Superstar Ch.31

Chapter 31: Rubber Duck

Silence filled the air.

The audience at the live performance had no knowledge of the internal group voting results. At that moment, cheers still echoed outside, as if the two worlds were completely separate.

It wasn’t until the staff member in charge of arranging the performance order pushed the door open and called out, “Next group, get ready!” that everyone snapped back to reality.

The cameras were still rolling. Although each person had their own thoughts, they all stepped forward to congratulate Xie Xizhao.

Amid the lively atmosphere, someone suddenly stood up and left.

Ji Yan had already inched his way to Xie Xizhao’s side.

Just moments ago, because Ai Qingyuan had been nearby, Ji Yan had kept his words and tone in check. But now, he was so shocked that he opened his mouth wide.

The camera was still focused on them. He mouthed silently to Xie Xizhao:

“What do we do?”

Xie Xizhao glanced at the camera, his expression calm as he replied directly:

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t chase after the person who had left.

On the screen, the scoreboard had already switched to Stand By Group B.

At that moment, Guan Heng walked in from outside. He had clearly run into Ai Qingyuan on his way in. The first thing he did after approaching was to smile, pat Xie Xizhao on the shoulder, and say, “Congratulations.”

Then, he naturally took Ai Qingyuan’s original seat and watched the scores with Xie Xizhao.

This time, the first-place winner wasn’t much of a surprise.

The highest scorer in Stand By Group B was Guan Heng, with 235 votes.

So far, both Xie Xizhao and Guan Heng had ranked first in their respective groups. However, neither of them held the highest overall score. As of now, the highest total score belonged to Xia Ruiyan, who ranked third in the online voting and had received 352 votes.

This was where the strategy of selecting groups came into play.

Stand By was the most likely song to produce a breakout stage performance due to its strong boy group style. As a result, it was also the most popular choice, attracting the highest-ranking trainees.

Under these circumstances, the internal group voting was bound to split the votes.

However, Xia Ruiyan had chosen an extremely niche song.

As the team’s main dancer, he picked a fast-paced dance track with highly fragmented movements. It was not only difficult to execute but also featured long segments of rap, making it vocally demanding as well. Once he secured the center position for this song, few other high-ranking trainees chose to compete for it.

The outcome was predictable.

The stage performance for this song was practically a chaotic free-for-all.

Since the votes weren’t split and the other trainees in his group couldn’t match his skill level, the entire performance ended up highlighting him alone. In the end, he secured three-fifths of his group’s total votes in one go.

Xie Xizhao had no particular opinion about this kind of strategy.

Being ranked first overall sounded good, and it also came with extra individual votes—tangible benefits. In a survival show like this, every advantage meant getting one step closer to a debut spot.

Ji Yan, however, felt a little regretful on their behalf. “What a pity.”

“Your votes,” he said, “if you two had been in a different group, you’d probably have ranked first overall.”

Though he kept it vague, his main point was about Xie Xizhao.

Even though Xie Xizhao’s votes weren’t as high as Guan Heng’s, the person who had split the votes with him was Ai Qingyuan—who had clearly suffered more from the way the system worked.

Xie Xizhao simply smiled without saying anything and continued watching the next stage with the others.

—

Although the performances were nearing the end, a few of the remaining stages turned out to be surprisingly good.

For example, the much-despised cute-concept stages.

There were two songs under this theme, making up a total of four performances.

Three of them were essentially a mess—filled with Class F trainees who had been forced into the concept as a last resort. The result was chaotic, with nothing remotely resembling “cute.”

But one of them… Xie Xizhao actually found it quite adorable.

The song was called “Rubber Duck at 5:32 PM,” and it seemed to be about the strange and whimsical thoughts that teenagers have when they’re alone.

The stage design was beautifully done, decorated with pastel-colored pillows and plush toys in shades of pink, yellow, and blue.

The trainees’ outfits were just as cute—soft yellow with graffiti-style little ducks printed on them. As for their performance skills… Xie Xizhao preferred not to comment, except for the center.

The center was a very young boy who looked somewhat familiar. Xie Xizhao estimated that he was around sixteen or seventeen.

He was genuinely adorable, like a porcelain doll. His singing and dancing were also quite solid—effortless, even. The song itself was simple, and based on Xie Xizhao’s experience in assessing performers, it was clear that this song was nowhere near the boy’s full potential.

But the most striking part? His voice was completely at odds with his appearance—deep and slightly husky.

It wasn’t immediately obvious. Xie Xizhao hadn’t noticed while he was singing, but when the music stopped and the boy spoke, that contrast became clear.

He glanced at the name tag on the boy’s outfit:

Yun Pan.

Aside from this performance, there were a few other stages that, while not stunning, were at least passable.

Finally, at around midnight, all the performances were completely recorded.

On the way back to the dorm, Xie Xizhao asked about Yun Pan.

“Yun Pan? Oh, I know that kid—he’s super cute,” Ji Yan said. “That… uh, let me think. I forgot the company name, but they have quite a few trainees. He’s probably the youngest in their company.”

“Oh, right,” he added. “He’s from the same company as Xia Ruiyan. Out of all their trainees, only those two are ranked high. I think they’re pretty close too. Their CP is actually pretty popular.”

Xie Xizhao suddenly understood.

“He has a nice voice,” he explained, clarifying why he had suddenly taken an interest in the younger trainee.

“Of course,” Ji Yan said. “He used to be in a band. He was the lead vocalist.”

Xie Xizhao raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

---

As they talked, they unknowingly arrived at the dormitory entrance.

“Is he of age yet?” Xie Xizhao asked.

“He’s eighteen,” Ji Yan replied. “But he really does look adorable. I kind of want to pinch his cheeks.”

After thinking for a moment, Ji Yan added, “Come to think of it, I haven’t really seen him around much. Does he only hang out with his company’s trainees?”

That wouldn’t be too unusual.

Still, they had all been in the program for a while now, and most people had made at least a few new friends. Artists were rarely introverted, so if Ji Yan hadn’t seen him around, it probably meant the kid didn’t go out much.

“I know,” Xie Xizhao said with a snap of his fingers.

And just then, he finally remembered why Yun Pan had seemed so familiar.

He had seen his first stage—Yun Pan had performed with his group, or more accurately, had followed his team’s core performer, Xia Ruiyan, in a dark, sexy concept. The heavy makeup had disguised him well, so Xie Xizhao hadn’t recognized him.

But before that, he had actually seen Yun Pan once before.

He was the boy who had been staring longingly at Xie Xizhao’s chocolate during rehearsals.

That was…

‘Quite a contrast.’ Xie Xizhao thought.

Xie Xizhao memorized Yun Pan’s name in his mind and was about to head back to the dorm when Ji Yan called out to him.

“Oh, right, brother…” Ji Yan hesitated.

Xie Xizhao turned back to look at him. After a brief pause, Ji Yan finally asked, “Is everything okay with Ai Qingyuan?”

Xie Xizhao paused for a moment.

“Which aspect are you referring to?” he asked.

Ji Yan hesitated again.

The dormitory entrance was busy with people coming and going. Many trainees passing by glanced back at Xie Xizhao, making this an inconvenient place for a conversation. So, Ji Yan led Xie Xizhao toward the emergency stairwell, where it was quieter.

Once they were away from prying eyes, Ji Yan finally spoke.

“I just feel like… You and him seemed pretty close for a while, but after what happened today, he might hold a grudge.”

—

In truth, Ji Yan had originally wanted to ask why Xie Xizhao hadn’t comforted Ai Qingyuan earlier.

He was a simple-minded person. On the surface, Xie Xizhao always appeared laid-back, but in reality, he was incredibly observant.

Just as an example—there had been a time when Ji Yan had felt overwhelmed by the pressure of fan comments. Xie Xizhao had noticed right away and had taken the time to talk him through it.

And somehow, with just a few casual words, Xie Xizhao had dispelled all the anxiety weighing Ji Yan down. The next morning, Ji Yan woke up and felt like the guy who had almost cried to his brother the night before was a complete idiot.

And worse, he had even made his brother stay up late for the first time ever.

That same gentle and perceptive Xie Xizhao, however, hadn’t gone after Ai Qingyuan tonight. Even though Ai Qingyuan hadn’t returned to the filming area for the entire evening, Xie Xizhao hadn’t gone to comfort him.

But then again, Ji Yan thought, this was a competition. Fair and square.

Just because people called him the “little prince” didn’t mean he was an actual prince—why should anyone be obligated to console him?

So, in the end, Ji Yan rephrased his words before they left his mouth.

Xie Xizhao was momentarily stunned by the question, but then he replied with certainty, “He won’t.”

His tone was resolute.

Ji Yan felt a strange twinge of jealousy. “Brother, you trust him that much?”

Xie Xizhao simply laughed.

His stage makeup was still on, keeping up the clean-cut, high school heartthrob look. But offstage, his entire demeanor had settled into a quiet calm.

When Ji Yan had been watching the earlier performance, he had felt that Ai Qingyuan—who usually had a cool, edgy image—didn’t quite fit the concept of the stage.

But looking at Xie Xizhao now, he realized that the person with the biggest contrast between their stage and real-life persona might actually be Xie Xizhao himself.

“It’s not trust,” Xie Xizhao said.

He paused for a moment before adding, “Just think of me as half a psychologist.”

He had encountered far too many people.

The good and the bad. The seemingly invincible, the hesitant and fragile.

And in the end, all of them became just a few brief lines in his mission reports.

Some reports were long, some short, but they summed up a person’s entire existence—
and, in turn, their very essence.

To play an NPC, one had to understand people first.

That was their job.

And compared to the people Xie Xizhao had encountered, Ai Qingyuan wasn’t even close to being one of the complicated ones.

“He’s feeling awful right now, and he doesn’t even fully understand why,” Xie Xizhao said. “If I go to comfort him, he’ll feel even worse. Not because he thinks I’m mocking him, but because it would make him feel humiliated.”

He was already very familiar with Ai Qingyuan.

Ai Qingyuan was arrogant, with an untamed personality, but he knew right from wrong. He wouldn’t think that Xie Xizhao was comforting him out of condescension, but he also wouldn’t be able to accept that comfort—let alone know how to face Xie Xizhao.

Because, at his core, Ai Qingyuan couldn’t accept his own failure.

It was a slightly extreme mindset, but some people were just like that. So, Xie Xizhao wouldn’t go out of his way to provoke his frustration at this moment.

He gave Ji Yan a brief explanation before concluding, “So it won’t be a big deal. At most, he’ll just avoid me for a couple of days.”

Ji Yan half-understood but nodded.

Since Xie Xizhao was sure there wouldn’t be any conflict, Ji Yan felt reassured. Ai Qingyuan’s family background wasn’t something to overlook, and Ji Yan had been worried that Xie Xizhao might suffer because of it.

“And after he’s done avoiding you?” Ji Yan asked. “Will he keep clinging to you for a rematch? This round already settled things, didn’t it?”

Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze slightly.

Then, he smiled. “He will.”

Ji Yan twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“The only difference this time,” Xie Xizhao said, “is that he won’t say it out loud.”

—

And as it turned out, Xie Xizhao’s prediction was spot on.

For the next few days, he barely ran into Ai Qingyuan in the dorm or the practice room.

Their schedules weren’t that different, which could only mean that Ai Qingyuan was deliberately avoiding him.

Xie Xizhao didn’t mind. He continued his usual routine—going to the practice room every day, following a structured schedule without any disruptions.

This routine continued until the fourth day.

That day was just as uneventful as the ones before. Since Fu Wenze was busy, Xie Xizhao ended up eating with Guan Heng instead. But before the two could even sit down, an extra tray appeared beside Xie Xizhao’s.

There was only one person in their dorm who would have an entire meal consisting solely of meat.

Chicken breast, chicken sausage, and a side of luncheon meat.

Guan Heng sighed. “Xiao Yuan, you need a balanced diet with both meat and vegetables.”

Xie Xizhao silently took a bite of his sweet and sour ribs.

Ai Qingyuan’s tone was stiff. “I’ll eat them tomorrow.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Are you both going to the spin-off program shoot this afternoon?”

Guan Heng glanced at Xie Xizhao.

The daily schedule was posted in the group chat with an @all mention, so everyone could see it.

This was the last spin-off program shoot before the first round of eliminations. Guan Heng had already participated.

Xie Xizhao swallowed the sweetness lingering in his mouth before responding, “It should just be me. Brother Heng isn’t going.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” Ai Qingyuan stabbed his chopsticks into his luncheon meat with unnecessary force, hesitated for a second, and then casually added, “I’m in this episode too.”

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