Chapter 16: Become famous in one battle
The bombshell news—“Ai Qingyuan is not the first center”—spread across the fandom that very night.
By its third season, Super Rookie had already established itself as a well-known IP, with dedicated fans of both the show and individual trainees. Even though the new season hadn’t aired yet, it had already hit trending searches multiple times, and the entertainment forums were buzzing as usual.
This revelation shocked both new and old fans alike.
As mentioned in the discussion thread, the oversaturation of survival shows had led to a scarcity of quality trainees. Given the lineup this season—where talent, background, and visuals were all taken into account—most people assumed there was no one who could possibly compete with Ai Qingyuan, at least not before the show even started gaining new fans.
[This has to be a publicity stunt. They probably ran out of angles to market the show and decided to stir up some drama. Could be fake.]
[Fake +1. Even the usual insiders haven’t said anything.]
[You guys have so much faith in AQY. Did you all just forget how he threw a tantrum on his last show?]
[GTFO, hater.]
[Manifesting, manifesting, manifesting!!!]
[I don’t think it’s fake… That account belongs to a staff member, and they deleted it instantly… They were probably too shocked.]
That last comment was the one that truly ignited the debate.
The account that had accidentally leaked the info was already verified as a private account belonging to an internal staff member. They frequently posted casual behind-the-scenes moments of the trainees, making their credibility exceptionally high.
While Ai Qingyuan’s fans and his haters were tearing each other apart in a storm of online warfare, fans of other trainees were also filled with uncertainty.
If it wasn’t Ai Qingyuan, then who was it?
Could it be their favorite trainee?
Speculation naturally led to comparison and mudslinging, causing the chaos to escalate even further.
Amidst all the turmoil, there was only one place that remained peaceful and undisturbed—
Xie Xizhao’s fan group.
—
Yes, Xie Xizhao had a fan group.
The group had a capacity of 500 members, but at the moment, there were only 312 fans. Since there was no major fan leader, the young girl who created the group had temporarily taken on the difficult task of managing it.
They were also gossiping, but for them, it was purely about enjoying the drama.
[They’re arguing so fiercely O.O Feels like a battlefield.]
[It’s fine, it has nothing to do with us. Anyway, Ai Qingyuan’s fans only fight over who gets the center position in their group. What does that have to do with our beautiful little white flower, Zhaozhao?]
[Ahhh, I’m dying of laughter, that’s so true. By the way, the photo Yaoxin posted today looked amazing. Wuwu~]
[I, a humble believer, ask for nothing except my darling’s good health. Before joining the fandom, I used to chant about medical miracles with everyone else. After joining, my heart just aches. If he’s going to stay obscure and unsuccessful, so be it. As long as he remains beautiful and breathing, that’s enough for me. [tears]]
[+1, I’m purely a fan of his existence.]
In this peaceful and harmonious atmosphere, the argument was brushed aside, replaced by fangirling, anticipation, and other completely trivial conversations.
At eleven in the evening, it was time to sleep and maintain a healthy routine, so the group members wished each other goodnight.
Five minutes later, the chat fell into a silent understanding—there were no more new messages.
—
At the same time, Xie Xizhao finally woke up from his dream. He felt a bit warm, so he sat up, touched his forehead to check his temperature, and then let out a breath of relief.
A cup of water sat on the table beside him—still stable.
He took a sip just as the door outside opened. Guan Heng walked in, carrying a boxed meal in his hand.
He greeted Xie Xizhao, “Awake?”
Xie Xizhao responded with a soft “Mm.”
Guan Heng placed the meal containers on the table one by one. Inside were steaming hot seaweed egg drop soup, steamed pork ribs with rice powder, scrambled eggs, and stir-fried greens.
Xie Xizhao glanced at the food and commented, “As expected, the moment I don’t go to the cafeteria, they start making good food.”
Guan Heng was amused and laughed.
“Hurry up and eat before it gets cold,” he said.
Xie Xizhao picked up his chopsticks and thanked Guan Heng before starting his meal.
Near the end of the recording, Xie Xizhao developed a low-grade fever due to his weak immune system. Since the recording wasn’t finished yet, he forced himself to endure it for a while.
Only Guan Heng noticed.
After the session ended, he helped Xie Xizhao back to their dorm and even went to get him food.
“No need to be so polite,” Guan Heng said. “We’re roommates.”
Xie Xizhao didn’t act pretentious about it. After taking some medicine, his fever had mostly subsided. Aside from the lingering soreness all over his body, he felt fine. In fact, his appetite was quite good.
As he ate, Guan Heng simply watched him.
After a while, Xie Xizhao put down his chopsticks and sighed helplessly.
“Brother,” he said, “you’re making me nervous just by watching me like that.”
Guan Heng chuckled.
“Am I really that intense?” he asked.
He paused for a moment before continuing, “I just didn’t expect…”
“You didn’t expect me to dance?” Xie Xizhao asked.
“Not just dance—but dance that well,” Guan Heng replied.
Xie Xizhao said, “I used to learn singing and dancing before, but it was just something I picked up for fun.”
That was the excuse he had prepared.
It was a perfectly normal explanation, and few people would bother digging deeper.
As expected, Guan Heng looked as if he had suddenly understood everything and didn’t ask further. He only said, “Xizhao, this time, you’ve really made a name for yourself.”
—
Guan Heng wasn’t exaggerating.
This was the advantage of holding the “First Center” title. It was also what Ma Hongping had previously called a “fixed impression.”
Whether a trainee was considered strong depended first on their actual skills, and then on the various factors attached to them—the praise from others, the honors and labels stuck to their name.
These elements shaped the public’s familiar evaluation system.
Of course, there was still a long way to go before the finals, and many previous survival shows had cases where the First Center didn’t debut in the end. But at the very least, within the competition itself, Xie Xizhao had already transformed from a talented trainee into a dark horse rookie.
Now, wherever he went, he found more eyes following him.
Xie Xizhao didn’t care about other people’s gazes, nor was he smug about it.
He wasn’t the type to be overly critical of himself, but if he had been training for years and still couldn’t surpass the younger contestants, that would be truly embarrassing.
Simply put, winning was expected—losing, now that would be unusual.
As for the votes…
Xie Xizhao only realized later that his overwhelming lead in votes might have had something to do with the entire practice room of “students” he had once mentored.
…An unintended consequence, he thought.
Not that he had ever sought any kind of payback.
Even with all the attention on him now, Xie Xizhao continued his daily routine as usual—cycling between the practice room, therapy room, cafeteria, and dormitory.
After a while, the curious stares, as if watching a zoo animal, started to fade.
But while most people gradually forgot the initial shock, there was one person who didn’t.
For him, it wasn’t admiration—it was an inescapable humiliation.
On the day the initial stage recording ended, Xie Xizhao ran into Ai Qingyuan in the restroom.
—
The initial stage recording went smoothly. With so many people involved, everyone was cautious to avoid wasting time.
By the time it ended, Xie Xizhao still had energy to spare—his body had almost fully recovered.
He was in a great mood, which contrasted sharply with Ai Qingyuan’s expression.
To be honest, Xie Xizhao hadn’t seen Ai Qingyuan for several days.
Rumor had it that after the re-evaluation, he had locked himself in the practice room.
Guan Heng had been worried and wanted Xie Xizhao to help persuade him, but Xie Xizhao refused. He said, “I’m not the right person for that.”
And it was the truth.
No matter how tactfully he phrased it, coming from the person who had caused Ai Qingyuan’s frustration, any words of comfort would only sound like mockery.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t sure what Guan Heng had said, but at least over the past two days, Ai Qingyuan seemed less withdrawn.
Even so, this was the first time they had met alone.
Xie Xizhao asked, “Are you heading back to the dorms?”
Ai Qingyuan pressed his lips tightly together.
Just when Xie Xizhao thought he wouldn’t get an answer, Ai Qingyuan finally spoke.
“There won’t be a third time.”
Xie Xizhao: ?
“I messed up during the initial stage,” Ai Qingyuan said, looking up. “I wasn’t good enough. And during the re-evaluation, I…”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Xie Xizhao barely stopped himself from finishing the sentence with “…still weren’t good enough?”
‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he told himself. ‘I’d get punched.’
‘And right now, I can’t beat anyone in a fight.’
He struggled to hold it in, but fortunately, Ai Qingyuan continued speaking, his voice cold.
“In any case, next time, I won’t lose to you again. Just wait and see.”
Xie Xizhao let out a quiet breath of relief.
With a calm, almost kind expression, he simply said, “Alright.”
The boy who had just thrown down the gauntlet quickly strode away, coming and going in a hurry—almost as if he had shown up just to say that one dramatic line.
Xie Xizhao had no idea that in the moment Ai Qingyuan declared war on him, he had already become the only opponent Ai Qingyuan deemed worthy of a fight.
He was simply relieved that, for once, he had managed to hold his tongue and not say something snarky. Feeling accomplished, he strolled back to the dorm and rewarded himself with a rare treat—a cup of lemon tea.
A week later, a new announcement was issued to the trainees: the first public performance was officially coming up. The 100 trainees would be divided into five-person teams, with two teams competing against each other in each matchup.
This time, they would be performing in front of an audience for the first time. A panel of 300 recruited viewers would vote, deciding the winning teams and selecting both the MVPs of each group and the overall MVP of the entire performance.
That very night, as soon as the audience recruitment was announced, the show officially confirmed its air date.
After weeks of teasers, pre-release hype, and countless leaks, Super Rookie Season 3’s premiere episode—featuring the first stage evaluations—was finally online.
