Chapter 11: Rules
Xie Xizhao had lost count of how many times he had danced to the theme songs of various talent shows.
The system’s internal time flow differed from the external world. Although he had been in a coma for four years in reality, the actual time he had experienced was far longer than that.
If all those experiences were taken into account, even Dou Yu would have to call him a senior.
Theme songs were often considered difficult by many, but since they had to accommodate all trainees, the difficulty level was usually not that high.
Even a wildly popular talent show like Super Rookie was, at best, of medium difficulty compared to the ones Xie Xizhao had participated in. Given his current state—having been through countless rounds of training—it felt no harder than an elementary school morning exercise routine.
After resting for a while, he opened his eyes.
Two hours later, Xie Xizhao had more or less memorized the choreography and had also familiarized himself with the lyrics.
As midnight approached, he felt he had done enough and decided to head to the cafeteria for a late dinner.
Just as he was about to leave, a few trainees nearby called out to him.
“Uh… Xie Xizhao?”
Xie Xizhao stopped in his tracks.
He had actually noticed these boys earlier.
They were probably from the same company, but he had no impression of them. They were dressed in F-Class uniforms and looked a bit uneasy.
There were always some invisible figures in talent shows—trainees from small companies with weak skills, who barely got any screen time. They were just there to fill the numbers and collect a small appearance fee.
Xie Xizhao paused briefly before asking, “What is it?”
His tone was quite gentle, which gave the boy who had spoken the courage to continue. In a small voice, he said, “Well… uh… our dance foundations are pretty weak. Could you help us?”
It had taken a lot of mental preparation for him to say that.
They only had three days, and they didn’t really know anyone. As for the mentors, it was obvious that they wouldn’t be getting hands-on guidance. No matter what, they didn’t want to embarrass themselves too badly.
The boy feared rejection—after all, they were strangers. No one had a reason to go out of their way to help. He hadn’t even considered asking Xie Xizhao. Xie Xizhao’s initial stage performance had amazed many, but at the same time, there were plenty of people who privately labeled him as a “one-trick pony.”
…That was until he had secretly watched Xie Xizhao dance just now.
Pressing his lips together, he said, “I know this is a bit abrupt. We won’t take up much of your time…”
“Alright,” Xie Xizhao said.
The boy froze.
He looked up in surprise. Xie Xizhao glanced at the clock on the wall and suggested, “How about tonight? Around seven?”
“You guys should go to your dance class first—see if you can at least get a rough feel for the routine.”
“Yes, of course!” The boy nodded quickly. “Thank you.”
He had no idea what else to say. After a long pause, he finally blurted out, “…I’ll keep this a secret! I swear I won’t tell anyone that you’re actually amazing at dancing!”
—
Leaving the practice room, Xie Xizhao still hadn’t figured out what that last sentence was supposed to mean.
As he walked out, the practice rooms and the main hall were both filled with trainees hard at work. A few of them caught sight of him and immediately reacted as if they had seen a ghost.
Xie Xizhao didn’t pay them any mind. He casually scanned the crowd, thinking that if he didn’t spot Ji Yan, he would just go eat alone. Unfortunately, the moment he looked up, his eyes met Ji Yan’s.
Ji Yan immediately abandoned his current roommate and bounced over. Xie Xizhao sighed.
“For some reason,” Ji Yan said cautiously, “I get the feeling that you don’t really want to see me.”
“Nonsense,” Xie Xizhao denied without hesitation.
Ji Yan was a great guy.
It was just that sometimes, he talked too much—which made Xie Xizhao a little wary of him.
Sure enough, as soon as Xie Xizhao reassured him, Ji Yan relaxed and immediately launched into his usual round of questions.
“Are you tired, brother?”
“Did you bring chocolate this morning?”
“Is this dance routine intense?”
Xie Xizhao grabbed a meal, answering each question one by one before swiftly changing the subject and voicing his own question.
Ji Yan replied, “Oh, that.”
“Hm?”
“Well, since you sang during the initial stage performance…” Ji Yan mumbled through a bite of sweet and sour ribs, “some people are saying you can’t actually dance and just used your illness as an excuse. Others think you’re hiding your skills on purpose and got some kind of special treatment, like a ‘royal contestant’ script.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Oh.
Got it.
It was a pretty pointless topic. Both he and Ji Yan knew exactly what level he was at.
Ji Yan switched gears. “What do you think of the theme song’s difficulty? Manageable?”
“No problem,” Xie Xizhao said.
He knew what Ji Yan was really asking, so he added, “The evaluation only requires dancing for a minute and a half, and the choreography isn’t that intense.”
So stamina wouldn’t be a major factor affecting their performance.
Ji Yan paused for a moment before realizing what he meant. “That’s good. The initial ranking is pretty important. We might still be nobodies, but it’s better than being at the very bottom.”
“Yeah,” Xie Xizhao agreed.
Ji Yan poked at his rice with his chopsticks, hesitating.
“Uh… brother.”
Xie Xizhao stopped eating.
“Seven o’clock tonight,” he said. “Room 113.”
Ji Yan grinned foolishly. “Hehe… thanks, brother.”
“Oh, right,” he added. “Are you going to class this afternoon? Doesn’t it overlap with your physical therapy?”
“I’m not going,” Xie Xizhao replied. “No point.”
Xie Xizhao’s words weren’t arrogant—he was simply stating the truth.
He didn’t need a teacher. Attending class would just be a waste of time; he might as well rest instead.
That afternoon, he requested leave from the show’s staff and went to the therapy room alone. By the time he finished, it was already 3:30 PM.
He was in a good mood when he left. The therapist had told him that the treatment was going well and that he could reduce the frequency of his sessions—a definite plus in his book.
So, he hesitated for a moment between going back to the dorm or continuing to practice. In the end, he left it up to a dice roll.
1, 2, or 3 meant going back.
4, 5, or 6 meant practice.
The die spun through the air, landed in his palm, and settled on a firm 1.
With that, Xie Xizhao headed to the dorm without hesitation, fully prepared to take a nap.
But when he pushed open the door, he froze for a moment.
At the same time, the person inside stiffened completely and hurriedly hid whatever they were holding behind their back.
Xie Xizhao remained silent for a second before casually looking away.
“I’m just here to sleep,” he said.
Fu Wenze still looked a little tense but responded with a quick “Mm.”
Xie Xizhao walked inside, watching as the other boy stood there awkwardly, clearly not knowing what to do. In the end, he let out a helpless sigh.
“You don’t have to look so guilty. Hiding your phone isn’t that big of a deal.”
The show had a rule about confiscating phones. It seemed strict on the surface, but everyone knew it was just for the cameras. Xie Xizhao had been through plenty of talent shows before—he had never once taken this rule seriously.
Even the production team turned a blind eye to it.
Of course, Xie Xizhao himself never did things like that. He was the type to be lenient with others but strict with himself.
His belief was that rules existed for a reason. If a rule was officially set but no one followed it, then it was nothing more than a joke—and that, to him, was truly pathetic.
Fu Wenze looked a little embarrassed, but Xie Xizhao didn’t ask what he was using the phone for. Instead, he simply went about tidying up his bed.
Not long after, Fu Wenze suddenly spoke up.
“I wasn’t checking the rankings.”
He paused for a moment before continuing, “My younger brother is in his third year of middle school. He’s really attached to me. Our grandmother is the only one taking care of him at home, and I worry about him.”
Xie Xizhao understood instantly.
—
Over the next couple of days, he and Fu Wenze didn’t interact much.
Xie Xizhao had seen plenty of idols with carefully crafted personas, but Fu Wenze was the real deal—just as cool offstage as he was on it. He was quiet, independent, and often had a sharp way of speaking.
Though he was never sharp with Xie Xizhao, he also wasn’t like Ji Yan, who went out of his way to be friendly.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t the type to take the initiative in friendships either, so their relationship remained at the level of ordinary roommates.
But now, the phone situation had left Fu Wenze feeling indebted.
Even if everyone knew about the unspoken rule, if Xie Xizhao decided to report him, the show’s producers would still have to take action.
Because of that, Fu Wenze seemed visibly unsettled.
Xie Xizhao took a nap, but when he woke up, he found someone sitting at the edge of his bed.
For a split second, he thought he had stumbled into a horror movie—until he realized it was just Fu Wenze.
“…What’s up?” he asked, keeping his tone as steady as possible.
He had, in fact, been startled. No need to admit it.
Fu Wenze said, “I feel like I owe you one.”
Xie Xizhao replied, “Uh, really, it’s no big deal, I—”
“I thought about it,” Fu Wenze interrupted, completely serious. “I don’t have much to offer you right now.”
“So I’ll teach you how to dance.”
