"Devil King-nim, what are your thoughts on Sung Yoon and Yoo Jin-ryong's critiques of Herbal Manual?" Kim Sung-joo asked.
"I have no thoughts," Chu Zhi replied calmly.
Huh?
Yoo Jin-ryong and Sung Yoon, along with the rest of the judging panel, had braced themselves for a fight. Given his earlier temper, shouldn't he have exploded at the slightest provocation?
Why was he so composed now?
Kim Sung-joo pressed further, "Devil King-nim, did you clearly hear the judges' comments?"
"Every listener has the right to their opinion. Liking something is a personal matter," Chu Zhi said. "Yoo Jin-ryong-ssi may lack historical awareness, but he understands rap. While learning from foreign music styles, there's no need to accept everything wholesale—drugs, guns, violence, sex. I don't endorse those, so my Chinese rap doesn't include them."
"Any art form must adapt when it enters a new cultural space. Korea's national policy is built on cultural identity. I firmly believe everyone in the industry would support and agree with that." Chu Zhi then directly addressed Yoo Jin-ryong, "Don't you think so?"
His calm rebuttal was far more irrefutable than shouting back. Yoo Jin-ryong could only mumble a vague agreement, feeling as if he'd swallowed a fly in his cold noodle soup—disgusted but unable to spit it out.
The show's staff then invited Spinning Lady to join Chu Zhi onstage. Standing beside him, her heartbeat thundered so loudly she was sure the mic would pick it up.
At over 170 cm, Bae Ri-na was half a head shorter than Chu Zhi, but her nervousness wasn't due to the height difference—it was his overwhelming talent and unshakable confidence.
"The final showdown of King of Masked Singers has concluded. Spinning Lady's voice struck our souls like a bullet, while Devil King introduced us to an unprecedented form of Chinese rap."
"Between these two masked singers, who will be crowned the winner of this round?!"
The voting began—99 votes in total.
Lights flickered wildly across the stage. To emphasize the gravity of the finals, the usual white spotlights were mixed with red, accompanied by a siren-like "whoop-whoop" sound effect. Chu Zhi half-expected an air raid warning next.
"The winner is—Spinning Lady! 70 to 29!" Kim Sung-joo announced as her image flashed across the LED screen.
She won! Beneath her carousel mask, Bae Ri-na's face bloomed with joy. Winning meant she could perform more songs—of course she was thrilled.
She stole a glance at Devil King beside her. He showed no reaction, and she exhaled in relief. Losing was within Chu Zhi's expectations. In fact, he was surprised he'd gotten 29 votes—he'd assumed only a dozen or so.
"Clap clap clap—"
The audience applauded the victor. Chu Zhi joined in, murmuring softly, "Well sung. Impressive."
His words weren't picked up by the mic, and Bae Ri-na didn't understand Chinese, but his tone suggested praise. She thanked him in her limited Mandarin: "Xie xie."
A quirk of King of Masked Singers Korea was that after the winner basked in their glory, two men in black suits would escort them backstage. Post-victory reflections and future plans were all reserved for a backstage corridor interview, leaving the stage to the loser.
"Now, we reveal his true identity," Kim Sung-joo declared.
"The first round made me like him, but the second song ruined it."
"Devil King is finally unmasked!"
"Which Chinese star has been hiding under there?"
"Whoever it is, they'll have to answer for their words onstage."
The audience buzzed with speculation, the atmosphere electric.
Online, Devil King's identity had been hotly debated—some guessed it was "Prince of Bel Canto" Lin Zhixing, others insisted it was bel canto heir Carmelo. Nonsense. His speech and second performance made it obvious: he was Chinese.
Chu Zhi walked to the back of the stage, where the lights didn't reach. Turning away from the audience, he removed his mask and smoothed his hair—still flawless.
Kim Sung-joo amped up the drama: "The high-octave Devil King, the earthly vessel of the siren's voice—who is he? The mask comes off, the truth is revealed!"
Some audience members leaned forward, their curiosity unbearable.
"The master of soul-stirring vocals—Chinese megastar, Chu Zhi!"
"A rising superstar who, in just three years, captivated millions with his angelic voice and striking looks. His latest album's MV surpassed one billion views online."
Since Chu Zhi had no fame in Korea, the show had to hype him up—not out of kindness, but to save face. If they didn't portray him as a heavyweight, their earlier loss would make them look pathetic.
The "angelic voice" label, originally coined by his fans, went unchallenged after Opernaya.
Turning back to the stage, Chu Zhi stepped forward. Usually, he avoided makeup to maintain his "natural look" achievement, but today, he'd gone all out—styling and cosmetics deployed for a full-spectrum assault on Korea's flower-boy aesthetics.
The murmurs died instantly, as if someone had hit mute. Not because of some eldritch horror, but sheer shock at his face.
Koreans had an almost pathological obsession with beauty, and their thriving plastic surgery industry was state-supported. Even football players wore makeup on the field—let that sink in. The original owner of this face had coasted to victory on Future Idol solely on the strength of his looks, debuting as a top-tier star.
Describing his features feels redundant—let's just borrow a line of poetry: "Peerless in grace, unmatched in the world."
"A sculpted Adonis."
"Even with that face, he has to answer for his words."
"He didn't even say anything outrageous. Korean medicine did originate from Chinese medicine. Yoo Jin-ryong denying it is historical nihilism—he's harming our country."
"Devil King has a heavenly voice—why did God also bless his face?"
"I didn't like Herbal Manual, but Chu Zhi's talent is undeniable. If he'd performed another Opernaya-style song in the finals, he'd have won."
The audience's murmurs resumed, but their earlier indignation seemed diluted.
Some regretted their votes. Over a billion views? A fanbase equivalent to a fifth of Korea's population? Opernaya's insane vocals? A superstar of this caliber speaking some truths—what's the big deal?
Others, upon seeing his face and learning his status, only grew more resentful. Well, the audience was now divided against itself.
"Ahem, please greet the audience properly," Kim Sung-joo prompted.
Chu Zhi waved. "Hello, Korean listeners. I'm Chu Zhi from China."
Stars like Jay Chou, Jackie Chan, and Teresa Teng had conquered Korea with talent, but let's be real—looks were Korea's eternal weakness. Case in point: Joey Wong, Tang Wei.
Recording wrapped past 4 AM. Back at the hotel, Kim Jae-hee remained as enthusiastic as ever, completely unfazed by Chu Zhi's onstage remarks. Instead, he eagerly asked about Herbal Medical
"Teacher Chu Zhi, why do the little zombies crouch? I understood the earlier lyrics, but what do the zombies at the end symbolize?"
In Chu Zhi's memory, lyricist Vincent Fang had just tossed them in for fun—originally planning "big zombies" before deciding they'd be too scary.
But Chu Zhi could spin anything. "Zombies are a classic figure in Chinese cinema. Traditionally, they hop. I wanted to subvert that—zombies can crouch too."
Kim Jae-hee nodded, impressed by the lyrical depth.
"Teacher Chu Zhi, once King of Masked Singers airs, you'll definitely become a megastar in Korea."
"Oh? I thought my comments would make me hated."
"Some will dislike you, but most won't be able to resist your charm!"