"The brave challenger representing the defeated—the Great Demon King." Kim Seong-joo introduced, "Like the Gogwi Dae-myeon, he slays all enemies in his path. Let's welcome the Great Demon King with applause."
Gogwi Dae-myeon is a malevolent spirit from Korean folklore, known for devouring misbehaving children and those who walk around naked.
The audience politely applauded as Chu Zhi, wearing a golden mask, stepped onto the stage. The studio lighting couldn't produce overly elaborate effects, but a spotlight was fixed on the contestant.
Dressed in a black tailcoat and golden mask, Chu Zhi exuded an overwhelming aura under the influence of [Drunken Immortal], his drunken state enhancing his presence.
"Ahem." Kim Seong-joo wanted to say something but forgot his words mid-sentence. A seasoned host, he smoothly pivoted: "Why did you choose the alias 'Great Demon King'?"
"Because I will be the show's Great Demon King," Chu Zhi replied bluntly.
His Chinese speech was translated on the large LED screen onstage, while the teleprompter provided Korean subtitles for the judges, ensuring seamless communication.
"A Chinese singer? There are many talented artists from China. I've met quite a few when I participated in the China-Japan-Korea Tri-Nation Charity Performance," said Sung-yoon.
"Oh? That was the 2013 edition, right? If I recall, Senior Sung-yoon won the championship?" Kim Seong-joo flattered.
Sung-yoon's high status in Korea was partly due to that victory. He smiled faintly, observing the challenger onstage. The voice sounded youthful, but voices could be deceiving.
"Great Demon King, so you're very confident, huh? Victory is within your grasp—do you really believe you can snatch it away before the 'Prince of Gangnam'?" Jin Yong couldn't stand the arrogance of this Chinese contestant. After all, the Chinese music scene just scavenged leftovers from the Korean wave.
Chu Zhi didn't respond. Instead, he fixed Jin Yong with a piercing stare. Unaccustomed to being glared at—especially by a junior—Jin Yong momentarily faltered under the gaze behind the golden mask.
But he quickly recovered, his embarrassment fueling anger. "Where does your confidence come from? I sincerely hope you don't embarrass your country."
The judging panel had already been briefed: suppress the Chinese contestant. Not a single vote from the 11 celebrity judges would go to Chu Zhi. What can your millennia of history do for you now? Jin Yong steadied himself.
"Let's enjoy the Great Demon King's performance—Opera," announced Kim Seong-joo, yielding the stage.
The band began with a dreamy synth intro, layered over a deep piano bassline. The moment Chu Zhi's voice entered, the piano and pipa (Chinese lute) ceased—his vocal cords vibrated at the edges as he opened with a haunting "Ooooh-ahhh."
The entire studio fell silent. Even the murmurs died out.
"What kind of technique is this?" The audience had never heard anything like it.
Vitas, often called the "Prince of Dolphin Notes," is actually a countertenor, not a true whistle register singer. His high notes carry head resonance and overtones, but they aren't pure whistle tones. "Dolphin notes" was a mistranslation by Chinese media—a sensationalized term, not a technical one.
Yet, in the public's mind, any whistle register singer is inevitably compared to Vitas—and usually found lacking.
Nonsense. How could they compare? Even Mariah Carey, a queen of the whistle register, only achieves an ethereal, icy tone.
Vitas employs a countertenor technique—transparent, cold, and devoid of color, as if a god were singing.
But Chu Zhi's vocal condition surpassed even Farinelli, the legendary castrato. Vitas is extraordinary, but he's still human. Farinelli, born with a physical disadvantage, had a voice beyond mortal limits. How could Vitas compete?
With [Drunken Immortal] elevating his performance to divine levels, Chu Zhi maximized his innate potential. Even more crucially, Оперная (Opera) is a wordless piece—triggering [Perfect Vocals (Non-Lyrical)].
This wasn't just 1+1+1. It was 1+1+10.
Chu Zhi's voice replaced the instruments, leaving only the drumbeat—yet it never felt monotonous. His vocalizations were more delicate than a violin, warmer than a viola, richer than a cello, and more heavenly than the "king of instruments," the piano.
"This Chinese singer's voice is more beautiful than any instrument," Sung-yoon thought, awestruck.
"…?" Kim Seong-joo, though familiar with classical music, had never heard such a voice.
Chu Zhi's singing flowed like a misty river of music, notes rippling gently.
"Ahhh~"
He harmonized with himself. From the river leaped a breathtaking mermaid, dancing like a siren, singing a melody of sublime beauty.
It was pure, untouchable beauty. With his perfect vocals and a range surpassing Vitas, Chu Zhi's performance transcended singing—it held the power to move listeners to tears.
Among the 88 audience members (also the public judges), many found themselves weeping unconsciously. These weren't tears of sadness, but of awe—like witnessing something so beautiful it defied belief.
Jin Yong, initially resistant, gradually slackened his jaw. Only one thought remained: "Didn't the PD say this challenger was just a pretty-faced idol?"
At five-tenths drunkenness, Chu Zhi reached peak performance. He concluded Оперная with a soaring high note.
"Ah~"
A true high note isn't about screaming the loudest—it's about control. Not that anyone could match Chu Zhi's pitch anyway. Vitas' highest recorded note in Опера #2 (Opera #2) is E7.
What is E7? It's considered a biological anomaly. Among living singers, only Vitas has touched it in Опера #2. Even a coloratura soprano would struggle to hit E7—let alone a male voice.
Using Farinelli's innate talent, Chu Zhi pushed the final note to E7 with effort, sensing he still had room to go further.
The mermaid from the music river dissolved into foam, vanishing with a "poof." The high note's conclusion felt like a hallucination—a painting of beauty just out of reach.
The music ended cleanly, but the 88 public judges and 11 celebrity judges were stunned. More accurately, their brains had overloaded from the sensory onslaught and temporarily shut down.
Don't blame the Koreans for their lack of exposure. Western classical influence runs deep in Korea—they boast Asia's strongest bel canto tradition, with frequent wins at Cardiff, Verdi, and Domingo competitions. Yet even they had never seen this.
Hell, even Italy, the birthplace of opera, had never witnessed such a performance.
Chu Zhi lowered the mic. The dead silence made him realize: "This time, I brought a cannon to a mosquito fight."
"All this effort just to steal the show."
Ten seconds passed…
Twenty seconds…
A full half-minute…
Chu Zhi counted. It took thirty seconds before the host finally snapped out of it and returned to the stage.