From Tail to Kingmaker

A loud voice doesn't always win the argument, but a flood of online supporters? That can sway public opinion fast. Most casual onlookers won't dig too deep. But when enough professionals step up in support, even the average listener starts to take "Three Old, Three New" seriously.

By rough count, over fifty people from the industry voiced support for Chu Zhi the day the episode aired—musicians, producers, lyricists, composers, the whole spectrum.

Seven or eight of them were called in by Hou Yubin. Old-school heavyweights, some with only a few hundred thousand followers, but all with serious clout. Vice-chairs of the Musician's Association.

Hou Yubin worried that "the tallest tree catches the wind," so he gathered his old friends to form a united front, making his stance clear.

What he didn't expect was how well-connected Chu Zhi already was. Even artists who rarely post online broke their silence. Like Gu Peng, the laid-back folk singer, who hadn't updated Weibo since last year's tour promo.

No joke, Chu Zhi's social game could make him president of the entertainment industry's networking club.

"Useless Musician" Li Menglong, who produced "Lone Brave," had only met Chu Zhi once. Why did he come out swinging? Because when Chu Zhi heard Li's wife and daughter were huge fans, and that his wife had bought over thirty pairs of sunglasses in support, he sent over a signed pair a few days after the recording.

That's what it means to be thoughtful. Just a passing mention, and Chu Zhi remembered it.

Then there was Li Fei, one of the industry's Big Six. His own agency had been quietly paying for smear campaigns against Chu Zhi. But even he stood up in support. Because as he put it, if a guy this sincere believes in you, you protect him.

Niu Jiangxue was all set to unleash a full-scale PR offensive with Fei-ge at the helm—but she didn't even have to lift a finger. The negative press got drowned out instantly.

Chu Zhi already had tens of millions of Weibo followers. Excluding bots and alt accounts, he was basically at the ceiling. So watching the number tick up didn't mean much anymore.

What did matter was this: in just 24 hours, his exclusive fan app "Orange Home" gained over 100,000 new users. That influx came directly from "Chrysanthemum Terrace," which basically converted half the ancient-style music fandom into his own.

Compared to other music genres, gufeng might seem niche. But it intersects with many subcultures: roleplay, voice acting, hanfu, even the Old Tomb school of wuxia fans. Economists call this a Gen Z hobby cluster. They don't usually chase idols, but now they're becoming fans.

Why did K-pop hit like a storm? Because it pulled in tons of students who'd never chased stars before.

Chu Zhi's "New China Style" and the Three Old, Three New formula tapped directly into this audience. The size of this conversion group alone put him on another level compared to Shen Yun, Su Yiwu, Wu Tang, and even Li Fei.

Gen Z refers to those born between 1995 and 2009. They might not all be mature yet, but compared to the older generation of westernized intellectuals, they're far more into traditional Chinese culture.

The sudden fan surge was so massive that Wei Tongzi's semi-official fan group couldn't keep up. Thankfully, the "mom fans" stepped in. Users like "Jiuyesui," "Little Lemon Peng," "Wing of the Wind 350," "Blue of the Clouds," and "Yuhang Tianxia" were all top-level execs in real life. With their help, the community stayed organized and orderly.

Check out the two top-rated answers on Zhihu under the question "What do you think of 'Chrysanthemum Terrace' and the Three Old, Three New concept?"

Red Date's Mom:"Whether or not the 'New China Style' is just hype, the fact is Chu Zhi is seriously studying music and Chinese history. That alone sets him apart from the average pop idol by miles."

No Time Limit: "I judge by results. Attitude is invisible, but Chu Zhi gave us 'Chrysanthemum Terrace.' That alone puts him ahead of his peers by a long shot. Not just among singers his age—no one in the previous gen is doing this either. Plus his album '25,117 Possibilities' was great. Maybe not legendary, but it could very well be Album of the Year for 2020. If he keeps this up, Chu Zhi might actually become the next pop king."

Pop king. That's high praise. Since the turn of the millennium, neither Earth nor this parallel world has produced a new king-level singer. Well, Earth still has Jay Chou—the last king of the 21st century.

Why? Because entertainment options exploded, and 3G and 4G made everything move faster. With streaming, short videos, mobile games, web novels—people just don't have the time or attention span to crown anyone "king" anymore. Plus, music quality steadily declined in the fast-consumption era.

Now, the pressure shifted to the other members of the so-called "Big Six," especially Wu Tang—supposedly the "Wu" of "Wu Head, Chu Tail, Yi Xing Yun Fei." If Chu Zhi's the tail, then Wu Tang's the head? He really okay with that?

Inside FrogFrog Entertainment, the former top artist from Dahua Entertainment, Li Xingwei, had already jumped ship.

"Look, it's thanks to me Chu Zhi even made it big," he told his new manager Xiao Ye. "Back on 'I Really Am a Singer,' I could've challenged him. Dahua told me to. But I picked Lin Xia instead. That gave him a free pass."

Li wasn't the only one who left Dahua after April when contracts ended. A lot of artists were tired of the company giving prime resources to Korean stars.

To be fair, the CEO of Dahua wasn't stupid. Most of those events were joint efforts with K-pop groups. Dahua didn't put in that much themselves.

Let's be real: if the K-pop wave hadn't hit, shows like "I'm a Singer-Songwriter" wouldn't have gone to Dahua in the first place. The showrunners' top choice was always Chu Zhi. Su Yiwu was second.

But people don't think rationally. Without the Korean stars, they assume all the spotlight would be theirs. At least, Li Xingwei did.

Originally, the Korean idols could've helped promote their labelmates, maybe set a good example. But people like Zhao Quan? Eyes on top of their heads. They mocked even Li Xingwei. Don't even talk about anyone else.

Help company juniors? As if. Zhao Quan and crew never saw Dahua as their real agency. They were JYP's artists.

"You've got a hero's heart, Li-ge," said Xiao Ye.

Li Xingwei chuckled. "It's just that great minds think alike."

At this point, he wasn't even trying to compete with Chu Zhi. If even GZ's top idol Zhao Quan got crushed, what was the point?

In fact, the stronger Chu Zhi got, the better for him. Sure, "Wu Head, Chu Tail, Yi Xing Yun Fei" would always invite comparisons—but hey, at least he'd be part of the conversation.

Each title defines an era. Li Xingwei understood that better than Lin Xia ever did. Even if he was past his prime, it didn't matter.

When people talk about the Big Six, there will always be six names. Just like the Four Heavenly Kings were always four. That's the power of a title.

He used to feel awkward being listed alongside Chu Zhi. Now? He felt lucky.