Sound behavior artist Er Li wasn't just eager to speak—he was practically levitating off his seat. From an acoustic perspective, he had to say something.
This wasn't a mistake by host Gu Nanxi. Normally, voting preceded critiques, but director Meng Fan had just ordered her via earpiece to flip the sequence. The audience, still reeling from Against the Light, didn't even notice the deviation.
"Let's first hear from Teacher Er Li," Gu Nanxi said, finally giving him the floor—though she'd have preferred not to. No host wanted a judge literally climbing onto the table.
Er Li cleared his throat, adopting a scholarly tone. "Teacher Chu possesses the rare ability to breathe life into sound. His performance felt like... a solitary wanderer."
"Would 'lone warrior' be more fitting?" Chu Zhi interjected softly.
"Ah! A brave solitary soul—yes, 'lone warrior'! No wonder you penned Wind Blowing Through the Wheat Fields." Er Li nodded sagely. "I'd give thirteen out of ten for a collaboration chance. My vote is—wait, we haven't voted yet?"
"..."
This was why Gu Nanxi avoided cueing him. She masked her exasperation with a practiced smile. "Our backend voting system encountered a minor glitch. While tech resolves it, let's continue with critiques."
"Ah, understood! Regardless, I'll absolutely vote for Teacher Chu." Er Li sat down, mission accomplished.
(Translation: Zero substance. Even his praise was bland.)
Gu Nanxi swiftly pivoted to the most composed judge. "Teacher Li Yu, your thoughts?"
"Teacher Chu," Li Yu began, eyes alight, "I'm staging a performance on the 25th. I'd be honored to collaborate—to create something unforgettable with you."
Less a critique, more an audition invite.
Chu Zhi smiled. "The honor would be mine."
Li Yu beamed, his earlier gloom (courtesy of Yang Guiyun's on-air snub) evaporating. His mental blacklist of Hunan TV? Temporarily suspended.
(Meanwhile, backstage...)
Even the non-Chinese-speaking contestants were visibly shaken. Despair Voice transcended language—its emotion was universal.
"Ahem—Koguchi-san," music partner Zhang Yue winced, "your grip is... remarkably strong."
"Ah! Forgive me, Zhang-san!" Koguchi Yoshihiro released Zhang's now-purpling hand. "Under stress, I... clutch things. Like a drowning man grasping at driftwood. Teacher Chu's voice was harrowing."
(Zhang's internal monologue: Damn, this Jap's got a vise grip.)
Yang Guiyun, ever the loose cannon, broke the tension. "After hearing this, I refuse to believe those online rumors. Teacher Chu's character radiates integrity."
(Subtext: F** the haters.*)
"To be that persecuted yet still write a song urging others toward light?" Yang shook his head. "I couldn't do it."
(Unspoken: Also, he respects soul music. My man!)
Zheng Yingying bit her tongue. She wanted to agree—the allegations were unproven—but feared backlash from the shadowy forces behind tonight's Black Tide. Her wide, glassy eyes darted between speakers.
Hou Yubin stroked his beard. "That performance could've lured fish from water, halted galloping steeds—sheer auditory sorcery. Music doesn't always reflect the artist's true self... but that depth of despair? It's earned, not conjured."
(Translation: No one fakes trauma that visceral.)
"Lin-ge, your take?" Zheng Yingying asked the master of verbal acrobatics.
"How did I watch it? Seated at first. Now? On my kneels." Lin Xia smirked. "Talent scales exponentially. As for who wins... let the votes decide."
(Internal scream: We were both part of the 'Six Heavenly Kings' of C-pop! Why's he this far ahead?!)
Nearby, Li Xingwei sat like a man crushed by boulders.
(His dilemma: His performance was objectively strong... but against this?)
As the room buzzed, one group remained tense—the production crew.
Wang Ke and his team exchanged nervous glances.
This wasn't part of the script.