The Broadcast, A Major Shift!

Zhang Mingyi was a familiar face in singing competitions, with an impressive-looking resume: guest judge on Youth Singing Festival, panelist for the 34th Central Music Competition, final-round judge for Super Boy, and mentor for Super Girl Rookies.

On paper, he seemed prestigious. Yet as a music producer and singer himself, he had no notable works to his name. What made Zhang Mingyi a sought-after figure in music shows was his self-published "Mingyi Ranking"—a subjective tier list evaluating vocal skills.

A graduate of the Composition Department at the Central Conservatory of Music, his technical critiques were at least semi-professional. But when Zhang placed Wu Tang—the current top-tier idol representing the Wu-Chu rivalry—in the S-tier, it sparked widespread ridicule.

He even coined bizarre terms like "natural voice cracks," "pitch-shifting for effect," and "compensatory breath control," earning him the nickname "Wu's Lapdog"—a shameless sycophant of Wu Tang.

Naturally, he was invited as a judge this time.

Was Zhang Mingyi an idiot? Of course not. Was he Wu Tang's die-hard fan? Not really.

So why the outrageous takes? Clout. Just look at how many of Wu Tang's fans now supported him by association, how many shows invited him for controversy.

"I made the right call," Zhang Mingyi congratulated himself. "Thank god I backed Wu Tang instead of Chu Zhi."

"Whether he's washed up or not, the real issue is that I physically couldn't praise Chu Zhi's singing. It's so bad."

"That clip of him singing had me wheezing. A random person with training couldn't sound that terrible."

He tuned in on time for the new episode. Mango TV's ads were endless. The performance order was: Koguchi Yoshihiro, Zheng Yingying, Gu Nanxi, Lin Xia, Chu Zhi, Hou Yubin, Yang Guiyun.

"The only ones worth waiting for are Old Hou and Yang Guiyun, but they're last. Ugh." Zhang sighed, convinced his taste surpassed the plebeian audience. He prided himself on appreciating niche acts like Soul.

"Old Yang's soul music is the most authentic. Deer on the Highway is a god-tier album. Too bad no one listens to it."

Once the show started, Zhang's running commentary didn't stop:

"Japan's first R&B wave hit in the late '80s, while their rock scene emerged alongside the West's. Koguchi Yoshihiro's looks are too bland—he failed at both rock and R&B, and he's not a songwriter either. No wonder his career flopped. At least he later found his gimmick: that 'decadent vibrato,' mixing bombast and melancholy. Mt. Everest is Liquid is textbook Koguchi—safe, no surprises."

"Zheng Yingying? Her voice is so affected. Too much idol-group cutesiness. How is she not eliminated yet? What are the judges smoking?"

Not a single performance satisfied him—especially Lin Xia's, which ranked second in audience votes but was "worthless" in Zhang's eyes.

"This remix is a trainwreck. They butchered a classic, stuck between Western and Chinese styles, then suddenly screeched like a stepped-on dog. That random high note scared the hell out of me."

His mood could be summed up by an old cartoon title: "No Brains and All Anger." The "no brains" referred to his confusion—how could such a "dogshit, forced high-note mess" score so high?

Then came Li Xingwei's challenge. Right as the show got interesting—ads.

"Motherf—" In Zhang's view, both top idols were mediocre singers. Now he had to endure commercials too?

Five ad-filled minutes later, Li Xingwei's song wrapped. Zhang begrudgingly admitted it was "the least trash of the trash"—slightly better than Lin Xia's.

"I should've waited for the app upload. No fast-forwarding is torture."

He braced himself for the "ear cancer" to come—Chu Zhi's performance. Once it was over, he'd need "a pair of ears that had never heard it."

Then Chu Zhi took the stage.

The singing began.

Technically, it was bad. But the moment Chu Zhi opened his mouth, Zhang Mingyi didn't hear a story—he heard an accident. A love catastrophe.

If live audiences received 100% of the despair in Chu Zhi's voice, TV viewers got 90%. But the trade-off was worth it. The edited footage focused relentlessly on Chu Zhi's expressions, capturing his devastation in brutal close-ups.

Beautifully tragic.

A dual sensory assault—visual and auditory.

Art conveys emotion. Take Edvard Munch's The Dead Mother: the mother's corpse is a gray, ghostly outline, while the child at the center covers his ears, unable to bear her death throes. Even without context, the painting radiates anguish.

Chu Zhi's voice was that painting. The same despair, the same helplessness—emotion so thick it transformed mildly sad lyrics into soul-crushing dirges.

"???"

When Zhang's brain filled with question marks, it wasn't him at fault—it was the world defying logic. By the song's end, Zhang was silent, mentally rebooting. Only when Hou Yubin muttered "Nothing but raw emotion" did his systems come back online.

"Okay, yes—off-key, voice cracks, zero technique. But the feeling is overwhelming. That level of despair? Even 'Love Song Kings' couldn't fake it."

A realization struck: "Maybe I should switch targets. Or add a second one."

After all, simping for one person makes you a dog. Simping for two? A warrior.

No hesitation—he rushed to Weibo to draft a glowing review. If even a harsh critic like Zhang was conquered, regular viewers stood no chance. Paired with the earlier leaked rehearsal clip, the contrast was—

Imagine detonating 404 torpedoes in a septic tank.

Earth-shattering.

The screams (online and off) were deafening.

By 9:20 PM, as Chu's performance ended on TV, social media was already imploding. By 9:30, Weibo and Moments were flooded:

Moments:

["I'm guilty—I actually felt bad for scumbag Chu. What kind of heartbreak did he go through? I've been dumped by the same girl seven times, and I broke down halfway through."] —Chongqing · Noble Spa (3 mins ago)

["Before the show: 😏. After: 😱. Legit remembered waiting in the rain for my first love. Ugly crying now."] (5 mins ago)

["Zero skill, all heart. But heart is what kills you. I can't even hate on Chu Zhi anymore. Never thought I'd cry to his song—actual fking miracle."] —Sichuan Fine Arts (2 mins ago)

It became a trauma-dumping fest. The tears fell into categories: "hopeless failures," "lost loves," and "personal regrets."

Then there were the outliers:

["Cried listening to this… but I've never even dated anyone ??"] (1 min ago)

Reply: "Isn't that why you're crying…?"

Dominating circle of friends was one thing. But Weibo?

Two hours after the streaming release, the tsunami hit its peak.

Chu Zhi was gaining fans.