Chapter 53: Rebellious
The moment the latest preview was released, Jing Jin clicked on it immediately.
After watching for five seconds, she angrily closed the page.
The frustration she had been bottling up over the past few days due to the rampant online rumors reached its peak at this moment.
She couldn’t believe it—this ridiculous show was actually trying to use its editing to convince her that her brother was some ruthless villain who would stop at nothing to debut.
Come on, this was her brother!
Was she supposed to trust her brother or trust some complete idiot?
But she was genuinely anxious.
A controversial personality was one thing, but Xie Xizhao and Ai Qingyuan were different cases.
Ai Qingyuan was known for his bad temper—everyone was aware of it, and his fans had long been desensitized. Those who couldn’t stand it had already left, and the ones who stayed loved it, even egging him on: “Husband, be even more of a jerk, I love it.” If another controversy broke out about him, it wouldn’t affect his popularity at all.
But even Ai Qingyuan, whose fans now defended him with “So what if the Young Master acts like a Young Master?”, had taken a serious hit in his early days when similar controversies first surfaced.
No matter how people tried to justify it, a bad personality was still a flaw.
If the show cemented this perception, Xie Xizhao would become the Ai Qingyuan at debut.
His new fans hadn’t followed him for more than three months—there wasn’t enough emotional attachment. If they started leaving en masse, the show’s producers would absolutely seize the opportunity to push him out of the debut lineup.
Jing Jin was panicking, pacing around anxiously, while another person remained calm.
That person was Ming Ling, whom Jing Jin had met after joining the fan club.
Jing Jin had been following Ming Ling’s channel for a long time and really liked her personality, so she also told Ming Ling that she was Xie Xizhao’s cousin.
She was actually afraid that Ming Ling would ask her whether the editing was real—because that would mean even the fan club was starting to waver. But when Ming Ling reached out, she didn’t ask anything. She simply said:
[Xiao Jin, are the small support gifts for the second public performance ready?]
Jing Jin, dressed in a fluffy bunny pajama set, exhaled in relief in the warmth of her heated room.
She quietly replied: [They’re ready T.T.]
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Then, a new message popped up.
[Ming Ling: Don’t worry.]
[Ming Ling: You should believe in your brother more than anyone else.]
The moment Jing Jin read those words, she felt tears welling up.
Sniffling, she typed back a firm “Mm!” and stopped overthinking, throwing herself into her work.
—
At the same time, over at Yaoxin, Fang Qingqing stared at the endless discussions flooding the screen and, for once, took a deep breath. She turned to the newly hired assistant beside her and asked, “Has that number replied yet?”
Just yesterday, she had finally recalled the number Xie Xizhao had borrowed.
Even with all her past understanding of Xie Xizhao, even after repeatedly telling herself to stay calm, the overwhelming doubts spreading everywhere made it impossible to remain unaffected.
She needed to ask.
The assistant was just as anxious. But right at that moment, her phone vibrated.
She picked it up, glanced at the screen, and her eyes lit up.
“Sister Qing, they replied!”
Fang Qingqing immediately looked up.
The assistant tapped open the screen, and both of them leaned in to read the message.
The original SMS interface was simple and unadorned. The new message contained only a single line.
[Don’t worry. – Xie]
Just one sentence, and Fang Qingqing’s eyes turned red.
The restlessness in her heart was instantly soothed by those few words. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Xiao Zhu, go to the PR department.”
“Tell them the situation is still unclear. No rash actions for now.”
“Be prepared. After the second live performance, we’ll settle the accounts all at once.”
—
Two days later, amid the uproar from the outside world—amid curiosity, concern, and patient anticipation—the second live performance of Super Rookie arrived as scheduled.
Early in the morning, in a dormitory room, Xie Xizhao opened his eyes to the vibration of his alarm clock.
He reached out and turned it off, then silently counted down in his mind.
Just like every other day, after half a minute, he sat up.
Beside him, the dice glowed softly.
He tapped it lightly on the head and silently mouthed, ‘Good morning,’ before rolling out of bed and grabbing a random T-shirt and pair of pants.
—
On his way out, Xie Xizhao ran into many people.
Someone greeted him with a cheerful, “Good morning, Teacher Xie.” He smiled and responded to each greeting.
When he reached the cafeteria, he stepped up to the counter and got himself a cup of soy milk, a boiled egg, and a luncheon meat sandwich—an indulgent breakfast by his usual standards.
The performance wouldn’t start until the evening, but rehearsals would begin soon.
After that, there would be styling, followed by the final stage blocking rehearsal for the whole group. This breakfast would likely be his last proper meal for the day.
After eating, he followed his routine and stopped by the convenience store to grab an iced Americano.
With the rich aroma of cold-brewed coffee filling the air, he stepped into Practice Room 113, where all the members of the Creative Group A were already gathered.
He said, “Morning.”
Everyone responded in turn—
“Morning, Zhaozhao.”
“Good morning, Teacher Xie.”
“Captain, morning!”
Most of them spoke in a lighthearted, joking tone.
In this lighthearted and relaxed atmosphere, they rehearsed Boundless Sea one last time.
As a few staff members passed by the practice room—despite their hands being full with stage props they needed to deliver—they couldn’t help but pause and listen for a moment.
They practiced until 11:30, finishing their vocal warm-ups before Xie Xizhao called for a break.
Zou Yi handed out the specially prepared lunches: water, bread, and some fruit. Everyone ate quickly before heading to the makeup room.
—
Inside the makeup room, Xie Xizhao sat in front of the familiar mirror once again.
This time, the makeup artist didn’t ask for his preferences.
A day earlier, he had specifically sought her out to discuss the makeup look for this performance. He had even applied it himself once, making slight adjustments to refine it. By now, she could do it flawlessly with her eyes closed.
As she worked, she chuckled and said, “Teacher Xie, you’re basically getting VVIP treatment from me.”
Xie Xizhao kept his eyes closed and gave a light smile.
He said, “Thank you for the trouble.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “Compared to your fans, I’ve got it way better.”
The fans could only feel anxious and helpless.
But as a half-fan and an insider, she could actually do something to help Xie Xizhao—even if just a little.
That thought satisfied her.
If he hadn’t come to her in advance, she would have been out there hammering away on her keyboard, battling water army trolls for days on end.
—
An hour later, Xie Xizhao opened his eyes.
In the mirror, a face both familiar and unfamiliar stared back at him.
He paused for a moment.
“Well?” A lazy voice came from beside him. “Does it feel like you’re looking at another version of yourself? I put a lot of thought into this.”
The style of Boundless Sea leaned toward rock, so the makeup couldn’t be too clean-cut.
Xie Xizhao had naturally good skin, his complexion carrying a faint translucency to its fairness. Because of this, his base makeup was applied lightly—only a touch of contour and highlighter to subtly enhance his facial structure. Thanks to his naturally striking bone structure, the entire base took no more than four or five minutes.
The part that required the most effort was, as always, his eyes.
During their initial discussion, the makeup artist had suggested a simple smoky eye—safe and effective. But Xie Xizhao had rejected the idea outright.
“Heavy makeup doesn’t suit me,” he had said.
And he was right.
Every time she did his makeup, the same thought crossed the makeup artist’s mind—
This face belonged on the big screen.
People often said that there was a gap between “idol visuals” and “actor visuals,” but Xie Xizhao was an exception.
While his looks were undeniably top-tier in the idol world, his features weren’t the kind that stunned at first glance. Instead, they shone under the scrutiny of the camera. The closer the lens got, the more mesmerizing his face became.
Simply put—his face thrived under the camera.
And the more one looked, the more breathtaking it became.
In the end, the makeup artist took his advice, focusing solely on his brows and eyeliner.
A precise black liner traced the shape of his eyes, enhancing their definition. The base color was a muted earth tone, understated yet effective. But the outer corners of his eyes swept upward, creating a sharp, lifted effect. His thick lashes curled slightly at the tips—shedding the last traces of gentleness and replacing them with an edge of sharpness.
As for colored contacts, she chose to keep his natural dark irises, since his hair was still black.
But at the outer corners of his eyes, she added a delicate embellishment.
She had consulted him on the design, and in the end, they had chosen a combination of black hearts and stars, arranged in an asymmetrical pattern with a faint shimmer.
Now, anyone who looked at Xie Xizhao wouldn’t see warmth anymore.
This was a face of cold detachment and indifference.
As Ji Yan watched from the side, he summed it up best: “Brother, if you don’t smile, it looks like you’re about to say, ‘Trash. Get lost.’ the next second.”
Zou Yi: “…”
“Isn’t this… kind of bad for your image?”
He had also heard about the controversy surrounding Xie Xizhao over the past two days.
Xie Xizhao stood up. “It’s fine.”
“I’ve always looked fierce,” he said.
Ji Yan: “…”
Makeup artist: “…”
Zou Yi: “…”
Xie Xizhao raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at them. “What’s that reaction supposed to mean?”
Ji Yan originally wanted to say, ‘Brother, it’s one thing to fool the audience, but don’t fool yourself too.’
But the moment Xie Xizhao shot him that indifferent look, his heart actually skipped a beat.
For a second, it really did feel like he was being coldly dismissed.
As Xie Xizhao headed off to get his hair done, Ji Yan murmured thoughtfully, “Doesn’t my brother actually seem pretty suited to acting?”
—
At that very moment, a certain former Best Actor and TV King was already seated in another chair, letting the hairstylist do as they pleased.
The little die in his pocket rolled over gloomily.
So this is what it feels like to descend into the mortal world…
To be doubted by a rookie?
Absolutely insulting.
Despite feeling thoroughly insulted, Xie Xizhao ultimately refused to let the hairstylist mess with his hair too much.
His hair quality was naturally good, and given that he’d be dyeing it plenty in the future, there was no urgent need to change its color this time. His sleek black hair fell just past his ears, so the stylist only gave it a light trim.
Aside from styling it to reveal his forehead—eliminating any lingering sense of innocence—everything else remained largely untouched.
With his forehead exposed, the deceptive good-boy look was completely erased.
In its place emerged something untamed and rebellious.
The stylist picked up a pair of black star-shaped ear cuffs.
“This might hurt a little.”
“Mm.”
In some ways, Xie Xizhao was quite rebellious.
For example, he refused to wear heavy makeup.
He also refused to get his ears pierced.
And most importantly—
He refused to wear leather pants.
Their group’s performance had an all-black theme. Half the members wore leather pants, but Xie Xizhao opted for black skinny jeans instead. As a trade-off, his jeans were slashed and tattered, looking like they had been cut at least eight hundred times, revealing glimpses of his knees and pale skin.
His distressed, graffiti-style T-shirt was tucked into a belt. The stylist draped jangling silver chain accessories around his neck and wrists, then forcibly added a few rings to his fingers before finally stepping back with satisfaction.
“Alright,” the stylist declared. “You’re all set to go start a fight.”
Xie Xizhao: “?”
From a distance, the makeup artist chimed in, “I’d actually love to see him walk out and punch eight hundred haters in one go, but with those skinny arms and that frame, who’s he gonna beat?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
“Actually, I…”
…was quite good at fighting.
At least when his body was in top condition.
Not that anyone would believe him.
He followed his teammates toward the performance venue, where countless eager fans had already gathered, waiting in anticipation.
—
Though it sounded less than ideal, Xie Xizhao’s group was slated to perform first.
This was determined by a random draw—one that had been carried out by Mu Wen.
Mu Wen had been chosen as their representative for one very specific reason—
A reason currently resting inside Xie Xizhao’s backpack, which he had entrusted to Ji Yan for safekeeping.
To this day, no one could explain why Xie Xizhao’s dice always seemed to work miracles at the most critical moments—whether it was accurately predicting his ranking or flawlessly selecting the group’s unlucky draw.
Only Xie Xizhao knew the answer.
Because when the dice had drawn the result, it had smugly flipped in Xie Xizhao’s hand, as if saying, “I got you an early shift! Hurry up and praise me!”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He looked at his utterly dejected teammates but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
Going first was not a good position.
First, it was nerve-wracking.
Second, the audience tended to be more reserved with their scores.
The only advantage was that their song was explosive, capable of instantly igniting the atmosphere.
But that was something that would make the show producers happy—not them.
If he had to name a real benefit, it was that they’d finish early and could enjoy the rest of the performances as spectators.
But that was clearly not what anyone wanted.
Waiting backstage, everyone was visibly tense.
Xia Xize kept talking to Mu Wen nonstop, while the latter responded absentmindedly. Yun Pan was so nervous that he kept squeezing the bubble wrap in his hands—the one Xie Xizhao had given him to prevent him from stress-eating.
The popping sounds of the bubbles echoed in his ears as Xie Xizhao listened to Dou Yu’s voice on stage and adjusted his earpiece.
Then, after a moment of thought, he spoke. “To be honest, when I first saw all of you, I was actually a little worried.”
Almost instantly, everyone’s attention snapped back to him.
Xia Xize’s fingers curled slightly.
This was an unavoidable truth that they had all suspected.
The weaker members would inevitably drag down the stronger ones.
But hearing Xie Xizhao actually say it out loud still made their hearts sink.
Even Yun Pan had stopped squeezing his bubble wrap.
He stood there blankly, looking at Xie Xizhao in confusion, his expression practically screaming—‘Brother, am I dragging you down? What do I do? I’m sorry! Please don’t abandon me!’
Xie Xizhao coughed lightly.
To avoid messing up Yun Pan’s makeup, he simply patted his shoulder.
Then, he said, “It was because of myself.”
He paused for a moment. “Maybe you don’t know this, but I’m actually quite self-centered. Mainly in the sense that I always feel that the things I create—besides me—no one else can perform them well.”
This statement pulled Xia Xize’s spirit back a little. Even though they knew Xie Xizhao was trying to ease the tension, they couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved.
Xia Xize muttered, “But that’s actually true, Xizhao.”
Even now, he could still recall the shock he felt when he first heard the recorded version of Boundless Sea.
Beneath the vast sky stretched an endless ocean, and sirens sang in the distance.
His voice was lazy yet unrestrained, a sound that could truly shake the soul.
Xie Xizhao shook his head.
“That’s not it,” he said. “I’m happy.”
Xia Xize blinked.
“I used to always be alone. Writing songs alone, composing alone, standing on stage alone.” He smiled. “I thought that was fine. But sometimes, I wondered—everything I create is mine. My songs, my stage, my life.
“But what if, one day, I handed those things to someone else?
“Would it turn into a disaster, or…
“Would it spark something different?”
“You all gave me the answer,” he spoke softly.
Days and nights of relentless practice.
Every meticulously refined detail, every lyric that had been corrected bit by bit.
This was what Creative Group A had gone through in just half a month.
In places unseen, their sweat and tears had soaked into the floor. And at this moment, all the past conflicts and tensions seemed to blur into something gentle—like the night breeze that had accompanied their practice.
“Boundless Sea is a song I wrote a long time ago. This is the first time it will be performed on stage. I’m really happy that it now has more than just me to bring it into the world.” Xie Xizhao said. “So…”
He smiled. “Don’t be nervous.”
“It has seen your hard work and sincerity.”
“The audience will see it too.”
From the stage, Dou Yu’s distant voice echoed through the speakers, announcing, “Now, let’s welcome our first group to the stage—the trainees of Creative Group A, performing Boundless Sea.”
As the announcement rang out, Xie Xizhao softly spoke his final words.
“Thank you for singing my song.”
“No matter what happens today, having this experience—I’m truly happy.”
