"It felt like a massage for my ears."
"'Thank you for listening quietly'—why did that line make my heart ache a little? I swore I hated this scumbag."
"Same! I even made burner accounts to spam hate comments. But his voice was so gentle… Can someone that tender really be as terrible as the internet claims? Cheating, sugar dating, diva behavior?"
"Don't fall for it, sis. The receipts are all online."
"I know, but that humming was angelic. The whole song was beautiful. Might secretly add it to my playlist later…"
Whispers rippled through the audience.
But on stage—silence. A heavy, metallic silence.
Back in the contestants' lounge, the atmosphere was equally muted. Lin Xia, Zheng Yingying, Gu Nanxi, and the others wore expressions of pure bewilderment. Since when could Chu Zhi sing like this? And compose originals? This wasn't just surprising—it was downright unnatural.
"Did humanity evolve without me?" Zheng Yingying had heard Chu Zhi's past works. Her verdict back then: He'd sound better if he never opened his mouth.
This was the same guy who'd built his career on being a pretty face!
None of this makes sense! The Wind Blows Through the Wheat had just shattered her worldview.
"A voice like rounded pearls," Hou Yubin murmured, awed. "Lingering melodies, ethereal resonance… His timbre is exquisite."
Then the veteran's brow furrowed. "But why does the lyrical section lack the same polish? The pauses aren't crisp, the decrescendos feel muddy… His technique needs work."
Hou Yubin, the show's resident "encouraging dad," rarely critiqued so bluntly. But that humming—it was transcendent. In his thirty-year career, he'd only heard a handful of voices that sublime. And even those were tinted by nostalgia's rose-colored glasses.
"This… this is what 'The Melody of the Bullet Train' should sound like. No—even that's disrespectful. 'The Melody of Osaka Castle' fits better." Koguchi Yoshihiro's praise trailed into existential dread. They say God closes a window when He opens a door. I got musical talent but average looks (and early baldness). So why does this man have both?!
Turning to his music partner, Zhang Yue, the Japanese singer asked, "How do you write his name in Chinese?"
"Chu Zhi," Zhang enunciated.
Koguchi Yoshihiro butchered the pronunciation twice before muttering, "Why haven't I heard of Chu-san in Tokyo?"
Tokyo might as well be synonymous with Japan, but Lin Xia sidestepped the question. Few idol-types broke international barriers—most "global fame" was just overseas Chinese fans inflating stats.
Lin Xia's contribution to the praise-fest? "Good voice. Very… voice-like." Peak eloquence.
When Chu Zhi entered the lounge, the contestants rose to applaud—Hou Yubin included. The elder respected talent.
"I'm Chu Zhi. It's an honor," he introduced himself.
"Our second meeting! Last time we met was… the last time," Lin Xia said.
Gu Nanxi added, "People say you're more stunning off-camera. I doubted it—online edits usually add 30% glamour. But turns out it's true."
Zheng Yingying: "China has too many great singers. I'd never noticed you before."
Koguchi Yoshihiro, meanwhile, bowed deeply. "My deepest apologies for not knowing your music until today." (Via translator Zhang Yue.)
Chu Zhi—whose empathy reserves were low but cunning levels high—played along. "Better late than never."
"If possible, Chu-san must hold a concert in Tokyo!"
Sure, and maybe pigs will fly. Chu Zhi's bank account couldn't even afford the plane ticket. But he smiled and exchanged pleasantries.
Next, he approached Hou Yubin. "I still study your songs, Teacher Hou."
"A learning spirit is rare in young artists. Your voice is a gift—hone your technique, and you'll become a true master."
Only Koguchi Yoshihiro and Hou Yubin engaged further. The others kept their distance, wary of guilt by association.
Soon, director Meng Fan arrived to announce Chu Zhi's votes. First, the current rankings:
Hou Yubin: 716
Koguchi Yoshihiro: 699
Lin Xia: 679
Gu Nanxi: 647
Zheng Yingying: 635
Yang Guiyun: 611
Wu Xi: 594
To succeed, Chu Zhi needed 680+ in a divided audience of 800—a tall order even without his infamy.
"Why didn't you challenge anyone?" Director Meng probed.
"Everyone was too strong to choose," Chu Zhi deflected. In truth, closing the show maximized emotional impact.
"Do you think you'll succeed?"
(I Am a Singer's other gimmick? A director who loved suspense more than answers.)
"I drank two cartons of Chunsheng Organic Milk. Double the confidence."
"Then let's reveal—" Meng paused. "Wait. Any regrets if you fail?"
"Director, has anyone told you blue-balling an audience is unethical?" Chu Zhi's pulse spiked. His "perfect vocals" were one thing, but what if his reputation was that toxic?
Rock veteran Wu Xi—currently last place—sweated harder. Elimination loomed.
"Morality debates later," Meng said. "Regrets?"
Chu Zhi recognized the game. "I refuse to regret choices. That'd mean doubting my past self."
Meng nodded. "Good answer. Your score is—"