Everyone knew Perfect Voice (non-lyrics) and Crowd Freak were passive skills. As long as the conditions were met, they triggered on their own, no on or off switch.
But "ee-dee," those two sounds actually meant something in the mouths of herders living in the Alps. You could even use them to communicate. So was it a complete word?
On that, Brother System gave a vague answer: if it's ambiguous and you want it on, turn it on. Enough said. Chu Zhi switched it on right away.
If he wanted to thrill the crowd, he had to commit all the way.
🎵 First you take a deep breath, then you exhale one, two, three, And then you'll hear a yodel, if you listen close to me. 🎵
Chu Zhi's control was ridiculous. He'd whip the runs like a cyclone, then snap them back in an instant, smooth as a veteran sliding a car into a tight parking slot. Steady as hell.
And the imagery never faded. Most people still saw happy pictures in their heads, like a little girl with pigtails hopping across a meadow in the Alps.
Plenty of "apes" in the audience waited for the next call. It wasn't the excited screaming you hear at a concert, it was a shout from the gut, the kind you blurt out when you see the ocean or a deep forest and can't help howling twice.
The call of the apes arrived. Chu Zhi's swaggering yodeling burst out again.
🎵 Yeah, this is how to yodel, Yodel-oh-ee-dee, Diddly-odel-oh-ee-dee, diddly-odel-oh-ee-dee! 🎵
Aiya, aiya, aiya, the audience copied him and howled back. Joy was contagious. Smiles spread over eighty percent of the faces in the room.
The other twenty percent were stunned by how insane the yodeling was. Perfect Voice kicked in, and the color wash hit peak saturation.
Chu Zhi flipped between head and chest like a sports car charging into a devilish string of hairpin turns, not slowing down, flooring the gas instead. It was pure reckless abandon.
It was like Lü Bu going berserk, Cai Wenji dropping an execute, Violet holding the battlefield alone. Sure, the metaphors were a mess, but that's because Chu Zhi was flexing in a way that defied logic.
"Who the hell is Azazel?" Horman took two deep breaths and finally managed to shut his mouth. He'd tried to keep up with Chu Zhi for a second, then gave up before starting. It was too fast. He surrendered on the spot.
"Is his throat forged from steel? Doesn't that kind of run risk a car crash?" With Horman's musical instincts, he just couldn't wrap his head around it.
He wasn't alone. Red Lion, Golan, Footballer, Danny, and Black-Faced Goat, Kara, were all infected by the joy and floored by the yodel's audacity.
Footballer, Danny, who'd just taken two Ls, had a thought. Maybe the guy behind the mask really was an angel. Otherwise, he couldn't believe it. Humanity was diverse, sure, but what kind of being could warm people, heal them, make them laugh, and perform terrifyingly hard technique no one could imitate? If not an angel, then who? In Danny's mind, the logic was airtight.
🎵 This is how to yodel, Yodel-oh-ee-dee, Diddly-odel-oh-ee-dee, yodel-oh-dee.🎵
With a goosebump-raising flip on that "oh-lei-yi," the song hit its coda. Eighteen bends after eighteen bends, a frenzy like Mamma Mia! mashed up with The Phantom of the Opera. Plenty of people nearly forgot to breathe.
The final "de" cut off neat and clean. Emperor Beast finished tonight's number grinning.
The Ode to Joy Voice worked great. Chu Zhi thought, if he merged Angel's Gospel with Ode to Joy Voice, holy crap, who'd even be left to compete?
Maybe, after retirement, he should actually consider religion. Imagine a Chinese Pope in the Vatican. That'd be wild, considering Europeans had held the seat for thousands of years.
While the singer let his mind wander, the applause never stopped. The instant the notes vanished, a wave of claps and cheers crashed over him.
"My relative passed this week. I was devastated, so I signed up to hear the angel's voice live for comfort. I didn't expect him to make me feel happy."
"That was so cheerful I couldn't stop smiling. The last time a song made me this happy was when my daughter sang to me. I mean no offense, but Azazel's voice carries the same joy my daughter has."
"I tried to copy it just now. It felt like my tongue tied itself into a bow."
"I'm not a pro, but I can hear how hard this is. Any professional singers here? Is it hard or not? A tutorial would be great."
"That o-yi-yi sticks after one listen."
…
Host Nick came out to regain control, but he tried a few times and couldn't cut through.
"Alright, I get it. Azazel really is shocking," Nick said, giving up. He'd wait for the apes to settle before talking.
They sweated through one hundred and eighty seconds. The studio finally calmed down. Seeing that, Nick spoke up again.
"Azazel has blown me away twice now. I'm pale as a sheet." That line coming from a Black host was a gag.
"Judges, how do you feel?" Nick asked.
Jiang Ken's face twisted, because his arm hurt. It was a soul-pinched-by-a-fingernail kind of pain.
Well, not "like," literally. Jennifer had his arm in a death grip. That wild yodel felt like the instant your stomach drops on a free-fall ride. Her heart had been squeezed tight.
"Azazel's throat's been kissed by angels, I'm sure of it," Jiang Ken said. "When I was a kid, my godfather told me, making people laugh out loud is a great good deed."
"Today's the happiest I've been in three weeks. Before Azazel came on, I never expected such a joyful song. I loved it," Jennifer said. "I'm also curious, is this song very hard?"
"Yodeling comes from a Swiss vocal style. I've heard it before, but this difficulty level doesn't compare. Azazel's runs are way too fast," Austin declared. "Without over ten years of practice, you can't do this. So Azazel might be a Swiss singer who developed in Britain. I've already got a suspect in mind."
Another suspect. The old guy's brain really was busy, and he sounded confident as hell.
"I don't know foreign singers well, but this is magical," Hartman said, eyes sparkling with worship. "Mr. Azazel, your vocal plasticity is unreal. If I hadn't seen it live, I wouldn't believe both performances came from the same person."
"Or maybe it wasn't the same person. He's masked," Jiang Ken teased. "It's the show's scheme, hire several vocal prodigies so no one in the world can guess right."
"Ken, that's a fun idea. Don't have it again," Nick said. "I run this game. I don't know the singers' identities, but I swear on my skin, we're not letting multiple people share one identity."
"Of course, I'm joking because Azazel's too shocking," Jiang Ken said, then hammed it up. "Grammy judges, look over here. Does this singer look familiar? Did you give him anything yet? If not, hurry up."
"For the first time ever, I'm worshipping a singer just from the voice," Hartman added.
She wasn't acting. Not that he trusted her character, it was just that if her acting were that good, she wouldn't still be cast as a vase half the time.
Nick brought Toothless Elephant, Ted, back onstage.
He was a big, strong athlete, over one ninety in height, but in front of Azazel he felt shorter by a head.
Ted felt oddly calm. He wasn't nervous at all. When that first wild yodel exploded, he knew his end.
"Azazel's identity just got even murkier. Judges and audience, please vote on this round," Nick said.
There was no suspense. Other contestants cared even more about who Azazel really was.
Not long ago, Red Lion, Golan, visited Finland. She used to think polka was the world's happiest style, the leek-spin meme came from polka. Tonight, her worldview got patched.
"Happier than polka, thanks to the singer Azazel. His joy shot through every note and hit us dead on," Golan murmured. "The panel's right. He probably isn't American. With those chops and that diabolical songwriting sense, he'd be taking home Grammys until his hands cramped."
"Could he be Switzerland's national treasure, Alessandro?" Golan shook her head at herself. "Mr. Alessandro's over seventy. No matter how he disguises his voice, it wouldn't sound this young."
Age mattered. You couldn't keep your body in that kind of shape forever.
"A yodel crazier than a herd of goats," Black-Faced Goat, Kara, thought. She knew a bit more than the others. Yodeling developed in Switzerland's Alps, then spread through European folk. She was a folk singer after all. She'd heard plenty, and a friend of hers was a yodeler.
She'd heard her friend, Madson, perform many times, but compared to what she'd just witnessed, it was a kid facing a boxer.
"God, Kara, what're you thinking? Madson's one of the best yodelers in the world. How could the gap be that big? I'm overthinking," Kara told herself, taking a deep breath to shake off the crazy thought.
But…
"The yodeling world's small. If he's also devout, that makes him even easier to pinpoint." At that, Kara smiled. She might be the first to reason out who Azazel was.
Chu Zhi won. No one looked surprised. It was like today's Monday and tomorrow's Tuesday. That's just how the world works.
Well… maybe not. If this were the Detective Kid universe, Monday could flip to Saturday tomorrow.
The three on the chopping block were Toothless Elephant, Black-Faced Goat, and Footballer.
The judges voted on who to eliminate. Jennifer, Hartman, and Jiang Ken all voted for Toothless Elephant. Austin voted for Footballer.
Ted was eliminated and unmasked.
Baseball used to be America's number one sport before football passed it, and Ted was a Major League star. Once he showed his face, the audience and the judges sent him off with hot applause.
Another recording wrapped. People filed out in order, talking nonstop. "I really want to know who Azazel is. Is he American?" "Even if he's Asian, I want to hear his album." "No clue at all. Every internet critic says something different." "I didn't get enough of that stage. I'm calling my parents to watch it with me on Saturday."
Guests headed straight for the parking lot. FOX's parking security was tight. Reporters almost never slipped in, all for secrecy.
Kara got into her van and called her friend Madson, a Bavarian yodeler from southern Germany.
After a few pleasantries, she was about to get to the point when the sound on his end felt off. She knew instantly, with the instincts of an old hand.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kara snapped.
"I told you, I'm running," Madson said. "If you don't believe me, we can video call."
"Can you turn off the damn treadmill?" Kara said.
"I don't want to waste training time, and I can talk just fine," he panted.
"Saturday at eight, you have to watch FOX," Kara said.
"Of course. You're appearing on Masked Singer," Madson said. "I can't get the FOX channel in Munich, but I'll watch the livestream online."
"There's a singer on Masked Singer who wrote an original yodeling song," Kara said plainly. "I think his yodeling's better than yours."
Silence for a few seconds. When Madson spoke again, he didn't even sound out of breath. "Kara, I remember today's not April Fools' Day."
"I'm not lying. You'll see," Kara said. "I've got to hang up. We just got rear-ended. I need to see what's going on."
She cut the call.
Madson had a dozen things to say and swallowed all of them. She'd dangled the juiciest bait, then ran. What the hell was that?
In the end, he remembered her words. Saturday at eight, he'd be watching.
Danny, Horman, Golan, and the rest all left. Chu Zhi stayed. His song for round three was a little special, so he needed to talk with the chief director in advance.
He figured the chief director wouldn't be able to decide alone and would need the executive producer.
"The instinct's right. Yesterday Once More is excellent, but if we want something even more explosive, She Taught Me How to Yodel fits better." Those were the first words from chief director Lukinsky when he saw Chu Zhi in the office.
No other staff were present. Lukinsky had cleared them out on purpose. Azazel's identity was one of the show's prime hooks. You couldn't be too careful. Meeting like this felt like a spy rendezvous.
"I just wanted to spread joy. Whether it goes viral or not isn't part of my calculation," Chu Zhi said lightly. Even if a king showed up, he'd finish this act.
Since Lukinsky saw Chu Zhi as an artist, he believed him. Either way, airing She Taught Me How to Yodel in episode two would cause a stir like episode one.
What could he do? Was season seven really going to become a phenomenon on par with American Idol and The Voice? Lukinsky couldn't help feeling smug.
"Mr. Lukinsky, the song I want to sing next is a bit special, so I want you to look it over early," Chu Zhi said, getting straight to the point.
"A bit special?" Lukinsky chuckled. How special could it be? He took the laptop Chu Zhi offered and started, "Sir, I trust your mu—"
He didn't finish "music." He froze. The lyrics looked familiar, but he wasn't sure.
"Sir, what's this lyric?"
Emperor Beast explained, "It's a poem by the French poet Eugène Pottier. The whole world should know it. I rearranged it and turned it into a rock song."
It really was that song. And he wanted to do it as rock. Lukinsky updated his mental file. This Chinese singer wasn't just an artist, he was a crazy artist.
"…," Lukinsky felt like an invisible hand clutched his throat. He had a lot to say and couldn't get any of it out.
"I think it fits. What do you think, Mr. Lukinsky?" Chu Zhi asked.
Fits how? First round, Jesus Loves Me. Second round, joy for the masses. Third round, this. How did that fit?
Chief director Lukinsky chose his words and asked carefully, "Sir, what's the purpose of singing this one?"
"Because I like it, and I think its lyrics rock harder than any rock song," Chu Zhi said, firm as iron.
Lyrics that rock harder than rock. Lukinsky realized he couldn't refute it.
"I'm sorry, sir. If you insist on singing this in the third round, I'll need to consult the producer before giving you an answer," Lukinsky said.
Just as expected. Emperor Beast had predicted it. "Then, Mr. Lukinsky, about when can you tell me?"
Lukinsky promised a decision within two days. Chu Zhi nodded, ready to take his leave.
"Sir, do you know the Hudson River Club?" Lukinsky asked.
What's that? Chu Zhi shook his head.
No problem. Lukinsky explained at once, and Chu Zhi got the gist. The Hudson River Club was a coalition of powerful West Hollywood insiders. Tons of big stars were members. Outsiders called it the "Golden Globe Club," since its influence could sway the Golden Globes.
In America, the Globes didn't match the Oscars for prestige, but regular viewers recognized them more. Actors who wanted to break out often chased the Globe first.
"I'm the club's whip. I get to invite one person each year who's pivotal to the global entertainment industry," Lukinsky said. "Would you be interested in joining the Hudson River Club?"
America loved its cliques. There were associations for everything. Chu Zhi didn't know this club's nature. Were there any rabid anti-China types inside?
Emperor Beast was cautious by nature. "If it's alright, Mr. Lukinsky, please send me detailed information about the club. I take a long time to make decisions."
"Of course. I'll email it shortly," Lukinsky said. "We're all looking forward to your joining."
After Chu Zhi left, Lukinsky called his higher-ups at once and asked the producer and supervising producer to jump on a video call.
At first, when they heard the meeting was just to approve a guest's third-round song, both men were annoyed. Why couldn't Lukinsky handle this? Their minutes were worth millions. Why were they bothered with this? What was a chief director even for?
Then the director team sent over Azazel's lyrics. The two little squares on the screen froze. The producer and supervising producer stared in silence.
They were stunned.
After a long moment, the supervising producer demanded, "What's he trying to do?"
What was he trying to do? Chu Zhi didn't have an evil bone in his body. He just wanted to sing.
"Brother Chu, Brother Chu, when are you going to unmask? Once you do, with the momentum, our Twitter and Facebook will rocket into the top ten," Xiao Zuzhi chirped, eyes glued to the blue bird app.
Thanks to the buzz from All Nations, Vol. 1, Chu Zhi's Twitter had hit forty million. Facebook had thirty million. The team hadn't even bought much traffic. He was already a pillar among Asian stars.
But worldwide, he wasn't cracking the top twenty.
Twitter's number one was America's internet-famous president at 128 million. Facebook's number one was the soccer god, ABC Ro, at 122 million.
"We've got to stay low-key," Chu Zhi said.
"Uh-huh, low-key," Xiao Zuzhi nodded like a pecking chick.
The driver was their own guy, the long-lost Lao Qiu. They didn't use FOX's arranged car, just a team rental. In short, everyone inside was their own.
Driver's licenses didn't carry across borders. The pay was good, but the driver had to keep learning. Lao Qiu held Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and American licenses.
You couldn't blame the agency for being careful. At Chu Zhi's level of fame, having bodyguards every day made sense.
They checked into a hotel near the airport. Tomorrow they'd hit Manhattan to finish shooting one of the Chinese album's MVs that needed city footage.
Before sleeping, Chu Zhi carefully read the email Lukinsky sent about the Hudson River Club.
After Emperor Beast studied it, he judged it a second-rate organization. They weren't part of Hollywood's true inner circle, but they had more pull than most.
No need, then. Chu Zhi drafted a formal refusal. He could've ghosted them, sure. Adults knew silence was a polite no.
But in Chu Zhi's view, if someone invited you formally, whatever their motive, you should answer formally.
Of course he wouldn't tell the truth. He polished it a little.
Sent.