The MBC building was shaped like a "冂," and Chu Zhi's first impression was that it was rather ugly.
Visitors could easily enter the MBC headquarters, as the lobby design resembled a cinema back in China. A row of sofas for resting was placed near the entrance, and further to the left was a long corridor—a popular spot for social media check-ins, often seen on Xiaohongshu. The media wall was covered in celebrity posters and LED screens playing previews of MBC's variety shows.
Further inside was the TV station's store, which usually sold merchandise at relatively cheap prices compared to typical artist merch—a mouse pad, for example, cost just over twenty yuan. Perhaps this was because TV station merchandise simply couldn't command high prices. When Chu Zhi arrived at midnight, the place was nearly empty, and many of the lights were already turned off.
Kim Jae-hee, the staff member receiving him, noticed Chu Zhi glancing at the darkened lights and quickly explained, "This was the duty staff's oversight. Normally, if there's a recording, the lights wouldn't be turned off so early."
"It's already late. Turning off the lights is good—saves electricity," Chu Zhi replied.
Huh? Kim Jae-hee found this top Chinese star a little strange—in a good way. His words were oddly pleasant.
Since it was so late, Chu Zhi didn't bring Sister Niu or Wang Yuan with him. Having his executive manager, Lao Qian, was more than enough.
Only one elevator was still operating, taking them up to the seventh floor. Led by Kim Jae-hee, Chu Zhi first greeted the show's production team. Knocking on the half-open office door, they entered.
The PD of King of Masked Singers was Myeong Nam-jik, a man in his fifties who looked like a potato—his head especially so.
Calling him "Potato Myeong" would've been fitting.
"Teacher Chu, welcome to Seoul!" Myeong Nam-jik greeted warmly, his already narrow eyes nearly disappearing when he smiled.
The PD didn't speak Chinese, so Kim Jae-hee acted as a temporary translator. After exchanging a few polite but meaningless words, Myeong Nam-jik said, "Teacher Chu's dressing room is in Section A. Please keep your mask on during rehearsals as well."
"Regarding the song I'll be performing, I'd like to discuss it with the music director," Chu Zhi said.
"Director Cheon is at the stage. You can head straight there," Myeong Nam-jik replied.
Still led by Kim Jae-hee, Chu Zhi left the office. Only after he was gone did Myeong Nam-jik's expression shift dramatically—his face changing at an impressive speed.
"This is King of Masked Singers. The whole point is to hide one's appearance behind a mask. If we let those beast-like people vote freely, his chances of winning would be too high."
The "beast-like people" Myeong Nam-jik referred to weren't a compliment—the direct translation would be a curse word in Chinese. He was talking about the 88-member audience jury. Ever since King of Masked Singers became a long-running hit for MBC, the station had been under the supervision of the Korean Culture and Arts Council, limiting his control to only the 11-member celebrity judging panel.
They had spent nearly 10 billion KRW to invite Chu Zhi—not to let him win, but to show Asia that Chinese stars were inferior to Korean stars, that Chinese people were inferior to Koreans.
The Dragon Boat Festival, calligraphy, taiji, rock music, even New York—they were all Korean.
"Brainless country bumpkins."
Myeong Nam-jik had been worried at first, but now he was relieved. The audience jury consisted of 88 people aged 19 to 31—a demographic with little national pride.
Having climbed his way up in the TV industry, Myeong Nam-jik knew the public all too well. If Chu Zhi appeared on stage with that face, he'd win by default. Those bumpkins would give him 70% of the votes just for his looks. That was why Myeong Nam-jik was now feeling fortunate.
"Are you sure you want to use this song for the first round's 'Loser's Challenge'?"
"With my decade of experience, I can say this song is competitive, but its live performance difficulty is extremely high."
"Great Demon King, please reconsider."
The music director of King of Masked Singers was a strong-willed woman in her thirties. She gave this reminder out of courtesy since he was a foreign guest. If it had been a young Korean singer, she would've already cursed them out.
This sounded familiar to Chu Zhi—the last person who had said something similar to him was probably Music Director Liang Pingbo.
"Director Cheon, I believe this is my best choice," Chu Zhi said.
Kim Jae-hee felt Chu Zhi's response was a bit disrespectful to a senior, so he softened the translation: "Director Cheon, please allow me to try."
"If you insist on trying, then be prepared to fail," Director Cheon said. From his voice, she could tell the person behind the mask was under thirty.
A singer under thirty attempting a song of this difficulty? She thought he was daydreaming.
Director Cheon's words were sharp—whereas Liang Pingbo would've just said, "If you insist."
The rehearsal took place in Studio 4. MBC had five studios in total, and Studio 4 was one of the larger ones. Yet Chu Zhi still found it underwhelming.
The circular stage could fit about a dozen people, with a hundred audience seats arranged around it. Even when full, it felt like a small fan-meet venue—hard to believe it was the recording site of a hit variety show.
Both the challengers and the contestants rehearsed at their scheduled times, all wearing masks, none knowing who the others were.
Chu Zhi's opponent went by the stage name "The Gangnam Prince of Towel Hot Springs." (Note: "Gangnam" here refers to Seoul's Gangnam District, as in PSY's Gangnam Style.)
In his previous two rounds, the Gangnam Prince had defeated his opponents by large margins (69-30 and 62-37). He specialized in emotional ballads with a rich, magnetic voice, likely in his thirties.
At 2 AM, the 88 audience members and 11 celebrity judges filed in, turning the quiet Studio 4 into a noisy hub.
"I'm so excited for the Gangnam Prince's performance today!"
"Is the Gangnam Prince Taewon oppa? Their voices are both so deep."
"I don't think so. Taewon isn't this good at singing."
As they quickly took their seats, the stage lights and special effects flickered to life. The LED screen behind the stage added a touch of grandeur to the otherwise plain studio.
Backstage, the four contestants exchanged stage names but didn't converse further. First, they had to protect their identities behind the masks. Second, without a host to facilitate interaction, it was hard to break the ice unless someone had extreme social confidence.
King of Masked Singers didn't provide assistants, so only Chu Zhi had Kim Jae-hee by his side to translate.
The Gangnam Prince of Towel Hot Springs: A Chinese singer? His voice sounds young. If he's a young singer, I'm confident.
The Spinning Lady: Foreign singers invited by the production team are usually strong.
The other challenger, "The Singing Lantern," was well-versed in Chinese entertainment and often traveled to China. He was mentally comparing Chu Zhi's voice to Chinese celebrities, trying to guess his identity.
The three had different thoughts.
On stage, the recording officially began as the host stepped forward.
Host Kim Joo-sung introduced himself as usual, dressed in a suit so flashy it looked like a magician's outfit.
"Today is May 12, 2020—the day our brave challengers step onto the stage. I hope they succeed in their challenge!"
In reality, it was only May 7th. The show was pre-recorded, set to air on the 12th.
"Oh, Joo-sung, every time you say 'I hope they succeed,' none of them do. Could it be that you secretly hate the challengers and are cursing them?"
"Hyung, I agree with that theory."
The 11 celebrity judges—men and women, young and old—shared the same role: to spice up the show and stretch the runtime. A 100-minute episode only featured four songs.
"You're hurting my feelings," Kim Joo-sung clutched his chest in exaggerated sorrow.
The 88 audience members laughed obligingly. Japanese and Korean variety shows were like this—hosts and guests alike exaggerated their expressions to the extreme.
"First, let's welcome a contestant who resembles an ink wash painting—a painting of a tiger, both beautiful and fierce—the Gangnam Prince of Towel Hot Springs!"
After several minutes of rambling, the host finally got to the point.