Chapter 56: Mutual Appreciation
Xie Xizhao’s dormitory was empty.
He had come downstairs only after seeing Jiang Wenhai from upstairs.
The second round of the competition had just ended today. Except for him—who had stayed in the dormitory to rest due to poor health—everyone else had gone to the cafeteria for a celebratory meal. Fu Wenze had originally planned to stay behind to keep him company, but Xie Xizhao had refused.
In hindsight, that had indeed been the right choice.
The weather was getting colder. The first thing he did after entering the room was pour himself a cup of hot water.
After finishing one cup, he didn’t stop. He took a plastic cup from the nearby cabinet and poured another one for Jiang Wenhai.
Handing the cup to Jiang Wenhai, he said, “Sit wherever you like.”
Jiang Wenhai took the cup somewhat nervously and sat on an empty wooden stool nearby.
The corners of his eyes were still red, and his lips were so cold that they had taken on a bluish tint. The warmth from the cup spread through his body, giving him the illusion of returning to the world of the living.
He gripped the cup tightly and looked at Xie Xizhao, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.
It took him a long while before he finally spoke in a low voice. “You’re here because of Yun Pan, aren’t you?”
Xie Xizhao took a sip of water, found it a bit too hot, and simply held the cup to warm his hands. His fingers, pale and slender with distinct knuckles, reminded Jiang Wenhai of the time he had seen him sitting at the edge of a stage, singing into a microphone.
Then, he heard Xie Xizhao say, “Something like that.”
As expected.
Yet Jiang Wenhai didn’t feel particularly upset.
He and Xie Xizhao had little interaction, and there was no reason for someone to stand up for him without cause.
“But,” Xie Xizhao added, “I do think it’s a pity.”
He paused, his voice slightly hoarse from overuse. “A great song—if its rightful owner can’t perform it, then at the very least, it deserves a stage worthy of it.”
“…Rather than being ruined by someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
Jiang Wenhai took another sharp breath.
—”You think it’s a good song?”
—”I do.”
His lips trembled as he tried to maintain his composure. “Even if you hadn’t said that, actually, I already…”
“I don’t really like pleasantries,” Xie Xizhao looked up.
His gaze was calm—none of the aggressiveness he had on stage, nor the forced warmth Jiang Wenhai had imagined. “I was just speaking my mind. After all, I’m a creator too.”
He paused for a moment. “It’s just that the rap section before the second chorus feels a bit out of place.”
Jiang Wenhai: “…”
The hand resting on his knee went limp. And finally, he felt at peace.
He believed Xie Xizhao’s words.
“That was something Xia Ruiyan insisted on adding,” he said in a low voice. “He wanted to make himself seem more versatile. I told him it would feel abrupt, but he said it didn’t matter—people wouldn’t notice.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Jiang Wenhai let out a soft breath. “Just ask whatever you want. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Xie Xizhao hesitated for a moment.
“Say whatever you feel like saying,” he replied. “My brain isn’t really working right now.”
His complexion was indeed pale—a sign of exhaustion.
The second-round performance had taken too much out of him. But no one had noticed his condition until after he left the stage. He had forced himself to hold on until the very last second.
Jiang Wenhai tightened his grip around the rim of his cup.
This was exactly why, despite Xia Ruiyan privately complaining about Xie Xizhao countless times, Jiang Wenhai could never bring himself to dislike him.
It was a mutual understanding between creators.
It was also a kind of mutual appreciation between idols who had dreams and professional ethics.
After a brief silence, Jiang Wenhai spoke.
“The first time I met Yun Pan and Xia Ruiyan,” he said, “was in the winter of my first year at the company.”
—
That year, he was twenty-one.
While others his age were enjoying the best years of their lives in university, he was running around trying to pay off his family’s debts.
His family wasn’t exactly poor, but when he had just started college, they had made a bad investment due to trusting the wrong people. The business failed, leaving them in debt. Fortunately, it was all personal debts, not high-interest loans.
Eager to change his situation, he joined Wenyang Entertainment.
Jiang Wenhai had majored in composition and was classically trained. The company had reached out to him because a clip of him performing his own song at a campus music competition had unexpectedly gone viral. At the time, they told him, ‘Come to our company, and we’ll make you even more famous.’
“I guess I was just blinded by greed,” Jiang Wenhai said with a bitter smile. “I thought the entertainment industry made money fast, so I signed with Wenyang and went down the idol route. Honestly, I knew I wasn’t particularly outstanding in looks, singing, or dancing. I figured I’d probably end up making a living writing songs.”
“…I just never expected that after all these years, I haven’t made any money. And for some reason, my songs… aren’t even mine anymore.”
If he had another chance, he would never have accepted that business card.
Even if it meant he’d never make a name for himself. Even if no one ever heard his music. He would’ve accepted that fate.
“I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” He forced an embarrassed smile.
Xie Xizhao was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
But Jiang Wenhai quickly shifted the conversation back to Yun Pan.
He said, “Panpan probably told you that we were originally going to debut as a group.”
“At first, Xia Ruiyan was… pretty normal, I guess,” he recalled. “Or maybe it was just a persona? He came from a well-off family and was one of the company’s key trainees, so even when he lost his temper, everyone just let him be.”
“Later,” he continued, “after our group fell apart, his mood swings became a lot more obvious.”
He paused. “I mean, I can understand it, to some extent. After all… we had all prepared for so long. Of course, I’m not trying to make excuses for him.”
His mouth felt dry, so he took a sip of water.
As he drank, he glanced at Xie Xizhao.
There was still no discernible emotion on the other’s face, but the faint warmth in his usual smile had disappeared. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Then, he heard Xie Xizhao ask, “How did he usually b*lly people?”
At that, Jiang Wenhai’s hand stiffened slightly.
After a brief pause, he muttered vaguely, “Just… the usual things. It’s not like he actually got physical or anything. Just some words here and there, making people run errands, that kind of stuff.”
Xie Xizhao hesitated for a moment. “And you all just watched?”
The bluntness of the question caught Jiang Wenhai off guard. Even though Xie Xizhao’s tone remained as calm as ever, his eyelashes trembled slightly.
After a moment, he said, “…At first, we stepped in.”
“I mean,” he clarified with some difficulty, “some of us who couldn’t stand it.”
He listed two or three names—only one of them was a trainee who had come with them to the competition.
“But… you know how these things go,” Jiang Wenhai trailed off, not sure how to put it into words.
Xie Xizhao finished the sentence for him. “You were afraid that if it wasn’t Yun Pan, then one of you would be next?”
Jiang Wenhai fell silent.
After a while, he said, “…Sorry.”
He didn’t want to say anything more on the matter. Since he wouldn’t speak, Xie Xizhao didn’t press further.
He already knew that his guess was the truth.
The water in his cup had gone cold.
He didn’t bother refilling it—just absentmindedly took a sip.
The chill of the water sliding down his throat brought him back to reality. He met Jiang Wenhai’s gaze and saw the hesitant look in his eyes.
Jiang Wenhai asked, “What… are you planning to do?”
Xie Xizhao coughed lightly.
He said, “That’s actually what I should be asking you.”
He continued, “In the next round, you’ll probably be eliminated. Have you thought about what you’ll do after that?”
—
Xie Xizhao had two simple reasons for seeking out Jiang Wenhai.
First, Jiang Wenhai was another person currently at odds with Xia Ruiyan. Xie Xizhao wanted to see if he could persuade him to join Yun Pan in testifying against Xia Ruiyan. B*llying and fraud—either of those scandals alone would be enough to ruin Xia Ruiyan. If both were exposed, not even the gods could save him.
Second, he wanted to ask more about Yun Pan, to see if he could find concrete evidence.
Right now, the only proof of Yun Pan’s b*llying was his own account and the burn scar on his shoulder. The latter was difficult to directly link to the case. If Wenyang Entertainment wanted to protect Xia Ruiyan, they could easily manipulate the narrative to clear his name.
But after hearing Jiang Wenhai out, Xie Xizhao knew that his first plan was unlikely to work.
Sure enough, the moment he asked, Jiang Wenhai hesitated before finally saying, “…He paid me. The money just hit my account.”
Xia Ruiyan was smart.
He knew when to stop.
He had only ever b*llied Yun Pan, simply because Yun Pan was as easy to push around as a soft rice ball. He never expected that after years of being b*llied, Yun Pan would finally muster the courage to fight back—just because he wanted to debut with a stranger.
If he had foreseen this, he wouldn’t have been so ruthless toward Yun Pan back then.
Xie Xizhao nodded. “So, you don’t want to pursue this matter anymore.”
A statement.
Jiang Wenhai didn’t respond.
After a while, he said, “I still have a contract.”
Something seemed to cross his mind, and he hesitated. “Yun Pan… doesn’t he still have a few years left too?”
“If he debuts, he won’t be under the company’s control anymore,” Xie Xizhao replied.
Jiang Wenhai fell silent.
A moment later, he let out a bitter laugh. “That’s true.”
“He really is one of the most talented among us,” he admitted.
He took a deep breath. “Then…”
He wanted to ask what they planned to do but realized it wasn’t his place. He suddenly found himself ridiculous—he had already taken the money and “sold” his own song, yet Xie Xizhao’s words still had him following along like a puppet.
Xie Xizhao, however, seemed to understand his unspoken question and said, “This will be made public.”
Going public would affect Jiang Wenhai too, but he didn’t say anything about it. He only replied, “As it should be.”
Then he stood up. “I’ll be going now.”
His movements were rushed, almost flustered.
Xie Xizhao said, “Alright.”
Jiang Wenhai had only taken a few steps before suddenly turning back. “Did you record just now?”
Xie Xizhao froze for a moment.
Then he said, “No.”
Jiang Wenhai didn’t say anything else.
At a certain moment, Xie Xizhao caught a fleeting emotion in Jiang Wenhai’s eyes. He was certain it wasn’t relief. On the contrary, it felt more like a kind of loss—even one Jiang Wenhai himself hadn’t realized.
Just a tiny, insignificant emotion.
Half a second later, Jiang Wenhai quickly turned his head away.
But Xie Xizhao had already seen it.
He had planned to come up with another solution, but at that moment, he stared thoughtfully at Jiang Wenhai’s retreating figure. Then, on a whim, he called out, “Jiang Wenhai.”
He asked, “Is there nothing you want to say to Panpan?”
Jiang Wenhai’s body stiffened.
“You were willing to sell your song, and Xia Ruiyan got what he wanted. It was a fair trade,” Xie Xizhao said slowly. “But Yun Pan never did anything wrong, did he? Back when he was being b*llied, you stood by and watched. Don’t you think that makes you an accomplice too?”
Xie Xizhao rarely spoke in this kind of tone. The sudden weight of his words left Jiang Wenhai completely unprepared.
His lips parted slightly, his expression pained. “I…”
Xie Xizhao didn’t let the moment slip away. He continued, “You don’t have to come forward. That’s your choice. But Yun Pan has never said a single bad word about you. You were teammates for years—I don’t believe you never once felt sympathy for him.”
“He has no solid proof now. Are you really going to sit back and do nothing?”
“Or,” Xie Xizhao said, “are you planning to stand by Xia Ruiyan’s side when the time comes and testify for him instead?”
He was gambling.
Gambling on the fact that Jiang Wenhai still had some shred of basic decency left.
Gambling on the guilt he still carried for Yun Pan.
Of course, more than anything, Xie Xizhao was gambling on one thing—that Jiang Wenhai hadn’t come with him today merely because he had been persuaded, but because, for at least a fleeting moment, he had genuinely hesitated and considered joining them.
Whether Jiang Wenhai would ultimately take their side was another matter. But if that hesitation had been real…
Then Jiang Wenhai must have some tangible evidence.
The moment Xie Xizhao’s words fell, Jiang Wenhai’s head snapped up. “I won’t.”
“I won’t do that,” he said, his voice slightly frantic. “I’ll keep today’s conversation a secret, I…”
His gaze locked onto Xie Xizhao’s.
And in that instant, he suddenly realized something.
In a low voice, he asked, “You already guessed, didn’t you?”
Xie Xizhao asked, “Guessed what?”
Jiang Wenhai didn’t answer.
After a long pause, he took a deep breath and said, “A recording.”
“The time Xia Ruiyan burned Yun Pan with a cigarette… I was terrified. I was afraid he’d actually take things too far, that someone would really get hurt.” His voice dropped lower. “So, I secretly recorded it on my phone.”
Xie Xizhao felt the tension in his chest suddenly release.
He knew that what he had been looking for—he had finally found it.
