The Little Fruits had a large base, so there were quite a few studying or working in South Korea. While not many of them usually watched MBC's King of Masked Singers, in the past week, the speculation about the "Great Demon King's" identity had become hotter in the Korean internet than any idol group's comeback or scandal.
Hearing the voice, some thought, "Huh, sounds like an idol?" But watching the stage performance, they doubted it. The high notes in E7—even though the idol's opening humming in The Wind Blows the Wheat was breathtaking—still lacked the vocal allure of the wordless song. To put it bluntly, it wasn't that no one recognized it, but like "Sword Immortal" Lee Gon, they just couldn't be sure.
Of course, when the MBC King of Masked Singers finale aired, the highest engagement and feedback didn't come from Little Fruits or Chinese expats in Korea—it came from Koreans themselves. This episode had way too much to unpack.
Subtitles like:
[Engaged in a fierce debate with the senior's advice]
[Possesses a stubborn, rock-solid way of thinking]
[The song's lyrics require further scrutiny]
[An unprecedented, bizarre style of rap]
...and more were added in post-production.
MBC had some clever folks. The subtitles appeared neutral, even harmless, but upon closer inspection, they were loaded with implied criticism.
In Korean societal values, when a senior reprimands you—even if it's nonsense—you're supposed to listen quietly. "Fierce debate" implied disrespect, and "rock-solid way of thinking" wasn't praising his resolve—the emphasis was on stubborn as a rock.
The entire media narrative leaned toward condemning Chu Zhi's "unreasonable" behavior. For example, Oh My News, Korea's largest online newspaper platform (and one of the "Big Three" progressive media outlets, despite declining print subscriptions), wielded massive online influence with headlines like:
"Herbalist's Manual Insults Our Nation—Ban It!"
"Outrageous! The Entertainment Industry Weeps Because of [Chu Zhi]"
"Chu Zhi: I Don't Think I Did Anything Wrong"
"A Layman's Nonsense Erases a Century of Korean Medicine's Efforts"
...and so on. If you didn't know better, you'd think Chu Zhi had bombed the Blue House from the way they framed it.
Executives from major entertainment companies like JGY and SM also chimed in, mostly with "advice":
"Yoo Jin-ryong won the Baeksang Arts Award for Best Male Variety Performer. With decades of hosting experience, he's brought joy to countless families."
The CEO of S.M. Entertainment said in an interview: "Newcomers in the industry can't possibly grasp the wisdom of seniors who've worked in entertainment for over 20 years. Only by heeding their advice can they go far."
The online discourse echoed this sentiment—united in their outrage that a junior dared defy a senior. On top of that, Chu Zhi's blunt remarks about Korean medicine and Dongui Bogam shattered many fragile egos.
[Chinese idol Chu Zhi's disrespect toward senior artists shows a lack of self-restraint expected of a public figure. We urge the Korea Creative Content Agency to restrict his performances.
Korean medicine's unique Sasang constitutional theory—encompassing internal medicine, herbalism, diagnostics, prescriptions, forensic medicine, preventive care, and health regulations—is internationally recognized. It even pioneered neuropsychiatry, far surpassing modern Traditional Chinese Medicine.]
While China's Xinhua News reported major global events daily, anyone following Yonhap News would notice its bizarre obsession with entertainment gossip—creating a jarring disconnect.
Not all Koreans criticized Chu Zhi, of course—but don't get it twisted. Mainstream media offered no praise. Even Daily NK, Korea's most notorious tabloid (usually a government mouthpiece), shifted its aim toward MBC and the King of Masked Singers production team:
"Why wasn't Chu Zhi's character vetted before inviting such a disrespectful, immoral artist? The TV station's lax oversight and the producers' negligence are unacceptable."
A uniquely vicious angle.
Producer Myung Nam-sik monitored the news, satisfied with the uproar post-broadcast—until he saw Daily NK's take.
"Those Daily NK bastards should be exiled from the Korean Peninsula," he muttered.
"A Chinese idol trying to make it in Korea? We'll break your legs. What good are your singing skills then?"
Secretary Choi knocked and entered with documents, his suit impeccably pressed.
"Sir, the survey report you requested." He was cautious—but not too cautious.
The data, compiled by MBC's research team, listed over 50 print media outlets criticizing Chu Zhi from the 4:30 PM broadcast to the next morning.
"I'd like your opinion on something, Secretary Choi," Myung said, setting the file down.
"Against your foresight, my thoughts are trivial, but I'll try," Choi replied.
"Take Chu Zhi as an example. Why do Chinese idols struggle in Korea, while ours thrive in China?" Myung posed smugly.
"His arrogance? Lack of respect for seniors? Such inferior idols can't last," Choi answered, then added: "Just my humble view."
"That's surface-level."
Choi immediately adopted a deferential posture. "Please enlighten me."
"National power. Korea is a developed nation; China's still developing. The strong dictate to the weak—the weak have no voice." Myung declared. "China clings to its fabricated ancient culture, but global influence depends on the present. Who'd admire an idol from a weak country?"
"Don't you agree, Secretary Choi?"
"Every word deepens my understanding of geopolitics. An idol like Chu Zhi is unlikable—frankly, I find him repulsive," Choi piled on the flattery.
Pleased, Myung dismissed him.
Once outside, Choi's expression neutralized, his gaze pensive.
Repulsive?
Not really. He'd even joined the online pile-on at Oh My News, but privately? He didn't dislike Chu Zhi. In fact, he admired how Chu Zhi stood his ground against industry seniors. Why should juniors obey unconditionally?
As for the Dongui Bogam and Korean medicine controversy? Choi couldn't care less. "So what if a strong figure has strong opinions?"
"American troops stationed at Yongsan Garrison don't follow Korean laws—why isn't the media blasting them?"
Choi represented a silent faction. Korean culture emphasized extreme humility from juniors, so public comments rarely deviated from the media's narrative.
But privately? Many disagreed—some even rooted for Chu Zhi. The more Myung ranted, the more Choi wanted to defy him. Secretly, he created a burner account on Instagram to praise Chu Zhi's vocals.
"Thank God the internet's anonymous."
The irony? While mainstream media tore into Chu Zhi, DAUM (a major Korean web portal) sent Sunriver Entertainment a business proposal—inviting Chu Zhi to join their celebrity community, Cafe.
Because in DAUM's Star Club, Chu Zhi's fan community had skyrocketed to #1 in clicks and followers within 24 hours.