Superstar Ch.24

Chapter 24: Quota

As Xie Xizhao finished speaking, Ai Qingyuan’s face darkened.

“I told you not to push your luck,” he muttered, trying to hold it in, but in the end, he couldn’t.

Asking a defeated opponent how much reward he would get after winning?

That was an insult, right?

Xie Xizhao said, “I just wanted to hear your opinion.”

He paused, his expression sincere and innocent. “I’m just a little nervous.”

Ai Qingyuan: “…”

Ai Qingyuan: “……”

The anger that had just surged up instantly dissipated.

After a long moment, he reluctantly said, “Fine, I’ll be direct then.”

“Mm.”

“I’d estimate around twenty-seven or twenty-eight,” Ai Qingyuan said.

By now, the two of them had reached the edge of the practice room, each holding a bottle of mineral water while taking a break. His voice wasn’t loud—he hadn’t intended for the others nearby to hear. He simply continued speaking to himself, “Honestly, your vote count is rising pretty fast, but within the top thirty… how should I put it…”

He trailed off, summarizing briefly, “You should have no problem making it to the fan meeting.”

Xie Xizhao seemed thoughtful.

After a while, he smiled. “Actually, your brother doesn’t need to worry so much.”

Everyone thought the young master was arrogant, looking down on everyone. But in reality, Ai Qingyuan wasn’t completely clueless. At the very least, he had a good understanding of the top-ranked trainees at the moment.

Within the top thirty, many trainees already had a solid fan base.

Their fans were experienced and deeply loyal.

If you really analyzed it, even though a difference of ten ranks—whether from twenty to thirty or from thirty to forty—seemed similar on the surface, the actual vote gap between them was likely to be quite significant.

The further down the ranks, the shallower the voting pool became.

“What?” Ai Qingyuan was puzzled.

Then he asked, “By the way, you just said thirty spots weren’t enough. Why not?”

The next second, Ji Yan walked in with a grim expression.

He didn’t waste words and got straight to the point. “They’ve adjusted the quota.”

“The production team said the venue they rented this time is smaller, so the number of spots has been reduced.”

He paused, his tone heavy. “Only twenty.”

Ai Qingyuan froze.

—

As Xie Xizhao left the practice room and headed back to the dorms, he ran into Fu Wenze on the way.

The boy was still dressed in his usual low-key black, his sharp brows and eyes carrying the rebellious edge of a rapper. He always exuded an aloof chill, mostly keeping to himself, and few dared to approach or strike up a conversation with him. That included Ji Yan, who had once asked Xie Xizhao for advice on how to get along with people. Xie Xizhao, however, never saw it as a big deal.

He had seen plenty of troubled teens before.

Once upon a time, he had also been the delinquent who cornered the protagonist with a stick in hand—candy still in his mouth.

As they crossed paths, Fu Wenze pulled out a pack of candy and handed him a bright, glossy fruit drop.

“My little brother gave me these. Here, have some.”

“Impressive,” Xie Xizhao laughed, accepting the candy without hesitation. “The kid’s got some serious connections.”

At the mention of family, a rare softness flickered in Fu Wenze’s eyes. He said, “He secretly had a fan pass it to me. I was pretty surprised too.”

Then, after a slight hesitation, he started, “You—”

“Stop,” Xie Xizhao cut him off.

Fu Wenze was momentarily stunned.

Seeing Xie Xizhao in a good mood, he assumed he wasn’t aware of the situation with the fan meeting.

But in truth, he had no idea how to bring it up or how to offer comfort.

“Have a heart,” Xie Xizhao sighed. “I’ve already comforted a bunch of people. Brother, I don’t want to keep trying anymore.”

Just earlier in the practice room, Ji Yan had been so frustrated that his eyes turned red. It was Xie Xizhao who had to calm him down.

His own spot had been taken away, yet he was the one doing the comforting.

…What kind of messed-up situation was this?

Fu Wenze suddenly understood and said, “It’s just a fan meeting.”

“Mm.” Xie Xizhao curved his eyes in a smile.

The two walked back to the dorms together.

When they arrived, Fu Wenze went to take a shower while Xie Xizhao sat in his chair, reviewing the day’s practice videos.

After going through them once, he didn’t take off his headphones right away. Instead, he spaced out for a while.

When Fu Wenze came out of the shower, he caught a glimpse of Xie Xizhao’s side profile. He paused briefly, then pressed his lips together and moved more quietly.

A moment later, Xie Xizhao stood up.

“Brother, I’m heading out for a bit. Leave the door unlocked for me,” he said.

Fu Wenze was taken aback.

Then he asked, “Want me to go with you?”

Xie Xizhao froze for a second, then smiled. “No need.”

With that, he pushed the door open and walked out.

—

Although he said to leave the door open, by the time Xie Xizhao left the practice room, it was already close to 1:30 a.m.

Lately, his health had improved a bit, and as a result, he had been pushing himself more than he should.

He silently warned himself about this and tapped his slightly dizzy head.

Still, the results were quite rewarding.

The paper in his hand contained his latest thoughts on formation adjustments. With these changes, their positioning would look less flashy compared to the original version and appear more orderly.

Since it wasn’t an official practice time, the hallway lights had already been turned off.

At the end of the corridor, a window was open. The night breeze was cool, slipping in through the half-open window, carrying with it the rustling sound of fallen leaves being swept up by the wind.

Xie Xizhao slowly made his way toward the stairs, turning off the lights in an empty practice room as he passed by. When he reached the first floor, he noticed a newly posted announcement, and his steps briefly halted.

A small room nearby was still lit—that was the resting area for the on-duty staff.

The staff member inside was probably watching TV. The voice of the female lead, filled with tears and grievance, drifted through the glass window covered in newspaper:

“This isn’t fair to me…”

Xie Xizhao suddenly chuckled.

Then, without sparing the announcement another glance, he turned and left the building.

—

Time passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it was already Friday.

Friday was the airing day for Super Rookie, and at the same time, the weekly ranking deadline.

The rankings were announced in the evening, but in reality, the cutoff was at noon to allow time for post-production. At exactly 12 p.m., every practice room had a brief moment of distraction—except for Room 113.

The practice room Xie Xizhao had been frequenting had now become the designated training space for Stand By’s Group A.

Every day, people passing by could hear the sounds coming from inside… furious roaring.

“Xie Xizhao, don’t push your luck!”

“Xie Xizhao, what’s wrong with my movements? They’re perfectly standard. Where’s the issue?”

“Xie Xizhao, I’m going to fight you!”

Inside the practice room, Xie Xizhao’s smile remained unchanged. His hands moved without mercy as he pulled Young Master Ai’s arm up to the correct height. Only then did he step back and calmly say, “Alright.”

Ai Qingyuan fell silent.

The people around them were frozen in fear.

They had been tormented plenty over the past two days.

But they didn’t dare to complain.

Who could have predicted this outcome?

When voting for the group leader, they had thought they were being clever by not choosing Ai Qingyuan—the obvious choice—and instead went for Xie Xizhao, who seemed easygoing.

And yet… this was the result.

Maybe they really should have learned from Class F’s experiences.

After a whole morning of suffering, Ai Qingyuan’s face was as dark as thunder. Sitting by the full-length mirror, he crumpled the empty water bottle in his hand, as if it were Xie Xizhao himself.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

“Attention, everyone! Time to gather!”

Everyone immediately perked up.

Ai Qingyuan instinctively met Xie Xizhao’s gaze.

The latter smiled at him, still as gentle as ever. “Then I guess we won’t need to run through that last set again.”

Ai Qingyuan: “…”

Damn it!

—

Everyone quickly gathered in the event hall.

Since today was only about announcing the fan meeting slots, there was no recording scheduled. The atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed—except for one thing.

Many people soon noticed that the directors all looked rather serious.

Almost everyone here had, to some degree, crossed paths—or swords—with the production team.

So, seeing the directors in distress…

Well, that was just delightful.

“What’s the expression on Brother Ma and Sister Yan’s face? Am I seeing things?”

“The ratings must have dropped, right? Last episode was just games and dormitory clips. The internet is full of complaints.”

“Keep your voice down… I think it’s because the real-time rankings this week aren’t to their liking again. I remember last week when Xie Xizhao climbed to 42, they had the same expression. Hahaha.”

Amidst the hushed whispers, the MC on stage cleared her throat.

Dou Yu had a scheduling conflict today, so the MC had been switched to Qiu Xuerui.

As always, she was dressed in her signature edgy mix of black and pink, with striking, exaggerated earrings. Compared to Dou Yu’s steady and traditional hosting style, hers was sharp and efficient.

“Since everyone is here,” she said, “let’s quickly go over today’s agenda.”

“First, an update on the upcoming schedule.” She glanced at her cue card before continuing, “The public performance is on Sunday, so there will be a full rehearsal on Saturday. I’m sure everyone has been practicing hard. This will be your first time seeing your fans in person, so take it seriously. Don’t disappoint the people who believe in you.”

Although this was already common knowledge, hearing it from Qiu Xuerui made the sense of urgency feel much more real.

The room gradually quieted down.

Qiu Xuerui switched to a new cue card.

“Next, let’s talk about the fan meeting on Saturday.”

“The venue will be a small indoor stadium in the city center,” she continued. “Around five hundred fans will be attending. As noted in the announcement, there are only twenty available spots for this event.”

She paused slightly. “I’ll now announce the list.”

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd almost instantly.

Ji Yan was seated next to his teammate from the first public performance group. His team was full of chatterboxes, and right now, they were all buzzing.

“Sister Qiu really doesn’t waste any time… Cutting straight to the point!”

“I like this. Teacher Dou is a good guy, but he drags things out too much. He always has to create suspense.”

“Good for you, but not for me! My heart is about to jump out of my chest!”

The last speaker was a contestant who had ranked 18th last week. Under normal circumstances, his spot at the fan meeting should have been secure. But with the production team suddenly cutting ten slots, he was now on edge.

Without thinking, he grabbed the hand of the person next to him.

Only then did he realize—the other person’s hand was just as cold from nervousness.

He turned to look and saw Ji Yan beside him.

“Uh… Yanyan, you’re not serious, right?” he said. “Why are you nervous? You’re definitely getting in.”

Ji Yan forced a smile that didn’t quite look convincing.

On stage, Qiu Xuerui didn’t give them much time to react before she began reading the names.

“Ai Qingyuan.”

Everyone immediately perked up.

She was announcing the names from the top down?!

Ai Qingyuan’s name being called was no surprise. He didn’t even react.

“Guan Heng,” Qiu Xuerui continued.

“Xia Ruiyan.”

“Lu Xing.”

…

As the names were called one by one, the smiles on people’s faces gradually faded.

In the first two weeks, the rankings had been fairly predictable. But starting this week, with new performances and fresh content being released, the rankings had shifted significantly.

The top ten remained the same people, but their positions had subtly changed.

Beyond the top ten, Xie Xizhao noticed that some of the contestants he was familiar with had also moved. Fu Wenze had climbed from 15th to 13th, while Ji Yan had dropped from 12th to 14th. Right behind him was Zou Yi, who had invited Xie Xizhao into the group last time.

In the blink of an eye, the first fifteen names had been announced.

A sense of unease began to settle over the room.

Ni Xin had ranked 17th last time.

It was a precarious, borderline position.

He knew there was a 99% chance he wouldn’t debut, so a ranking drop was inevitable. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want a slot at the fan meeting.

In the show, with Ai Qingyuan and Guan Heng around, he barely got any screen time. That made the fan meeting an even more precious opportunity—several hours of solid exposure on camera.

He clenched his fists.

The more anxious he became, the more he hated Xie Xizhao.

By now, it was an unspoken truth among the trainees that Xie Xizhao was the number one target for suppression by the production team. He was too dazzling. Even though his ranking was only 42nd at the moment, no one doubted that he could disrupt the final debut lineup.

With only five debut spots available, the showrunners might not have a fixed list in mind—but one thing was certain. Xie Xizhao was not in their plans.

This was a serious threat to the way the show allocated its resources.

Ni Xin was all for seeing Xie Xizhao get pushed down.

But not when it affected his own interests.

He was grinding his teeth so hard they almost cracked, but he couldn’t show it.

16th—not him.

17th—not him.

18th, 19th…

Ni Xin’s heart turned colder with each announcement. He couldn’t care about appearances anymore—his head shot up abruptly.

One last slot left.

The room was dead silent. Everyone held their breath. Even Qiu Xuerui seemed to be influenced by the tension, pausing for a few extra seconds.

And in those few seconds, Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze slightly, his fingers brushing against the warm dice in his palm.

He wasn’t trying to recall anything, but for some reason, his mind suddenly drifted back to two days ago—

Back to when he had returned to the system for a particularly difficult mission.

His “role” had been that of a rich second-generation, while the Child of Destiny was a young actor playing alongside him.

This particular scene wasn’t the actor’s moment of ascension. Instead, his task had been to work with his manager to suppress the young actor, crushing him both physically and mentally—dragging him down into the mud.

At the time, Xie Xizhao had been nearing the end of his service period, so he had only completed half of the mission before a newcomer took over.

Newcomers were always soft-hearted. With the system’s buffs, they often assumed that as long as the Child of Destiny went through the motions of hardship, that should be enough to fulfill their destined trials.

But things went wrong.

A press conference that the young actor was supposed to miss—he showed up.

And with his natural charisma, just appearing in public drew in a wave of new fans. If Xie Xizhao hadn’t rushed back in time to clean up the mess, the mission would have completely collapsed.

The junior agent had been utterly in awe of him. But at the same time, he was also confused.

He had asked Xie Xizhao, “Teacher Xie, I heard you graduated with a perfect record. You’ve never failed a single mission. Can you tell me… how do you ensure absolute success?”

Xie Xizhao had thought for a moment before giving him two answers.

“First,” he had said, “you need to ensure you make no mistakes. Situations like today, where failure could have been completely avoided, should never happen in the first place.”

The junior had nodded furiously.

“And second…” Xie Xizhao had smiled faintly. “Tell me, in our line of work—do you think we should believe in fate?”

The junior had frozen.

Should they?

He didn’t know.

He hadn’t experienced enough people’s lives yet. But he had already learned one thing—in the system, every person’s entire existence seemed to be condensed into a string of data or a mere mission file.

The seniors used to joke, “Do your best, and leave the rest to fate.”

But we were that fate.

Knowing that your destiny was in someone else’s hands was an unsettling feeling.

And controlling another person’s fate was no different.

Because both truths pointed to the same conclusion—human insignificance.

But Xie Xizhao had told him, “Humans have never been insignificant.”

He had said, “If you want to control someone else’s fate, the first thing you must do is let go of your disdain for humanity and human nature.”

—

Looking back afterward, Xie Xizhao felt that he had been too harsh on the junior at that time.

Everyone had their own values and principles for handling matters. Within the system, there was no shortage of members who saw themselves as the rulers of the world, and they had achieved remarkable results as well.

But this was the most profound realization he had gained throughout his career.

If he had been in the production team’s position, he would never have tried to prevent the song selection by changing the rules. Ai Qingyuan’s actions were unpredictable, but there were better ways to render that unpredictability useless.

This time was no different.

Reducing the number of spots sounded more justified on the surface. He also believed that the production team had real-time voting statistics—otherwise, they wouldn’t have cut the number so precisely to twenty. They must have calculated that this was a ranking unlikely to be reached.

However, there were still two full days between the public release of the recruitment announcement and the final vote count.

He asked Ai Qingyuan, “What do you think you can do in two days?”

Ai Qingyuan was baffled.

He had already lost hope, but he still felt a little nervous. He thought Xie Xizhao was so anxious that he was talking nonsense.

He replied, “Eat six meals, practice two songs, uh… and finish two rounds of a game.”

Oh, and curse Xie Xizhao a thousand times in his head.

Xie Xizhao chuckled.

He withdrew his gaze and stopped thinking about anything else.

On stage, Qiu Xuerui paused for two seconds before finally picking up the microphone again.

“The last spot.”

She looked at the card in her hand, and for the first time, her usually calm expression showed a trace of surprise.

But she quickly regained her composure.

“The last spot,” she announced. “Xie Xizhao.”

—

At the same time, in a coastal city, inside a small building, Ming Ling, who had spent two full days and nights voting alongside the newly formed, utterly inexperienced but passionate fan support group and solo fans, finally let out a sigh of relief. She climbed into bed during her usual afternoon nap time and drifted into a deep, sweet slumber.

Two days, forty-eight hours.

Just as Ai Qingyuan had said—these two days could pass as ordinarily as any other.

But at the same time—

They could also create a miracle that everyone thought was impossible.

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