Chapter 26: Pictionary Game
Guan Heng really hadn’t thought that much about it.
As the oldest member within Shenghong, he was used to considering and planning for everyone. Naturally, he wouldn’t overlook how pitifully small Xie Xizhao’s portion was.
It was just something he did in passing. He also felt that the production team had gone too far.
But what he hadn’t expected was that the usually quiet and reserved Fu Wenze would also be this attentive.
This surprised him even more than Ai Qingyuan, who always said one thing but meant another, standing up for Xie Xizhao.
Fu Wenze seemed a little embarrassed as well. He silently withdrew his gaze, pretending nothing had happened.
While there was some underlying tension on this side, on the other side, Ji Yan’s eye twitched, his expression practically oozing disdain.
…Seriously?
That’s my brother—what does this have to do with you?
Ai Qingyuan’s face darkened, but at this moment, he obviously couldn’t back down.
That would be far too out of character for someone as domineering as he was.
And so—
All eyes turned to Xie Xizhao.
Xie Xizhao: “……”
Sure, he was a little disappointed about not getting much screen time, but that didn’t mean they had to make up for it all at once right now.
He picked up the mic. “Uh—”
“I spoke first,” Ai Qingyuan cut in as soon as he opened his mouth. He had always said whatever he wanted, and cameras meant nothing to him. “Shouldn’t we go in order?”
Ji Yan’s temple throbbed. Did this guy have no shame?!
It was just half a second!
“Calm down.” Xie Xizhao had no choice but to soothe Ai Qingyuan, then turned his head—only to see Ji Yan looking at him with a pitiful expression.
…Hmm.
It really did seem like picking either one would be a bit awkward.
It was a tough decision—but for Xie Xizhao, not all that tough.
Faced with the burning stares of the two and the slightly confused look from the host, Xie Xizhao slowly revealed a beautiful, harmless smile.
At the same time, Ai Qingyuan started to get a bad feeling.
And sure enough, the next second, he heard Xie Xizhao speak.
“Here’s the thing,” Xie Xizhao said calmly. “I have a die.”
—
“I have a die.”
This had recently become the favorite phrase among Xie Xizhao’s fans.
Not only that, but the fan club had even chosen a name inspired by it—”Random Numbers.” Their official support color? The exact shade of green as the die Xie Xizhao always carried.
The reason was simple—back when he first picked his seat, he had jokingly pulled out a die and said he was letting it decide his spot.
That moment was what truly marked the beginning of fans getting to know Xie Xizhao.
When that scene first aired, it stirred up some controversy. At the time, no one had really seen what Xie Xizhao was capable of, so saying something like that felt like a cocky move disguised as a joke. But now? No one thought that anymore.
And so, the die became an inside joke.
The moment Xie Xizhao said those words, the once-dazed audience instantly erupted into laughter.
“Oh my god, Xie Xizhao is insane. No idea why, but this is both high-EQ and hilarious.”
“Seriously, I’m dying. This is way too funny…”
“My baby took out his little die! Which basically means he took me out! This proves he cares about me!”
“Bahahaha! Ai Qingyuan’s face is so dark right now. Total trauma. I get it.”
Ai Qingyuan watched as Xie Xizhao pulled out the die, his eye twitching. Of course, he also thought of the first stage performance.
…Seriously?
Was this guy insane? Did he really carry a die around every single day?
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind like a barrage of bullet comments, yet despite himself, his gaze still drifted toward Xie Xizhao’s palm.
The boy had a pair of exceptionally beautiful hands—long, well-defined fingers, a touch pale but with a smooth, almost translucent glow in the center of his palm.
In the brief moment that had passed, Xie Xizhao had already explained the rules: odd numbers for Ai Qingyuan, even numbers for Ji Yan.
The translucent green die rolled in his palm and came to a stop.
A five.
Xie Xizhao stood up and walked toward Ai Qingyuan.
“Looking forward to working with you,” he said.
Ai Qingyuan muttered, “…One of these nights, I swear I’m gonna steal that stupid die and toss it.”
By the time he said that, the host had already started handing out the cards.
His voice sounded grumpy—like a grade schooler who had just been wronged.
Xie Xizhao chuckled. “Thanks.”
His tone was surprisingly earnest.
Ai Qingyuan fell silent.
After a moment, he mumbled, a little awkwardly, “It’s nothing.”
It was just something he did in passing, but it still held meaning. Xie Xizhao didn’t say much—he simply kept it in mind.
Soon, the host finished explaining the rules: three teams would play Pictionary simultaneously, and the team with the most correct guesses would win.
First, they had to decide who would draw and who would guess.
Ai Qingyuan’s drawing skills were… elementary, at best. He hesitated, but before he could say anything, Xie Xizhao spoke up.
“I’ll draw.”
“I’ve learned how to,” he explained.
In the system.
Ai Qingyuan looked slightly surprised.
Half skeptical, he moved to sit across from him. Xie Xizhao had already picked up a marker.
There was a natural gentleness and calm about him, an effortless poise. His long fingers contrasted elegantly with the black marker, and the fans closest to the stage were so overwhelmed that they covered their mouths in excitement.
Soon, the host announced the start of the timer.
Xie Xizhao glanced at the first prompt: “A bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring.”
He had only five seconds to draw.
The moment he saw the phrase, he immediately gestured to Ai Qingyuan to indicate the number of words. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he started drawing.
In half a second, he sketched the simplest possible bow. The remaining four and a half seconds, he used the marker to outline the rest with swift precision.
Time was up.
Ai Qingyuan, who had been racking his brain over what a simple bow could mean, blurted out the answer the moment he saw the full drawing:
“A bird startled by the mere twang of a bowstring!”
On the right side of the board, next to the hastily drawn bow, was a bird—sketched in simple strokes, yet full of life, wings spread as if about to take flight.
The second prompt: “Glancing at flowers while riding a horse.”
Five seconds later, the whiteboard featured a proud, high-spirited stallion alongside a simple five-petaled flower—drawn in a single stroke at the last moment, just clear enough for Ai Qingyuan to recognize.
The third prompt. The fourth…
Since all three teams were playing at the same time, the audience had originally been shifting their attention back and forth between groups.
But very quickly, they were completely drawn in by Xie Xizhao and Ai Qingyuan’s incredible speed.
“This team is so fast!”
“Our Xiao Ai is so smart, ahhh, so handsome!!”
“Their chemistry is insane. Just now, Ai Qingyuan even intentionally gave Xie Xizhao more camera time. And people were analyzing their microexpressions from the first stage, saying they weren’t close? Well, this pretty much disproves that theory.”
…
The fans gushed excitedly among themselves, while only those sitting closest to the stage could fully see every single one of Xie Xizhao’s drawings.
A minute flew by in a flash.
And, as expected—the result was undeniable.
“And the winning team is Ai Qingyuan’s group,” the host announced. “The reward is twenty seconds of solo camera time to speak directly to your fans, plus the chance to pick one lucky fan to receive a small plush toy.”
The camera panned to Ai Qingyuan.
He raised an eyebrow, his words crisp and straightforward: “Eating well, sleeping fine, haven’t been gaming lately, practicing hard—no need to worry.”
Every single point addressed things that fans frequently fussed over, as well as comments from fansite masters.
His response was so on-brand that a girl in the audience shouted:
“Xiao Ai, Mommy loves you!”
Ai Qingyuan lifted the mic again, lazily adding, “Also, no mom-fans.”
Laughter erupted from the audience.
Then, picking up the plush toy, he casually said, “Not doing a random draw. Don’t like leaving things to chance. The one who just called herself my mom—come claim your prize.”
Ji Yan, who had been drinking water behind him, nearly choked to death on the spot.
And with that, it was Xie Xizhao’s turn.
This was the first time that the camera focused entirely on Xie Xizhao, uninterrupted. He adjusted his earpiece slightly, his gaze lowered in thought.
To the fans below, he was still wrapped in mystery. A phenomenon of this show. A fresh presence.
Everyone was curious—what would he say?
Would he ask for votes? Take the opportunity to introduce himself?
A thousand different possibilities swirled in the audience’s minds.
Truthfully, to fans, whatever their idol said would sound good to them. All they felt was anticipation.
Xie Xizhao didn’t take long to think.
Soon, he lifted his head.
Everyone saw the reflection of the stage lights in his eyes.
He curved his eyes into a smile, his gaze bright and dazzling like the stars. With sincerity and warmth, he said, “Thank you. You’ve worked hard—get some good rest.”
The moment he spoke, Ming Ling, who had been wearing a mask in the audience, immediately looked up.
The instant their eyes met, the seasoned fangirl felt a sudden tremor in her heart.
She couldn’t hear anything else after that. Her mind was consumed by a single thought—Xie Xizhao was acknowledging their votes.
Those two days and nights of effort weren’t in vain. The saying was true: If something is deeply remembered, there will always be an echo.
He knew about their dedication. And he was thanking them for it.
She suddenly felt like crying, but she was afraid of ruining her makeup, so she fought hard to hold back her tears.
On stage, Xie Xizhao used the full thirty seconds. Then, in the final five, he ended with one last sentence.
“Finally—” he smiled, eyes curving again. “Thank you for liking me.”
“It makes me really happy to be liked by so many people.”
And he meant it.
—
The fan meeting’s popularity was unexpectedly high.
There was official footage, media coverage, and countless fan-recorded clips.
All twenty of the top trainees had their own meme-worthy moments, and plenty of viral highlights came out of the event.
But without exception, the most popular videos were all related to Xie Xizhao.
The top-ranked clip was the moment when everyone on stage wanted to choose him.
No one could resist a bit of drama and spectacle. The expressions of everyone involved were so entertaining that they spawned countless edits.
One of the most viral edits? A multi-character version of “The Seductive Fox Spirit” meme.
And the funniest part? The creator of that video wasn’t even a fan of any of the trainees.
Meme culture was one thing, but one fact was undeniable—everyone could tell that Xie Xizhao was incredibly well-liked within the show.
It was so obvious that even the audience could tell the show was deliberately suppressing him—so much so that people were rushing to boost his popularity in response.
[Their friendships are so genuine. It’s actually really touching—young people really are pure at heart.]
[I seriously want to interview the production team. Your so-called ‘chosen one’ is out here giving endless support to the very person you’re trying to suppress—how do you feel about that? Happy? Goose goose goose.]
[OMG, is XXZ possessed by Daji or something? LMAO, he’s charming everyone one by one.]
[This is so nice, so nice! My precious Zhaozhao won’t be b*llied anymore—I’m finally a little relieved, sob sob sob.]
The second most viral clip was Xie Xizhao’s 30-second fan interaction video.
A fan’s love for their idol is often unconditional and asks for nothing in return. That’s precisely why receiving a response makes it all the more special.
The moment the video was posted, a wave of casual onlookers—who had only been following him out of mild curiosity—were instantly converted into full-fledged fans.
[My mom just asked why I’m sitting in front of my computer crying. MOM, I LOVE HIM.]
[AHHHH his eyes really look like they have stars in them. He said he’s happy people like him—Zhaozhao, I’ll always love you!]
[Just a passerby, but… good skills AND sincerity? I think I might actually start stanning him.]
[Sister, join us already! Our Zhaozhao is sweet AND savage—his special skill is slapping the production team in the face. This investment has NO downsides!!]
Finally, there was the “Pictionary” game video.
Filmed by a fan in the audience, the footage was a bit shaky—but the camera was close.
On screen, they could see the young man’s calm and stunning profile, his slightly curled eyelashes, and his light-colored, delicate lips.
His fair and slender fingers gripped the pen, and under his touch, simple yet vividly expressive little animals came to life on the whiteboard.
The top-rated comment perfectly captured everyone’s thoughts:
[Wait, is there anything he can’t do?!]
It had over ten thousand likes.
That same night, Xie Xizhao gained tens of thousands of new followers once again. His supertopic was filled with celebration.
Meanwhile, the person at the center of all this had already locked himself inside a quiet practice room.
There were less than 48 hours until the first public performance.
Fan interactions, content drops, and behind-the-scenes clips—those were all just side work to him.
To him, the most important thing was and always had been the stage.
**TN
“A Bird Startled by the Mere Twang of a Bow-string” (proverb) implies that if a man has been previously and repeatedly frightened, he will become anxious and uneasy after that.
