The current head of the Cheng School of Qingyi performance, Cheng Mao, stands on equal footing with the head of the Mei School. It's no longer a question of who's stronger—both have become legendary in their own right.
Cheng Mao is a first-class actor with the National Peking Opera Theater, deputy director of its Art Development Center, and also serves as deputy director of the Cultural Committee under the China Democratic National Construction Association. He's the director of the Drama and Opera Research Center at the Communication University of China. His long list of titles speaks volumes about his authority in the world of traditional Chinese performing arts.
While other opera actors offered praise for Chu Zhi's performance in broader strokes, Cheng Mao's review came with detailed analysis and solid reasoning. Just when the buzz was fading, his comments reignited public interest.
People tend to judge based on prior assumptions. To the general public, stage actors doing screen work are often seen as "stepping down to conquer." Classical or opera singers dipping into pop are considered overwhelming talents, and walking the red carpet at international film festivals used to carry unmatched prestige.
The last perception has weakened over time, mostly because too many celebrities and influencers now copy the trend. It doesn't help that the ceremonies themselves have lost some of their glamour. But the first two assumptions still stand strong.
Here's the thing. Classical and pop vocals are entirely different disciplines. They differ in vocal range, breathing techniques, and resonance positioning. When someone appears to "dominate" a new field, it's often because they've already shattered limits in their own. That's what real mastery looks like. Just take Tan Jing for example—she blended ethnic, pop, and bel canto styles into one unified voice.
So what did Cheng Mao's praise really do for Chu Zhi? It cleverly used those ingrained public perceptions to reshape Chu Zhi's image in the minds of casual viewers.
Before, when people mentioned Chu Zhi, they thought "celebrity, idol, top-tier influencer." At best, maybe someone would say, "He's actually pretty talented, and his work's not bad." Now, that's changed. The first thing people say is, "Singer. Gifted. It's like the heavens are feeding him with a silver spoon."
In other words, the public now sees him as categorically different from the average star.
But the irony is, Chu Zhi actually is one of the most influential stars out there.
Even Niu Jiangxue, who was trying to phase out the old title of "Wu Head, Chu Tail, soaring spirit like the drifting clouds," found herself pleasantly surprised. Among the other six contenders, none could match Chu Zhi's strength, works, or popularity. Now, she'd found the perfect moment to pivot.
The show I'm a Singer-Songwriter had propelled Chu Zhi's career into high gear. So when the production team behind Wheels of Music wanted to film a side episode, the whole team agreed to take a symbolic fee—just three million, as a gesture.
Meanwhile, Kang Meng, who debuted under the "Little Chu Zhi" moniker, crashed and burned. The real Chu Zhi was simply too extraordinary. That crown wasn't something anyone could wear casually.
Date: July 18
Location: City Street
"Rumor has it that Master Cheng Mao wants to make you his final disciple. Is it true?"
"Not at all," Chu Zhi replied. "But he did invite me to join the Quyi Association."
"You keep getting better and better," said Su Shangbai. "I knew you'd become a superstar someday."
They were chatting in the van. The finals of I'm a Singer-Songwriter had aired a week ago. Shangbai had just returned from abroad, and the two were catching up.
"It's hard to become a legend in this day and age," said Chu Zhi.
Hard, sure, but Shangbai had full confidence in his friend. The more Chu Zhi excelled, the prouder he felt. For men, it's normal to pass their dreams to someone else. Like how Zoro chased the title of the world's greatest swordsman.
"Try this new flavor," Shangbai said, pulling a small bag of candies from his suit pocket.
They were paw-shaped milk candies, soft and chewy, in packaging that looked just like gummies. Chu Zhi suddenly remembered that this guy's WeChat name was "Disciple of the Big Cat." He must really like cats, although from his usual aloof, elite demeanor, you'd never guess.
"Alright, let me try." Chu Zhi peeled one open and popped it in his mouth. Softer than White Rabbit milk candy. That alone deserved praise.
If a candy rips your dental work out, it's probably the White Rabbit's fault. Even dentists warn against eating too many.
"Any feedback?" Shangbai asked.
"A bit too sweet," said Chu Zhi.
"Noted."
Thanks to Chu Zhi's unexpected endorsement, Da Bai Soft Candy had become the top-selling domestic gummy candy. Their research division even ranked it among the top ten brands in the overall candy market.
That's what you call top-tier influence.
Though Da Bai was technically a Vietnamese candy brand that had been acquired, Su Shangbai had restructured it completely. The current version was independently developed and held its own patents. It was, for all practical purposes, a true domestic product.
"We're applying to have it listed as a certified local brand in Shanghai," Su said. "Should be approved next year."
Not even a year old and already applying for major regional branding. Impressive.
As they chatted, the van headed down Honggu Road. Xiao Zhu had booked a table at Xijiao No. 5, a Shanghainese restaurant known for its sweet flavors and refined atmosphere. Chu Zhi wasn't too fond of overly sweet food, but he chose the spot for its ambiance and as a treat for his management team.
"So this is the legendary golden connection who can nominate you as one of Shanghai's Top Ten Outstanding Youths?" Niu Jiangxue eyed Su Shangbai discreetly.
He looked young. Strangely familiar, too—wait, wasn't he a contestant on Son of the Future?
Su Shangbai: founder and CEO of Da Bai Candy, owner of the White Cat Royal Jelly trademark, secretary-general of the Asian Sugar Association, vice chairman of Shanghai Youth Federation, current chair of Shanghai's Youth IT Talent Association, and a research fellow at the Guangdong Sugar Research Institute.
"…," Niu Jiangxue fell silent. No need to dig further. The title "vice chairman of Shanghai Youth Federation" was already telling.
People think these youth federations are just for young folks, but if you don't have enough clout, getting in before age 30 is near impossible.
She wasn't the only one looking him up. Lao Qian was also doing some quiet research. But being smarter, he just asked Wang Yuan directly.
Wang Yuan nodded, then shook her head. Lao Qian understood. The boss meant, "Yes, this guy is connected, but I don't know him personally."
"At least he seems like a decent guy…" Wang Yuan thought silently.
Su Shangbai had returned mostly to accompany Chu Zhi to the award ceremony for Shanghai's Top Ten Outstanding Youths.
It was supposed to be announced at the end of June, but got delayed. Chu Zhi hadn't known why until today. Apparently, the Youth Federation was busy organizing a red-themed poetry contest.
After a short drive, they arrived.
"Come on, let's head in together," said Chu Zhi as he noticed the others standing around, unsure whether to join.
"It's a rare reunion with an old friend. We won't disturb you," Lao Qian replied, speaking on behalf of Niu Jiangxue, Wang Yuan, Xiao Zhu, and Qiu Ge.
"Don't you all remember? Today's our one-year work anniversary. And Shangbai is back. We're all friends here. Let's celebrate together," Chu Zhi said.
Work anniversary? Seriously? They all looked at each other in confusion.
"No wonder you told me to book a table for seven," Xiao Zhu muttered.
The math checked out: driver Qiu Ge, assistant Xiao Zhu, manager Lao Qian, deputy manager Wang Yuan, lead manager Niu Jiangxue, and then Chu Zhi and Su Shangbai. Seven in total.
"Come on, don't overthink it. I remembered. When we get back, we'll treat the rest of the team to something nice too," Chu Zhi said, ushering them all inside.
That lunch gathering was complete in every sense of the word.