Chapter 58: Eighteen Years Old
No matter whether Ma Hongping was a good person or not, this matter had finally received the attention it deserved.
The production team acted swiftly—or rather, it was due to the directive from the platform behind them, Stardust. Two days later, an official statement was released through the show’s social media account, while the audio recording was handed over to marketing accounts for exposure, effectively silencing those who were relentlessly demanding an explanation.
Taking action first and informing later—this was a common tactic used in negotiations when holding leverage.
Wenyao and Stardust had originally been in a mutually beneficial partnership, but due to this incident, their relationship had temporarily soured.
Half an hour after the statement was released, a Wenyao executive made a direct call to a senior official at Stardust.
The tone was furious, yet the underlying weakness was unmistakable. However, the Stardust executive remained composed and unyielding, responding curtly, “It was an internal report. What do you expect us to do?”
With both testimony and evidence in hand, Wenyao had no room to maneuver.
Besides…
They had their own considerations.
Super Rookie was currently at its peak in popularity, and Xie Xizhao alone had propelled the show into the spotlight. At this stage, the battle for the center position had already begun to take shape. It was clear that the debut group was bound to be a sensation, and Wenyao also wanted a share of the pie.
With this in mind, when reaching out to the production team, the Wenyao executive hesitated.
In the span of a few seconds, despite initially intending to speak directly with Xia Ruiyan after receiving a call from the Xia family, the executive instead uttered a different name:
“Hello, could you please get Yun Pan on the line?”
A moment later, the call was connected.
The executive hesitated briefly before softening their tone.
“Panpan, hello. I’m the head of PR at Wenyao.”
“I’ve already gotten a preliminary understanding of the situation from your manager. Don’t worry, and don’t be afraid. This issue was due to the company’s management oversight, and we will absolutely stand by your side to seek justice for you.”
On the other end of the call, Yun Pan turned his head.
Under the golden hues of the setting sun, Xie Xizhao’s striking profile appeared calm and composed.
—
Xie Xizhao was playing Aeroplane Chess.
His teammates were Ai Qingyuan, Fu Wenze, and Ji Yan, who had joined them from another dorm.
The game board had been borrowed by Ji Yan from his roommate, and they were using Xie Xizhao’s dice. Xie Xizhao had no idea why they were so determined to play, but at this point, he had already crushed them mercilessly five rounds in a row.
After Yun Pan finished his call, Xie Xizhao casually asked, “What did they say?”
Now that the statement had been released, it was practically an announcement to the entire show. Everyone knew about it, so there was no need to be secretive.
Yun Pan replied, “They told me not to worry. The company will handle it.”
“Classic corporate nonsense,” Ai Qingyuan remarked.
The next second, he yelped, “Fu Wenze, you better not take my—”
Pa!
Fu Wenze sent his piece straight back to the starting point. Then, as if nothing had happened, he remarked, “Looks like Xia Ruiyan is about to get kicked out.”
He glanced at Xie Xizhao.
At this point, he no longer believed that Xie Xizhao hadn’t already predicted the contents of that phone call.
Just like this game, everything seemed to be under his control—including the direction of the entire show. And yet, he was merely a contestant with no background to speak of.
Xie Xizhao remained completely at ease.
He simply said, “He’s not gone yet.”
And until he was actually gone, nothing was truly settled.
As he spoke, he rolled a six and sent Ai Qingyuan’s last piece back to the starting point as well.
Then he turned to Yun Pan and asked, “Do you know what Xia Ruiyan is doing right now?”
“Oh, I know,” Ji Yan chimed in.
He leaned back leisurely and said, “Passed by their practice room on my way here—he’s having a meltdown.”
Ji Yan hadn’t exaggerated in the slightest.
Xia Ruiyan was having a meltdown.
And his target? His own teammates from the same company.
Bloodshot eyes, a darkened expression—he swept his gaze over the group in front of him. “Who did it?”
Silence.
If you dared to do something, you had to be prepared for the consequences.
None of them had expected that someone would record the conversation, but even without audio or video evidence, everyone here was a witness. Some people cursed him silently in their hearts, but no one dared to speak up.
Jiang Wenhai sat in the corner, polishing his guitar. Upon hearing Xia Ruiyan’s outburst, his hands paused for a moment.
His first instinct was to tense up—but then he remembered what Xie Xizhao had told him.
‘The recording won’t lead back to you.’
And Jiang Wenhai trusted Xie Xizhao.
So, he continued polishing his guitar, indifferent to Xia Ruiyan’s rage.
He knew—this was nothing more than the last, desperate struggle of a man at the end of his rope.
Sure enough, no matter how furious Xia Ruiyan was, there was no way he could actually find out who had leaked the recording. And right now, that wasn’t even the biggest issue anymore.
Someone entered the room and told him there was a phone call for him.
Xia Ruiyan shut his eyes for a moment.
When he finally picked up, his expression changed instantly.
“What do you mean the company can’t handle it anymore?” His voice was sharp, his words clipped as he gritted his teeth.
The person on the other end said something—whatever it was, it made Xia Ruiyan lift his hand and hurl the phone against the wall with full force.
Bang!
The phone crashed against the surface before hitting the ground with a heavy thud, its screen shattering into pieces.
A nearby trainee stood there, completely stunned.
Xia Ruiyan’s voice was icy. “I’ll pay for it.”
He took a deep breath. “I need to go out.”
“That’s against the rules—”
“To hell with the damn rules!” Xia Ruiyan slammed the door and strode out, pulling out his own phone to make a call.
Not long after, a black sedan pulled up in front of the training center.
Autumn had arrived, bringing frequent rain. Under the misty drizzle, a group of slogan sisters stood with umbrellas, gossiping about the latest drama.
Suddenly, someone said, “Hey, isn’t that Xia Ruiyan?”
“It really looks like him!”
“Xia Ruiyan! Xia Ruiyan, can you respond—”
Their voices, along with the black sedan, disappeared into the rain.
—
That very night, a video of the scene began circulating online.
The statement released earlier that day had already caused an uproar. Both main figures in the controversy were incredibly popular—so much so that their CP supertopic was still ranking in the top thirty. And now, with this BE (bad ending), it wasn’t just tragic—it was like the foundation had collapsed altogether.
The CP supertopic was drowning in cries of despair, but the ones who reacted the most intensely were Xia Ruiyan’s fans.
After all—who could accept their idol being labeled as a b*lly?
They immediately started picking apart the statement, combing through every word for inconsistencies. The recording? Clearly edited. A smear campaign orchestrated by rival factions to take Xia Ruiyan down.
The comment section under the statement flooded with arguments. And at some point, a new narrative started gaining traction.
The claim?
Yun Pan had been leeching off Xia Ruiyan’s popularity for years.
Now that Yun Pan’s individual popularity was about to surpass their CP’s combined hype, he was using this as an opportunity to unbind himself, purify his image, and push his own career to new heights. And since he was the company’s golden boy, they were fully backing him in this scheme.
This argument spread rapidly.
Xia Ruiyan’s fans clung to it like a lifeline and launched a fierce counterattack.
[B*llying? Yun Pan and Brother Yan have been practically inseparable these past two years—same events, same vlogs, so many behind-the-scenes clips. Are we supposed to believe our own eyes are lying to us?]
[@WenyaoEntertainment I’ve f*cking had it. Get your ass*s out here—so this is how you treat your company’s cash cow? Use him up and throw him away? I finally get it now. Back then, no matter how many people cursed at you, you refused to break up the CP, all so you could purify your favorite when the time was right. 🙂 Screw you, give me my money back!]
[@WenyaoEntertainment-YunPan Brother Yan treated you so well—where’s your conscience? Where’s your conscience?! Where’s your conscience?!]
[You really think anyone’s gonna let Yun Pan’s company purify his image at Xia Ruiyan’s expense? Get real.]
Amid the genuine outrage from fans, some opportunists started muddying the waters: [There are no good guys in the entertainment industry. Xia probably just pissed off the wrong person and got screwed over. We all know how this works—paparazzi have dirt on everyone, it’s just a matter of who gets exposed first. This whole thing is boring.]
The internet was in utter chaos.
Of course, most people could see that paid bots were fueling the fire, leading stubborn fans to charge forward with blind conviction. But even so, the sheer noise of it all made some neutral bystanders hesitate—maybe there really was some kind of plot twist coming? Maybe this wasn’t as simple as it seemed?
But the twist never came.
Instead, something else did.
At 10:30 PM that night, Super Rookie’s official Weibo unexpectedly went live.
Everyone clicked in.
On the screen, a delicate, soft-spoken boy sat up straight, facing the camera. His eyelashes trembled slightly, but his voice remained calm and steady.
“I’m here to respond to this situation.” Yun Pan spoke each word clearly. “Ask me anything you want.”
—
It was destined to be a sleepless night.
No one had expected Super Rookie to get wilder with each passing season.
First, they had a purple star descending from the heavens.
Now, a contestant had gone live to publicly expose b*llying within his own team.
And this was only the second public performance.
In previous seasons, Round Two was when entertainment companies truly began their power plays.
By the time Finals Week arrived, the situation would be changing by the hour.
But for now, this livestream had already reached unprecedented levels of hype.
Since Yun Pan had said, “Ask me anything,” people really started asking.
Most of the questions came from Xia Ruiyan’s fans—but no one had expected that the usually quiet and well-mannered boy would respond in such a cold, detached, and composed manner.
“Was there really b*llying?”
“I don’t know how you define it, but he would curse me out from time to time. Physical violence was less frequent. That recording? He was in a bad mood. I made him mad that day.”
“So it was your fault for making him mad first? Is that what you’re saying?”
“If you think buying the wrong level of sugar in his coffee justifies getting burned with a cigarette, then go ahead—believe what you want.”
“When did it start?”
“Two months after I joined. At first, I thought I had offended him somehow. Later, I realized he just has a violent streak. I was just the unlucky one who got picked on the most.”
The comment section scrolled at lightning speed.
Even the staff managing the livestream felt a pang of heartache as they listened.
One by one, Yun Pan’s responses were clear and direct.
Gradually, the viewers started to understand—this wasn’t just a rumor. It was a solid, undeniable fact.
The barrage of comments began to slow.
A real person’s testimony had a far greater impact than any written statement ever could.
Seeing that face—barely past his eighteenth birthday—no one with even a shred of conscience could keep blindly typing insults.
Even Xia Ruiyan’s fans started to wake up.
Messages of comfort and support began to fill the chat.
But some people couldn’t handle it. They broke down completely.
—Why didn’t you say something sooner? Why did you endure it for so long?
—I always thought that even if you two weren’t real, you were at least true friends. Why did you give me hope, only to tear my dream apart?
It was obvious—this was a CP fan.
Compared to solo stans, CP fans suffered in an entirely different way.
Yun Pan pressed his lips together.
After a brief moment, he took a deep breath and said softly, “I’m sorry. I’m a coward.”
He was a coward.
Like a turtle carrying its shell, he had deceived himself into believing that bad people would eventually face retribution. As if, by holding onto that belief, the pain in his heart and body would somehow fade away.
But the world was neither that cruel nor that kind.
Swallowing grievances was never the way to solve a problem.
It had taken him until today to understand that.
This was the truth.
But as Yun Pan spoke, Xie Xizhao did not agree.
Instead, he simply said, “Yun Pan, don’t be too hard on yourself.”
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself.’
‘You’re only eighteen.’
‘At eighteen, you’re allowed to make mistakes. You’re allowed to be afraid. You’re allowed to be lost.’
‘Eighteen is meant to be beautiful.’
The only ones who deserved blame were those who tried to ruin that beauty.
Yun Pan closed his eyes.
He repeated himself.
“I am a coward,” he said, one word at a time. “I would have stayed a coward forever.”
He paused for two seconds.
His mind flashed back to everything that had happened over the past two days.
Xie Xizhao had told him to leave everything to him, and just like that, every problem Yun Pan couldn’t handle seemed to resolve itself effortlessly.
Ji Yan, who had been keeping him company, had sighed and said, “Panpan, your brother is honestly the most clear-headed and brilliant ‘nice guy’ I’ve ever met.”
And Yun Pan knew exactly what he meant.
This matter originally had nothing to do with Xie Xizhao, yet he had still taken care of everything for him.
Even though, due to Jiang Wenhai’s refusal to come forward, Yun Pan had to take responsibility for the recording himself—he felt that was only natural. If not him, then who else?
But Xie Xizhao’s tone still carried a hint of regret: “This will put more pressure on you.”
He had considered everything for him, and yet…
Yun Pan thought.
But what about Xie Xizhao himself?
Right now, he was still bearing the rumors and slander that the show had fabricated against him.
The real b*lly had a carefully crafted public image of a gentle, caring senior, while the one who had silently endured everything was instead labeled as someone who practiced “cold violence” and “small-group exclusion.”
Just earlier, Xie Xizhao had worried about him and asked if he could stay by his side during the stream—only to be turned away by the production team.
The reason they allowed Yun Pan to go live was clear—they wanted to use the undeniable truth to stir up an even bigger wave of publicity for the show.
And the reason they wouldn’t let Xie Xizhao appear…
They didn’t want to give him any chance to defend himself.
Even though it was they who had thrown that filth onto him in the first place.
The calmness he had maintained up until now suddenly faded. Yun Pan pressed his lips together tightly.
He glanced at the time.
Five minutes left until the stream ended.
Nothing major had happened throughout the stream, so by now, the staff in charge of the broadcast had let their guard down.
Yun Pan clenched his fists, then suddenly lifted his head. “Actually…”
“Actually,” he said, “it was Brother Xizhao who helped me.”
A flood of question marks filled the chat.
The staff member beside him looked up in astonishment, momentarily unable to process what was happening.
A few seconds later, they sprang to their feet, rushing to shut down the stream.
But Yun Pan had already continued, speaking quickly: “It was Brother Xizhao who first noticed the wounds on my body. He was the one who stayed by my side, encouraging me, helping me organize the evidence and communicate with the production team. How could someone like that ever b*lly anyone? Don’t believe the edited clips. He is nothing like what they—”
“Click.” The stream was abruptly cut off in a panic.
The words left unfinished, swallowed by silence.
His Brother Xizhao was nothing like the villain the production team had painted him to be.
His eighteenth year had been ruined by Xia Ruiyan.
But meeting Xie Xizhao—that was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.
