"700 votes—exactly 700 votes!" announced program director Meng Fan loudly. "Ranking second in this round's competition. Congratulations to surprise challenger Chu Zhi for a successful challenge!"
As soon as he finished speaking, applause erupted in the contestants' lounge—initiated eagerly by Koguchi Yoshihiro, who seemed too impatient to consider the feelings of the eliminated contestant. The others joined in a few seconds later, offering their congratulations.
The only one with a grim expression was Wu Xi, the one-hit-wonder rocker. With the surprise challenger's success, his journey on I Am a Singer had come to an abrupt end. The world moved on—only Wu Xi was left wounded.
Chu Zhi finally relaxed his clenched fists, his breathing steadying. Step one of the plan—success. Even better news? The audience merely disliked him, not despised him. They could still be swayed by performance. That meant there was room to maneuver.
Wu Xi, in his forties, could only be properly consoled by someone of Hou Yubin's seniority.
"Wu Xi, the song you chose today leaned heavily into lower registers, which didn't showcase your strengths," Hou Yubin said, offering both an excuse and comfort. "But your talent was still evident. I doubt your agency will let such a gem go unnoticed now."
Senior's generosity? Bullshit. If he could, Wu Xi would've jumped up and punched the surprise challenger twice. All this comfort just sounded like empty talk from someone untouched by loss. But with three cameras pointed at him—one straight ahead, one to the right, and another angled from above—Wu Xi plastered on a smile, radiating contentment and grace.
"I only ever had a few tricks up my sleeve," he said magnanimously. "When I got the invite, I figured I'd sing three songs and bow out. Turns out I even got two extra performances—no regrets. Chu Zhi is a talented young artist with plenty of room to grow. I look forward to seeing his progress."
Then, with the air of a seasoned mentor, he added, "Focus on singing and your craft—that's the right path. No more... strange endeavors. I believe you can become an outstanding singer."
Old fox. The veiled jab was obvious—both were veterans at this game. But Chu Zhi played dumb, nodding earnestly as if absorbing wisdom. The exchange wrapped up, leaving the lounge bathed in artificial harmony.
"Brother Wu's voice is a national treasure," Lin Xia chimed in. "Losing him would be like losing a piece of our cultural heritage."
"I'll miss you, Brother Wu," Zheng Yingying added.
"At worst, it's just the end of a show. At best, it's just a small chapter in life. We'll meet again in the music scene," Gu Nanxi said, her trademark bluntness softening into something resembling warmth—before she undercut it with, "Yingying, don't phrase it like that. You make it sound like Brother Wu's about to meet some tragic fate."
"That's not what I meant—" Zheng Yingying floundered, then sighed. "I just wish the show didn't have eliminations. My Chinese isn't great—words fail me sometimes."
Gu Nanxi's sharp tongue was polarizing. Fans called it tough love; critics called it tactless.
"Says the one who claims to 'suck at Chinese' but writes flawless lyrics," Lin Xia teased. "If modesty were an art, some people would be Picasso."
Original singer-songwriters were rare in the industry. Among the seven contestants (excluding Chu Zhi), only two had composing credits. Zheng Yingying, after leaving her girl group, had written over half the lyrics on her solo albums—a fact her middling popularity couldn't overshadow.
Or maybe her songs just weren't that good…
"It's not like I want to write. Good songs are hard to come by these days," Zheng Yingying laughed weakly. Her music partner jumped in, addressing the camera: "Attention, lyricists and composers at home—this is your cue! Send your best tracks her way!"
"Even with money, good songs are scarce," Gu Nanxi agreed. Once, Taiwan's music scene led Mandarin pop. Now? Most artists flocked to the mainland for work.
"Money's only a problem if you spend it," Lin Xia quipped.
Gu Nanxi shot him a withering look. Her partner smoothly pivoted: "Yingyi's hinting. Nanxi's begging. Good songs, come to mama!"
"The Wind Blows Through the Wheat is what I call a good song," Zheng Yingying suddenly redirected. "Did you see the credits? Lyrics, composition, arrangement—all by 'Juzi.'"
(At his peak, fans called Chu Zhi "Ninth Brother." Now? Just "Juzi"—orange.)
"In my current state, even money can't buy me songs," Chu Zhi said lightly. "So I'm forced to write my own."
"Wow, you're the real humblebragger here," Gu Nanxi snorted. "'Forced to write bangers'—what a tragedy. Next time you're 'forced,' send a couple my way."
Unlike the other contestants' lively partners, Wei Tongzi stood stiffly, offering only awkward smiles. Fortunately, Chu Zhi held his own in conversations—mostly by listening intently, a quiet but disarming presence.
Director Meng Fan announced the next round's rules (song selection details) before wrapping the day's recording.
As contestants paired off for dinner plans, Chu Zhi left first with Wei Tongzi—a preemptive move to spare everyone the discomfort of excluding him. Not that they were being cold. Chu Zhi was radioactive. In an era where online mobs treated association like a capital crime, who'd risk it?
Would you?
Exiting the lounge, Chu Zhi finally exhaled, fishing a button from his pocket and tossing it into the trash. His palm still bore faint indentations—a nervous habit, a tiny prop for awkward moments.
"Teacher Chu, this episode airs October 4th, mainly on Mango TV and their app," Wei Tongzi said, more talkative now that they were alone. "The next recording's on the 5th—please plan accordingly."
Today was the 27th—just a week until broadcast? Most variety shows filmed weeks or even a month in advance. I Am a Singer's rapid turnaround was unusual—likely tied to its interactive format, where fans voted for challengers via social media.
If the next recording was on the 5th, rehearsals would fall on the 2nd or 3rd. Returning to Shanghai seemed pointless—it wasn't like he had other gigs. Might as well stay in Changsha.
Wei Tongzi was called away for work, leaving Chu Zhi to collect his bag from the dressing room. As he headed out of Elite Tower, a voice called after him—
"Chu-san! Chu-san, wait!"
Turning, he saw Koguchi Yoshihiro jogging toward him, his sparse, permed curls bouncing comically in the wind. (The perm was a desperate ploy to mask thinning hair.)
Koguchi Yoshihiro rattled off an excited stream of Japanese, punctuated by "sumimasen" (sorry/excuse me). Realizing the language barrier, he fumbled with his phone, then proudly displayed a translated message:
[Mr. Chu Zhi, can we exchange contacts? I wish to be good friends.]
Ah, the sweet agony of machine translation. Chu Zhi obliged with his number (WeChat being a lost cause).
"Arigatou gozaimasu!" Koguchi Yoshihiro beamed.
Why the sudden friendliness?
"Spending time with handsome people makes you handsomer," Koguchi Yoshihiro would've explained—if asked. A true aesthete, all his friends (regardless of character) were visually gifted.
"Time for dinner," he muttered as his stomach growled. Elsewhere, a trio's meal was already being served.
Over dishes, Lin Xia, Zheng Yingying, and Gu Nanxi chatted.
"The show credited Chu Zhi for lyrics, composition, and arrangement—so it's legit," Gu Nanxi mused. "But do you really think he wrote The Wind Blows Through the Wheat himself? The style's a complete 180."