Lang, had already been in the pipeline for a year without a single frame shot.
The delay? Wang Anyi was caught in a scandal about a secret daughter, got dragged into court, and had been emotionally and physically drained.
Just as things were resolving, the production team had issues. Fortunately, Wang Anyi's industry clout got things back on track.
Watching the opera clip, Wang Anyi was impressed.
"The singing is legit. Movements are spot-on. And this look—he's the one. Acting skills? Whatever."
Big-name directors don't stress over raw talent. If someone's willing to work, they can shape them.
Wang Anyi pulled up When I Close My Eyes on his computer and studied it. Turns out, this young actor had far more depth than he expected.
"Who knows if he's even available? Not my concern," Wang Anyi muttered, ready to call the production team. Negotiating actor fees wasn't his job anyway.
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"Zhihu" is China's equivalent of Quora, often a place for deep-dive commentary or spicy exposes.
The term "cutting leeks" (割韭菜) is Chinese slang for exploitative monetization strategies targeting loyal followers.