Superstar Ch.18

Chapter 18: First-week Voting Rankings

Ji Yan found Xie Xizhao in the practice room, where he was leaning against the piano, looking at sheet music.

He was dressed in a loose, jet-black dance outfit made of soft fabric that draped effortlessly over him, making his fair complexion stand out even more.

Compared to before, he looked much healthier. At the very least, his lips had regained some color, no longer the ghostly pale they had once been. The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on his profile.

Ji Yan, who had rushed in moments earlier, couldn’t help but slow his steps.

In truth, Xie Xizhao had always been easygoing. But every now and then, Ji Yan felt like he was trying to grasp a butterfly—beautiful, yet impossible to catch, as if he might vanish into thin air at any moment.

Ji Yan ruffled his hair, momentarily zoning out at his own absurd thoughts. Then, remembering why he had come, he snapped back to reality and called out,

“Brother.”

Xie Xizhao lifted his head.

He put away the sheet music. “Morning. Have you eaten?”

Ji Yan: “……”

Seriously? It was already the afternoon.

Brother, could your greetings be any more perfunctory?

Whatever fleeting illusions he had earlier disappeared in an instant. Ji Yan plopped down onto the piano bench and said, “The first-week voting rankings are out.”

Xie Xizhao’s hand paused for a brief moment.

Super Rookie had an unspoken rule—rankings were updated every week.

These rankings weren’t just displayed at the end of each episode to encourage voting; they were also posted on the first-floor announcement wall in the dorm building.

He simply responded, “Mm.”

Ji Yan, however, was far from calm. “Brother, aren’t you even a little curious about your rank?”

“Not really,” Xie Xizhao said casually. “Somewhere between 50 and 60.”

He tossed a die, glanced at the result, and added, “It says 56, so let’s go with 56.”

Ji Yan: “……”

Ji Yan: “…………”

Xie Xizhao chuckled. “For real?”

Ji Yan jumped up. “No, seriously, Brother—have you and that thing developed supernatural powers or something?!”

“56,” Ji Yan repeated. “Not off by a single spot.”

Even though Xie Xizhao had just been making a random guess, hearing that it was actually correct surprised him as well.

—

Xie Xizhao could actually sense that the die in his hand had a bit of a mystical quality to it. After all, it was something that came from the system. But at the end of the day, it was still just an inanimate object that couldn’t talk, so its abilities were limited.

He slipped the die into his pocket, feeling quite pleased with the little trinket he had chosen to bring along for entertainment. When he looked up, he saw that Ji Yan was still standing there, his expression frozen in sheer disbelief.

Xie Xizhao chuckled. “What’s with that face? It was just a coincidence—you saw it yourself.”

“…I did see it,” Ji Yan admitted. “Which is exactly why I’m shocked.”

“But you were the one who guessed 50 to 60,” he said, scratching his head. “How did you even come up with that?”

Xie Xizhao didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “What’s your rank?”

“…12,” Ji Yan replied.

This time, Xie Xizhao was genuinely surprised. “You have a lot of fans.”

“Oh, they’re just old fans from before.” Ji Yan swung his legs idly, not particularly concerned about his ranking. “Other people will surpass me later.”

He paused before adding, “Honestly, 56 is pretty high for a newcomer. And it’s only been a week, but I just…”

He couldn’t quite put his feelings into words.

When he first checked the rankings, he had noticed quite a few people discussing Xie Xizhao. Before the show aired, Xie Xizhao had barely over two thousand Weibo followers. But now, that number had already grown by tens of thousands.

And ranking 56—for an unknown trainee—was practically a meteoric rise. The first elimination round would cut the contestants from 100 to 60, meaning Xie Xizhao was already guaranteed a spot in the second round.

By all accounts, it was an impressive result.

Yet something about it felt… off.

Ji Yan couldn’t shake the thought—his brother had such an incredible debut stage, an outstanding original song, and an absolutely stunning initial evaluation.

Once the episode aired, shouldn’t he have skyrocketed to the top, aiming straight for the center position?

But 56…

It just felt too ordinary.

Ji Yan knew Xie Xizhao better than anyone. Naturally, he understood how harsh Xie Xizhao was on himself, how truly exceptional he was. And the more he understood, the more he felt that this ranking was simply unfair.

He even found his own 12th place ranking laughable—after all, his initial stage evaluation had only been a C.

But Xie Xizhao simply said, “Ji Yan, don’t underestimate yourself.”

He paused for a moment before adding, “You have a natural connection with the audience.”

Ji Yan was momentarily stunned.

Xie Xizhao’s tone was calm, yet for some reason, Ji Yan felt that this wasn’t just a casual reassurance.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, his ears grew warm. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Brother… are you really okay with this?”

Xie Xizhao put away the sheet music and answered, “I am.”

Ji Yan studied him carefully and found that his expression was indeed as composed as ever.

—

Xie Xizhao truly had no reason to feel unhappy.

The reason was simple:

Just as he had demonstrated to Ji Yan, he had long since predicted his ranking.

He had participated in too many auditions. It was no exaggeration to say that he had held rankings at every level. He knew all too well the intricacies of the process, from the production team to the fans.

The reasoning behind the ranking started with one simple fact:

He was not the contestant the production team wanted.

That was all there was to it.

Because he was not what they wanted, the production team would do everything possible to minimize his presence.

When it came to editing, there were only a few common tactics: reducing screen time, malicious editing, or weakening a contestant’s persona through selective cuts.

That was why he had taken center position at the opening and why he had insisted on securing the first center spot during re-evaluation, even before fully recovering.

These two instances of being in the center ensured the continuity of the show’s storyline. The production team could not afford to cut most of his scenes, nor could they eliminate him in the first round. At the start of a show, malicious editing was usually a tool used to first suppress and then elevate contestants they wanted to promote. That left only one option.

What did it mean to weaken a contestant’s persona?

It could be understood from the opposite perspective. When the production team wanted to promote someone, they would use praise from mentors, staff, and fellow trainees, construct a complete growth arc, and even enhance the stage performance with exaggerated effects, atmospheric enhancements, and auto-tuning.

Conversely, when they didn’t want to promote someone, all of this would disappear.

If Xie Xizhao’s guess was correct, his performance would likely be placed toward the latter half of the episode, with no high-energy songs or hype performances before or after his slot. Once he finished performing, there would be no comments from the mentors.

Under such circumstances, ranking low was only to be expected.

—

If Ma Hongping could read minds, he would have been scared to death by now.

Because Xie Xizhao’s speculations were 99% identical to his own thoughts. What Xie Xizhao hadn’t anticipated, however, was that despite everything, his popularity was skyrocketing. At this very moment, Ma Hongping was watching the bullet comments on the livestream, sweating profusely.

On the screen, the handsome yet understated young man had a slightly husky voice. His downcast eyes seemed to glow.

The bullet comments scrolled by at an insane speed, almost all of them filled with praise.

[Holy crap, I’m losing it. This sounds too good.]

[Ahhh, an original song! My god, is he a genius? He writes and sings like this?]

[This is completely unedited, right? With a voice like this, the sound engineers can pack up and go home. Production team, pay up.]

When Ma Hongping saw the last comment, his lips twitched, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

For the past week, comments like these had been everywhere—on the livestream, in forums, even under the official Weibo posts. Countless people were discussing Xie Xizhao, and this was exactly what the production team did not want.

Beside him, an intern carefully observed his expression. “Uh… Director Ma, should we keep suppressing the buzz?”

Ma Hongping’s tone was irritable. “Haven’t we already tried multiple times?”

“We pushed his trending topic down. The previous post was limited in reach,” the intern said innocently. “But that blogger reposted it. The new post is already nearing five thousand shares. She’s got a huge following, and she posted it on her own. We didn’t pay her.”

Ma Hongping: “……”

“…Forget it.” He gave up entirely. “It’s been a week already. Just let it be.”

He paused for a moment. “Is the final selection for the first public performance set?”

The intern was caught off guard. “Didn’t you and Sister Yan finalize that already?”

Ma Hongping said nothing.

The intern brought over the document. Ma Hongping glanced at it, pondered for a moment, then crossed out one of the entries and scribbled a few words beside it.

Handing it back to the intern, he said, “Show this to Yan’er. Have her follow this plan.”

The intern responded with a quick acknowledgment and left.

At the same time, across the internet, with no further interference, Xie Xizhao’s first video surpassing ten thousand shares was finally born.

Ming Ling, the blogger, stared at the backend data—shares, likes, and comments climbing rapidly. While she felt a sense of satisfaction, a frown also crept onto her face.

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