Maclean’s Magazine：The Rise and Fall of a Chinese-Canadian Pop Star

K-pop companies govern how their stars look, act and dress—some even have “no dating” clauses in their contracts. SM, sometimes called “Slave Master Entertainment,” is notorious for its strict training regimes. Several former idols have launched lawsuits against SM over the years, the most recent being a joint effort from three members of the K-pop group EXO, who terminated their contracts with SM in June of this year and alleged that the company owed them payment. Their lawyer claimed that SM coerced the artists into so-called “slave contracts” that lasted more than 20 years. SM responded, denying the allegations and suggesting that the artists had been influenced by “outside forces.” It promised to pursue legal action against those parties, although the two sides quickly settled later that month. (SM did not respond to requests for comment for this story.)

For Shin and Wu, one of the most difficult aspects of the training program was not knowing when they would debut as an idol. Shin was so frustrated he quit SM in 2010 after three and a half years as a trainee: “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to dance. I wanted to join a hip-hop label and to write my own music.” Wu, he says, felt the same but ultimately stayed on because he didn’t want to take chances with another label.

His persistence paid off. In February of 2012, after four years of training, SM handpicked the 21-year-old Wu to debut as the newest member of EXO and EXO-M, the Chinese subgroup of the main band. SM had an eye on China’s billion-strong market: it marketed EXO as a multicultural boy band that could connect with fans in Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean and English. Its debut album, released in 2013, sold over a million copies. Wu was at the centre of it all: the agency had anointed him as EXO-M’s main rapper and vocalist, and they’d officially changed his name to Kris Wu. Soon, his fans started calling him “Galaxy Hyung”—hyung, which means older brother in Korean, referred to his perceived maturity, while fans thought his looks and fashion sense were “out of this galaxy.”

In a move that stunned the K-pop world, Wu left EXO in May 2014, two years after his debut and just as the band was exploding in popularity. He launched a lawsuit against SM, citing creative and cultural differences, as well as health problems caused by the band’s intense touring schedule. Wu claims that he developed myocarditis, an inflammation of the heart resulting in fatigue, shortness of breath and chest pain. (SM later filed a countersuit alleging breach of contract, and the parties settled in 2016.) Wu had grown tired of his lack of creative freedom in South Korea, and he used the lawsuit as his exit ramp. If he cut ties with SM, he could jump ship to China—and make much more money.

If South Korea was Wu’s training ground, China was the launchpad that catapulted him into near-global stardom. When he arrived in China in 2014, he was a ready-made celebrity with a huge fanbase. He was K-pop enough to appeal to Korean fans, Chinese enough to build a Chinese base, and Western enough to draw in diaspora audiences. His timing was impeccable: at the time, Hollywood studios were seeking Chinese financiers and a slice of China’s market, and so they pursued Chinese stars for parts in their blockbusters. Early on, Wu allegedly connected with Qi Jianhong, a prominent billionaire and the chairman of film studio Yaolai Film and Television. Qi purportedly served as Wu’s “patron”—a wealthy and well-connected individual who could back him in entertainment and political circles.

Wu’s first film role in China was a melodrama called Somewhere Only We Know. It topped the box office during its opening weekend, raking in nearly US$40 million and raising Wu’s visibility. In 2015—Wu’s second year in China—the China International Film Festival named him the best emerging actor of the year, and Esquire China crowned him newcomer of the year. Entertainment insiders were soon introducing Wu to famed film directors such as Hong Kong legend Stephen Chow, with whom he collaborated on two movies. In 2016, Wu signed with Jackie Chan’s agency.

The same year, Wu and Little G Na (known as Xiao Gna in China), a then-19-year-old Chinese-Canadian influencer, began a relationship; he even flew her to Toronto for a rendezvous. But, according to Kevin Shin, Wu never thought of G Na as his girlfriend. “He was chatting with multiple girls at the same time,” Shin says.

After their Toronto rendezvous and months of texting, Wu ghosted G Na, and she flew from China to Toronto to find him. When she couldn’t, she publicly accused him of dumping her on the Chinese social media platform Weibo. “Everyday, I’d check my phone and wait for your message, but you’ve disappeared,” she wrote. “Even if you want to break up, say something.”

G Na subsequently posted their chat histories on social media. She hoped it would lead Wu to contact her again. But Wu’s handlers denied everything, and the scandal bounced right off him. Wu’s hardcore fans and trolls attacked G Na online, while Jackie Chan supported Wu and publicly brushed off the scandal. He seemed confident that the drama would soon blow over.