Chapter 9: Lucky Person
Ni Xin left.
He dragged his suitcase and left in the middle of the night.
To be fair, he didn’t have that much stuff—most guys didn’t. But when he left, he made quite a racket. Xie Xizhao had already put on noise-canceling earplugs and fallen asleep.
The next morning, the dorm was left with a few sleep-deprived, grumpy roommates sporting dark circles under their eyes.
Xie Xizhao spared them a few seconds of sympathy when he got up. He thought they might hold him responsible for what happened, but surprisingly, they didn’t.
On the small cabinet beside his bed, there was a bag of breakfast—yogurt and an egg pancake. He studied it for a moment before turning to Ji Yan, who was making the most of his last day with his phone by playing games.
“You think this is poisoned?” Xie Xizhao asked.
Ji Yan replied, “…Brother, I bought that for you.”
“Oh,” Xie Xizhao said.
Well, that was fine then.
After breakfast, Ji Yan continued his game while Xie Xizhao headed to the practice room, enduring the weight of countless stares along the way.
Most of them were filled with awe.
In the end, Ni Xin hadn’t been able to control his volume, and since their dorm’s soundproofing was practically nonexistent, the neighboring rooms had heard everything.
In an enclosed environment like this, if one person heard, that meant everyone did. Thinking about it, Xie Xizhao sincerely felt that Ni Xin had made a bad trade.
When he arrived at the practice room, he warmed up as usual and then started his training for the day.
This particular practice room was one he and Ji Yan frequented—it was the last one on the second floor. The Super Rookie production team had deep pockets, so there were plenty of practice rooms. Since the show hadn’t started airing yet, a good number of contestants weren’t in a rush to start working hard, which meant that most of the time, only a handful of people occupied the rooms.
Before today, Xie Xizhao had practiced without drawing much attention. But today, he noticed a few extra gazes lingering on him.
He didn’t pay them any mind.
Today, he was practicing a challenging boy group song.
He didn’t need to sing—just dancing made it easier to focus. After finishing the routine, he turned off the music, sat on the floor beside the mirror, and took a sip of water.
This song was prepared for an additional evaluation.
He guessed the production team wouldn’t give him many chances to shine, but he prepared anyway.
Just in case his performance wasn’t cut. Even if it only made it into the unedited performance version, it would still be good exposure for him.
—
Strictly speaking, Xie Xizhao didn’t actually spend that much time practicing each day.
A significant portion of his time was spent in the physical therapy room.
That day, as usual, he finished his practice at 3 p.m. But just as he was leaving, he ran into Ai Qingyuan walking in from outside.
After a night had passed, Ai Qingyuan’s expression had returned to its usual indifference.
But when Xie Xizhao brushed past him, Ai Qingyuan’s steps paused slightly, and for a fleeting moment, his expression became strangely complicated—
As if his mood had instantly soured.
Xie Xizhao didn’t notice. He was in a hurry to get to the therapy room.
By the time he came out, the sky had already turned pitch black. When he returned to the dorm, Ji Yan had already opened a self-heating hotpot.
Ji Yan said, “Brother Zhao, did you see Ai Qingyuan today?”
Xie Xizhao replied, “Yeah.”
“No wonder.” Ji Yan chuckled. “You know, someone told Ai Qingyuan this morning where you were practicing, but he said it had nothing to do with him. But by the afternoon, he still ended up going there. And guess what? You were already gone. It pissed him off so bad.”
Xie Xizhao: “……”
“He definitely thinks you left on purpose as soon as you saw him.” Ji Yan grinned. “Brother, you’ve just been added to Young Master Ai’s little blacklist of grudges.”
Xie Xizhao was silent for a moment. “Is it that serious?”
“A little,” Ji Yan said tactfully. “I’ve heard Ai Qingyuan really holds grudges.”
Xie Xizhao asked, “…Would treating him to a meal help?”
“And then saying something even more infuriating?” Ji Yan countered.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He began reflecting.
Did he really come off that annoying when he spoke?
Then something else occurred to him. “You’ve been roasting me more often lately.”
Ji Yan: “…”
Uh.
It wasn’t exactly a sudden realization, but hadn’t he just thought that, for all his sharp tongue, his brother was actually pretty easygoing?
He quickly changed the subject. “By the way, brother, did you check the group chat? The behind-the-scenes footage and theme song recording start tomorrow afternoon.”
—
After the initial stage performances, the atmosphere among the trainees shifted dramatically.
Before that, while they had seen each other’s daily practice, they hadn’t gotten a full picture of everyone’s abilities.
During the first stage, except for Xie Xizhao, pretty much everyone had given it their all. So now, people had a clearer sense of who had real debut potential and who didn’t.
As a result, when they gathered again, the tension in the air was noticeably higher than before.
Despite the nerves, today’s recording session was relatively relaxed:
They were switching dorm assignments—and handing in their phones and snacks.
Ji Yan, who had received a C rating, had no choice but to part ways with Xie Xizhao. Determined to help him move, Ji Yan walked into the new dorm only to come face-to-face with someone all too familiar.
The person glanced at him, then sneered. “Little lackey’s here, huh?”
Ji Yan: “…”
Seriously?
How could someone be this insufferable?!
Xie Xizhao rubbed his temples and persuaded Ji Yan to leave. When he turned back, he saw that Ai Qingyuan had already put on his headphones, making it clear he had no intention of talking.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Xie Xizhao didn’t want to talk to Ai Qingyuan either.
Whenever he was exhausted, he got sleepy, and when he was sleepy, he needed rest.
By the time their other two roommates arrived, he had already slept soundly for two hours.
—
As a competitive reality show, Super Rookie emphasized rankings in nearly every aspect.
From the self-assessments and seat selection at the beginning to the initial evaluations and all the resulting changes, the hierarchy was clear.
Trainees who received an A rating got to wear the eye-catching bright yellow training uniforms, eat first, and stay in the most spacious and luxurious four-person rooms. In contrast, those rated F wore the most unremarkable gray outfits and were crammed into eight-person rooms.
With limited debut spots available, only twelve trainees earned an A rating, conveniently filling three four-person rooms.
Xie Xizhao’s new roommates included Ai Qingyuan and another trainee from Shenghong Entertainment named Guan Heng.
They were the only two from Shenghong to receive an A.
Guan Heng, 24 years old, had a gentle appearance—above average, clean-cut, and refined. He also spoke in a soft, polite manner.
Compared to Ai Qingyuan, he was much more courteous toward Xie Xizhao.
When Guan Heng arrived, Ai Qingyuan happened to be stepping out, so he didn’t disturb Xie Xizhao, who was still asleep.
By the time Xie Xizhao woke up, Guan Heng was sitting nearby, wearing headphones and listening to music. The room’s curtains had been drawn.
Sitting up, Xie Xizhao felt a little apologetic. “…Sorry, I was exhausted this afternoon.”
Guan Heng hadn’t heard him at first. He removed his headphones, and Xie Xizhao repeated himself.
Guan Heng smiled. “It’s fine.”
He extended his hand toward Xie Xizhao. “Nice to meet you, I’m Guan Heng. You might not remember me—I’m Qingyuan’s teammate from Shenghong.”
Xie Xizhao reached out and shook his hand.
Then he said, “I remember you.”
Guan Heng was momentarily stunned.
“Your breath control is very steady,” Xie Xizhao added. “And your rap lyrics are well-written.”
This time, Guan Heng was genuinely surprised. He asked, “How did you know I wrote the lyrics myself?”
“There’s a watermark in them,” Xie Xizhao replied, still a little groggy from just waking up. “Isn’t there?”
Many original artists include a signature element in their lyrics—a watermark, of sorts. It’s like a personal stamp, whether it’s a stage name, a slogan, or a distinctive phrase. Guan Heng’s was the single character “Heng.”
Of course, these details usually flashed by quickly. Most people wouldn’t notice them.
Guan Heng was momentarily speechless.
Xie Xizhao changed the topic. “Since I have a habit of waking up early, I took the bottom bunk first. But if you prefer it, I can switch with you.”
Guan Heng snapped out of his thoughts.
“…It’s fine.” He shook his head. “I can sleep anywhere.”
—
Xie Xizhao wasn’t just being polite—he genuinely remembered Guan Heng.
There weren’t many people who left an impression on him. They were either exceptionally skilled or had a unique talent.
Guan Heng was the former.
He didn’t have many lines in the performance. When the mentors gave feedback, Ai Qingyuan had overshadowed him, so he didn’t receive much attention. But Xie Xizhao could tell—among Shenghong trainees, Guan Heng’s ability was second only to Ai Qingyuan’s.
That said, Xie Xizhao had been through more survival shows than these rookies had crossed bridges. He could recognize talent at a glance.
The two of them made casual conversation for a while. At one point, Guan Heng offered an apology on Ai Qingyuan’s behalf. “Qingyuan can be a bit arrogant, but he’s not a bad person. If he ever says anything unpleasant, don’t take it to heart.”
Xie Xizhao was a little curious. “Are you two close?”
Guan Heng’s tone felt more like that of an older brother than just a teammate.
Guan Heng didn’t deny it. He smiled and said, “Xizhao, you’re really quite perceptive.”
Then he explained, “Qingyuan joined the company when he was sixteen. We’ve trained together and shared the same dorm for four years now.”
Xie Xizhao suddenly understood.
No wonder Ai Qingyuan had such a bad temper—he had been spoiled by his older brother figure.
Just as he was about to say something, a noise came from the doorway as someone walked in.
Both of them turned their heads toward the entrance and were momentarily surprised.
After a brief pause, Guan Heng reacted first and stood up. “Hello.”
The newcomer, with his dark eyes, stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You’re Guan Heng.”
Guan Heng nodded. “Yeah.”
The boy then shifted his gaze to Xie Xizhao. “I know you too.”
Xie Xizhao thought, ‘I know you too.’ He stood up. “Xie Xizhao. Nice to meet you.”
It was just one of those coincidences.
Xie Xizhao had only remembered a handful of people, and his new roommates were among them.
He recalled exactly who this guy was.
Like him, he was an independent trainee.
Fu Wenze.
A rapper.
And also a quiet, aloof type.
The “cool guy” glanced at Guan Heng, then at Xie Xizhao.
Both of them felt as if they were being scanned by something akin to an X-ray…
Then, finally, the newcomer spoke.
“Fu Wenze.”
A man of few words.
After stating his name, he barely spared another glance before scanning the beds.
Before Xie Xizhao could even say, “You can pick whichever bed you want,” Fu Wenze had already tossed his jacket onto the upper bunk above Xie Xizhao’s.
—
With that, all four members of the dorm were finally present.
As soon as Fu Wenze tossed his jacket onto the bed, he sat down on a nearby chair and started playing with his phone. However, based on Xie Xizhao’s observations, he was merely opening and closing the same app repeatedly before switching back to the home screen.
Realizing that their new roommate might be difficult to communicate with, Xie Xizhao took the initiative to ask Guan Heng, “Where’s your little brother?”
Guan Heng was momentarily stunned.
Then he replied, “He just went out. I think he went to the convenience store.”
He paused before adding, “But don’t call him that in front of him.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Got it.
The kid had grown up.
To be honest, Xie Xizhao wasn’t particularly skilled at socializing either. Only now did he truly appreciate how valuable Ji Yan’s presence was.
Luckily, Guan Heng didn’t let the conversation stall for too long. He suggested, “How about I call Qingyuan, and we all have dinner together at the cafeteria tonight?”
Xie Xizhao agreed. “Sure.”
Fu Wenze, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly looked up and asked bluntly, “Would he even want to eat with us?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Wow. This guy didn’t say much, but when he did, it really hit hard.
Guan Heng looked a little awkward. He hesitated before saying, “He would.”
Then he added, “We’re all roommates, after all.”
Fu Wenze neither agreed nor disagreed.
Guan Heng had been having a pleasant conversation with Xie Xizhao earlier, but now he realized that it was only because Xie Xizhao had high emotional intelligence. Silently, he lowered his head and sent a message. Moments later, his expression darkened even more.
Xie Xizhao immediately understood.
…Seemed like the kid hadn’t grown up all that much after all.
“Let’s go,” Guan Heng sighed, making the final decision. “We’ll eat without him.”
“I’ll treat you guys to barbecue.”
—
The barbecue was indeed real barbecue. The cafeteria at Super Rookie offered a wide variety of food, though whether certain items were available—and if they were, whether they were actually edible—was another question.
Guan Heng’s idea was to treat this as a small celebration for finishing the initial evaluation. Since the show was about to officially begin, it marked a new phase in their journey.
Even Xie Xizhao indulged in a little barbecue for once.
He actually loved junk food, but his body couldn’t handle it anymore. He could only take small bites, to the point where even he felt like he was being unnecessarily delicate about it.
The three of them briefly exchanged details about their daily habits—though, to be precise, it was mostly Guan Heng and Xie Xizhao talking while Fu Wenze simply responded with the occasional “Mm.”
Despite this, the conversation flowed smoothly, at least until Fu Wenze suddenly asked Xie Xizhao, “Do you often practice in Room 217?”
Xie Xizhao was taken aback for a moment.
Then he nodded. “Yeah, I usually practice there.”
Fu Wenze simply said, “Okay.”
Xie Xizhao had no idea what that “okay” meant. He hesitated before asking tentatively, “Do you want to practice with me?”
Fu Wenze paused for a second, then gave another brief “Mm.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
“Alright.”
Guan Heng remained silent.
Shenghong had its own practice rooms, and since he was basically tied to Ai Qingyuan, he had to consider their little young master’s preferences.
When they returned to the dorm, they found a small crowd gathered at the entrance. Guan Heng immediately realized what was going on.
“Are they filming the dormitory footage now?” he asked.
The answer was obvious.
The three of them followed the crowd inside and quickly tidied up their room before the cameras arrived.
—
As the name suggested, the dormitory footage was meant to capture some relaxed, less serious moments in their living space.
Generally, dormitory footages were divided into two categories: themed and unthemed. Themed ones were usually edited into fixed spin-off programs, while unthemed ones were released as scattered materials.
This recording was the first one, and the theme was set—it was about collecting mobile phones and confiscating certain prohibited items, mainly snacks.
Even though it was just behind-the-scenes content, as long as it involved exposure, no one took it lightly.
Neither did the production team.
There were several cameras—one from the production team and some handheld ones. When Xie Xizhao saw who was operating the handheld camera, he realized they had probably misunderstood Ai Qingyuan earlier.
The kid really did have something to do.
Next to Ai Qingyuan was another guy whom Xie Xizhao didn’t really recognize. He was probably another company’s main promoted trainee. The two of them were the temporary main and co-MC, and they seemed quite familiar with each other.
That guy asked, “Is your dorm up next?”
Ai Qingyuan responded with a simple “Mm.”
The door was open, and a group of people bustled in noisily:
“Surprise!”
Xie Xizhao… Xie Xizhao thought to himself, I saw you guys coming from 800 meters away. It really was quite the surprise.
“Alright, alright, hand everything over,” the lively guy beside Ai Qingyuan said. “Phones, snacks, all electronic devices—the list of prohibited items was sent to the group chat. You all saw it, right?”
“We saw it,” Guan Heng sighed. “This feels like a college dorm inspection.”
“Well, college students aren’t banned from eating snacks,” someone nearby laughed. “And they’re not banned from using phones either. Your comparison doesn’t quite fit, Brother Heng.”
Guan Heng gave him a helpless glare but didn’t stop moving. He placed his phone and tablet into a nearby basket, and a staff member immediately took them, marking them for identification.
Guan Heng opened his bag and showed it to Ai Qingyuan. “Want to check?”
Xie Xizhao hadn’t felt much when Guan Heng mentioned knowing Ai Qingyuan for four years. But now, seeing how Ai Qingyuan responded with a light “Mm,” his expression noticeably softer than it ever was toward him, Xie Xizhao finally noticed the difference.
He sighed internally but hadn’t even finished his thought when Ai Qingyuan suddenly pointed the camera at him.
“It’s your turn.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He handed his phone and notebook to a nearby staff member, then grinned. “Can I submit a request?”
“What request?” the guy beside him asked. “Xie Xizhao, let me tell you, even if you act cute, we won’t let you off the hook. Qingyuan and I are both ruthless.”
He had never spoken to Xie Xizhao before, yet his tone sounded as if they had just finished a meal together.
Xie Xizhao had long known that some people were simply born with the ability to navigate social situations effortlessly. He wasn’t surprised and just smiled casually before opening his bag.
“Hypoglycemia,” he said. “I need to keep some chocolate and biscuits with me.”
His bag was stuffed full of snacks.
“Uh…”
This time, the guy was genuinely conflicted. He glanced at Ai Qingyuan, who remained silent, then turned to the staff. The staff member approached, spoke to Xie Xizhao in a low voice, and then said, “We’ll make an exception for Xie Xizhao—his situation is a bit special.”
Although the production team was cautious in their approach toward Xie Xizhao, they weren’t intentionally making things difficult for him.
The guy caught on immediately.
Then he laughed. “You’re done for, Xie Xizhao. You’re going to become the most popular person in the dorm.”
Xie Xizhao played along. “No worries. No one has their phones, so even if this airs, they won’t know.”
He paused for a moment. “If you know anything, I suggest reporting each other.”
It was a textbook joke, and sure enough, everyone present laughed.
Just then, Ai Qingyuan spoke up. “What’s that box in the corner?”
Xie Xizhao’s hand froze.
The guy beside him immediately became alert. “What, what? Xie Xizhao, what are you hiding?”
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
“…Seriously.” He sighed. “I’m not hiding anything.”
He took the box out of his bag, letting everyone see what it really was.
It was a transparent box divided into multiple compartments—some containing small white bottles, others holding tablets.
It was a pill organizer.
“These are my daily medications,” Xie Xizhao explained while looking at Ai Qingyuan.
Ai Qingyuan had clearly assumed he was sneaking in a hidden phone, and this unexpected turn caught him off guard, leaving him momentarily stunned.
After a brief pause, he said, “…That many?”
It was the same thought on everyone’s mind.
It was a lot.
Xie Xizhao placed the box back into his bag and stood up.
“It’s fine.”
“Being alive is already a blessing,” he said. “I’m a very lucky person.”
