Superstar Ch.36

Chapter 36: Chips

Xie Xizhao’s words were purely spoken on impulse.

However, as soon as he finished speaking, he clearly saw the corners of the female ghost’s mouth twitch.

Downstairs, Ai Qingyuan, unaware of the situation, asked, “Meal?”

“Sure,” he called out cheerfully toward the upper floor. “If we go out, I’ll treat you. How about four dishes from the cafeteria?”

Yun Pan glanced at him in silence, his expression as if he were looking at an idiot.

Xie Xizhao had no intention of debating nonsense with an idiot. He flashed a polite smile at the female ghost, then sidestepped her and walked inside. Footsteps filled with reluctance followed behind him, but he paid them no mind, focusing instead on the layout of the second floor.

Compared to the lobby downstairs, the second floor appeared much narrower. A single, tight corridor stretched toward the end, with private rooms lining the left side.

Xie Xizhao glanced at the room names and quickly located the one labeled “Hongyan.”

As expected, this was the clue corresponding to “Luoyan.”

He moved toward the room and hesitated briefly when his hand touched the doorknob. Then, suddenly, he turned around.

The female ghost, who had been following him in an attempt to scare him, nearly ended up face-to-face with him. Startled by the abrupt movement, she stumbled back a step.

Xie Xizhao asked, “Do you have a flashlight? Lend it to me.”

Female ghost: ?

Unable to hold back any longer, she finally spoke, forcing her voice to sound hoarse. “Are you… talking to me?”

Was this something a normal person would do?

Could he at least show some respect for her current identity?!

Xie Xizhao chuckled. “You’re really dedicated to this, huh? I just think it’s a bit dark. If you guys set up some kind of mechanism inside and I can’t see it, it’d be a hassle if there’s a filming accident.”

Female ghost: “…”

Female ghost: “……”

Half a minute later, she pulled a flashlight out from the bloodstained folds of her robe.

Xie Xizhao took it and said, “Thanks.”

He tested the flashlight’s brightness, then added, “You should stay outside. The beam only covers so much area—safety is more important than dedication.”

Female ghost: “…”

Why did that actually sound kind of considerate?

She stood at the doorway, watching as the slender young man coughed slightly from the swirling dust. Holding up the flashlight, he stepped inside. Even when the beam illuminated a bloodied prop head on the wall, he showed no reaction. At last, she accepted the fact—he truly wasn’t afraid.

Since he wasn’t scared, she decided not to waste her energy either. Instead, she focused on watching him search for clues.

Then, she realized—he was actually quite skilled at it.

This place used to be a film studio, not a specially designed escape room, so the setting was cluttered with props and furniture. But after a single glance around, the young man’s gaze landed directly on a specific section of the wall.

He walked over, tapped on it experimentally, then pressed one of the bricks.

With a loud rumble, a hidden compartment popped open on the other side.

Xie Xizhao took the slip of paper inside, carefully stepping around the scattered “severed limbs” on the floor, and left the room.

The entire process took less than five minutes.

At first, the female ghost had felt personally insulted. Now, she felt like the entire production team had been insulted.

She couldn’t hold back anymore and finally asked, “How did you know that was where the clue was?”

Xie Xizhao: “Hm?”

It took him a moment to realize the NPC was speaking to him. He explained,

“Because that spot was decorated the scariest.”

For horror-themed escape rooms, the appeal was either extreme terror or intricate puzzles.

As a variety show spin-off of a talent competition, this obviously couldn’t be that refined. So, they had to settle for low-budget versions of both.

The director’s team had structured the game with a simple approach: use the most straightforward horror elements to scare contestants, guiding them away from less engaging clues.

‘Unfortunately…’ Xie Xizhao thought.

Back when he was a director, he had the same idea.

The main issue was that, according to the script, he was supposed to act a little foolish. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have minded designing a more intricate storyline to challenge the protagonist.

But in reality, if he made things too clever, the so-called “Child of Destiny” wouldn’t be able to escape at all.

Completing the mission was more important.

He sighed inwardly with some regret, then lifted his gaze to the female ghost standing before him.

She was clearly stunned by his reasoning, momentarily rendered speechless.

Xie Xizhao gave her a smile. The female ghost hesitated, then smiled back.

Then, she heard him say, “So, could you hand over the clue in your pocket now? That way, we can all clock out early.”

—

When Lu Yan finished her phone call and returned to the inn’s entrance, the director’s team had already dispersed.

An intern remained, squatting idly on the steps, playing a match-three game on his phone.

Hearing footsteps, he quickly stood up. “Sister Yan, you’re back.”

Lu Yan asked, “Where is everyone?”

“They went to the pond to film,” the intern replied. “The shooting here is already done.”

Lu Yan was incredulous.

“Already done?”

Hadn’t she been on the phone for just over half an hour?

“Yeah.” The intern nodded earnestly.

Ever since Xie Xizhao found the main clue tied to the “Four Beauties,” the pace had skyrocketed, almost as if someone had hit the fast-forward button.

By the time Xie Xizhao retrieved the key and walked out, many people hadn’t even processed what had happened.

A staff member tried to stop him. “Wait, the last clue, you guys still haven’t…”

…

“As long as we got it, that’s all that matters,” Ai Qingyuan said righteously. “If I had the right tools, I would’ve just pried this damn lock open first.”

The staff member: “…”

Ha.

Sure, he sounded confident now, but wasn’t he the one wailing in fear just moments ago?

The group watched helplessly as the contestants walked away. Xie Xizhao, being the last one to leave, still took a moment to answer their question.

“The clue was about the Lantern Festival. The person mentioned in the letter was murdered on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, which implies that every full moon night, a ‘ghost’ appears. So, the ‘Moonlit Beauty’ clue refers directly to the ghost itself.”

He paused. “Is that explanation enough?”

The staff members exchanged glances and awkwardly muttered, “…Yeah, that’s enough.”

With that, Xie Xizhao followed the other two outside, leaving behind a production team in utter disarray.

Someone whispered, “That was so cool.”

As if waking from a trance, the camera operators scrambled to hoist their equipment and chase after the trio. In the end, only one intern remained, assigned to inform Lu Yan when she returned.

…

The intern was also thinking, ‘That was really cool,’ but, of course, he couldn’t phrase it that way in his report.

Instead, he summarized the events for Lu Yan.

She fell silent.

By now, she had completely grasped just how sharp Xie Xizhao was.

Back when he first sat in the center position during filming, both she and Ma Hongping had assumed he was just an ambitious kid—talented but ultimately inexperienced.

But now, she finally understood.

Maybe it was the opposite.

His song choice for the first public performance could have been a coincidence.

But then came his first stage. The theme song re-evaluation. The fan meeting. The first competition.

By now, it was obvious.

Xie Xizhao had planned every step of his journey with precision and confidence.

He knew his own strength.

And that strength was enough to break through every obstacle and make people see him.

He was indeed ambitious, but he was not inexperienced.

Lu Yan didn’t dislike kids like him.

On the contrary, she felt that if more people like him appeared in the entertainment industry, it would be a good thing.

…If only Xie Xizhao belonged to Shenghong.

She rubbed her temples.

If he did, things wouldn’t be so difficult.

—

At 11:30 PM, Xie Xizhao’s group was the first to finish recording.

Meanwhile, the other groups were still progressing through their third or fourth clues with the help of hints from the production team. A few of the more resourceful contestants who worked things out on their own had just managed to escape their escape rooms. In short, it looked like they would all be pulling another all-nighter.

Ai Qingyuan was very satisfied with this outcome—mainly because it meant he had finally escaped the terrifying atmosphere.

Still buzzing with excitement, he boarded the car, eager to chat with someone. But when he turned around, he saw Xie Xizhao already asleep, head resting against the seat.

Ai Qingyuan pursed his lips but ultimately kept quiet and turned to his phone instead.

Xie Xizhao was truly exhausted.

He slept dreamlessly all the way back to the dormitory and was still groggy when he woke up.

When he arrived, Guan Heng and Fu Wenze were still awake. They chatted for a bit before Guan Heng suddenly said, “Xizhao, I saw your manager today when I passed by the administrative area.”

Both Fu Wenze and Ai Qingyuan paused in surprise.

Xie Xizhao, who was tidying up his things by the bed, showed little reaction. “Oh.”

“If you need to get in touch, you can borrow my phone,” Fu Wenze offered.

Xie Xizhao thought for a moment. “No need.”

If the production team had any news for him, they would inform him directly. If they didn’t, then contacting his manager in private wouldn’t change anything.

“If you ask me, you should just terminate your contract and sign with Shenghong,” Ai Qingyuan said lazily. “That tiny, crappy company of yours… What’s your boss’s name again? I think I know him.”

“Qi Yin,” Guan Heng answered.

Xie Xizhao shot him a grateful look—he honestly hadn’t known his own boss’s name.

“Oh, him,” Ai Qingyuan said. “Back in the day, my parents used to bring him up as an example: ‘Do you want to end up like third son of the Qi family, a lazy, good-for-nothing trust fund kid?’ What a joke. How could he even compare to me?”

An awkward silence filled the room.

Ai Qingyuan: “…”

After a moment, Xie Xizhao finally spoke. “Our boss is actually a pretty good person.”

His tone was sincere.

Even though he had only met Qi Yin once—and the man’s taste seemed… ahead of its time—he still felt he was a decent guy.

Ai Qingyuan rolled his eyes.

And with that, the conversation ended.

—

The next day, everyone resumed their usual training routine.

A few days later, the production team reached out to Xie Xizhao.

At the time, he was in the practice room when one of the contestant managers came to find him.

Xie Xizhao got along well with all of them, and this particular manager was a lively young guy. As they walked, the manager said, “Do you really have to push yourself this hard? Take a couple of days off.”

He genuinely thought Xie Xizhao’s life seemed way too monotonous.

After all, some of the contestants secretly met up with fans or even snuck off to see their partners. As long as nothing got out of hand, the staff usually turned a blind eye.

Xie Xizhao popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth and mumbled through it, “It’s not too bad lately.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “What does Brother Ma want to see me about?”

“No idea,” the manager said. “But it’s probably something good. Brother Ma looked pretty pissed off.”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

Hmm.

Flawless logic.

He didn’t ask any further. When he arrived, he greeted the people in the room. “Director Ma, Director Lu.”

As he finished speaking, he noticed the two people sitting nearby.

One was a familiar face—his manager, Fang Qingqing.

The other…

He thought for a moment and, relying on his decent memory, finally recalled—the woman should be a senior executive at Yaoxin.

She appeared to be a capable and professional individual.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Ma Hongping and Lu Yan said, standing up.

The door closed behind them.

Xie Xizhao lifted his gaze. “Sister Qing?”

Fang Qingqing’s expression was complicated. She said, “Xizhao, have a seat first.”

Xie Xizhao sat down.

Fang Qingqing took a deep breath and began explaining the situation to him.

When Fang Qingqing received the call from the production team, she was both surprised and unsurprised.

She wasn’t surprised because, after so many days, everyone at Yaoxin had come to realize that the newcomer they had casually picked up was a purple star—a once-in-a-lifetime talent.

Their boss, Qi Yin, who used to spend all his time hanging around his esports team, had finally remembered that he also had a presence in the entertainment industry. Now, he was enthusiastically leading the entire company in building momentum for their purple star.

Of course, the way they were going about it… well, some efforts were entirely unnecessary.

But as the saying goes, gold will always shine. Xie Xizhao had a solid foundation to begin with, and when combined with the power of money, things were bound to fall into place. Amidst the chaos, their operations had gradually started running smoothly.

The company had already coordinated with the fan club leader, the PR and marketing teams were keeping an eye on public opinion, and the only remaining factor was the production team.

However, enthusiasm alone wasn’t going to solve the issue on that front.

As soon as she got the call, Fang Qingqing made her way over.

Things were different now—she had matured quite a bit since the last time. Before coming, she had even sought advice from a friend.

But when she finally sat down and heard what Ma Hongping had to say, she was still taken aback.

“Miss Fang, thank you for coming today,” Ma Hongping said. “We wanted to discuss the debut ranking of your artist.”

The air fell silent for a moment.

A few seconds later, Fang Qingqing finally spoke, “This… isn’t something we can control, is it?”

Ma Hongping and Lu Yan exchanged glances.

Her words carried a hint of feigned ignorance, but she wasn’t exactly wrong.

At the end of the day, who debuted depended on the fans’ votes.

Thinking of this gave Ma Hongping a headache.

“Of course,” he said. “But since this is still a show, there’s some room for discussion.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “You should also know that Xizhao has been gaining a lot of attention lately. He’s quite a promising artist. As his parent company, does Yaoxin have any plans or arrangements for his future?”

This…

Fang Qingqing hesitated before saying, “…Not yet.”

Ma Hongping and Lu Yan fell into a brief silence.

“I see,” Fang Qingqing quickly added, “Our company is more flexible. His future plans will largely depend on his own wishes.”

At this point, Ma Hongping decided to stop beating around the bush.

“Has he ever considered debuting?” he asked.

—

“Of course, I’d say he wants to,” Fang Qingqing replied. “Anyone who joins a talent show wants to debut.”

Even someone like Ji Yan, who was just here to show his face.

If he unexpectedly became popular, the company wouldn’t stop him.

Xie Xizhao listened to her intently. “And then?”

“The production team’s stance,” someone beside them spoke up, “is that they want to negotiate a resource exchange with Yaoxin.”

A resource exchange, simply put, meant both sides making compromises.

This was already a step forward for Yaoxin.

Otherwise, given the company’s original size, they wouldn’t even have the qualifications to negotiate with the platform behind the show.

And the topic of discussion was a debut spot.

Yet, the speaker’s face showed no sign of joy.

She simply said calmly, “You should know that the debut group’s management company is Shenghong, right?”

If the group debuted successfully, the management company, the platform behind the show, and the original agencies of the debut members would all share the group’s revenue.

In essence, these three entities formed a community bound by shared financial interests.

Xie Xizhao nodded.

“The production team has proposed two options,” the woman continued. “First, you terminate your contract with Yaoxin and sign with an agency under the platform’s label. The platform will cover your penalty fee.”

Xie Xizhao looked up in slight surprise.

Signing directly with the platform’s company meant becoming one of their artists.

As their own talent, the production team would undoubtedly give him strong promotional support.

For them to offer such a deal, it meant someone high up in the platform had great confidence in his potential, believing the profits he could generate would far outweigh the cost of the contract termination.

He paused for a moment.

If that was the case, he could understand why the two people in front of him didn’t look particularly happy.

He asked, “And the second option?”

Hearing that he didn’t immediately agree, Fang Qingqing subtly let out a breath of relief.

Then she said, “The second option is for you to stay with Yaoxin but sign away a portion of your contracts.”

She hesitated briefly before adding, “They specifically want your acting contract.”

This time, Xie Xizhao actually laughed. “Aren’t they thinking a little too far ahead?”

“Not at all,” the person beside him replied. “Your debut group is a five-year limited group. The platform isn’t willing to let go of the popularity from the show, but at the same time, they won’t have you performing on stage for the entire duration. They’ll definitely try to maximize their profits.”

She continued, “At most, two years. After that, you’ll all start pursuing individual careers under the group’s name.”

That was true.

Xie Xizhao sighed. “So, what’s the exchange?”

Fang Qingqing exchanged a glance with her colleague.

Although they had long known about Xie Xizhao’s composure, his utterly unruffled demeanor still caught them off guard.

After a brief pause, Fang Qingqing finally said, “The production team’s stance is that they’ll give you appropriate promotion. Your popularity has already risen, so debuting shouldn’t be a problem. But…”

“They won’t give you C.” She delivered the final words.

The center position was reserved for Shenghong.

They were offering Xie Xizhao a debut spot and granting his more powerful parent company leverage as capital.

That was the platform’s proposed deal.

Fang Qingqing bit her lip. “Actually…”

She knew Xie Xizhao would accept—it was only a matter of whether he chose option one or two. So, she wanted to fight for a little more for her company. She wanted to say that, actually, Yaoxin wasn’t that bad either.

“No need,” Xie Xizhao said.

Fang Qingqing blinked. “Huh?”

She froze for a few seconds before realizing what he meant. Then, in shock, she looked up. “What?”

“I said, turn it down, Sister Qing.” He smiled. “This negotiation isn’t necessary. It’s meaningless.”

He paused for a moment before calmly adding, “The prerequisite for negotiating at a gambling table is that both sides hold their own chips.”

“And the C-position chip? That belongs to us, not them.”

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