Chapter 12: The Purple Star
As Fu Wenze’s words fell, the air suddenly plunged into an eerie silence.
A moment later, Xie Xizhao found his voice again.
“…Ah.”
He wasn’t the type to wake up in a bad mood, but he did tend to be dazed for a while after getting up—especially when faced with something unexpected.
Fu Wenze observed his reaction carefully, confirming his guess. In a gentle voice, he said, “Dancing isn’t that hard.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Somehow, he heard a kind of patient, cool-guy persuasion in that sentence.
It was as if an older brother were teaching a child who had started skipping classes due to poor grades.
“…Wait a second.” He sighed, finally relenting. “Let me, uh, wash my face.”
He paused, glanced at Fu Wenze—who was still standing there without moving an inch—and added, “Then let’s go eat. After that, we’ll head to the practice room?”
It worked out well. Even though it was a bit early, he had plans in the evening. Eating and getting to the practice room earlier would give him time to warm up.
Only then did Fu Wenze step aside.
Still in a daze, Xie Xizhao went to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and changed into fresh sleepwear. That finally cleared his mind a little.
While he was getting ready, Fu Wenze stood where he was, head lowered as he checked messages. There was a rare hint of a smile on his face.
Hearing movement, Fu Wenze looked up. “Done?”
“Mm.” Xie Xizhao nodded.
After a brief pause, he added, “Uh… thanks for your kindness. But I really don’t need any guidance—I can handle it myself.”
Fu Wenze’s expression was full of disapproval. In his eyes, Xie Xizhao’s reluctance to practice was already classified as avoidance.
He said, “I’m not bad at dancing, right? Even if I’m a little worse than Guan Heng and the others.”
He didn’t mention Ai Qingyuan.
In dorm life, he had always acted as if that person didn’t exist.
Xie Xizhao: “That’s not what I meant!”
He felt numb.
“…Fine, just come with me,” he said.
The two of them walked out one after the other.
—
On the way to the practice room, they ran into some trainees who had just finished class.
Xie Xizhao asked Fu Wenze, “Why didn’t you go to class this afternoon? Did your brother come looking for you?”
For him, it was a matter of weighing pros and cons. Attending class might get him some screen time, but compared to the recording schedule, getting enough rest was more beneficial. Fu Wenze, however, didn’t have this concern.
Fu Wenze replied, “No.”
After a brief pause, he added, “I don’t really like group lessons.”
Xie Xizhao: …
Got it. Socially withdrawn kid.
He said, “But there are cameras. Don’t you want to debut?”
Fu Wenze remained unfazed. “As long as I have a stage, that’s enough. If I don’t debut, it just means the audience has no taste.”
Xie Xizhao’s mouth twitched.
He wanted to say something—being too stubborn could backfire—but before he could, Fu Wenze turned the question on him: “Then why didn’t you go to class? Do you not want to debut either?”
That caught Xie Xizhao off guard. “I do. It’s not that, I just… uh—”
“You’ll make it,” Fu Wenze said.
Xie Xizhao: ?
Fu Wenze’s tone was calm and firm, as if he were stating an undeniable fact, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. If not for the fact that Fu Wenze still believed he couldn’t dance, Xie Xizhao might have actually believed him.
…Having a cool face really was an advantage. No matter what he said, it always sounded righteous and convincing.
The two of them entered the practice room together. At this hour, there weren’t many people inside.
Fu Wenze said, “How much of the routine do you remember? Run through it once for me—I don’t need you to sing.”
Xie Xizhao said, “Alright.”
Five minutes later, Xie Xizhao stopped, panting, and looked at Fu Wenze’s frozen expression.
After carefully choosing his words, he said, “How about… you dance it once too, and I’ll take a look?”
Then he added, “You can sing while you dance—I’ll also teach you how to adjust your breathing.”
He paused. Thinking back to Fu Wenze’s earlier tone when coaxing him, he decided to mimic it, speaking with understanding and patience, “Trust me, it’s not hard. Very easy to learn.”
—
At 8 PM, Fang Qingqing finally finished her assistant duties.
She had been quite busy these days. As a small operation, everyone at Yaoxin wore multiple hats. Since Xie Xizhao had left for Super Rookie, Fang Qingqing had some free time, so the company assigned her a few small artists to manage.
After standing all day, she was exhausted. But instead of heading straight for a shower when she got home, she first opened Weibo. Only after confirming that Xie Xizhao’s account verification had gone through did she finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Then, she found herself staring blankly at his profile picture.
Over the past few days—more precisely, ever since the initial stage evaluation—she had felt like she was dreaming.
Many people had reached out to ask where Yaoxin had found this artist, and there were even some trying to poach him. The last ones to react were the company executives, who belatedly asked her how Xie Xizhao’s initial evaluation had gone and whether he was feeling unwell.
Yes, that was just the kind of company Yaoxin was—poor but full of human compassion.
The owner of Yaoxin was a second-generation rich kid who had invested in multiple industries, including entertainment and esports. None of them had yielded any success; he was losing money everywhere.
But he was rich, so salaries were still paid on time, and everyone continued working as usual. The company culture was laid-back and harmonious, with no sense of urgency.
When the company first signed Xie Xizhao, it was mainly because of his face.
Xie Xizhao had an undeniably attractive face—sharp bone structure, aesthetically pleasing. A face like his was well-suited for modeling or acting.
But Xie Xizhao had insisted on joining a talent competition. The company hesitated at first but ultimately respected his decision.
No one had ever thought he would have anything to do with a debut lineup.
Fang Qingqing still remembered her conversation with her superior.
“Actually, Xie Xizhao got an A,” she said numbly.
“Oh, an A, huh? Well, rankings don’t really matter. It’s not like we’re aiming for debut—every extra second of screen time is a win—wait, what?” The other party’s eyes widened. “He got an A?”
Fang Qingqing replied, “He performed an original song.”
Her superior’s expression turned serious.
That night, Yaoxin—known for never working overtime—held an emergency meeting. They spent hours analyzing the footage sent by the production team, their faces heavy with thought.
Only the carefree boss cheerfully remarked, “Hey, this song is actually really good. Looks like Yaoxin has its very own Purple Star now!”
It was true that Yaoxin had found its Purple Star. But it was also true that securing a debut position would be an uphill battle. Their boss was an airhead, someone who somehow managed to remain untainted in the cutthroat entertainment industry. So, the final conclusion of the meeting was simple—everything would depend on Xie Xizhao himself.
—
Of course, the company still had to handle the basic groundwork for its artists.
For the past few days, aside from managing other small artists, Fang Qingqing had been coordinating with the production team. First, she had made sure Xie Xizhao’s health conditions were properly noted. Then, she worked with the PR and marketing department—technically just one person—to plan his promotional strategy.
Tonight was the official contestant announcement for Super Rookie. There had been some issues with Xie Xizhao’s Weibo verification earlier, but luckily, it had been resolved just in time.
Realizing it was already 8 PM, she snapped out of her thoughts and opened Super Rookie’s official Weibo page. She hit the follow button first before finally checking its latest post.
[Vote for the Super Rookie in your heart. [Web link]
[A new season—we’re back.]
The few short lines carried the confidence and pride expected from a hit show.
The comments section was just as lively.
[Aaaah, finally! My mental lifeline! Do you even know how boring life is without you?!]
[The group from last season just made a record-breaking comeback a few days ago, and their song is amazing. I’m so excited for this season—this show really produces solid groups!]
[Ai Qingyuan! Ai Qingyuan! Brother Qingyuan, I love you! Please debut at center, I’m begging!]
—
Aside from the top comments being mostly from longtime fans of the show, scrolling down further revealed fan-dominated discussions about certain popular contestants. Ai Qingyuan, in particular, was leading by a landslide.
Fang Qingqing knew about Ai Qingyuan. She had no opinions on other contestants—her focus was entirely on her own artist. Unfortunately, after scrolling all the way to the bottom, she found barely any mention of Xie Xizhao. It wasn’t surprising, but she still couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.
‘It’s fine,’ she reassured herself. ‘Once the show airs, his follower count will grow.’
Their Xizhao was both good-looking and talented—he had to gain a lot of fans.
With that thought, she exited the main comments section and clicked into Xie Xizhao’s official contestant announcement post.
To her surprise, it actually had over a hundred comments.
[Whoa, this guy is good-looking. Any fans here to introduce him?]
[Oh, I know him! He’s from A City, right? He was in the news before—apparently, he got into a car accident and suddenly woke up. Didn’t expect him to be here for a talent show. Guess he has a dream of becoming an idol, huh?]
[Just trying to get famous, huh? Feels like he’s here to farm some clout and become an influencer.]
[Is this photo edited? If not, he’s actually really good-looking—got that youthful vibe. Kinda tempted to support him, but I don’t like pretty but useless types. Let’s wait and see.]
[If he was seriously injured before, is his body okay? These talent show schedules are brutal—can he keep up with the high-intensity training?]
[Pretty boy, just stick with our Brother Fu! He’s all tough on the outside but soft on the inside—definitely the type to take care of you. Plus, he comes with free rap and dance lessons, haha!]
—
8:45 PM, Practice Room 113, Super Rookie
The room was silent.
Countless eyes subtly shifted toward a corner, their gazes landing on Fu Wenze, whose face had gone completely stiff as Xie Xizhao walked up to him.
Their eyes met.
Fu Wenze froze even more, and for the first time in his life, he had the ridiculous urge to run.
Before he could act on it, though, the demon standing in front of him spoke.
“Your arm—it wasn’t fully straight. It should be at exactly 90 degrees.”
“It’s just a small difference, but it really changes the overall impression. Better to get it right.” Xie Xizhao glanced at his watch, thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Hmm… there’s still some time.”
“So, brother,” he said gently, with a smile that sent chills down Fu Wenze’s spine, “let’s do it again before we leave.”
**TN
Purple Star – AKA the Emperor Star; someone destined to be an emperor/master.
