Chapter 54: You and I Meet (Second Public Performance Stage)
The nearly shattered Creative Group A was pieced back together by just a few words from Xie Xizhao.
‘So this was the power of language.’
As Xia Xize stepped onto the stage in darkness and took his designated position, this thought crossed his mind.
Because of a single sentence from one person, all those emotions, surging like tidal waves, were suddenly soothed completely. He had never imagined that when he truly stood on the performance stage, he would feel so calm.
Looking at the audience cheering wildly, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
On his other side—
Xie Xizhao adjusted his earpiece and nodded coolly at the band instructor beside him. The instructor received the signal the two had discussed earlier and responded with an “OK” gesture.
Then, Xie Xizhao retracted his gaze and lowered his eyes slightly.
The unaware audience was still cheering when, in the next instant, a crisp “click” suddenly echoed through the venue.
Everyone froze for a second.
And then, they saw it—
Light.
Seven beams of light slanted down from above at different angles. Accompanied by sound effects, they sliced through the darkness like blades. Within the hovering light beams, the illumination revealed tiny dust particles suspended in the air, dreamlike and ethereal.
Beyond the overhead lights, numerous side lights of varying sizes surrounded the stage.
The side lights flowed like water, shifting between shadows and radiance, gradually fading from dazzling white into a deep, glowing blue.
Amidst this rippling sea of light, the massive screen at the back slowly revealed three sharp-edged characters, submerged in the backdrop of ocean waves:
“Boundless Sea.”
Soft murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd.
“Ah… it’s an original composition.”
“Boundless Sea—what a beautiful name, and this stage design is stunning too.”
“Will it be a ballad?”
However, as the light gradually sharpened, the hushed whispers unconsciously transformed into increasingly fervent cheers. And the moment the figure at the center of the stage was fully revealed, the cheering instantly reached its peak.
The light traced the sharp contours of his jawline, and the once delicate, fair features in memory were now accentuated by bold makeup.
Pale lips, a high and well-defined nose, and above them—deep, cold eyes as still as a bottomless lake. Under the stage lights, the subtle shimmer at the corners of his eyes glowed like scattered stars.
It was a face so flawless that even the light seemed to favor it.
In the front row, a young woman let out a small scream. “Ahh! He’s so handsome…”
Her friend, however, was momentarily speechless, gripping her hand tightly—afraid that if she let go, she might lose all composure and scream as well.
But just a few seconds later, something felt off.
She wasn’t even a fan of Xie Xizhao.
Of course, she was a devoted viewer of the show.
The whole world knew how good-looking Xie Xizhao was. Some had even described his wink during the first public performance as the perfect summer slushie—sweet but never cloying, refreshing yet beautiful.
But…
Right now, he wasn’t smiling.
On the contrary, his gaze was distant, and with the cold-toned makeup, there was almost an air of dominance about him.
Xie Xizhao was widely recognized as the “God of the Camera.”
Someone had once compiled a record showing that, ever since the initial stage performance, he had never missed a single camera shot. The moment the lens found him, he could adjust his expression instantly.
And in the very second that the camera on stage locked onto him, he lifted his eyes slightly.
It was only then that people finally noticed—
He was holding a black electric guitar, gleaming with a metallic sheen.
Bold and intricate patterns were printed across its surface, the lines wild and striking.
Against the chaotic, intricate patterns on the guitar, pale and slender fingers tapped twice—lightly, yet with just the right weight.
The crisp sound reached the audience’s ears, and in just 0.1 seconds, a dense burst of drumbeats and electric guitar exploded across the venue.
No drawn-out intro, no gentle, flowing lead-in—
No one had expected that Boundless Sea, a song whose name and stage aesthetic suggested something deeply lyrical, would, within three seconds, send a violent shockwave of exhilaration straight to the audience’s core.
And yet, this wasn’t the climax.
It was merely the beginning.
—
By the time Lu Yan made her way from backstage to the front of the audience section, the entire venue had already erupted into an unprecedented frenzy.
A boy in a t-shirt sat at the edge of the stage, his chain necklace clinking crisply against his guitar as he moved with the rhythm—but no one was paying attention to that.
One leg casually bent, he sang the song he had written himself.
With every line he sang, he pushed the microphone toward the audience for the next.
And somehow, in just a minute and a half, the crowd had already learned the lyrics, singing along in perfect unison.
What was supposed to be a simple stage performance had been forcibly transformed into a full-blown concert.
And yet, Xie Xizhao was perhaps the most restrained person on stage.
He carried nearly half of the song’s high notes, and even the prolonged, near-breaking crescendos carried a husky nonchalance in his voice—like the song’s own lyrics: “The scorching sun burns within the sea.”
A melody pushed to its limit, emotions spilling over at the edge of eruption—just like burning passion and dreams, swallowed and carried by the cold, unrelenting waves.
This was a song about oneself.
It told the story of a protagonist—yet, somehow, it wasn’t just about the protagonist.
On stage, she saw it all—
The timid, shrinking boy who had always been afraid to step forward now boldly yanked the microphone from its stand.
The carefree, easygoing one sang with reddened eyes, his gaze filled with unwillingness and reluctance to leave the stage.
The sensitive and introspective one threw everything aside, kneeling on the stage and screaming his heart out.
The refined and reserved one clenched the microphone so tightly that faint veins surfaced on the back of his hand.
The playful, reckless one pressed his earpiece, trying to steady himself, yet still gasping for breath with his eyes shut during the instrumental break.
Someone stepped up beside Xie Xizhao, grabbed his shoulder firmly, and sat down next to him.
Together, they sang:
Before the seawater swallows the world,
Meet me.
No one knew why Xie Xizhao had written such a song.
In it, the sun burned fiercely, stars fell from the distant sky into the ocean, the world sank into an endless slumber, and all that remained within sight was the vast, boundless sea.
It was a final invitation before the end of the world.
And it was also the raw, unspoken sentiment of every eliminated trainee on that stage.
For half of the people present, this was the last time they would ever meet their fans.
The seawater would drown the world.
And they, too, would fade quietly from their fans’ memories like a receding tide.
Years from now, perhaps no one would remember the small idols they once cheered for. But the meaning of this song was—
Let time stop at this moment.
This very moment.
You and I meet.
—
Xie Xizhao felt hot, his heart pounding violently.
It had been a long time since he had performed this intensely. He could barely hear the sounds around him—only the relentless drumming of his own heartbeat in his ears.
As the song ended, he braced his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
As they stepped off the stage, Zou Yi didn’t even bother to remove his mic before rushing to Xie Xizhao’s side.
“You okay?”
Xie Xizhao waved a hand at him, shaking his head.
It took him a moment before he finally exhaled and straightened up. “I’m fine.”
His voice was hoarse.
Just moments ago, the entire venue had been shaking with chants for an encore. The deafening roar of “One more song!” filled every corner, and Xie Xizhao had no choice but to step in and calm the crowd. But the moment he opened his mouth, he almost couldn’t make a sound.
He had overestimated his stamina.
It took him a long time to find his voice again. When he did, he said, “Thank you, everyone.”
And then, with practiced ease, “If you liked it, don’t forget to vote.”
No one noticed his momentary weakness.
On the giant screen, his image was displayed in crisp detail.
The beautiful boy was still catching his breath, his slightly loosened T-shirt collar revealing sharp, prominent collarbones. A faint sheen of sweat caught the light at the hollow of his throat, giving him a wild, sensual edge.
He had used every ounce of his expression control to suppress any sign of pain, but in the audience’s eyes, all they saw was an uncharacteristically cold expression from him.
And even that was ridiculously attractive. His gaze was slightly downturned, his composure unshaken. As he spoke, the camera zoomed in on his long, slender fingers adorned with flashy rings, a chain sliding down from his wrist to his elbow.
Every detail captured by the lens exuded an almost dangerous allure.
And yet, he remained completely oblivious. His voice, though still hoarse, carried an unexpectedly gentle warmth. Even his call for votes sounded more like a polite request than a demand.
The sheer contrast sent his fans into a meltdown on the spot.
The moment his words fell, a guy in the audience immediately roared, “HOLY SH*T—I’M GIVING YOU A HUNDRED VOTES! BROTHER ZHAO, I LOVE YOU!!!”
The entire venue erupted into laughter, the overwhelming excitement finding an outlet in teasing.
Beside him, a girl screamed in frustration, “AAAHHH I WON’T ALLOW IT! TEACHER XIAO ZHAO IS MINE! LET ME CONFESS FIRST!”
They almost ended up fighting over it.
Thinking back to the ridiculous scene in the audience just moments ago, Zou Yi couldn’t help but chuckle. There was a hint of a sigh in his laughter as he said softly, “You worked hard.”
Boundless Sea had gone through several versions of arrangement, and the one performed today was the most intense iteration.
In its original form, the protagonist was nothing more than an ordinary person standing alone by the sea, watching the sunset before the apocalypse arrived. As the last remaining human in a world on the brink of destruction, their emotions weren’t anger, but a quiet, resigned despair.
But Xie Xizhao had reimagined it—he transformed that farewell of the last human to all living beings into an interaction between idols and their fans. He replaced despair with a desperate final sprint toward the finish line.
This was his vision.
Just as he had promised, he took responsibility for every member of their team. He made sure their fans could feel their current situation, immersing them in the emotions of the performance, fighting to secure every possible vote for his teammates.
Even if it meant draining his stamina even further.
Even if it meant exhausting himself both physically and mentally.
And because everyone understood that—because they all saw it—that’s why they cooperated with him so completely.
At that point, if someone still acted difficult, it wouldn’t just be being dramatic—it would be outright ungrateful.
Xie Xizhao was briefly stunned before he replied, “I’m fine.”
Zou Yi didn’t say anything more. He simply supported him as they walked back to the dressing room.
The moment they stepped inside, every pair of eyes turned toward them.
Most were filled with a complicated mix of emotions—gratitude, admiration, and deep respect.
Except for the next team.
Ji Yan’s group was the unlucky bunch set to perform right after them.
And he was miserable.
Passing by Xie Xizhao, he let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Brother, you’ve really screwed over your long-lost, unrelated little brothers with this one.”
After a performance like that, who could still focus on the next one?
Xie Xizhao absentmindedly reassured Ji Yan in a voice only the two of them could hear, “It’s fine.”
“It’s all the same.”
When people were exhausted, they couldn’t help but speak the truth.
What he meant was that it didn’t matter whether they performed immediately after or a little later.
The order didn’t change anything.
Once their stage was over, the show was practically finished for the night. The performances that followed would still take place, but by the time the audience went home, they wouldn’t leave much of an impression anymore.
Ji Yan: “……”
He really wanted to punch his dear brother on behalf of the general public.
But seeing how pale Xie Xizhao looked, his frustration melted into something more like concern.
Hurriedly, he tossed the backpack Xie Xizhao had asked him to hold back to him and said, “I’m off,” before heading to the waiting area.
—
Meanwhile, seated in his spot, Xie Xizhao unzipped his backpack.
A small dice nestled against his palm.
He chuckled, and the wild thumping of his heart finally settled.
At that moment, the screen displayed the scoreboard.
First came the individual scores.
With a performance like that, the top spot was unquestionable. Out of 500 audience members, 276 had voted for Xie Xizhao.
The second place went to Yun Pan, who received 98 votes.
He truly was the most outstanding among the remaining contestants.
Even though there was a massive gap between first and second, Yun Pan was still thrilled.
The others weren’t particularly surprised by their own results either.
I mean, come on.
Who could steal votes from Xie Xizhao?
The fact that none of them got a zero was already an act of charity from the audience.
What they cared about most now was the group score.
The group voting rules were simple. Each audience member had one vote per performance. If they felt the stage was worthy, they pressed the voting button.
This system often led to inflated scores—some people were generous, while others were just softhearted and ended up voting in every round.
So, what truly mattered was securing the votes from those who scored objectively.
Technically, even after the votes were counted, it was hard to say whether they would end up in first place. But every member of Creative Group A had a heavy expression.
They all had a strange, inexplicable feeling—
On the screen, after the individual scores were displayed, the numbers quickly switched to a new page.
At that moment, to ensure smooth recording, the large screen outside was also updating in real-time.
Everyone in the waiting room, every audience member on-site, and even Dou Yu, the host standing on stage, stared at the screen as the votes climbed rapidly before finally stopping at a single number.
497.
The entire venue fell silent.
Out of 500 audience members—
497 had pressed the voting button for “Boundless Sea.”
In the waiting room, Xia Xize covered his mouth in disbelief, clutching Mu Wen’s hand with all his might. Mu Wen, both exasperated and helpless, tried to push him away, but when he failed, he simply stood there in a daze.
Outside, a tidal wave of cheers surged once more, overwhelming everything.
Amidst the roaring applause, a wave so strong it threatened to drown him, Xie Xizhao let out a quiet breath.
The weight in his heart finally lifted.
He had kept his promise.
He had fulfilled his commitment to everyone.
**TN
Their performance reminded me of Shout Out by ENHYPEN. (>o<)
