Southern Weekly sent their star reporter, Zhong Yu—dubbed the "Southern Goddess"—for the interview. A graduate of Communication University of China's prestigious journalism program, she was known for her sharp interviewing skills and was often dispatched to profile high-profile entrepreneurs.
Accompanying her was veteran journalist Lao Yu. The interview was set in the studio's conference room—a modest 55-square-meter space with only an 1.8-meter-long table and a water dispenser.
The walls were plastered with Chu Zhi's posters, slightly askew, clearly the handiwork of Wang Yuan (his stylist).
"Sister Niu, are these questions acceptable?" Zhong Yu handed the interview outline to the lead agent for review. Everything was pre-approved—no surprise questions in this feature.
After skimming through, Niu Jiangxue nodded. "No issues. Brother Jiu has a few things to wrap up—please wait five more minutes."
"No problem." Zhong Yu and Lao Yu agreed.
Niu Niu (the assistant) brought in two cups of hot water before excusing herself.
Three minutes later, the man himself arrived.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, evidence of his prior busyness. Dressed in a simple dark short-sleeve and jeans, his striking looks still shone through the casual attire.
"Apologies for the wait, Reporter Zhong, Reporter Yu." Chu Zhi greeted them warmly.
After exchanging pleasantries, the interview began.
[Q1: Vocal Prowess]
Zhong Yu: "Teacher Chu, you were the advocate for the Harbin Summer Music Festival, and after hearing your performance of Оперная, it seems your bel canto technique is exceptional."
Chu Zhi: "Just self-taught a little."
Zhong Yu (smiling): "Not just 'a little.' From the clips I've seen online, your skills are professional-grade."
[Q2: The Drinking Ritual]
Zhong Yu: "Before both performances on MBC, you drank alcohol—quite a lot, in fact. Many netizens speculate it was either 'liquid courage' or you were holding back. How do you respond?"
Chu Zhi (grinning): "It was Luzhou Laojiao—and no, that's not an ad." His expression then turned serious. "I promised my Little Fruits I'd quit smoking and drinking. I wouldn't break that without good reason."
Zhong Yu (probing): "Then why drink?"
Chu Zhi: "There's a saying: 'Liquor emboldens the timid.' Ever considered that might be it?"
Zhong Yu (startled): She'd been about to laugh it off, but his unwavering gaze gave her pause. "Were you... nervous performing abroad? But your stage presence was flawless—Korean audiences were stunned."
Chu Zhi: "Not about the location. Sometimes, you just need a little courage before stepping onstage."
Zhong Yu (connecting the dots): "Was it because of the 'Black Tide' incident on I Am a Singer?"
Chu Zhi (quietly): "It had some impact."
The pieces fell into place. Since I Am a Singer, Chu Zhi had only performed once—at an EDM festival, where he'd visibly struggled. Stage fright.
For a regular artist, the Black Tide (mass online hate) would've been crushing. For someone already battling mental health issues? It was a miracle he'd returned to the stage at all.
Looking at Chu Zhi's forced smile, even the seasoned reporter felt a pang of sympathy. The drinking wasn't for show—it was his lifeline.
[Q3: Why King of Masked Singers?]
Zhong Yu: "Why compete on MBC's show?"
Chu Zhi (firmly): "To prove Huáliú (Chinese wave) is the best."
Meanwhile, negotiations between DAUM and Chu Zhi's team wrapped up swiftly:
—2.2 billion KRW (≈11M RMB) signing fee.
—70-30 split on membership fees (Chu Zhi took the lion's share).
For context, top Korean stars like Jo Kwon and Choi Young-sik only got 50-50 splits. Lesser idols? 30-70—with the platform taking 70%. (Exploiting celebrities? Korea had a PhD in it.)
DAUM also secured Chu Zhi's Korean image rights for promotions. The deal was inked by noon, and by 1 PM, the platform blasted a full-site announcement:
[BREAKING: Chinese megastar Chu Zhi joins Café—FIRST artist with 10M+ followers!]
Chu Zhi had hoped for 100,000 paid members—pocket money. DAUM, more ambitious, aimed to match Jo Kwon's 210,000.
Reality?
6 hours post-launch: 250,000 paid users. (DAUM execs nearly fell out of their chairs.)
9 PM: 300,000+ paid members—a first in DAUM history.
At 10,000 KRW/month per user, Chu Zhi's 70% cut netted him ~1M RMB monthly—for doing nothing.
Even Niu Jiangxue's team was stunned. "Since when was Korean money this easy?"
Not content with merely printing cash, DAUM dropped two data bombs:
<0.7% of paid accounts were Chinese. (Phone numbers =实名认证 (real-name verification). No "Chinese fans propping up numbers" narrative.
20% of new paid users were first-time DAUM registrations.
Why release this? To scream at investors: "LOOK! WE FOUND A GROWTH ENGINE! THROW MONEY AT US!"
The Korean establishment lost its collective mind.
"Kyunghyang Shinmun"Columnist:
"That Chu Zhi—disrespecting our history, medicine, and etiquette—still finds an audience? This is the failure of the Korean people, the beginning of our cultural decay! DAUM is a parasite, profiting off this劣质偶像 (low-quality idol). We demand the Blue House arrest its executives!"
(Koreans' favorite pastime: petitioning the Blue House for everything.)
More pundits piled on. Normally above "entertainment gossip," they now framed this as a "national crisis."
Even business elites chimed in, lecturing about "corporate social responsibility" and how DAUM had "betrayed Korea."
But the harder they fought, the faster Chu Zhi's numbers soared.
Fan Comments:
"Why the fear of a foreign idol? What are they hiding?"
"Old men just hate seeing youth rebel. I don't even like Chu Zhi, but if they hate him, I'll support him."
"What did he even do wrong? Maybe his 'crime' is being too good—or telling the truth."
Stats (24 Hours Later):
Followers: 5,684,991
Paid Members: 357,536
Like a runaway train, Chu Zhi's community topped both charts. The backlash only fueled more sign-ups, even driving DAUM app downloads (previously niche for K-pop stans).
And then—the stock price rose.
Korean capitalists, sensing profit, felt their DNA stir.