"The sugar baby rumors—those can't be false, can they?" Huang Youru took a sip of black tea.
"The woman who allegedly 'kept' me—I've looked into her background. The idea that she could afford to support me is unrealistic. Since she's also a victim, I won't disclose her details further," Chu Zhi said. "We can't violate privacy laws by exposing personal information without consent. We abide by the rules."
Huang Youru shrugged. "Even if the secret marriage and cheating scandals were fabricated, the sugar baby rumors are harder to dismiss. First, what are the odds that all the accusations against you are false? Second, without solid evidence to disprove it, I'd naturally stick to my initial belief—especially when there's photographic proof."
"Photographic proof…" Chu Zhi noticed a flaw in the tea party setup. After selecting coconut rings and Earl Grey, the tea had arrived promptly—but the snacks were nowhere to be seen.
"I have a USB drive. I'd like the program to play its contents," Chu Zhi said, handing it to Huang Youru.
"If we don't play it, our audience would protest," the host remarked, passing it to the staff.
The files were straightforward: two segments of surveillance footage from a restaurant. Of course, private rooms didn't have cameras—this was from the lobby and hallway.
"The gossip account 'Paramount Mouthpiece' used a single photo to claim the client's advertising director behaved intimately with me throughout the dinner," Chu Zhi explained. "But the footage shows our interactions were purely professional."
"That does support your case. Then how do you explain the hugging photo from the private room?" Huang Youru pressed.
"The director said she was a fan and asked for a hug. I couldn't refuse," Chu Zhi said. "My two assistants and main agent, Sister Feng, were also present. It was a group dinner—nothing inappropriate."
The second clip showed Chu Zhi leaving after escorting the woman to the hotel entrance. From then until 9 AM the next day, when she checked out, he never reappeared.
"This should be clear. 'Paramount Mouthpiece' claimed we stayed at the same hotel—the Sofia. But the Sofia only has one entrance. Unless I climbed through a window, there's no way I could've entered unnoticed," Chu Zhi said. "I didn't stay there that night. In fact, I had an early shoot in Jiangsu and took an 11:30 PM flight."
Flight and hotel records backed his alibi. "These records are unaltered. I'll take full legal responsibility for their authenticity," he added.
"Even if you didn't stay at the same hotel that night, how do you prove you never did at other times when no one was watching?" Huang Youru countered.
Her question mirrored the skepticism of some viewers—those already convinced of his guilt.
"The only 'proof' I have is my daily schedule. But… since when does the inability to prove innocence equate to guilt?" Chu Zhi turned the tables.
The host let the question hang, projecting it onscreen: [Since when does the inability to prove innocence equate to guilt?]
The audience buzzed. Many had assumed that without definitive proof of innocence, guilt was implied.
"Imagine in school—someone accuses you of stealing class funds. Without an alibi, you're automatically guilty."
"Or at work—your boss suspects you leaked secrets. If your phone was broken during an argument with your girlfriend, you must be the corporate spy."
"Can we operate like this?" Huang Youru tossed out two hypotheticals.
"No! Without evidence, no one should have to prove their innocence," she concluded. "So, does 'Paramount Mouthpiece' have more concrete proof beyond that photo? Our team found the account is owned by Gaiqing Media. We've retrieved their contact number—let's call them live."
"Huh? A live call?' Chu Zhi wasn't nervous—just surprised by the bold move.
His ally Su Shangbai's investigation had uncovered Gaiqing Media's ties: it operated three Weibo accounts with millions of followers, several 100K+ readership WeChat public accounts, and popular Douyin/Kuaishou channels. More damningly, one of Gaiqing's major shareholders, a Mr. Wang, was also a key investor in Jianghai Pictures—whose other major stakeholder was none other than the chairman of Dahua Entertainment.
"F*cking Dahua just won't quit." Chu Zhi wasn't one to take hits lying down. In his past life, companies that crossed him either got gutted by poaching or crushed by market maneuvers.
Dahua, you're next.
Back to the call—Gaiqing's receptionist answered brightly: "Hello, Gaiqing Media. How may I assist you?"
"This is Huang Youru, host of Mango TV's Little Mango Tea Party Invitation. We'd like to speak with your company's representative for an on-air interview," she said bluntly.
After a brief hold, a "Manager Zhao" came on the line. Pleasantries exchanged, Huang Youru cut to the chase:
"Is 'Paramount Mouthpiece' your company's account?"
"...Yes."
"Your article [Who's the Sugar Daddy Behind Rising Star Chu Zhi?]—aside from the photo, do you have further evidence?"
A pause. Then Manager Zhao replied smoothly: "We don't publish baseless rumors. The photo of Chu Zhi with that woman at the hotel is unaltered. Our reporting is grounded in factual deduction."
"Off the record, Huang laoshi—come on. His post-debut resources, those global brand deals? No backer? Who'd believe that?" His tone oozed sincerity.
Huang Youru recognized the spin—a PR tactic to muddy waters. Like when celebrities facing real scandals would flaunt police case receipts (which only proved the report was filed, not validated) to fool fans into thinking, See? He's innocent—he even went to the police!
A cynical abuse of public trust in authority.
Notably, Kangfei Entertainment hadn't even bothered with that charade. Manager Zhao's righteous spiel sounded principled—but said nothing at all.