"Teacher Spinning Lady's sultry vocals are truly unique—the most distinctive voice I've heard in Korea," Chu Zhi offered sincerely before his opponent took the stage. (In truth, the number of Korean songs he'd heard in this parallel world could be counted on one hand.)
Others might dismiss such praise as empty flattery, but coming from the "Human Avatar of the Siren" Great Demon King, Bae Ri-na felt genuinely empowered. His words carried the magnanimity of a true competitor.
For this championship bout, Ri-na pulled out her ultimate weapon: heart-rending vocal acrobatics—or more bluntly, shrieking high notes. In song battles, technical prowess and emotional delivery reign supreme, and nothing showcases that like shattering glass with one's vocal cords.
Her song Shot Down—a ballad about being abandoned by a lover—was delivered with such raw, tear-choked desperation that it physically ached.
A formidable opponent! Kim Jae-hee began sweating for Chu Zhi—until he noticed the latter calmly unscrewing a bottle cap.
"...Drinking again?"
"Was his first performance not a fluke? Does he need alcohol to unlock his full power?" Jae-hee theorized.
Pre-performance drinking risks vocal cord dehydration, reducing flexibility and control. It's like entering a boxing match with one arm tied behind your back. Yet here was Chu Zhi, gulping half a bottle like it was morning orange juice.
"Teacher Demon King, you must have an iron liver," Jae-hee ventured.
"Just average. This is my calculated dose," Chu Zhi admitted. Five parts drunk was his sweet spot—no need to activate [9/10 Drunk: I Am No Longer Human].
Jae-hee had previously advised against drinking on camera—despite Korea's laxer standards—but Chu Zhi insisted. Every move was orchestrated.
As Spinning Lady's performance ended, Chu Zhi waited in the wings. Host Kim Seong-jong announced: "Our Demon King's song today is... Herbal Manual? Quite an unusual title."
Judge Sung Yoon chimed in: "Ah, Herbal Manual—like our Korean medical classic Dongui Bogam!"
Yoo Jin-ryong, ever the provocateur, sneered: "If it's about Eastern medicine, why not use Dongui Bogam for the title? It's more renowned."
"Great question—but you'll have to ask the Demon King himself," Seong-jong deflected, introducing the performer.
Their exchange dripped with nationalist subtext. Dongui Bogam (1610) was Korea's answer to Compendium of Materia Medica (1578)—though the latter predated it by decades. The kicker? Korea had lobbied UNESCO to recognize Dongui Bogam as a World Heritage medical text in 2009—a year before China secured the same for its classics.
This wasn't about scholarship. It was about retconning history to claim "Korean Eastern Medicine" as independent from Chinese roots—despite Dongui Bogam plagiarizing 96% of its content from 80+ Chinese medical texts.
Now center stage, Chu Zhi faced Seong-jong's loaded question: "Why compose a song about Herbal Manual instead of Dongui Bogam when praising Eastern medicine?"
Reading the teleprompter's Korean subtitles, Chu kept his expression neutral. "Dongui Bogam" is indeed a medical masterpiece. UNESCO recognizes its clinical and research value."
The panel swelled with patriotic pride—until Chu's knife-twist: "Its contents were sourced from 80+ Chinese texts like Plain Questions, Spiritual Pivot, and Treatise on Cold Damage. With 96% accuracy in transcribing TCM wisdom, no wonder it's so authoritative."
"Korean Eastern Medicine remains internationally unvalidated, but... keep trying."
Cue the implosion.
Jin-ryong's face purpled. "Are you a medical scholar? Don't spew nonsense! Dongui Bogam is purely Korean—"
"Oh? So you hold a medical degree?" Chu interrupted, eyebrows raised.
"You goddamn—!" Jin-ryong exploded. "Is this how all Chinese disrespect elders?!"
Chu's retort was ice-cold: "Denying historical records to fuel nationalism isn't patriotism—it's social Darwinism. Your revisionism fertilizes the soil for militarism and ultra-chauvinism."
"Hasn't your nation suffered enough from such toxins?"
The studio froze. Chu's quiet delivery made each word land like a sledgehammer. Jin-ryong looked ready to throw fists.
Seong-jong desperately lightened the mood: "Viewers tuning in now must think we're hosting a medical symposium!"
(Internally, he cursed: Why did I poke the bear?!)
"Let's enjoy Herbal Manual!" he announced, fleeing the battlefield.