Superstar Ch.2

Chapter 2: It’s the Participation That Counts

Xie Xizhao had no idea that Fang Qingqing, on the other end of the phone, had fallen silent.

After sending that message, he turned off his phone screen and got up to pour himself a cup of warm water.

He was telling the truth.

In the eyes of others, he indeed should have kept his expectations low.

With no fan base, a small company, and a body so weak that even a slightly intense performance could make him faint—potentially causing a stage accident—forget about securing a debut spot; even making it to the second round would be a miracle.

After finishing his water, the people in the room still showed no signs of stopping.

Feeling bored, Xie Xizhao absentmindedly reached for the dice on his bedside table to play with.

The dice were made of a special material—the only keepsake he had taken from the system. It was pure white and emitted a faint inner glow.

Xie Xizhao had always thought the “Cannon Fodder System” was a very dull one. In essence, it tested a person’s acting skills, but it wasn’t particularly technical. If he had to compare it to something, it was like being an NPC in a game.

From the moment of its inception, he had been given a completely fixed script.

When to cry, when to laugh. When to succeed, when to fail.

Everything had already been predetermined in the script. All he had to do was follow it.

The dice tumbled up and down in his palm until, at some point, it slipped from his hand.

Xie Xizhao watched as it fell to the floor and rolled a short distance away. He stood up, intending to pick it up.

Someone beat him to it.

“Six.” The person squinted at the number on the dice and then chuckled. “Looks like you just lost your debut spot, XiZhao.”

The black-haired young man was Ni Xin—an ordinary-looking guy with average skills. His only advantage was being backed by a major company.

In the scripted talent show paths Xie Xizhao had experienced, characters like Ni Xin had a 99% chance of being a forgettable background extra. The remaining 1%? A cannon-fodder antagonist who provoked the protagonist only to be humiliated.

Unfortunately, Ni Xin himself had no idea.

As soon as his words fell, a few chuckles echoed throughout the room.

Xie Xizhao didn’t react to Ni Xin’s joke. He simply smiled, took back the dice, and replied good-naturedly, “Thanks.”

With that, he turned to walk away.

Watching his retreating figure, Ni Xin felt that familiar frustration creeping up again—the sensation of punching cotton, where every hit landed without impact.

Gritting his teeth, he suddenly said, “The first stage recording is the day after tomorrow.”

Xie Xizhao kept walking.

Ni Xin had no choice but to call out, “XiZhao!”

Xie Xizhao turned back with a puzzled expression. “Are you talking to me?”

Ni Xin: “…”

No shit! They had just been talking—who else would he be speaking to?!

Was this guy doing this on purpose???

Suppressing his irritation, Ni Xin forced his tone to remain even. “Once recording starts, the training intensity will be much higher than it is now.”

Xie Xizhao studied him for a few seconds, trying to decipher his meaning.

“And?”

Ni Xin: “…”

He felt his forced smile slipping. “I mean, if you’re just here to show your face, you might as well quit now and join an easier show. Honestly, I don’t get why your company even sent you to this competition.”

“I wanted to come,” Xie Xizhao explained. “The company didn’t force me.”

At that, there was nothing left to say.

Ni Xin stared at him as if he were looking at some kind of monster.

Meanwhile, the other guys who had been watching their conversation with disdain just moments ago exchanged awkward glances, unsure of how to react.

…

The next day, Xie Xizhao had lunch with Ji Yan in the cafeteria.

Ji Yan had spent the entire morning in the practice room, dancing non-stop. When he finally met up with Xie Xizhao, his face was still damp with sweat.

Seeing Xie Xizhao—who had slept in until 8:30, just finished a relaxing therapy session, and was now strolling around looking effortlessly refined and elegant—Ji Yan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“Oh, right, Brother Zhao,” he said, shoveling a bite of shredded pork with garlic sauce into his mouth. “I ran into Ni Xin this morning. He looked like someone owed him five million. Any idea why?”

“More or less,” Xie Xizhao replied.

Ji Yan had only been asking casually, so he was caught off guard. “Huh?”

Xie Xizhao recounted what had happened the night before. Ji Yan nearly spat out his food.

“…Brother, you’re something else.”

He gave him a big thumbs-up.

Xie Xizhao blinked innocently. “Did I say something wrong?”

If this had been their first day meeting, Ji Yan might have believed him.

Xie Xizhao naturally had the face of a campus heartthrob—delicate and refined, with the soft elegance characteristic of the Jiangnan region. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he didn’t give off an unapproachable vibe.

But Ji Yan knew better. Xie Xizhao was far from clueless.

On the contrary, he was one of the sharpest people Ji Yan had ever met.

“No, brother, you didn’t say anything wrong at all.” Ji Yan sighed.

After a brief pause, he added, “But do you know why Ni Xin and his whole dorm have been isolating you?”

To be fair, Ji Yan had been included at first too. But since he wasn’t from the same company as them and had a naturally rebellious streak, he had simply stuck with Xie Xizhao instead.

Xie Xizhao genuinely had no idea. He asked,

“Why?”

“Because when Super Rookie first started marketing, a fansite master posted a leaked photo of Ni Xin. But you were accidentally caught in the corner of the frame, and netizens said you made him look like a monkey—HAHAHAHA!”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

Well, then.

He had been wondering—he was always friendly and well-liked. Back in the system, his farewell party had been attended by everyone when he retired. So why was he suddenly being isolated the moment he joined the show?

Turns out, this was the reason.

Unexpected? Yes.

Reasonable? Also yes.

…

“So you really didn’t know?” Ji Yan asked, twitching his lips as they walked to the practice room. “He’s been treating you like crap, and you weren’t even curious?”

Xie Xizhao pondered for a moment.

Then, he said, “Mainly because… his attitude sucks, but it has no impact.”

Ji Yan was speechless.

“Brother, if I were Ni Xin and heard you say that, I’d probably drop dead from rage all over again.”

“I have something even more infuriating,” Xie Xizhao mused. “Want to hear it?”

Ji Yan raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“He won’t last past the first round.” Xie Xizhao said.

Ji Yan nearly choked on his milk.

He looked at Xie Xizhao like he was the monster here, but Xie Xizhao remained perfectly calm.

Ni Xin wouldn’t survive the first round.

That was Xie Xizhao’s professional judgment—and his judgment had never been wrong. Just like his flawless track record.

He was a professional at playing the entertainment industry game—even if he had spent his career playing cannon fodder.

Or rather, because he specialized in cannon fodder, he knew exactly what made one “qualified.”

Ni Xin wouldn’t just fail to pass the first round—his appearance on the show wouldn’t even be a useful boost to his career. He was the one who should’ve picked a different show.

Ji Yan was at a loss for words.

Ji Yan was the one who really came to show his face. He was from the acting department—his singing and dancing were mediocre at best.

Which was exactly why Ni Xin and his group hadn’t treated Ji Yan badly.

Ji Yan wasn’t entirely convinced by Xie Xizhao’s words. But after stepping into the practice room and getting another look at Ni Xin… well, the guy really did look like he had lost his soul.

Ni Xin didn’t linger. Upon seeing them, he just threw out a “See you at the first stage,” then turned and left—clearly still fuming from last night.

Ji Yan clicked his tongue and withdrew his gaze. He turned back around—only to get startled out of his wits.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Xie Xizhao was holding a staff, weighing it in his hand. Hearing Ji Yan’s question, he casually replied.

Ji Yan instantly forgot about Ni Xin.

“Wait… Brother, you haven’t even prepared your performance yet?!”

…

Ji Yan was genuinely shocked—more than when he had heard Xie Xizhao roast Ni Xin.

Half a month ago, he had originally wanted to team up with Xie Xizhao, but Xie Xizhao had refused. Ji Yan had assumed that meant Xie Xizhao’s performance, though simple, still required stamina. So he hadn’t pushed the issue.

But now?

“You’re not seriously here just for the experience, are you?” Ji Yan was beginning to question his own life choices. “Brother, if you’re like this, I’m gonna start doubting my instincts. How am I supposed to trust myself to buy stocks in the future?”

“You never seemed like someone who’d make money off stocks anyway,” Xie Xizhao said.

Ji Yan: “…”

Okay, and who was the real savage here?!

But before he could retort, his words got stuck in his throat.

Xie Xizhao flipped the staff in his hands a few times, then executed a crisp, flawless flourish.

“Does it look good?” Xie Xizhao asked.

Ji Yan dumbly nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Ji Yan had completely lost the ability to speak.

Xie Xizhao set the staff aside, sat in front of the mirror, and grabbed a tablet to review the practice footage Ji Yan had just recorded for him.

Xie Xizhao truly hadn’t taken Ni Xin’s harsh words to heart.

In his view, actions spoke louder than words. If Ni Xin had spent half the time he used for trash talk on actual practice, he wouldn’t be doomed to an early elimination.

That said, Ni Xin had reminded him of something.

The first stage recording was in two days—it was time to wrap up his basic stamina recovery training and actually start practicing his performance.

After carefully reviewing the footage, Xie Xizhao wasn’t too satisfied.

The staff dance was something he had picked up on the fly in one of his past worlds. While it looked impressive, it was still far from professional-level technique.

And…

Feeling the steady pounding of his heart, he sighed inwardly.

He was starting to miss his old body back in the system.

As he was lost in thought, he suddenly looked up—only to meet Ji Yan’s utterly shocked expression. Xie Xizhao paused.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Ji Yan: “…Brother, are you a god?”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

“Say something a normal person can understand.”

“No, like—you—” Ji Yan was still struggling to process what he had just witnessed. “Brother, aren’t you supposed to be a rookie?! You—”

Weren’t they all supposed to be struggling newbies together?! How did he suddenly become the only weak one?!

“Can’t a rookie have a fitness hobby?” Xie Xizhao asked calmly.

Ji Yan no longer believed him.

At this point, he was certain—on the day of the first stage, not just the trainees, but the entire production team was going to be utterly shocked by his brother.

…Wait, why did that actually sound kind of exciting?

Clinging to that sliver of anticipation, Ji Yan finally managed to recompose himself. He forced a calm expression and answered Xie Xizhao’s question. “It looks… tiring. And maybe… not very boy group-like?”

To be honest, he already thought it was perfect. Even as he spoke, he felt like he was just nitpicking for the sake of it.

Then—

He heard Xie Xizhao hum in agreement and say, “Yeah, I think so too.”

“Huh?”

The next second, Ji Yan watched as Xie Xizhao casually pulled up an Excel spreadsheet.

Xie Xizhao scrolled through it, his expression as nonchalant as if he were flipping through a dinner menu instead of a list of high-difficulty creative stage performances.

“Help me pick one?” Xie Xizhao said. “I’ve got two days. If I start now, I should be able to get it performance-ready in time.”

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