There's a small tip that foreign students in Japan know well: if you live alone and someone knocks at your door, don't open it carelessly.
Why? Because it might be someone from NHK, demanding payment.
Even if you never watch TV, as long as you own one, you still have to pay the fee. According to Japanese law, refusing to pay is a legal violation.
And don't assume you're safe just because you don't have a TV. A smartphone is enough for them to say you "have access." Once you open that door, you can no longer prove you haven't watched NHK.
KBS is South Korea's oldest broadcasting station. Whether in our world or in a parallel universe, it has produced some of Asia's most popular dramas. It's a public TV network, just like NHK.
So, between NHK, KBS, and CCTV (aka Central Mama), who holds the most power? In terms of resources and viewer base, there's no competition—CCTV reigns supreme.
All three networks aired the trilateral performance event, though each had its own style and runtime. KBS edited the event down to 150 minutes. As expected, the Koreans added lots of dramatic adjectives. Their title: "The Great Stage of Korea, China, and Japan."
NHK, with its love of nicknames, cut it to 100 minutes. However, they added 130 minutes of follow-up interviews with their national artists. Their version was titled "The Grand Broadcast of the Japan-China-Korea Music Festival."
CCTV kept it straightforward: a two-hour, clean-cut program with subtitle overlays, rough translations of foreign lyrics, and short intros for each performer:
Feng Yuanxin: Former lead vocalist of the legendary band HERO. After the group disbanded, he composed several iconic J-drama opening themes.
Interestingly, Feng Yuanxin bore some resemblance to Qi Dake—both rose to fame through TV drama songs.
CCTV's presentation style leaned conservative. Safe over splashy. But what really sparked attention were the labels other countries gave the Chinese performers.
South Korea:
"Carrying the strength of 1.4 billion people"
"A new form of folk ballad"
"A singer with undeniable skill"
"A mountain-like presence"
"Vocal cords as powerful as an athlete"
These labels referred to Chu Zhi, Gu Peng, Yuan He, Wang Dong, and Qi Dake respectively. KBS editors definitely cared about appearances. Wang Dong was described as too burly, and Qi Dake as having a rough-and-tough voice—hence the athlete comparison.
Japan:
"The circuit-breaker preventing human despair"
"A ragdoll among mortals"
"The crown prince of Chinese folk ballads"
"The twin stars of China's Song & Dance Institute"
"Master of drama theme songs"
The Japanese love their metaphors.
The performance aired almost simultaneously on all three stations. Both insiders and the public were eager.
Even Koguchi Yoshihiro squeezed in time to watch on his phone. Meanwhile, trainees Li Sixi and Guan He, both of whom had once been mentored by Chu Zhi, also made time despite their packed training schedules.
Even Deputy Director Inoue tuned in—no early access perks. Without subtitles, he couldn't understand Chinese anyway.
"A high note stronger than Kazuyoshi Kanenaga's sword? I have to hear it for myself," he muttered, skeptical.
It was like hearing someone say the singer you've admired for 30 years has been outclassed by some foreign kid.
NHK went all out with flashy visuals. Their opening sequence even featured animated silhouettes battling with soundwaves, shattering cliffs with their voices. The narration raved: "Songs as spears, the stage a battlefield!"
NHK cut the hosts' intro and interviews, replacing them with program narration.
"I think I've heard 'When You' before. I don't like this Chinese singer's version, though."
"South Korean music all sounds the same. Not good."
"Kubo Todoren has real rock talent."
The raw opinions were refreshingly blunt. Kubo got some praise, though his cocky sunglasses-wearing persona rubbed Inoue the wrong way.
[Narration: Kubo Todoren received the loudest applause of the night. His dark-metal stage presence conquered the audience. Let's cheer for him.]
Then came the second Chinese group.
"Powerful vocals," Inoue muttered. "But as expected, true cultural revival doesn't come from women."
Clearly, Inoue was a chauvinist. Although audience feedback favored Izawa Iro's sweetness, he dismissed it as "weak vocals."
[Narration: Izawa Iro has a huge online presence in China. Her rendition of 'Sweet Repetition' has over 50 million views.]
NHK commentary mostly praised their own performers. Even when Chinese or Korean acts did well, they got only a brief mention.
When the third group hit the stage, Inoue was unimpressed, especially by Fujiwara Kakei. He underperformed, and Inoue thought if the team captain was this mediocre, what could the others offer?
[Narration: Fujiwara Kakei, Yuan He, and Kim Ryuhak shared a dynamic stage. While Yuan He received more cheers, Fujiwara's vocals were not to be overlooked!]
Inoue frowned. He found the commentary annoying, especially when it contradicted his opinions.
Then came the second-to-last group.
Chu Zhi walked on stage in traditional white straight-hem robes.
"White hemline..." Inoue noted. As someone who both revered and envied Chinese culture, he recognized the symbolism. White robes were often worn for mourning a lost parent. Still, he didn't think much of it.
"Probably just costume nonsense," he thought. He'd seen enough Chinese historical dramas with inaccurate sets and props to assume the same here.
The music began. The song: "Left Hand Points to the Moon."
The prelude was majestic. The vocals spanned three full octaves. Even a layman could tell how absurdly high those notes were.
Especially...
🎵 "A single tear, ah ah ah; that is me, ah ah ah." "In the moonlight, ah ah ah; you and me, ah ah ah." "An incense stick, ah ah ah; you are me, and no one else." 🎵
By the fourth, fifth, and sixth ascensions, the notes climbed effortlessly. Inoue's squinty eyes widened in disbelief.
The high notes kept rising, as if peeling the top of your skull open.
Then came the "zzzzzz" of mic overload. Sound burst.
Only when hearing and seeing it himself did Inoue realize what Kageyama had meant when he claimed Chu Zhi's high notes outshone even Kazuyoshi Kanenaga.
It was like the sonic equivalent of being hit by tidal waves while surfing in Okinawa—except this time, it battered the soul.
[Narration: Did he just hit C6? That's the cry of a demon from the abyss. Even the mic couldn't handle it.]
[Narration: South Koreans call Chu Zhi the Demon King. His vocals are the wail of a monarch.]
It wasn't just Inoue. Li Sixi and Guan He were equally stunned. They'd gotten off early from their tight schedules just to watch.
"Brother Jiu's vocals..." Li Sixi was speechless. He turned to Guan He.
"Didn't you say your short-term goal was to reach half of Chu Zhi's skill? Today I realize how hard that goal really is."
He'd heard Chu Zhi sing "Opera 2" before. But after this? His voice wasn't human.
"We can't run from difficulty," Guan He declared. "So I'll adjust my goal. Not half. A third. I want people to call me Brother San one day!"
If Chu Zhi is nine, then a third is three.
They chose to watch the KBS version, just to see what kind of praise Chu Zhi would get in Korean.
"Left Hand Points to the Moon" exploded across Asia.
BOOM! FIRE! SHOCK! Like deep-fried lobster. Like flaming stir-fry. Like explosive clams. Hungry yet?
Words couldn't capture the magnitude.
This wasn't just a trending clip on Chinese platforms like Weibo or Douyin. Someone clipped the performance and uploaded it to YouTube.
It blew up.
"The song's called 'Left Hand Points to the Moon'? But after that high note, I think he grabbed the moon!"
"Some sing for money. Some sing for life. Where's my scalp?"
"Can anyone tell me if that high note was even humanly possible? The mic literally died."
"Biggest mistake of the year: watching with headphones."
The video hit five million views in a day. Maybe not viral by Western standards, but a blazing wildfire across Asia.
Chu Zhi proved a truth every singer should remember: if your song is strong enough, even a dull official show can explode.
From Russia to Thailand, Japan to South Korea, Vietnam to the Philippines, audiences joined the conversation.
Selected comments:
Seoul: "This high-note demon king came from Seoul! Our pride!"
Russia: "We know this singer. Isn't that Captain Zhi? Our witches say he might be a vampire. That voice isn't human."
Thailand: "I love this song. Not just the high notes. 🎵 You are me, and no one else 🎵—it feels like Buddhist reincarnation. A perfect fusion of emotion and skill."
Japan: "This ragdoll's voice is as good as his face. Unreal."
Even print media joined the frenzy. The trilateral concert had officially gone global.