Chapter 51: Everything
The next day, everyone arrived at the activity room on time.
Xie Xizhao was already there.
It was rare to see him in sportswear, but today he wore the standard, plain outfit provided by the program team. However, on him, it somehow looked entirely different. The pale yellow color made his face appear even fairer.
Yun Pan placed the breakfast he had brought for him on the table, and he thanked him.
Yun Pan looked at him eagerly. “Brother Xizhao, are we going out today?”
Xie Xizhao smiled and replied, “Mm.”
He added, “Today, we’ll play a little game and record some behind-the-scenes footage.”
Only then did the others notice the handheld DV camera beside him.
Xia Xize immediately tensed up and shrank his neck. “Wait, we’re filming this too?”
The moment he spoke, he realized he had said the wrong thing.
Sure enough, Xie Xizhao didn’t even lift his head as he said, “You’re going first.”
Xia Xize: “…”
His mouth—why couldn’t he just keep it shut?!
When Xie Xizhao finally capped his pen and looked around, everyone except Zou Yi was staring at him like quails.
He sighed helplessly. “Am I that scary?”
After a brief pause, he mused, “If you’re afraid of me, then you’ll definitely be scared of the audience.”
Xia Xize held back for half a second but ultimately couldn’t resist muttering, “Brother, you’re scarier than the audience.”
Xie Xizhao: “Really?”
Xia Xize: “…”
Should he say yes or no?
Fortunately, Xie Xizhao didn’t make things difficult for him. Instead, he simply picked up the items in his hands. Only then did everyone notice that he was holding a stack of papers covered in handwriting.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Even Zou Yi couldn’t help but grow curious.
Everyone followed Xie Xizhao outside. When they arrived at their destination, they finally realized that he hadn’t taken them anywhere new—it was the small theater they usually used for rehearsals.
Mu Wen asked, “Are we practicing?”
He had certain expectations of Xie Xizhao.
If it was just a simulation of a live rehearsal, it would feel a bit cliché.
Of course, it would still be somewhat useful.
“No,” Xie Xizhao replied. “We’re looking for a feeling.”
Now that they had arrived, he didn’t keep them in suspense any longer. He said directly, “This morning, our task is to learn some new songs.”
“I have six sheets of paper in my hand, each with a different song written on it. I’ll give you all fifteen minutes to learn your assigned song. Then, each of you will have a solo stage, with the rest of us as the audience.”
“I’ll be recording it,” he added. “And I’ll be the one ranking your performances.”
His tone was calm, but it was clear he wasn’t joking. Seeing this, everyone quickly dropped their playful expressions and listened intently.
Hearing this, Yang Yinping couldn’t help but ask, “What’s the point of learning new songs at this stage?”
“I suddenly felt like watching a showcase performance,” Xie Xizhao said casually.
Yang Yinping: “…”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Such an absurd yet completely in-character response from Xie Xizhao.
It sounded like he was just messing with them, yet strangely, no one was particularly upset about it.
Xie Xizhao had a habit of teasing people, but his plans and designs were always unexpectedly reliable in the end. Xia Xize… Xia Xize sometimes even felt like this was a new type of training method.
He silently complained in his mind.
And, sure enough, Xie Xizhao wasn’t finished speaking yet.
“Now, the program team is offering a chance to be featured in this week’s dormitory behind-the-scenes segment,” Xie Xizhao announced. “This footage will include a ten-minute solo self-filming portion.”
“This opportunity will go to the first-place winner of today’s solo stage.”
He still didn’t explain why, but the moment he said this, everyone’s expressions changed instantly.
What was the dormitory behind-the-scenes segment?
Objectively speaking, it was just extra material produced to maintain the show’s popularity.
But in reality, the trainees who got featured in these clips were usually the ones the production team favored or those who had strong entertainment value. Someone like Xia Xize or Mu Wen—who weren’t quite at the top but weren’t completely unnoticed either—rarely got this kind of opportunity, let alone a solo camera time.
It was a well-known fact that variety shows helped trainees gain fans. A boring personality could be compensated with good looks, a lack of visuals could be made up for with charm, and if neither worked, showcasing talent—like an acapella performance—was always an option.
At this stage, any trainee who lacked all three was already gone.
In short, this reward was too tempting for everyone present. Even Zou Yi, who had remained indifferent up until now, couldn’t help but look up.
However, he quickly realized something and was about to speak.
As if predicting what he was going to say, Xie Xizhao glanced at him and shook his head lightly.
By now, the entire group was visibly excited.
Xia Xize blurted out, “What songs are we singing? Do we draw randomly? Wait—brother, you’re not participating?”
“No,” Xie Xizhao replied.
That was all he said. Without waiting for their reactions, he continued, “Winning first place won’t be that easy. Come draw your lots first, then I’ll explain the judging criteria.”
No one wasted any more words.
Just moments ago, Xia Xize had been sulking, but now he had already rolled up his sleeves and drawn a lot.
Half a second later, he let out a stunned “Holy sh*t.”
Mu Wen glanced at him before stepping forward to take his own. The moment he saw the name on the paper, he, too, fell into a strange silence.
One by one, everyone finished drawing. For the first time in a long while, the theater fell into absolute quiet.
Xie Xizhao broke the silence. “Is it difficult?”
No one spoke.
They had all seen the titles on their slips of paper.
These six songs were ones they were familiar with—so familiar that they knew, in just fifteen minutes, there was no way they could properly learn the high-difficulty runs and technical high notes in their assigned songs.
Xia Xize had even drawn a song that contained dolphin notes. He spoke weakly, as if in pain, “Brother… do you really have such high expectations for us?”
Xie Xizhao didn’t answer his question.
Instead, he said, “These songs are indeed difficult, so everyone can choose whether to participate or not.”
He paused before continuing, “Judging criteria—”
“I’ll be looking at how much effort you put in,” he said with a smile. “If you push yourself to the very limit of your ability, and I can see that this is your absolute best, then first place is yours.”
“Alright,” he glanced at his watch, “we still have practice this afternoon. Let’s get this behind-the-scenes segment done quickly. The sheet music is there, and we’ll go in the order of the draw. Let’s start now.”
Xie Xizhao had always been known for his decisive and efficient style.
Whether it was regular rehearsals or this so-called behind-the-scenes recording, he never wasted time.
At first, some of the team members had struggled to adapt, but over time, they came to appreciate the benefits of his approach. High efficiency led to high-quality results, and successfully completing a task always left people with a sense of satisfaction.
By the time Xie Xizhao finished speaking, most of them hadn’t even processed his words yet—but their bodies moved instinctively.
Zou Yi walked over to stand beside him.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t surprised. He smiled and said, “Teacher Zou, feeling that confident?”
“I’m not participating,” Zou Yi replied.
Xie Xizhao paused.
Then he sighed. “You really are…”
“If not you,” Zou Yi said calmly, “it would be someone else.”
He didn’t say anything more.
Because he already knew—this so-called solo dormitory filming opportunity was definitely not something the production team had offered.
Other than Yun Pan, no one in their group was the kind of contestant the show wanted to promote. This was most likely just a fixed exposure slot for Xie Xizhao, one of the most popular trainees.
Even though the production team didn’t favor Xie Xizhao, they wouldn’t go so far as to completely block him out.
But he was already being heavily restricted.
Zou Yi didn’t want to take a spot like that.
If others didn’t realize it, that was their business. But he did—and knowing this, he could never bring himself to accept it.
His decision was firm, and Xie Xizhao knew there was nothing more to say. Instead, he asked indirectly, “Have you thought about your fans?”
Zou Yi’s fingertips twitched slightly.
He countered, “And you?”
“That’s different,” Xie Xizhao replied. “If I miss one chance to see them, I’ll make up for it with an even better stage. We’ll have plenty of time to meet again—because I’m going to debut.”
“But you, Teacher Zou… you’re different.”
His words were too direct—Zou Yi felt a rare moment of discomfort.
But after a long pause, he still said, “Then I won’t debut. That was never my goal in coming here.”
He added, “I’m going to the restroom.”
Zou Yi’s figure disappeared behind the door.
Nearby, Yun Pan, who had accidentally overheard the conversation, observed the situation carefully before leaning in. “Brother.”
Lately, he had started dropping Xie Xizhao’s name entirely when addressing him.
Xie Xizhao almost felt like he had picked up a little brother. He reassured him, “It’s fine.”
“He’ll be fine,” he added.
Zou Yi’s stage presence wasn’t the issue. He didn’t need this so-called “test.”
What he needed was something else.
—
Zou Yi didn’t stay away for long.
When he returned to the small theater, his expression was completely back to normal.
Xie Xizhao took one look at him and knew he wasn’t mad. Strangely enough, this gave him a rare sense of helplessness. Zou Yi not getting angry was actually harder to deal with than if he had blown up at him.
Xie Xizhao sighed.
But time was up. He temporarily set aside his thoughts and focused back on the task at hand.
Looking around, he noticed that the initial excitement everyone had felt upon hearing about the reward had completely faded. In its place was a subtle sense of hesitation.
Xie Xizhao pretended not to notice. Instead, he said, “Xia Xize.”
“You’re up first.”
Everyone was seated in the first row. Xia Xize hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the stage.
He was nervous.
People always felt nervous when faced with the unknown.
Especially when they were completely unprepared.
But…
He thought about it.
He really wanted that first-place reward.
It had been a long time since he had appeared on camera outside of performances. Even during his miraculous comeback last time, he barely had any screen time—his speech was cut down to just a single sentence.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the stage.
The feeling was strange.
The audience was full of familiar faces, all watching him. In particular, he noticed Mu Wen sitting leisurely in the back row, which almost made him want to laugh.
But when his eyes met Xie Xizhao’s, who was holding the DV camera, the laughter stuck in his throat.
Xie Xizhao always had a way of stirring everyone’s emotions. Even in this simple theater, even though this was just a game, he made it feel serious.
Xia Xize took a deep breath, pushing aside all distracting thoughts.
Then, he picked up the microphone and sang the first line.
The first four lines went smoothly. The next one was the transition into the chorus.
His heartbeat quickened, and he tried his best to control his breathing.
One second, two seconds.
The moment he reached the most difficult vocal run, his heart dropped. Sure enough, in the next second, his voice cracked.
He stood frozen on the stage, feeling an overwhelming sense of embarrassment like never before.
The theater was silent.
Xia Xize pressed his lips together. “I…”
The height difference between the stage and the audience made him feel like he had been put on display, as if he were standing alone in the center of a stage play, surrounded by onlookers.
His face burned red.
Just as he was about to step down immediately, Xie Xizhao asked, “Are you finished?”
Xia Xize opened his mouth but said nothing.
“If you give up, we’ll move on to the next person,” Xie Xizhao said.
His voice was gentle. “But if you want to try again, you can.”
“Everyone only gets one chance,” he continued, “but the difficulty of these songs is extremely high. So before you step off the stage, I’ll give you as much time as you need.”
Xia Xize shivered slightly.
…Should he really stop here?
He asked himself.
He had only sung four and a half lines.
If he stepped down now, he could escape this humiliating moment.
But Xie Xizhao had already said that every song was difficult. The first-place winner would be determined solely by their effort.
The embarrassment Xia Xize had felt earlier slowly dissolved under Xie Xizhao’s gentle words. And only then did he realize that the looks in everyone else’s eyes weren’t mocking.
They were filled with shared nervousness.
And… the anxious anticipation before an exam.
This was, indeed, a rare and valuable opportunity for everyone.
Xia Xize tightened his grip on the microphone.
“I’ll do it again,” he said.
At that moment, it felt as though he wasn’t just standing in front of his teammates. Instead, he was facing real judges—or perhaps the thousands, even millions, of future fans who would stand below the stage.
He took a deep breath.
The next second, the familiar melody played once more.
But this time, his voice was much steadier.
Though they had initially planned for just a morning session, Group A of the creative team ended up staying in the theater for a full five hours.
It wasn’t until 1:30 in the afternoon that everyone had finally finished performing.
The atmosphere of the competition went through a subtle transformation—from relaxed to tense, and then, at last, to a sense of relief.
Almost everyone repeated their performance more than once. At first, each person was a little reserved when they stepped onto the stage, but through countless repetitions, that hesitation was gradually replaced by an overwhelming desire—to do their absolute best.
To give everything they had and perform to their fullest potential.
As Xi Kai put it, “It feels like I’m constantly breaking my own record.”
And in this process of pushing limits again and again, someone even ended up straining their voice.
That person was Yang Yinping.
His desire was too strong.
So strong that he became the one who repeated his performance the most times. By the final attempt, his voice was completely hoarse. Panting, he took a deep bow toward the audience.
Not toward Xie Xizhao or his teammates.
But toward the stage—the one he had poured every ounce of his effort and passion into.
No one thought it was excessive.
As he stepped down, Xi Kai handed him a bottle of water and said sincerely, “You worked hard.”
Yang Yinping took it, his ears turning slightly red in rare embarrassment.
At the very end, Xie Xizhao handed the DV camera to Yun Pan beside him. He then turned around, leaning against the long table, and looked at his teammates.
He said, “Now, I’ll announce the results.”
He paused for a moment.
Then, suddenly, he smiled.
“When I was designing this session,” he told them, “I was actually a bit hesitant.”
Too serious. Too formal.
Taking himself too seriously.
He was the team captain—but just a captain.
To be honest, he and his teammates were equals. They had no obligation to listen to him.
Even with the enticing reward he had offered.
And yet, they had all gone along with it.
Perhaps this was the simplest, most absurd stage they had ever stood on. But they chose to participate—not because of the reward, but because they trusted Xie Xizhao.
So, Xie Xizhao’s first words were:
“Thank you all for trusting me.”
The room fell silent.
Xia Xize coughed awkwardly, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Brother, don’t be so serious…”
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
Then he said, “I’ve thought a lot about why we feel so tense on stage.”
“First, it’s certainly a biological instinct. Second, you’re all newcomers—I shouldn’t demand too much.” He spoke calmly. “But I still want to say, there’s another reason. It’s because you haven’t been pushed to your limits.”
This was just a performance.
A performance was merely a stage.
Perhaps, in the moment when rankings were announced, many had felt the urge to go all in. But in the day-to-day practice, in the cheers of the audience, in the dreamlike glow of the stage, that intense emotion would eventually fade.
They would start thinking about whether they looked good on camera, whether their faces twisted when they hit high notes.
They would wonder if the fans in the audience were watching them.
But Xie Xizhao had pulled them into a different setting.
One that…
Stripped away all external factors.
A setting of pure simplicity.
Here, their strongest desires were magnified infinitely. For that desire, they were forced to put everything on the line—to risk whatever they could: their pride, their composure, their dignity.
What stood on stage were their most desperate, all-or-nothing selves.
“The state of pushing yourself to the limit will never look graceful or perfect,” Xie Xizhao said softly. “You have to understand—no one will laugh at this kind of imperfection.”
“This might be the last stage for many of you, isn’t it?”
The words fell into silence.
Yang Yinping was in the middle of drinking water when his eyelashes trembled unexpectedly.
A moment later, he took a deep breath, and at last, there was a sense of relief in his eyes.
“Give it everything you’ve got.” Xie Xizhao stood up. “Treat this as your last stage. Don’t think about anything else except taking first place. And then—
Show the audience the effort you displayed on stage today.
Tell your fans.
Let them know—
You want to stay.
You desperately, desperately want to stay.
That is all you need to do on stage.”
