Chapter 13: Chocolate
After Xie Xizhao finished speaking, a gasp could be heard from the people around him.
Fu Wenze cast a cold glance in that direction, and the person immediately withdrew their gaze, pretending to be as inconspicuous as a quail.
Xie Xizhao wondered for a moment if he had been too harsh.
But in reality, this was already him at his gentlest.
Back when he was still part of the Cannon Fodder System, he had played the role of a senior or mentor before. However, due to character restrictions, his teaching style constantly swung between two extremes: either a short-fused tyrant who lost his temper after saying just two sentences or a smiling tiger who seemed amicable on the surface but secretly sabotaged people behind their backs.
In short, neither were normal personalities.
Fortunately, before he could truly start reflecting on himself, Fu Wenze spoke: “Mm.”
Compared to his earlier sharp glare, this response—though brief—sounded completely normal.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Feeling relieved, he shifted his gaze to the side.
Almost instantly, wherever his gaze landed, everyone tacitly lowered their heads.
They looked just like underperforming students trying to avoid eye contact when the teacher was about to call on someone in class.
The relief Xie Xizhao had just felt started to fade again.
He rubbed his temples, a bit confused about how things had ended up like this.
He meant—
Why, in this rather small room 113, were there suddenly more than a dozen people standing here for no apparent reason?
…And why did every single one of them call him “teacher”?
It all started earlier that day, before lunch, when Xie Xizhao casually told a few younger boys to meet at seven in the evening.
During lunch, Ji Yan had joined them in the practice room.
What Xie Xizhao hadn’t expected was that, later that evening, after he and Fu Wenze finished warming up in the practice room, Fu Wenze would actually take his earlier, half-joking remark—”You dance, and I’ll help adjust your details”—seriously.
By the time the younger boy asked, “Brother Zhao, can I bring two more friends?” Xie Xizhao was already numb.
For some reason, he felt like he was stringing together candied hawthorns—except he was picking them up wherever he went.
Despite his confusion, Xie Xizhao still planned to teach seriously.
On one hand, it was a good deed for the day. On the other, teaching was also a process of breaking down, analyzing, and refining what he had learned himself.
Back when he studied mathematics, he had been a textbook science student. That structured, rational way of thinking and learning had been ingrained in his mind and applied to many areas of his life.
His teaching style was no exception.
Fu Wenze had a solid foundation, while Ji Yan was simply here to join in the fun. But in the end, both of them became fully engaged.
As for the friends those younger boys brought along, they had been skeptical at first. But after having their movements corrected a few times by Xie Xizhao, they were finally convinced.
By now, the entire practice room saw him as their pillar of support.
“Let’s run through it again,” Xie Xizhao said. “For today, we’ll keep the backing track. After your vocal class tomorrow, we’ll remove it and try singing a cappella.”
The expressions on everyone’s faces twisted into a mix of pain and joy.
The progress here was much faster than outside, but at this point, no one doubted that they could pull it off.
The moves that had confused them before became clear and precise the moment Xie Xizhao broke them down. Any details they overlooked—whether in dance or vocals—he pointed out one by one.
It felt like they had fallen off a cliff, only to stumble upon a legendary martial arts manual. The process of absorbing it was excruciating—Xie Xizhao was both gentle and strict, holding them to high standards.
But…
If they could score well in the re-evaluation, what were three days of exhaustion in comparison?
Hearing this, everyone regained their motivation. Even Ji Yan, who had just yawned, forced himself to perk up.
That night, the lights in Practice Room 113 stayed on until eleven o’clock.
—
Recently, the Super Rookie production team had noticed a significant shift among the trainees.
The first was an emotional shift.
This wasn’t surprising. While cutting them off from the outside world made for good reality TV, most trainees still found ways to gauge their own popularity. Feeling anxious about rankings after the official announcement was completely normal.
But the other change was more puzzling.
“Xie Xizhao?” the director repeated. “You’re saying a lot of trainees have been getting close to him lately?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe he has a good personality. He doesn’t seem like the type to lose his temper.”
The name left a strong impression on him.
Not just him—after the initial stage performance of World, quite a few staff members had taken note of both Xie Xizhao’s name and face.
Having worked in the entertainment industry for so long, they had seen plenty of geniuses. Unlike the trainees, they wouldn’t be so easily shocked. Even so, some of them had privately discussed Xie Xizhao, agreeing that he had the potential to become a star.
Of course, not through Super Rookie.
Most people believed that while he was talented, he was still too inexperienced—and weighed down by a company that would only hold him back.
If he wanted to make it big, he needed to switch agencies first and then take a few years to develop.
Ma Hongping thought the same.
He didn’t take the matter too seriously. He figured the new intern was overanalyzing things and gave her a bit of advice:
“There’s no need to read too much into the relationships between trainees. They’re all young, just kids. Aside from a few schemers, most of them just gravitate toward whoever they get along with.”
Then he added, “I heard someone from Shenghong came by?”
“Yes,” the intern replied.
She wanted to explain that it wasn’t just about gathering together, but due to her limited experience, she was quickly led by her superior’s line of thought. “Yes, Sister Yan chatted with them for a while. She mentioned wanting to discuss debut positions.”
“What’s there to discuss?” Ma Hongping sighed. “Nowadays, you can’t manipulate votes. The only things you can slightly influence are editing and screen time, but you can’t edit recklessly either; the audience isn’t foolish—they’re quite perceptive.”
“What did Yan’er say?” he asked.
The intern hesitantly replied, “Pretty much the same as you.”
Ma Hongping felt gratified.
After all, having worked together for two seasons, they had developed a good rapport.
Speaking of which…
“Qingyuan is indeed a good kid,” he said. “Good-looking with a strong star presence and hardworking; he’s definitely a candidate for debut. Of course, Shenghong probably wants him to debut as the center.”
He pondered for a moment. “With the re-evaluation coming up, once he secures the initial center position, have the publicity team buy a few trending topics and engage some marketing accounts to build momentum. This will establish his image, making future operations smoother.”
The intern took notes in response, then left with her notebook to convey the director’s instructions.
That evening, the final night before the evaluation, Xie Xizhao finally left the practice room.
After three days of intensive practice, even with his consistent routine, he couldn’t help but feel fatigued.
Fortunately, after sending off the persistent trainees, he practiced once more in front of the mirror and achieved the desired effect.
Xie Xizhao was in a good mood.
Someone passing by considerately stopped and asked, “Brother Zhao, heading back to rest?”
He replied, “Yes.”
The person, a bit embarrassed, said softly, “You’ve really worked hard.”
His ears were slightly red.
By the end of those three days, the number of trainees practicing in Room 113 had grown to over twenty. That didn’t even include those who had only come to learn for a bit before leaving—most of them were from Class F, and Xie Xizhao barely knew their names.
Even now, he still couldn’t remember, but that didn’t stop him from playing it cool. He asked, “Want some candy?”
The other trainee was caught off guard, so much so that they completely forgot to ask, ‘Do you even remember who I am?’
Like two conspirators, they each took a piece of milk candy just as faint footsteps echoed from a nearby practice room.
“Brother Qingyuan is still practicing,” the younger trainee mumbled through his candy. “I don’t even know if he’s slept a total of eight hours in the past two days.”
Xie Xizhao paused.
“Actually, we weren’t planning on bothering you, Brother Zhao,” the trainee admitted in a small voice. “But everyone in Class A is working really hard—uh, not that you aren’t working hard, it’s just…”
Xie Xizhao replied, “…Yeah, I get it.”
Basically, he looked like he had free time.
“And besides, Brother Qingyuan is kind of strict when he teaches,” the trainee continued, now more at ease after spending the past few days with Xie Xizhao. He chuckled, “I don’t know about the others, but I definitely wouldn’t dare ask him for help. It always feels like his eyes are saying, ‘What a bunch of trash.’”
Xie Xizhao thought to himself that this was probably true.
After all, Ai Qingyuan looked at him the same way.
They leaned against the wall, finishing their candy in silence, before the trainee stood up. “Alright, Brother Zhao, I’m heading out. Get some good rest, and good luck with the assessment tomorrow!”
“You too,” Xie Xizhao responded with a smile, watching as the trainee left.
Then, he straightened and turned his gaze toward the practice room beside him.
Inside, there was only one person.
Ai Qingyuan stood sideways, tilting his head back as he drank from a bottle of mineral water.
He was truly exhausted—his eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembled slightly, yet the lines of his profile remained taut with tension.
After drinking his water, he stood in front of the mirror again in less than two minutes.
Xie Xizhao watched for a while before shifting his gaze away, sighing silently in his heart.
Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out two pieces of chocolate, and placed them gently on the small bench meant for keys and other small items.
Without a word, he turned and left.
