Huang Youru's looks might only rank as above average among female celebrities, but in the hosting world, she was undeniably top-tier. At thirty-one, a graduate of Peking University's School of Journalism and Communication, she had casually participated in CCTV's Challenge the Host during her senior year—only to accidentally win the championship. Had she stayed on that path, she would have undoubtedly become one of CCTV's Spring Festival Gala hosts.
But at twenty-seven, just as her career at CCTV was taking off, Huang Youru left for Mango TV. In addition to hosting Little Mango Tea Party Invitation, she was the core host of Please Take My Fridge Season 5, Heart Signal Season 2, Let's Debut!, and other programs.
Unlike his previous visits to the building, where no one had greeted him, this time Huang Youru and the show's production team—about seven or eight people—were waiting for him in the lobby.
"Teacher Chu, how are you feeling? I sneaked a peek at yesterday's I Am a Singer recording, and I was really worried," Huang Youru said. Her voice wasn't conventionally pleasant—it was a bit husky—but her clear, measured speech gave it a unique charm.
"My condition has stabilized," Chu Zhi replied with a smile.
"That's good to hear. Teacher Chu, your skin is seriously enviable. I stayed up late last night, and now I've got a breakout," Huang Youru said, effortlessly steering the conversation. She had a knack for making small talk feel natural.
"Avoiding sunlight helps…" Chu Zhi suddenly asked, "By the way, who's the show's sponsor again?"
Huang Youru answered, "It's Want Want's new soft candy—Want Want Stuffed Soft Candy."
"Eat Want Want Stuffed Soft Candy, and your skin will be amazing," Chu Zhi quipped.
Hahaha! Huang Youru didn't cover her mouth demurely or laugh like a tomboy—her laughter was bright and unrestrained.
"Tongtong called me for over half an hour yesterday, telling me Teacher Chu is a very, very, very good person. Honest truth—she said 'very' three times. She asked me to take care of you, and I can see now that Teacher Chu really is easy to talk to," she said.
"Tongtong is a great host—very professional," Chu Zhi said, surprised that Wei Tongzi had gone out of her way for him.
Huang Youru grinned. "Tongtong would be over the moon if she heard that."
As they chatted, the group headed to the studio. The contract had been signed the day before during Chu Zhi's meeting with Deputy Director Wang. Now, they needed to discuss the general direction of the interview.
Sure, people claimed talk shows were "unscripted," but while there might not be a literal script, the broad strokes were always pre-approved.
Chu Zhi opened his briefcase and pulled out a file and a USB drive. He knew the drill—anything broadcast had to be vetted in advance. No one wanted to be responsible if, say, politically sensitive material slipped through.
While reviewing the materials, he headed to the makeup room. The makeup artist, Tony, couldn't help but comment as he worked, "With a face like yours, you don't even need foundation or concealer. No breakouts, no scars—nothing."
Backstage, Huang Youru and the crew pored over the documents—evidence proving Chu Zhi's innocence. His flight records, stamped and verified by the airlines, were particularly damning to the rumors.
In today's world, even celebrities couldn't easily fly under someone else's ID. Every piece of evidence was traceable.
"Wait, so the scandals about Chu Zhi were all fake?" a staff member blurted out, stunned.
Huang Youru scrutinized the materials. Earlier, her warmth toward Chu Zhi had been purely professional courtesy. Privately, she'd been wary—after all, a face that handsome was practically a red flag.
"If he was really framed, why didn't he explain sooner?" she wondered.
After about forty minutes of prep, filming began at exactly 10:00 AM.
Once, tea parties had been about snacks and casual chatter. Now, they were more like corporate meetings where you listened to the boss lecture. Little Mango Tea Party Invitation was produced by Huang Youru herself, so while the studio was much smaller than I Am a Singer's—seating only 120—the decor was entirely to her taste.
Two display cabinets flanked the stage: one held rows of books, the other an array of Barbie dolls—Barbie, Ken, Midge, Skipper, and even the rare Miko.
The center stage was designed like a study, but with an exhibition-like flair. It seemed every celebrity had their quirks—Huang Youru was a hardcore Barbie collector, while Gu Nanxi was a devoted follower of rheology.
(Rheology, founded by Heraklion, unified gases, liquids, and solids under a single mathematical model. The idea that everything was liquid—cats, Mount Everest—sounded absurd, but the school had rigorous scientific backing. Gu Nanxi's dance track Mount Everest Is Liquid, one of the rare songs she wrote herself, was a testament to her fascination.)
"Tea parties are for lighthearted, untold stories," Huang Youru began, fanning herself rhythmically. "I'm Youru, your host. Today, we'll sip tea and hear tales from the entertainment world."
Dressed in a Rococo-style French court gown—corseted and opulent—she presided like a queen. Each audience member was served a cup of brewed black tea, reinforcing the ceremonial vibe.
"Our guest today is one of the most controversial figures in recent memory," she announced. "Please welcome—Chu Zhi."
The audience buzzed. Most recognized him. Chu Zhi had chosen Mango TV for its core demographic: Gen Z and younger millennials, the backbone of social media discourse.
This was also the audience that made Mango TV the only profitable streaming platform in China.
"Wait, isn't that the scumbag?"
"You didn't hear? Mango's whitewashing him. They even put him on I Am a Singer."
"Okay, but his The Wind Blows Through the Wheat is still on my playlist."
"My friend was a huge fan. Cried for days when his 'scandals' came out."
"Ugh, I don't wanna watch this guy get rehabbed."
Amid the murmurs, Chu Zhi stepped onstage and bowed slightly before taking a simple wooden chair. Huang Youru, meanwhile, lounged on an ornate sofa—its darkwood frame carved with intricate patterns, gilded edges gleaming under the lights.
The seating arrangement made her look like a monarch holding court, and Chu Zhi, a petitioner.
"Welcome, Teacher Chu." Huang Youru offered him a tea menu. "What would you like?"
To set the show apart, beyond its lavish set and scripted spontaneity, there was ritual. Before questions began, guests selected tea and snacks from an exhaustive list.
Uva, Lapsang Souchong, Nilgiri, Assam—Western black teas were categorized by region, and the snacks were even more varied.
After perusing the dizzying options, Chu Zhi settled on Earl Grey and coconut rings. No deep reason—he just liked the names.
"Earl Grey, scented with bergamot and citrus peel oils, was a favorite among Europe's aristocracy. Choosing it suggests Teacher Chu is traditional, even old-fashioned," Huang Youru mused, fluttering her fan. "And coconut rings—a simple European biscuit—hint that his mind isn't overly complicated."
"What absolute bullshit." Chu Zhi had picked at random, with zero knowledge of tea culture. The host's "analysis" was clearly reverse-engineered from his public persona. But hey—with the mic in her hands, she could spin it however she wanted.