Superstar Ch.1

Chapter 1: Transparent

Xie Xizhao washed his face with cold water in front of the mirror when he heard the sound of the dormitory door opening outside.

His roommates had just gone out for a barbecue. Now, they were chatting about a few fansite masters they had seen outside the main entrance. Their laughter and noise seeped through the door as he wiped off the last drops of water with a towel.

The water was a bit cold, but it was enough to wake him up.

A knock came from outside. “Brother, Brother Zhao! Are you in there?”

“I’m here,” Xie Xizhao casually grabbed a sweatshirt.

Light yellow.

He lifted his gaze. The weariness in the reflection faded, and his face took on a hint of youthful energy.

When he opened the door, a golden-haired head poked in from outside.

Ji Yan had been dieting for half a month. The moment he broke his fast, he indulged so much that he was now covered in the smell of grilled meat. His tone was filled with excitement. “Brother, are you done washing up? I brought you some rib soup!”

The moment he finished speaking, the dormitory fell into an eerie silence.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the chatter and laughter resumed.

Xie Xizhao stopped Ji Yan before he could take the bag into the bathroom.

Then, he hesitated. “…The barbecue place sells rib soup?”

“I bought it especially for you!” Ji Yan looked utterly incredulous and heartbroken. “You’d rather believe that a barbecue restaurant sells rib soup than believe I went out of my way just for you?”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

He said sincerely, “Sorry. Got hit by a car before. My brain doesn’t work well.”

Ji Yan: “…”

“Fine.” Ji Yan responded numbly, “So, do you want it or not?”

Xie Xizhao felt the protest from his stomach, then answered sincerely, “I do.”

…

Although Xie Xizhao said he wanted the soup, he didn’t get to eat it right away.

This year marked the third season of the talent show Super Rookie. By now, the production team had become highly efficient at managing all aspects of the competition. The cafeteria was conveniently set up on the first floor of the dormitory building, allowing the trainees—who often kept irregular hours—to grab a late-night snack.

It was currently the afternoon, but their dorms were cramped.

So, eating in the dorm was something only close friends wouldn’t mind.

When they sat down in a corner of the cafeteria, Ji Yan’s tone was still a little melancholic. “Brother, you’re the most carefree person I’ve ever met.”

Xie Xizhao found the sudden compliment odd. “How so?”

“Just…” Ji Yan struggled to put it into words. “That whole… getting hit by a car thing…”

Xie Xizhao suddenly understood.

“But it’s true,” he explained. “Didn’t you read the news afterward? When we first met, you even said I had—”

“Uh,” Ji Yan quickly cut him off. “Brother, please don’t continue.”

Xie Xizhao chuckled.

He lifted the lid of the container, and the rich aroma of rib soup filled the air. He sincerely said, “Ji Yan.”

Ji Yan blinked at him.

“You’re a really good person,” Xie Xizhao remarked.

Ji Yan: “…”

A wave of shame washed over Ji Yan, and he almost wanted to bury himself in the ground.

Xie Xizhao laughed, took a spoonful of soup, and drank it. The gnawing hunger in his stomach finally subsided, replaced by a sense of contentment.

…

Xie Xizhao had met Ji Yan half a month ago for a simple reason: they were roommates.

One of the defining aspects of a talent show was that all contestants trained together in a closed-off environment. When Xie Xizhao pushed open the dormitory door, dragging his suitcase behind him, the first person he saw was Ji Yan.

His new roommate was the one in the bunk opposite his.

On the second day after meeting him, Ji Yan had asked, in a roundabout way, “Xiao Jie, are you sick or something?”

That one sentence left a lasting impression on Xie Xizhao.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the entire Super Rookie production team and all the trainees to realize that Ji Yan’s words had been quite literal. And over time, Ji Yan’s way of addressing Xie Xizhao changed from “Xiao Jie” to “Brother Zhao.”

The “sickness” was a physical one. Ji Yan later found out that Xie Xizhao was that medical miracle—the young man who had fallen into a coma after a car accident, spent four years without waking up, and then miraculously woken up. His case had even made the news, and for a while, he had gone viral on the internet because of his looks.

What Ji Yan didn’t know was that the truth was far more complicated.

…

After seeing Ji Yan off, Xie Xizhao went alone to the gym.

Four years had passed, and his external injuries had long since healed. He had spent another six months on rehabilitation, and now his physical condition was only slightly weaker than the average person’s. But for someone aiming to be an idol, that was nowhere near enough.

After half an hour of training, Xie Xizhao let out a slow breath.

The mirror reflected a pale, slender face. Even after exercising, his lips barely took on a hint of color. But there was no denying it—his face was striking.

Delicate and fresh, the kind that would make street scouts hand him business cards. But when he was eighteen, Xie Xizhao had been studying mathematics. Back then, he thought his future lay in a laboratory, doing research.

He couldn’t say he loved it—he just hadn’t been particularly interested in anything else at the time.

But before he even had the chance to explore other interests, the accident happened.

The car crash had been real. But what no one knew was that after he fell into a coma, he hadn’t lost consciousness. Instead, he had entered an entirely new world.

A world with a blunt, no-nonsense name: The Cannon Fodder Entertainment System.

…

As Xie Xizhao walked out of the practice room, his manager sent him a message.

After he made the news, entertainment companies had rushed to sign him, most of them hoping to cash in on his fleeting popularity. All except Yaoxin.

Yaoxin wasn’t a big company. After signing with them, they only assigned him a single manager—Fang Qingqing.

Fang Qingqing was twenty-six. Four years as a talent manager had turned her from a young rookie into… a nagging young rookie. She had originally managed an obscure idol, but he had ruined his career by getting caught in a scandal. Now, she only had Xie Xizhao left under her wing.

And when it came to Xie Xizhao, her concerns were a little different.

She texted: [Did you eat properly today?]

Xie Xizhao replied: [Mm-hmm.]

Fang Qingqing then sent a long string of messages about taking care of his health before adding: The company had a meeting today.

Xie Xizhao called her. She hesitated for a few seconds before picking up.

“Xiao Zhao,” she greeted.

“What’s up, Sister Qing?” Xie Xizhao asked.

Fang Qingqing sighed.

“The company just said that the fight for Super Rookie’s debut spots is too intense. It’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to compete for one this season,” she admitted.

Even she couldn’t hide her disappointment, but she still tried to comfort him. “It’s fine, though. Xiao Zhao, you’re good-looking and hardworking. You’ll get your chance to shine—we don’t have to rush it.”

Xie Xizhao was silent for a moment before saying, “…Uh, Sister Qing?”

“Hm?”

“I never expected to debut from this show,” he said. “Did you?”

“…”

Xie Xizhao continued, stating the obvious: “Our company is barely managing to pay salaries.”

“Okay, stop talking!” Fang Qingqing cut in, her voice strained.

After a brief silence, she asked, “So… that’s it, then?”

“Mm.” Xie Xizhao replied.

Fang Qingqing hung up. Xie Xizhao slipped his phone back into his pocket and went to take a hot shower.

…

The Cannon Fodder Entertainment System, also known as the Child of Destiny Support System.

As the name suggested, its purpose was to assign people to play the role of cannon fodder in different timelines and worlds. Their job was to ensure the world functioned as it was meant to.

There were many ordinary people in any given world, but very few who could truly alter its course—the so-called Children of Destiny. And just as rare were pure cannon fodder tools. Their individual identities didn’t matter; what mattered was that they existed. Their role was to push the story forward and allow the Child of Destiny to change the world.

To be honest, Xie Xizhao had no idea why he was chosen. But the reality was that after his coma, he had worked in this system’s entertainment industry division for four years. And in doing so, he had successfully earned himself a second chance at life.

What he had told Fang Qingqing was true.

In those years working for the system, every world he entered cast him in the role of a cannon fodder character—each one burdened with a miserable background, each one ultimately disposable. So, the moment he set foot in Yaoxin, he had known that if he wanted to survive, he could only rely on himself.

He was so used to it that it was almost tragic.

So no, this outcome didn’t surprise him at all.

Only someone as genuine and hopeful as Fang Qingqing would still hold onto expectations for a company on the verge of bankruptcy.

After his shower, Xie Xizhao returned to the dorm.

Ji Yan wasn’t there. The other four roommates were gathered around a table playing poker.

Xie Xizhao glanced at the person sitting closest to him and, by chance, noticed they were about to lose.

He sighed internally, set his clothes down on the bed—

And then, someone suddenly spoke up.

“I heard from the director today that the show is about to be officially announced.”

They had been training at the facility for half a month now. The program was already in a semi-public stage.

Once the hype had been built up enough, they would officially announce the start of filming.

Xie Xizhao’s hands paused for a brief moment.

It wasn’t because of what they said, but because of the message Fang Qingqing had just sent him:

[We still need to set a goal. The more rounds you can advance, the better. What’s the lowest ranking you expect to get? Give me a rough idea.]

Somewhere nearby, someone clicked their tongue. “Kinda nerve-wracking, huh?”

The person next to him nudged them. “What are you nervous about? You’re that good-looking. Just stepping on stage will have people swooning. Easy top five.”

Out of a hundred trainees, only five would debut.

With so few spots available, the competition was bound to be brutal.

Xie Xizhao fell into thought.

“Top five, my foot. If I can make top twenty, my ancestors will be proud.”

“True. I heard the big players are already going crazy fighting over those spots. Who can possibly debut with them around?”

Xie Xizhao started typing.

On his screen, the number 1 glowed faintly.

On the other end of the phone, Fang Qingqing sat on her bed, gripping her phone tightly. The moment she saw the notification, she nearly stopped breathing.

Then, just as she was bracing herself, another message popped up, perfectly timed and unhurried:

[100. No hope, no disappointment. And if there’s no room to fall lower, then technically, I’m improving every second. Sister Qing, don’t you think so?]

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**TN

Xie Xizhao – Xie Xizhao – 解 (Xie/Jie) means Unraveling, 夕 (Xi) means Dusk, 朝 (Zhao) means Dawn; Unraveling the Night and Welcoming the Morning, from darkness to light