#The Seal of Electronic Music#, a bizarrely trending topic, caught the attention of the I Am Indeed a Singer production team, who further fueled the discussion.
Aside from the shocked reactions, another portion of the discourse was pure hate—anger.
As mentioned before, when you dislike someone, everything they do is wrong.
Especially when the person you dislike starts gaining traction—it's downright unbearable.
Comments like:
"The domestic entertainment industry is truly doomed if this kind of artist can still get screen time."
"Mango TV has no shame, cashing in on any garbage."
"I used to doubt the rumors about him being a sugar baby, but now it's obvious. Even after being dragged online, he still lands this kind of opportunity—what else could it be?"
Chu Zhi's current nicknames online ranged from the slightly restrained "Chu the Scum" to the more hostile "Chu the Mole" or "Steel Wool" (a derogatory term implying he was "used up").
The keyboard warriors in the entertainment industry were just hurling personal attacks—nothing new. Which idol hadn't had their family insulted at some point? When the entire environment was filthy, no one cared about throwing more trash into the mix.
The real terror came from former fans turned haters. Because they had once been fans, they knew their idol best—and their criticisms were precise and well-founded.
One comment read:
"He was off-key during his Shanghai concert. That acapella bit on Run Brothers sounded decent, but in reality, he couldn't even find the right pitch. Fan recordings clearly showed he was completely tone-deaf. Has the internet forgotten? Even an outdoor variety show needed heavy post-production editing. And now you're telling me he ranked second on I Am a Singer on his own? What a joke—just another 'soundcard warrior' (someone who relies on autotune)."
From the details, this person had clearly bought tickets to his concert and even attended outdoor variety show recordings to support him.
Another wrote:
"Songwriting? Pfft. As a former fan, I know his skills were bottom-tier even among idols. He lacked basic knowledge—couldn't even answer simple history questions correctly on shows. No way he wrote those songs himself. Must've hired a ghostwriter. The lyrics are polished, but it's all fake. Anyone who's ever stanned him knows."
This one had been a hardcore fan, rewatching every show Chu Zhi appeared in and memorizing his interviews. They even dug up old screenshots as proof. Others expressed disappointment in the show itself for "polluting the program with trash."
These varied comments formed the heated online discussion, pushing I Am a Singer's popularity to rival the newly aired Masked Singer. The buzz even alarmed two companies: Kangfei Entertainment and Dahua Entertainment.
First, Kangfei Entertainment.
The conference room was as cold as the untouched tea in front of everyone—silent and stiff.
They were late to the party. Both the CEO, Zhang, and Chu's former manager, Sister Feng, had assumed Chu Zhi would be eliminated in the first round. No one expected him to advance—let alone in such a defiant manner.
"Lyrics, composition, arrangement—all done by himself? Since when did Chu Zhi have this talent?" Zhang asked Sister Feng.
The head of the artist department chimed in: "I checked the copyright registry—it's all under his name. Unless you're telling me he's still hiring ghostwriters, which would mean my IQ has officially left the chat."
All eyes in the room turned to Sister Feng.
Even if Chu Zhi had only shown a sliver of songwriting talent before, they could've marketed him as a creative genius. But he'd displayed nothing.
Sister Feng's mind raced. "Writing takes time. Maybe he really had the talent, but he never had the chance to develop it before."
Zhang somewhat bought this explanation. Before his downfall, Chu Zhi had been juggling two or three schedules a day, constantly flying between cities, with barely any rest.
"Then let's drop it," Zhang said after a pause. The meeting hadn't yielded any real conclusions, so he wrapped it up with some generic corporate speak:
"Don't put too much pressure on our artists. Focus on discovering their strengths. Our company has a solid artist development system."
His words were directed at both Sister Feng and the artist department head.
The irony was thick—the company had always prioritized squeezing every drop of commercial value from their artists, which had set the tone for the entire team. Now, suddenly, they were supposed to discover strengths? With what time?
And let's be real—everyone knew the company's training system was just code for "pick pretty faces, ignore everything else."
"As if talent grows on trees," Sister Feng sneered internally, though outwardly she replied: "I'll pay more attention to nurturing their talents. Skills do help longevity in this industry."
Satisfied, Zhang ended the meeting.
Back at her desk, Sister Feng rewatched the latest episode of I Am a Singer. Chu Zhi's performance of "Wind Blows the Wheat Fields" was… good.
Before, she'd pitied him for being relentlessly attacked. But now that he was no longer under her management, he was suddenly showcasing previously unseen talent. Instead of feeling proud, she felt a twinge of irritation—even hostility.
She didn't know where this hostility came from.
She called an acquaintance at Mango TV and, amidst small talk, learned a crucial piece of information:
The surprise guest had been changed again. Originally, it was supposed to be a faded Hong Kong singer—nostalgic for '90s kids—but now, it was Li Xingwei.
"With Lin Xia already on the show, why would they invite Li Xingwei?" Sister Feng couldn't believe it.
In the entertainment industry, there was a saying: "Six Kings of Traffic: Wu, Chu, Yi, Xing, Yun, Fei."
"Wu" referred to Wu Tang, the perennial No. 1 on Weibo's celebrity charts, with millions of interactions per post.
"Chu" was Chu Zhi (before his downfall).
The others were all top-tier influencers in their own right.
Chu Zhi's fans had been known for their purchasing power—any magazine or photobook he appeared in would break sales records. For example, "BAZAAR Men" electronic issue's solo subscription ranking: second place had 490,000, while Chu Zhi had 1.36 million—not just a record, but a landslide.
"In variety shows, kings don't meet kings. Lin Xia is trying to break into the top tier by leveraging I Am a Singer's prestige. If Li Xingwei joins, how will they handle it?" Sister Feng mused.
Think about it—what show would invite two massive traffic magnets at once? Even if the artists themselves got along, their fans would go to war.
Her contact replied: "No idea, but all three parties agreed."
The "three parties" being the TV station, the artist's team, and the originally scheduled guest who got replaced.
After some more industry gossip, they hung up.
Li Xingwei was the "Xing" in the "Six Kings." His popularity surpassed even Lin Xia's. For him to join mid-season as a surprise guest was beneath his status—unless his agency had arranged it.
"Dahua Entertainment… Li Xingwei is their top star." Sister Feng realized this wasn't just a random switch.
Having clawed her way through the industry's mud for over 20 years, she knew that when an artist suddenly got massively blacklisted, there was always a bigger game at play. She'd even suspected internal sabotage from Kangfei's own executives, given how sluggishly the company had responded.
"Is this another move against Chu Zhi?" she wondered.