On Bilibili, Chu Zhi's username was "I'm Not That Cat Jerk." He had already uploaded over thirty videos.
Whenever he had a drink, his hands would itch for an instrument. So far, he had shared videos of himself playing the guzheng, marimba, pipa, trumpet, hulusi, violin, and cello.
Noticed something? These were the instruments used in the songs he had drawn for arrangement. When Chu Zhi gained the memory of an arrangement, he would naturally pick up the instrument and play.
With the help of "The Drunken Immortal" system, his playing might not be competition-level, but it was always convincing.
Before transmigrating, Chu Zhi had seen videos of a Chinese musician named Fang Jinlong, a grandmaster of traditional instruments. He could play the xiao, pipa, dizi, erhu, suona, and even foreign instruments with ease. People called him the "Master of Weapons" and "Instrument Spirit Incarnate."
Whether you call Fang a master or an internet celebrity, knowing that many instruments is undeniably cool. Chu Zhi made those recordings as a step toward realizing his dream—becoming a master of instruments himself.
"Wait, people actually left comments?" Chu Zhi blinked in surprise. His videos never showed his face, weren't edited, and had no narration. Just pure footage of him playing.
User 'AbaStar': [UP master, are you serious? Over thirty different instruments? Are you a professor at the Central Conservatory of Music? Your piano technique is on par with my teacher's, and the violin skills are impressive too. If you just added some light editing and voiceovers, you'd go viral for sure!]
Aside from rock, nearly every song arrangement involved piano. The layered arrangements built up gradually, and that was how Chu Zhi had honed his technique—through repetition and necessity.
He glanced at the view count. Only a dozen clicks. He wasn't bothered.
Once he pulled a few more foreign songs, he'd be covering nearly all common global instruments. That was not an unreasonable goal, was it? The thought made him a little excited.
The next morning, streaks of orange sunlight broke through the clouds. It was going to be a scorching day.
Chu Zhi and his team had arrived in the capital. With a thousand live audience members expected for the finals, it was clear that the show wouldn't be filmed in iQIYI's usual building.
The new venue was the Red Pavilion in Sanlitun North District. A proper place, considering past events like Louis Vuitton's summer showcase, the Crowned Dreams Jewelry Exhibition, and the Huaxia International Music Festival had all been held there.
Outside, a thousand spectators queued up with their tickets. Most were women, though quite a few had dragged their boyfriends along.
"I'm so hyped for the finals. I think the winner's going to be either Chu Zhi or Jo Kwon."
"Jo Kwon? He got stomped both times. The title is obviously going to Jiu-ge today."
"Don't speak too soon. I heard the full GZ boy group is performing together for the first time in Huaxia."
"Seriously? They got that many guests on stage?"
"Not exactly. Only one of them is officially a featured performer. The other three are just joining as backup dancers."
"That's allowed? Shameless foreigners."
GZ was at the forefront of the Korean Wave. Even though Chu Zhi had siphoned off some of their fanbase, with the entire group on stage, their popularity was still formidable. Out of the thousand attendees, at least two hundred were Korean pop fans.
Tensions flared instantly.
"What do you mean, 'foreigners'? South Korea is a sovereign nation. Show some respect. And if you think it's unfair, go ahead and invite backup dancers yourself."
"Hey, don't get cocky. Losing a solo battle and then bringing the whole group to even the odds—is that supposed to be honorable?"
Before the show even started, Korean fans who called themselves "nobility" were already clashing with Chu Zhi's fans, the "Little Fruits."
Security staff barely kept things under control. Without them, fists might have flown.
Why had Chu Zhi gone to Korea to compete on Masked Singer in the first place? Simple. Domestically, even if he won the rankings, the money would still go into Korean stars' pockets. There was no value in foreign exchange.
By taking the battle to their turf, no matter how fierce the clashes, the financial and reputational blows would land overseas. For Chu Zhi, it was a win-win situation.
At the gate, each ticketed guest received a wristband. Inside, the organizers had set up a few stalls. Everyone could redeem a free glowstick with their wristband. But if you wanted atmosphere signs like "Go Chu Zhi," "Jiu-ge is the best," or "GZ is number one," you had to pay—and it wasn't cheap.
Chu Zhi sat in his private dressing room. Because his styling for tonight was special, he had brought in Huang Mi, the designer he worked with on the "Like Smoke" MV.
For context, Huang Mi and his team had won the Hong Kong Film Awards for Best Costume Design twice. In the industry, he was a legend.
Huang Mi had just flown in from Jiuzhaigou that morning. If anyone else had invited him, he wouldn't have come. His schedule was packed.
But Chu Zhi was a friend. And friends helped each other out.
Huang still remembered a time when he had posted on his Moments about having laryngitis, struggling to speak. He got plenty of well wishes—but only Chu Zhi had called him via video chat that night.
Huang Mi didn't even like video calls. Two grown men, it always felt awkward. But Chu Zhi's concern had been sincere.
Feelings are mutual. With someone who genuinely cared, Huang had no problem leaving his work in Jiuzhaigou for a couple of days.
"It's not possible, not with what you're asking," Huang said after hearing Chu Zhi's vision for tonight's look.
"Not even you, Brother Huang?" Chu Zhi was a complete novice when it came to makeup. He often went barefaced. If the lighting was too harsh, he'd just ask his makeup artist to dab on some foundation.
"Not possible," Huang repeated, then added, "But I do have a workaround. It might be just enough to get the effect you want."
"Let's hear it," Chu Zhi's eyes lit up.
Meanwhile, in another dressing room, tension was boiling over.
"Yah! I told you to squat, didn't I? Why did you get up?" Jo Kwon snapped at the youngest member, Lee Soo-hyun.
"My legs went numb, Kwon-hyung. I was just—" Lee's voice faded until the rest was inaudible.
"He needs to be able to move properly. If his limbs go numb, it'll mess up the routine," said team leader Lee Jun-seok.
"You heard him. Jun-seok-hyung says get up," Jo Kwon sneered at Soo-hyun.
Among the group, Jo Kwon was the most famous vocalist, and Jung Min-an the top dancer. But Lee Jun-seok, as the eldest, still commanded their respect.
Soo-hyun stood up quickly and quietly. He wasn't the only one left standing. Jang Tae-hwan also stood, not because of age, but because his popularity had dipped to the bottom of the group.
"We've practiced the choreography plenty of times. If there are any rough spots, speak now," Jo Kwon said coldly.
"We've got the full group here. What's there to worry about? One Chinese singer? Are you scared after losing twice?" said Jung Min-an.
Jo Kwon shot up from his chair, making it screech against the floor.
"You think you'd win?" he spat.
"Of course I would. Has GZ ever lost since debut? Some Chinese star is nothing. You're the one who broke our undefeated streak," Jung said sharply.
One mountain cannot hold two tigers. With two popular alphas in one group, friction was inevitable.
Jo Kwon clenched his fists, ready to throw hands, but something held him back. He relaxed, straightened his chair, and gave a cold smile.
"Would you dare say that in front of the Korean media?"