Chapter 44.1: Thief
After a brief pause, Xie Xizhao waited patiently before prompting again, “No one has any ideas?”
The trainees exchanged uncertain glances.
It was obvious that they had never considered this before.
Or rather—they were all here because of him.
Xie Xizhao was a guarantee of stage quality. That was why they had chosen the songwriting group.
When it came to songwriting… even top idols often struggled, let alone a group of rookies like them.
Sensing that the atmosphere was growing awkward, Zou Yi spoke up at just the right moment. “I’m not very good at composing, but I can help with lyrics.”
He could write lyrics.
That already put him ahead of many others.
Xie Xizhao nodded. “Alright.”
With that, Yun Pan gathered his courage and raised his hand as well. “I can write lyrics too.”
Xie Xizhao reached out and patted his head.
Then, he turned his gaze toward the remaining four trainees.
They exchanged uncertain glances until one of them finally spoke. “We can all do it.”
The moment he said that, it was as if the others had found their pillar of support.
Soon, a second person followed up. “Yeah, we can all do it.”
“Well…” someone hesitated before mustering up the courage to continue. “To be honest, none of us are very good at songwriting. So if you already have a song that works, we’re totally fine with just using something you wrote and crediting you for it.”
Xie Xizhao’s hand froze for two seconds before he lifted his gaze.
That one sentence seemed to flip a switch—everyone’s eyes lit up as they eagerly chimed in.
“Yeah, we don’t mind at all.”
“Xizhao, your song from the initial performance was amazing. We trust you. If you have something ready, we’d love to use it.”
Similar sentiments filled the room.
Before Xie Xizhao could respond, Zou Yi, standing beside him, had already furrowed his brows slightly.
Having been a team leader before, he immediately understood what the others were thinking.
This could be seen as a thoughtful compromise for the sake of efficiency. After all, being credited for songwriting and composition was a title that attracted fans. Handing it over to Xie Xizhao was, in a way, giving him that opportunity.
But in reality, Xie Xizhao didn’t need that title. Everyone already knew he could write songs.
Rather than calling it considerate, it was more accurate to say they just wanted to take the easy way out.
After all, songwriting was a difficult task—perhaps even more challenging than being the team leader.
After thinking it over, he couldn’t just let it slide. “I think using a pre-written song can be a backup plan. This is a competitive stage, and not every song I’ve written fits the theme.”
He paused. “Besides, unreleased songs are quite valuable.”
That last sentence was what really mattered to Zou Yi.
The moment he said it, the trainees who had been eagerly speaking up moments ago suddenly looked a little embarrassed.
The boy who had spoken first seemed unsure of himself and mumbled, “…Yeah, that’s true. So, what should we do?”
Xie Xizhao had already started going over the songs he had written in his head.
Then, to his surprise, Zou Yi suddenly spoke up.
Xie Xizhao glanced at him.
Up close, he realized that while Zou Yi’s looks weren’t particularly striking, they could still be called delicate.
But his most captivating feature was his temperament.
If Guan Heng’s warmth was still edged with ambition and sharpness, then Zou Yi’s calm and steady nature was like water—soft, smooth, and without any hard angles. The saying “a gentleman is like jade” suited him perfectly.
And his actions reflected that as well.
Among both the trainees and the online audience, there was only one way people described Zou Yi—
A great, selfless leader.
For someone like him to say something so blunt felt oddly out of character.
But as Xie Xizhao thought about it more carefully, something clicked in his mind.
…So Zou Yi’s words from before—”If I don’t get to work with you, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life”—had been completely sincere.
Xie Xizhao thought about it. It seemed he had, unintentionally, struck a chord with Zou Yi.
To the point that the other was already treating him as one of his own and looking out for him.
It was a rare experience for Xie Xizhao. The realization left him both surprised and a little touched. He glanced at Zou Yi, silently expressing his gratitude before finally speaking.
“Whether or not it’s an unreleased song doesn’t really matter. I can always write more.”
A simple, offhand remark—yet the trainees in front of him instantly looked at him with newfound admiration.
Yun Pan, in particular, practically had stars in his eyes.
So. Cool.
After dropping that bombshell, Xie Xizhao continued, “But Teacher Zou has a point. Writing songs might seem intimidating, but once you start, ideas will come more easily.”
He paused. “If you want to try writing, I can teach you.”
The trainees were stunned.
“Of course,” Xie Xizhao went on, “learning to write songs while also preparing for the performance means you’ll have a very tight schedule. From my perspective, if you all just use my song, it saves me the trouble.”
Another pause. “It’s up to you to decide.”
“Let’s take a five-minute break,” he added. “After that, we’ll vote. Just use the paper the production team provided. Anonymous voting, and the minority follows the majority. Then, we’ll move on to the next agenda.”
—
During the break, Xie Xizhao stepped out to use the restroom.
When he came out, he ran into Guan Heng.
Guan Heng asked, “How’s it going?”
Xie Xizhao sighed.
Guan Heng immediately understood. He had already guessed as much.
With a grin, he asked, “Regretting it yet? That you didn’t join my team?”
“Teacher Lan’s songs aren’t easy to sing—they have a strong personal style. Let alone trying to adapt a solo artist’s song into a group performance.” Xie Xizhao chuckled, “I’m telling you, don’t rush to mock me just yet.”
Guan Heng: “…”
Well, that was indeed the exact problem his own team was facing.
He sighed, “Let’s just roast Qingyuan instead. No need for us to tear each other down.”
The corner of Xie Xizhao’s mouth twitched.
“You’re really such a great big brother,” he said dryly.
Guan Heng paused for half a second.
Then, just as quickly, his expression returned to normal. With an indifferent look, he replied, “It’s not like we’re real brothers. What’s the harm in messing with him a little?”
That reminded Xie Xizhao of something Ai Qingyuan had said before.
“You’ve met his brother?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Guan Heng thought for a moment. “Back when Qingyuan first became a trainee, his brother came by once or twice. Seemed like he was discussing some kind of investment deal with Shenghong. Happened to pass by the practice room while he was here.”
He paused briefly before adding, “Then Qingyuan started arguing with him.”
Xie Xizhao: “…That fits my image of him.”
Guan Heng let out a quiet laugh.
Then he said, “Young Master Ai actually has a pretty good temper. He cares about Qingyuan too—otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to visit. Did Qingyuan say something dramatic to you? Don’t take him too seriously. They’re real brothers—there’s no such thing as an overnight grudge.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He only replied, “I guess.”
In truth, he didn’t entirely agree with Guan Heng.
For example, the whole ‘real brothers don’t hold grudges overnight’ thing.
Sure, Ai Qingyuan could be a bit contradictory. But at the end of the day, he was an adult—not some sulky kid holding onto petty pride.
If he spoke that way, there had to be a reason.
Of course… it probably wasn’t so serious that he’d been plotting to k*ll his brother since childhood.
However, he didn’t want to comment too much on other people’s family affairs, so he simply avoided the topic. After exchanging a few more words, Xie Xizhao was about to leave.
Just as he was about to go, Guan Heng called out to him.
Xie Xizhao turned back and saw him carefully choosing his words before saying, “I know you’re not the type to be overly calculative, but given your group’s situation, I’d advise you not to be too kind. You might end up putting in a lot of effort without any appreciation.”
That was quite a blunt remark.
Xie Xizhao pondered for half a second before replying, “Alright.”
“I know my limits,” he added.
Guan Heng made an OK gesture at him before turning back to his own practice room.
—
Xie Xizhao walked back leisurely.
As he walked, he mulled over the consecutive reminders from Zou Yi and Guan Heng.
How should he put it…
This feeling of being carefully considered by others was certainly not a bad thing, but he couldn’t help but reflect—did he usually come across as too easygoing?
After some self-reflection, it didn’t seem like it.
At the very least, he had a clear understanding of himself.
He wasn’t like Zou Yi. At the very least, he would never give up his part for someone else.
Unable to reach a conclusion, Xie Xizhao decided to let it go.
When he returned to the room, the ballot box was already placed in the center. Apart from Zou Yi and Yun Pan, everyone’s expressions were somewhat unnatural—it was clear they had already cast their votes.
He said, “Then let’s check the votes.”
Opening the back of the box, he poured out the slips of paper inside.
Neatly stacked—six votes in total.
The first one: 1.
They had just decided that Plan One was to use Xie Xizhao’s song.
Plan Two was to write a new song.
Xie Xizhao handed Yun Pan a pen and motioned for him to tally the votes on the whiteboard. Yun Pan eagerly stood up and carefully made a mark on the board.
The second vote: 1.
With two votes in, the room fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
Xie Xizhao’s expression remained unchanged as he continued reading, “Third vote—2.”
He paused for a moment, thoughtful. “If it’s a tie, should we roll a die?”
Everyone knew about his running joke with dice. The moment he said that, the tense atmosphere instantly eased, and several people laughed.
Xie Xizhao had only made a casual remark, but he hadn’t expected the fourth vote to also be for Plan Two—seemingly pushing things toward an actual tie.
The fifth vote: 1.
Xie Xizhao picked up the last slip of paper. The moment he saw the words written on it, he paused for two seconds.
By the time the fifth vote was revealed, everyone was already on edge.
Now, seeing the look on Xie Xizhao’s face, someone couldn’t hold back and wailed,
“Brother, don’t keep us in suspense…”
Xie Xizhao looked completely innocent.
He raised the slip and said, “Who’s the creative genius that wrote ‘abstain’?”
Everyone: “……”
Huh?
As they all exchanged bewildered glances, Yun Pan, standing in front of the whiteboard, guiltily turned his head away, pretending he didn’t exist.
…Well, he really couldn’t make a decision.
He had originally planned to vote for writing a new song, but Xie Xizhao had mentioned that using his song would make things easier for him. That reasoning made sense, too.
After going back and forth, he just couldn’t decide. In the end, he gave up and wrote ‘abstain.’
Abstentions still counted in the vote tally.
3:2:1.
The result was clear.
Plan One.
Someone quietly let out a sigh of relief.
Xie Xizhao didn’t comment on it. He simply said, “Let’s skip practice tomorrow morning. I’ll go through the songs and make a selection tonight.”
“See you all at 113 tomorrow at 1 PM.”
