Superstar Ch.43

Chapter 43: Strict

Almost at the same time Xie Xizhao stepped into the hallway, different scenes unfolded in each room.

Inside the Click room, Ai Qingyuan was pretending to be reserved in front of the camera, but his eyes kept darting toward the door. In stark contrast to his restrained anticipation, Qiao Ye had no such patience—he simply started shouting through the door:

“Xie Xizhao! Just think about it, will you? Our group really needs a visual, seriously!”

Ai Qingyuan, hearing this, couldn’t hold back an eye-roll.

So did Xia Ruiyan.

Compared to these two idiots—yes, that was exactly how Xia Ruiyan saw them—he was much more worried about Xie Xizhao actually coming rather than him not coming. Unfortunately, the cameras were on him, so he had to maintain a composed expression, though his fingers had already unconsciously clenched into his palm.

Out of everyone, Guan Heng was the only one who remained outwardly and inwardly calm.

The sign on the door in front of him read Dead Leaf Butterfly in the Rain. With the camera capturing his refined and delicate features, he sighed and said, “Feels like I’m a concubine waiting for the emperor’s favor.”

Camera: “…”

Brother, is that something a normal person would say?

Completely unaware of how absurd he sounded, Concubine Guan continued sighing wistfully at the door.

Meanwhile, outside, a certain Emperor Xie, seemingly oblivious to the deep longing of his harem, took his sweet time contemplating his options.

After a leisurely half-minute of consideration, he finally made his decision.

Walking past the doors of the two concubines who had beauty but lacked intelligence—Ai and Qiao—he went straight to the door marked Dead Leaf Butterfly in the Rain and, with perfect politeness, knocked.

Guan Heng rested his chin on his hand. “The door’s not locked.”

A moment later, the door was pushed open.

Xie Xizhao leaned casually against the doorframe, looking perfectly at ease.

“Morning.”

Guan Heng glanced up slightly. “Is it the meaning I think it is?”

“It is,” Xie Xizhao replied. “I promised I’d come to say hello no matter what I chose.”

Guan Heng sighed helplessly.

“Alright, you’ve said hello. Now get lost. You’re annoying to look at.”

Xie Xizhao chuckled, casually handing over the wristband Guan Heng had left behind on his seat. Then, he closed the door behind him.

Outside, it seemed that people had heard the door open. Assuming the matter was settled, the hallway had grown noticeably quieter at some point.

A staff member entered and gently urged him, “Almost time.”

Xie Xizhao nodded. “Just a moment.”

Then, without further hesitation, he walked toward the door of the composition group.

The composition group was split into two subgroups, though the only distinction between them was a simple alphabetical label.

Lowering his gaze, he casually took a small die from his pocket, raising it to eye level. He stared at it for a moment before saying, “Odd number, left. Even number, right.”

The tiny die glowed faintly, its light brightening slightly.

Its relationship with Xie Xizhao had finally returned to normal lately.

The reason? Xie Xizhao had recently received a small gift from Yun Pan—a rather nice-looking storage box. Xie Xizhao didn’t have much to store, so he had just tossed the die inside, letting it amuse itself.

The little die, having been stuffed in Xie Xizhao’s pocket most of the time, had long been bored out of its mind. Now that it had finally moved into a spacious mansion, it had been rolling around happily in the box for days. Because of this, Yun Pan had unknowingly become one of the rare individuals the die regarded favorably.

Whenever it lay in Yun Pan’s palm, it would automatically land with the number six facing up, offering its most sincere blessing.

Xie Xizhao finished speaking and waited for half a second.

The die tumbled nimbly through the air before landing steadily in his palm.

Odd number: 5.

That was Xie Xizhao’s ranking.

Noticing how his little pet had recently developed an attachment to this number, he chuckled, made his decision without further hesitation, and pushed open the door on the left.

The room was empty.

He took a seat behind the sign and patiently waited for his teammates.

—

Almost the moment the door next door opened, Xia Ruiyan let out a sharp exhale, finally releasing the breath he had been holding.

His palm was damp with sweat. He clenched his fist tightly for a moment, forcing himself to maintain his composure.

‘…Thank god,’ he thought.

Xie Xizhao hadn’t chosen Composition Group B.

So his choice earlier had been the right one after all.

The heavy weight in his chest suddenly lifted, making him almost want to laugh. Meanwhile, next door, Xie Xizhao cast a glance in his direction, his expression calm and indifferent.

He had already guessed that Xia Ruiyan would choose the composition group.

The reason was simple.

Xia Ruiyan had been too nervous.

There was no doubt that the composition group was his most likely choice. But the only reason he would be so anxious to get confirmation from Xie Xizhao was if he wanted them to end up in the same group.

If Xie Xizhao had opened the other door just now, Xia Ruiyan’s expression would have been priceless.

But Xie Xizhao wasn’t interested.

A brief moment of satisfaction was hardly worth it. Compared to the potential conflicts that could arise within the group later, he would rather give up those few seconds of fleeting amusement. Especially since the composition group was already the most prone to internal strife.

The die had probably sensed his thoughts, which was why it had guided him to Group A.

Xie Xizhao was quite satisfied.

The die was satisfied as well. It wriggled a few times in Xie Xizhao’s pocket before finally retreating into a well-earned slumber.

At that moment, new footsteps echoed from the doorway.

—

Xie Xizhao had chosen the composition group for one simple reason: freedom.

Both the first and third public performances were integrated stages. If he wanted to showcase a specific skill, there was always the personal solo stage in the finals. There was no need to rush into positioning battles just yet.

Of course, this level of freedom only worked if his teammates were competent.

And by competent, he didn’t mean blindly following his lead—he meant people who could listen, who understood what teamwork actually meant.

As he waited for his teammates, he found himself wondering whether Yun Pan would be able to guess he had chosen Composition Group A.

This was where he felt a little guilty toward Yun Pan.

For other groups, at least one could make an educated guess based on musical style. But for the composition group? Differentiating between Group A and B was pure luck.

As he was lost in thought, the sixth-ranked contestant had already made their choice.

Then came the seventh.

And then the eighth.

By the time ninth-ranked Liu Xuning was up, the composition group remained untouched.

It was a little self-indulgent to think this way, but Xie Xizhao knew the reason was most likely him.

—

Elsewhere, Lu Xing sat down beside Guan Heng. As they chatted, Lu Xing asked, “Xizhao went to the composition group, right? Brother Heng, you’re his roommate—why didn’t you go with him?”

Guan Heng smiled. “Then what about you? Why didn’t you challenge yourself?”

Their gazes met, and in each other’s eyes, they saw the same thing.

Half a second later, Guan Heng said, “Why don’t we guess which group Xuning will choose?”

They skillfully skipped past the uncomfortable topic.

Liu Xuning chose the vocal group.

The top ten contestants didn’t lack popularity. What mattered most to them was playing it safe.

In other words, don’t do something so disastrous on stage that even your fans can’t defend it.

Like a vocal specialist deciding to challenge themselves with an elegant, ethereal Chinese dance—only to end up looking like a flailing white goose.

Then came the tenth contestant, Fu Wenze.

He walked straight to the Composition Group A door and pushed it open.

Xie Xizhao was startled. Their eyes met, and he blinked slowly.

After a brief pause, he carefully chose his words: “Welcome?”

Fu Wenze: “…”

“Wait for me at dinner,” he said. “I feel like going to the practice room tonight.”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

Oh.

A dinner invitation.

He made an “OK” gesture and watched his roommate leave.

Five minutes later, a boy in a pale yellow hoodie knocked on the door right on time.

“Brother Xizhao.”

Xie Xizhao let out a small breath of relief.

He spoke. “Panpan? Come in.”

The next second, Yun Pan pushed the door open—

And crashed straight into his arms.

Xie Xizhao was caught off guard and stumbled back slightly before ruffling Yun Pan’s hair.

—

The moment Yun Pan stepped inside, his excitement was plain to see.

He clung to Xie Xizhao’s waist, hugging him tightly for a long time.

Only when Xie Xizhao tapped his arm as a silent reminder did he finally snap back to reality and let go.

A little embarrassed, he mumbled, “Brother, I’m just… really happy.”

Xie Xizhao’s heart softened a little. But at the same time, he was curious.

“How did you know I was in this group?”

“I didn’t,” Yun Pan said.

Xie Xizhao: ?

Yun Pan explained, “I knocked on every door you might have gone to.”

Xie Xizhao: “……”

He had deliberately lowered his voice earlier so the cameras wouldn’t catch his words.

Well. Now it didn’t matter.

The entire world was going to know that Yun Pan had gone all out to be in the same group as him.

Xie Xizhao was caught between amusement and helplessness.

This wasn’t exactly good news.

For him, it wasn’t a big deal. After all, he had chosen his group first, and Yun Pan’s reaction made it clear they hadn’t planned this in advance. But for Yun Pan…

Yeah.

Once this aired, people were going to talk.

He was still debating whether to have a word with Yun Pan about it when—

Knock, knock.

A voice from outside called out, “Hello? Is someone in here?”

Xie Xizhao’s thoughts were interrupted.

“Yes, come in,” he replied.

The door opened, and a new trainee stepped in, looking both curious and a little nervous as they greeted him.

—

Xie Xizhao had been a little pessimistic about their group’s lineup.

But, in the end, it turned out pretty solid.

Out of 50 trainees, there were 8 performance stages. Given the difficulty of the Composition category, each composition group had 7 members.

Within their group, both he and Yun Pan ranked fairly high.

Among the remaining five, two were in the top 25. The other two were ranked lower, but Xie Xizhao remembered them—and from what he recalled, they were far from weak.

Only one person was a real surprise.

Xie Xizhao watched as Zou Yi pushed open the door and walked in.

For a second, even he thought Zou Yi had either come to the wrong room or was deliberately creating suspense.

But no—he entered, completely straightforward and at ease.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he shut the door behind him.

Xie Xizhao opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Yun Pan’s eyes widened in shock. “You…”

“Hey, Panpan.”

Just like every other trainee, Zou Yi instinctively reached out and pinched Yun Pan’s cheek before flashing a grin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you even know who I am?”

“Of course,” Yun Pan murmured. “Brother, your singing is amazing.”

Zou Yi blinked in surprise, then looked genuinely touched. “Aw, thanks, sweetheart.”

Yun Pan instantly looked away, his ears tinged red. He pretended not to hear it.

Meanwhile, Xie Xizhao finally snapped out of his daze.

“You—”

Zou Yi tilted his head. “Didn’t we say we’d work together if we got the chance? Teacher Xie, I always keep my word.”

Xie Xizhao’s fingers twitched slightly.

Of course, he remembered.

Back during the first public performance, he had planned to join Zou Yi’s group—until Ai Qingyuan snatched him away at the last second.

Right before they parted ways, Zou Yi had told him exactly that: ‘Next time, if we get the chance, let’s work together.’

“I thought you were going to the Shen Meng group,” Xie Xizhao said.

Shen Meng was one of the most technically demanding vocal tracks in the competition. Just earlier, Xie Xizhao had caught Zou Yi glancing at it—and from the look on his face, he’d definitely been tempted.

“I was planning to,” Zou Yi admitted.

Xie Xizhao blinked.

Zou Yi chuckled. “But who knows if we’ll even get another stage after this? Instead of staying in my comfort zone, I figured… why not go for what I really want?”

He paused for a moment and said, “If I left without collaborating with you at least once, I think I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Those words carried too much weight, and Xie Xizhao didn’t know how to respond for a moment. Zou Yi, however, had no intention of burdening him and smoothly changed the subject.

And just like that, their team unexpectedly gained a strong vocal member.

Once the team selection ended, everyone gathered together.

As the highest-ranked member in the group, all the cameras—and everyone else—eagerly turned their attention to Xie Xizhao.

Xie Xizhao: “….”

He said, “First of all, congratulations to our team for being exactly full, so we don’t have to go through any member changes.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Although voting someone out was a legitimate procedure, it was still an unpleasant experience.

It was hard for those who had to leave, and it was just as hard for those who had to cast the vote.

Being exactly full meant they could skip that step entirely.

“Second,” he continued, “why don’t we take a vote now and choose a team leader?”

Xie Xizhao really didn’t want to be the team leader.

The reason was simple.

It was exhausting.

He was good at social interactions but didn’t enjoy them. Being the leader during the first public performance had already drained him, especially with someone like Ai Qingyuan on the team—he didn’t want to badmouth his roommate.

But sometimes, he really felt like he was sharing a room with an elementary school kid.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t something he could control.

When he was unanimously voted in, the corner of his mouth twitched. “…I’ll be really strict.”

Zou Yi said, “Huh? Doesn’t seem that way.”

“I mean it.” Xie Xizhao took a deep breath. “I have a terrible reputation as a leader. If you don’t believe me, go ask around.”

Everyone pretended not to hear him.

Off to the side, Yun Pan spoke in a quiet but serious voice, “Brother, don’t say that. A lot of people really like you. Especially your teammates from the first performance.”

As soon as those words fell, the trainees who had been hesitating immediately dismissed their doubts and chimed in, “Brother, don’t be humble. We’ll behave, we won’t give you any trouble.”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

So their dear Panpan’s innocence was an indiscriminate attack on both friend and foe alike.

Faced with everyone’s expectant gazes, he sighed and gave in.

“Fine,” he said. “But let me make this clear first—if I’m the team leader, practice will be a bit stricter. First, no one is allowed to be late. Second, when it comes to stage performance, I’ll focus more on the details compared to other teams, so it might feel a bit tougher. But of course, it’s all for the final stage.”

“Is everyone okay with that?”

These were the most basic requirements.

Naturally, no one had any objections.

Only one guy raised his hand timidly. “Uh… I just want to ask, how early is ‘no being late’?”

“Eight-thirty in the morning,” Xie Xizhao said.

The boy let out an “Ah?” and mumbled, “Isn’t that a bit early? Can we make it nine-thirty instead?”

As soon as he spoke, someone else chimed in, sounding a little nervous. “I think it’s a bit early too… I can’t wake up in the morning. Can I practice more at night instead?”

Xie Xizhao usually woke up at seven and finished breakfast by eight. By eight-thirty, he was already in the designated practice room—this routine had remained unchanged for days.

But that was his own schedule. Since someone had voiced their concerns, he wouldn’t force them.

“Fine,” he said.

He paused for a moment before adding, “But by nine-thirty, I expect everyone to be in the practice room, fully warmed up. This isn’t early at all. The sooner we start, the sooner we can get through the day’s practice. This is the most basic requirement.”

The others nodded vigorously like pecking chicks, showing their understanding.

Xie Xizhao hesitated for a moment but ultimately said nothing, retracting his gaze.

Truthfully, he knew he wasn’t lying.

There was another reason he didn’t want to be the team leader—he was too strict.

He was especially strict with himself.

After all, the system was a place of extreme discipline. If he had to compare it to something, it was almost as rigid as military regulations.

That was due to the nature of their tasks.

They held other people’s lives in their hands. There was no room for even the slightest mistake.

Over time, Xie Xizhao had simply grown used to it.

He didn’t mind.

Being strict with oneself was just self-discipline. It helped those born with lazy tendencies rebuild their routines and principles.

Simply put, it was a process of refining oneself.

And for a team, strictness was just as essential.

Xie Xizhao told his teammates he would be strict because, after the first public performance and the previous re-evaluations, he understood something very clearly—while his standards would help both individuals and the team grow, not everyone would be able to keep up with them.

A survival show wasn’t the same as a mission or the military. Most people didn’t necessarily need the results that came from this level of effort and discipline.

In that case, being forced into self-discipline would only feel like torture.

Right now, everyone agreed without hesitation, but that was only because they hadn’t yet realized what it truly meant.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Xie Xizhao had simply gotten lucky and ended up with a group of teammates who naturally held themselves to high standards as well.

So, he left it at that.

Since he was now the leader, it was only natural that he would oversee the next part of the process.

Xie Xizhao didn’t waste any time. He quickly sorted his thoughts and got straight to the point.

“Our group is a bit special, as you all should know,” he said. “We’re starting from zero. There’s no pre-existing song for us to practice, but we have the same amount of time as everyone else before the performance. That means things will be a little tougher for us.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “Normally, after choosing a leader, the next step would be selecting the center. But I think we should settle the songwriting process first before picking a center—it’ll be more efficient that way. So, let me ask: does anyone have any thoughts on how we should approach creating our song?”

As soon as he finished speaking, the room fell silent.

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