"Teacher Chu." Wei Tongzi called softly, holding a bag of durian-flavored Lay's potato chips. She asked in a low voice, "Is Teacher Chu okay?"
"He's fine, nothing's wrong." Chu Zhi replied, his lips curling into an involuntary smile. Of course, he was happy—the two blind boxes he had opened were both good.
But to Wei Tongzi, his smile seemed off. He had just snapped out of a daze—what was there to be happy about?
"I have an idea for the album cover, so I might go out today to try it," Chu Zhi said.
"Do you want something to eat?" Wei Tongzi handed him the chips. The bag looked big, but it was mostly air.
"Since Tongtong is sincerely offering, of course I'll have some." Chu Zhi took the bag, tore it open, and ate a couple of chips. The flavor was strange—not exactly bad, but definitely not good.
Pang Pu moved the conversation along: "Teacher Chu, are we working on the arrangements at home again today?"
"There's something new. Before bed last night, I rented a photography studio," Chu Zhi said. "I hope to finish shooting the album cover today."
"It should be possible, but I'll need a photographer's help," Chu Zhi added, answering his own question.
"Album cover..." Wei Tongzi felt that album covers weren't something you could just casually shoot or slap together with some computer-generated images. Half a day didn't seem like enough time.
"What kind of cover does Teacher Chu plan to shoot?" Wei Tongzi had plenty of experience as a fan. Domestic pop albums usually featured half-body or close-up shots of the singer. Rock albums also favored half-body or medium-to-long full-body shots, while folk albums often went for melancholic glances over the shoulder or the singer in a scenic, sunlit location.
Admittedly, Wei's observations were spot-on. The original cover of Against the Light was a close-up of Stefanie Sun, while Poetry of the Post-Adolescence featured a full-body shot of the entire band. Chu Zhi wasn't trying to be unconventional—he just wanted to show that for his comeback album, he could handle everything from start to finish, proving himself a versatile musician.
"An album cover can represent many things. There are some ideas I want to express through it," Chu Zhi said.
After lunch, Chu Zhi received a call from the show's backend team, who had been looking into something for him and now had results.
"Teacher Chu, in the episode where you asked for suggestions for your new album's name, 17,344 Xiaomang users submitted ideas, totaling 25,117 comments."
"Thank you for your trouble."
Chu Zhi expressed his gratitude. The name of the new album was now decided—25,117 Possibilities. A title that would let every fan who contributed feel included.
In the afternoon, at the photography studio, Chu Zhi's album cover design didn't follow the traditional half-body or full-body shots. The specifics of the album title and cover would remain a surprise for his Little Fruits (fans), to be revealed when the album dropped on music platforms.
The third day of Dream of the Red Chamber wrapped up. The lingering buzz around the vine and starry sky patterns was still there, but a certain K-pop group's new song had already stormed the trending list.
Lately, there had been more and more news about Korean stars on Weibo.
At the hotel where the Dream of the Red Chamber crew was staying—
"Oh right, Ninth Brother mentioned he wasn't in good health, which was why he withdrew from I Am a Singer."
Wei Tongzi thought of her idol, whose complexion looked terrible every morning.
"I should've realized it sooner." Wei Tongzi consulted a doctor friend, framing it as "a friend of mine."
After some thought, her doctor friend replied over the phone: "From your description, it sounds like you should consult a psychologist. As an OB-GYN, I don't know much about depression, but its clinical manifestations mainly include low mood, impaired cognitive function, slowed thinking, reduced volition, and physical symptoms."
"Frequent zoning out is a form of cognitive impairment—we call it cognitive dysfunction. Low mood—well, based on what you've said, it'd be strange if your friend wasn't in a low mood. As for the poor complexion every morning, it's either insomnia or nightmares leading to poor sleep quality. Sleep disorders are a type of physical symptom."
"Based on the clinical presentation, it's pretty much consistent with depression," her OB-GYN friend said. "You can also watch for signs of slowed thinking and reduced volition."
"Thanks, Wenwen. Let's grab dinner next week." Wei Tongzi hung up, feeling utterly lost.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Over three or four days of filming, Chu Zhi had only gone out that afternoon to shoot the album cover. That did suggest reduced volition.
But... Ninth Brother seemed perfectly normal—considerate, gentle, with no signs of depression.
Wei Tongzi knew full well that someone with severe depression would struggle just to maintain their own state of mind, let alone have the energy to care for others.
"It... can't be, right?" Wei Tongzi was restless and began scouring the internet for clues.
Upon closer inspection, she found that in March of this year, some media had reported that the grandfather of a certain popular C-list celebrity had died of liver cancer in the hospital.
There had been no further updates, so the news hadn't gained much traction. Why hadn't it blown up? It wasn't because the media had suddenly grown a conscience—Chu Zhi had paid to suppress the story. His grandfather had disliked the spotlight and preferred peace, so Chu Zhi didn't want the news to stir up a fuss.
"It couldn't be Ninth Brother, could it...?" As a devoted fan, Wei Tongzi knew about his childhood. Chu Zhi's parents had passed away when he was ten, leaving him to rely on his grandfather.
If it was him... that would be an enormous, crushing blow.
"If Ninth Brother really has depression—"
The mere thought was staggering. How could someone with severe depression maintain such a facade?
Wei Tongzi felt deeply unsettled. At 2 a.m., her mood was in the dumps. She needed something uplifting, so she opened—no, not the kind of "spring warmth and blooming flowers" or "91" sites you might be thinking of.
She had no idea what those sites were. Instead, she browsed Zhihu, reading posts like "What do you think of the two I Am a Singer champions, Li Xingwei and Lin Xia?"
[Anthony's Wisdom]: In my heart, the only champion of this season is Chu Zhi. "Against the Light" is the first performance in the show's Hall of Fame.
[626]: The credibility of Season 4's champion is probably the lowest. First, there were two champions to begin with, diluting the title. Uncle Hou went easy, Chu Zhi withdrew, and the finale couldn't hold a candle to the semifinals.
[Oh Yo Yo Yo Yo Wu Wu]: I watched this show to discover hidden gems, and I never expected to find a talented singer buried under all the idol hype. "The Wind Blows the Wheat" and "Against the Light" are two performances I really loved this season.
"They've got good taste. I also think if Ninth Brother hadn't withdrawn, he'd definitely have been the champion." Wei Tongzi felt a bit better after reading this.
"I should sleep. Tomorrow's episode has the important [Exploring Baoyu] segment. No more phone."
She forced herself to put her phone on the nightstand and lay stiffly on the bed for half a minute.
Just five more minutes. It's 2:25 now—I'll sleep at exactly 2:30.
With that thought, Wei Tongzi finally fell asleep at 3:40 a.m. This story teaches us: unless absolutely necessary, don't keep your phone within arm's reach when trying to sleep.
She had barely drifted off when she was woken up again.
At 6:30 a.m., she'd gotten less than three hours of sleep.
During Dream of the Red Chamber filming, the crew worked grueling hours, though the pay was generous. Luckily, the schedule was seven days on, followed by three days off. For people like Wei Tongzi, who served as liaisons, they might not return for the next season after this one.
In Shanghai in December, the sky wasn't fully lit at 6:30 a.m. The moon had just left the sky, and the sun hadn't yet arrived.
Many of the city's workers were still groggily leaving their beds.
But Wei Tongzi was wide awake, her mind preoccupied. She quickly ate breakfast with her colleagues, keeping a close eye on Chu Zhi, who was up early. The bloodshot eyes were undeniable proof of poor rest.
"Teacher Chu, didn't sleep well last night?" Wei Tongzi asked. "Did you have a nightmare?"
The sudden question caught Chu Zhi off guard. He had planned to selectively reveal his condition in a couple of days—how had she figured it out already?
"I did have a bad dream, but I should've gotten enough sleep," Chu Zhi replied casually.
"Tongtong, your complexion doesn't look any better than mine. You've got dark circles—remember to brew that chrysanthemum and goji berry tea," Chu Zhi added.
"Huh?!" Wei Tongzi's voice shot up. No girl could remain indifferent upon hearing she had dark circles, especially when she was on camera.
She hurriedly grabbed her Gucci GG mini bag from the couch, pulled out her compact, and scrutinized her reflection.
"I do seem to have dark circles," Wei Tongzi fretted, muttering to herself, "No, no, this won't do. I need to sleep earlier."
Chu Zhi was inwardly amused. With her makeup on, any dark circles were invisible—he'd only said it as a joke. But girls always seemed to find flaws where none existed.
The morning was again left to the guests for self-directed study. In the afternoon, the show had planned activities.
"Teacher Chu, today's segment on Dream of the Red Chamber is [Exploring Baoyu]," Wei Tongzi explained.
Pang Pu continued: "For this segment, we'll be exploring the study."
As mentioned earlier, the live variety show forced a connection to the classic novel Dream of the Red Chamber for its theme. Male guests were likened to "jade," and "Exploring Baoyu" was both a nod to the novel's protagonist, Jia Baoyu, and a compliment to the male guests.
"We'll be filming the books and materials in the study in detail, with your permission," Pang Pu said.
This had been discussed before filming. There was nothing sensitive in the study, but Pang Pu still had to ask on camera for the audience's benefit.
"The study just has some of my books and unpublished songs. Nothing else," Chu Zhi said.
"So do we have your permission?" Pang Pu pressed. Their exchange was meant to create the impression that the guest was reluctant but the host was persuading him.
But Pang Pu knew this segment was designed to help guests gain fans. In the previous episode, a Korean star had "coincidentally" pulled out a pile of fan letters, then talked about how he kept letters from pre-debut supporters and reread them often.
What a coincidence—it was all staged, as everyone knew.
After a moment's thought, Chu Zhi nodded. "I'll cooperate with the show."
The study already had cameras, but the "exploration" would involve rummaging through bookshelves and drawers, letting viewers live vicariously through the thrill of rifling through a celebrity's belongings.
"Right now, there's a participation button in the livestream. At the end of this episode, 100 lucky viewers will be randomly selected to receive a complete Dream of the Red Chamber set published by People's Literature Publishing House," Wei Tongzi said. "Make sure to enter your address correctly for the giveaway, or we won't be able to deliver your prize!"
The crew also wheeled out a small blackboard with a poem written on it:
Before the hall of white jade, spring dances free,
The east wind rolls it evenly.
Bees and butterflies swarm in chaos—
Did it follow the flowing water? Must it fall to the dust?
A thousand strands, ten thousand threads, remain unchanged,
Let them gather or scatter as they will.
Do not laugh, youth, at rootless things—
The fair wind lends me strength to soar upon the clouds!
Each episode of the variety show featured a poem from Dream of the Red Chamber to give it a veneer of promoting classical culture—Mango TV's gimmicks were endless.
Pang Pu, Wei Tongzi, and the cameraman Jelly took their positions and entered the study. Chu Zhi had watched highlights from previous episodes. Other celebrities used this segment to show off their fan love, but he had already done that in the music room. Now, it was time for something different.
Some might ask: Do you plan to keep up this persona forever for your fans? Isn't it exhausting to perform in front of the camera all the time?
Chu Zhi would only reply: It's incredibly satisfying. He could keep this act up for a lifetime.
Some people were born to perform—like the "Emperor of Acting," Chu Zhi. In his past life, he hadn't been given many opportunities or stages. This life, it seemed, was the right one.