The stock price soared. What H Country lost was merely its national prestige, but for capitalists, what they lost was real money!
Which is more important? Can't you see the difference?
Earlier, the entrepreneurs who followed the trend and cursed the loudest—like the marketing director of Amorepacific Group, South Korea's top cosmetics company—openly criticized the CEO of DAUM, saying he was like a lapdog who only knew how to compromise with the market and was unworthy of being a Korean.
When DAUM's stock price rose by 3%, HERA, a subsidiary of Amorepacific Group, sent a collaboration proposal to Chu Zhi's management team at 700 million KRW per quarter.
Following Boss Niu's highest directive, Brother Fei accepted all offers. Both sides were willing—one to hit, the other to be hit—and the finalized contract was [760 million KRW for Chu Zhi to become HERA's Highlighter Ambassador (for July, August, and September, limited to South Korea).]
Amorepacific Group only wanted to capitalize on the artist's temporary popularity. In the eyes of their marketing department, Chu Zhi was, after all, not a local star—his fame could rise quickly but fade just as fast.
As for why Brother Fei insisted on adding 80 million KRW to the original 700 million? It wasn't because he lacked that amount. 760 million KRW was equivalent to 4 million RMB, which, extrapolated annually, would be 16 million RMB—slightly higher than the endorsement fees of other Korean stars.
For example, HERA's previous highlighter ambassador, Jung Min-an, the main dancer of boy group GZ, earned just over 6 million RMB for half a year.
When HERA's official website and Instagram announced the endorsement news, Amorepacific Group seemed eager to distance itself, issuing a statement:
"HERA is an independently operated brand under Amorepacific Group, with full decision-making power over its marketing and operations. Despite repeated objections and suggestions from headquarters, no changes were made.
Chinese celebrity Chu Zhi has excellent skin. Even during late-night recordings for 'King of Masked Singer,' his complexion remained flawless, aligning with HERA's research into skin-revitalizing technology that maximizes the skin's natural vitality. Chu Zhi embodies this ideal. However, we remain firmly opposed.
We firmly oppose Chu Zhi becoming HERA's Highlighter Ambassador. Headquarters further opposes HERA's decision to hire a subpar artist.
We hope the public will not associate the brand's individual actions with Amorepacific Group."
What kind of bullshit is this? Burning Korean won at a grave to fool ghosts?
South Korea's No. 1 cosmetics company, ranked among the top 20 globally, can't control its own subsidiary? What kind of Soviet joke is this?
And could they at least not write the announcement like an advertisement?
Just like DAUM, Amorepacific Group was scorned by the country's middle- and upper-class elites.
"Min-an, your HERA highlighter endorsement won't be renewed next term," the agency's team leader said.
In the backstage of a variety show recording, Jung Min-an was getting his makeup done. He showed no surprise at the news—even though GZ was extremely popular in Korea, there were still actors to consider. In H Country's entertainment hierarchy, movie stars sat at the top. Losing the endorsement wasn't unusual.
But the team leader's next words were anything but normal:
"Next term, HERA has chosen Chinese celebrity Chu Zhi as their highlighter ambassador."
"Huh?" Jung Min-an turned his head in shock. "What the hell?"
"Wasn't Chu Zhi criticized by The Dong-A Ilbo? How does he still get endorsements?" Jung Min-an couldn't understand.
The Dong-A Ilbo was one of South Korea's top newspapers, second only to The Chosun Ilbo, and a gathering place for opposition figures and intellectuals. Even local idols who got criticized by them would basically be finished, let alone a foreign star.
Last year, when JYP's higher-ups hosted a dinner for The Dong-A Ilbo's editor-in-chief, Jung Min-an and Jo Kwon had the honor of attending. They spent the entire meal in fear of offending the editor.
The team leader didn't know how to respond. Even in a country as surreal as H Country, Chu Zhi landing endorsements one after another was beyond comprehension.
"How much is the endorsement fee?" Jung Min-an suddenly asked, signaling the makeup artist to pause.
After a moment of hesitation, the team leader answered under Jung Min-an's intense gaze: "780 million per quarter."
"How the hell does a Chinese celebrity get 780 million per quarter?!" Jung Min-an demanded. Losing the endorsement was one thing, but the new guy getting paid more? Unacceptable.
"And that's not all. A reliable source told me Hyundai Motor Group's marketing department is also in talks with Chu Zhi," the team leader added.
Hearing this, Jung Min-an's anger cooled slightly. Currently, Hyundai's ambassador in Korea was Jo Kwon, the most popular member of their group. If even Jo Kwon was getting replaced, Jung Min-an suddenly felt a lot better.
"Should I—" Jung Min-an considered.
Still furious, he thought about how, during activities in China, ZG Group always snatched endorsements and gigs from Chinese celebrities. When had they ever suffered like this?
"I could post on Cafe and Instagram to boycott Chu Zhi," Jung Min-an planned to rally fans.
As harsh as it was, the team leader had to advise: "I wouldn't recommend it. That Chinese celebrity has more followers on Instagram and Cafe than any member of our group."
Jung Min-an: "..."
While ZG Boy Group was in Shanghai for schedules, Chu Zhi's team was also there. Southern Weekly had interviewed him the day before, and the cover story was set to run this Saturday. That afternoon, they sent a preview.
Headline: [Hua Liu Is the Best]
Subhead: [His Voice Was Kissed by an Angel, but Harmed by Humans]
Reporter Zhong Yu sent the finalized version. When Chu Zhi saw the subheadline, it was exactly as he'd predicted.
Perfect.
But the acting emperor pretended to reply modestly: "The layout is excellent, and Reporter Zhong's writing is superb. But it's not that serious..."
The ellipsis was key—implying unspoken words.
Zhong Yu, seeing Chu Zhi's reply, grew anxious.
A singer who had held over a dozen fan meetings two years ago now needed alcohol to calm his nerves before performing—and he called that "not serious"? Stage fright was a major issue!
She immediately responded:
[Ninth Master, I know you're strong-willed and don't want others to see your vulnerable side, but the situation really isn't good.]
Before the interview, she called him "Teacher Chu." Now, it was "Ninth Master"—clearly, Zhong Yu had become a fan.
Logically, as a top reporter for Southern Weekly, Zhong Yu had interviewed countless entrepreneurs and celebrities. She'd seen it all and never chased stars, knowing the fakeness and chaos of the entertainment industry. But yesterday's interview had truly won her over.
For three or four months, the Korean Wave had ravaged China's entertainment scene, with domestic stars retreating from variety shows and endorsements. Only Chu Zhi stood up.
One man, one microphone, one song—"Herbal Medicine—showed Korea what Hua Liu was all about.
[Ninth Master, please take care of yourself!]
After a moment's thought, Zhong Yu added another line.
She felt Chu Zhi hadn't changed at all since Against the Light. He still stubbornly shouldered burdens alone. Despite his stage fright, despite his fear of the spotlight after the blacklash, he still stepped forward—even if it meant hurting himself.
Zhong Yu wasn't a singer, but she knew this kind of drinking damaged vocal cords. As a reporter, she would make sure the whole country knew Chu Zhi's contributions.