Chapter 66: Silk Shirt
Over the past two days, he had been busy. The second public ranking recording had ended, and some eliminated trainees were leaving.
As expected, Ji Yan was among them.
Ji Yan left one afternoon.
The day before, they had a farewell dinner and exchanged contact information.
It was a proper way to wrap things up.
His ranking had been quite dramatic—twenty-sixth place, just missing the cut. It was a classic “white moonlight” position.
Many people came to see him off. He said goodbye to each of them one by one, but he only let Xie Xizhao walk with him to the entrance.
He chattered non-stop, talking about everything—from how they first met to his banter with Ai Qingyuan, from his dislike of singing and dancing to how boring the show had been. He said, “Brother, I was really happy to meet you, and Brother Heng, Brother Wenze, Panpan… But of course, meeting you was the best. Actually, brother, you like me quite a bit too, don’t you? You never found me annoying. Brother, we—”
Xie Xizhao interrupted, “Stop.”
Something about the tone felt off.
“…Uh, actually, what I wanted to say is,” Ji Yan continued, “we’ll meet again, right?”
For someone usually so cheerful, his words carried a rare hint of sadness.
Xie Xizhao paused for two seconds before hugging him. “We will.”
He said it seriously.
Ji Yan simply smiled.
Before leaving, he stuffed a business card into Xie Xizhao’s hand, saying it was a task from his agent.
Xie Xizhao glanced at it. The card had a polite message in small print, essentially saying that if he was interested in acting, he could contact the number provided, and they could discuss the terms.
He chuckled, put the card in his pocket, and headed back.
On the way, he ran into Fu Wenze.
Fu Wenze asked, “Did Ji Yan just give you a business card?”
Xie Xizhao: ?
Surprised, he asked, “How did you know?”
Fu Wenze said, “My company heard that we’re on good terms, so they asked me to find out.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Fu Wenze asked cautiously, “Do you know how to act?”
After two prior embarrassments, he was careful not to set himself up for another ‘The last time I said this, it was still the last time’ moment.
Sure enough, Xie Xizhao smiled sheepishly.
Fu Wenze understood immediately.
He fell into a long silence, unsure how to comment.
Instead, Xie Xizhao said, “I’m not considering it for now.”
He could act, but he had no strong preference between singing, dancing, or acting.
Joining Super Rookie had been a coincidence. When he returned and wanted to enter the entertainment industry, he happened to catch the show’s auditions.
Since he had chosen the idol route, he intended to take it seriously—unlike some who used the idol industry as a mere stepping stone. Otherwise, fans who liked his singing and dancing would feel disappointed.
“Oh, right.” He suddenly remembered. “Why were you looking for me?”
“I ran into Guan Heng and Ai Qingyuan arguing,” Fu Wenze said. “So I stepped out.”
Xie Xizhao nodded in understanding.
—
Guan Heng and Ai Qingyuan had indeed been having disagreements lately.
Though calling it an argument wouldn’t be entirely accurate.
Guan Heng never lost his temper—not with strangers, let alone a younger trainee from the same company. It was Ai Qingyuan who carried a stormy air, as if someone owed him eight million, engaging in a one-sided cold war.
It was always the same issues—ranking drops, debut spots, and competition.
Because of that, neither Xie Xizhao nor Fu Wenze got involved.
Xie Xizhao had actually spoken with Guan Heng alone once—on the night they sent Ji Yan off. They hadn’t gone too deep into the conversation. He had simply mentioned that he hadn’t seen Guan Heng in the dormitory lately, and Guan Heng immediately understood what he was implying.
“I’m just busy,” Guan Heng had said.
Then he added, “It’s nothing.”
Xie Xizhao understood.
There really wasn’t much to discuss.
Why had his ranking dropped?
Because he wasn’t attracting new fans, because his popularity was declining.
As for the debut spots—everything was transparent now, purely based on votes. If you made it in, it meant the fans liked you. When it came to company decisions, the one directly competing with Guan Heng was his own junior from the same agency, someone he had a good relationship with.
What could Guan Heng say?
Even Xie Xizhao had nothing to say.
Ji Yan had already brought this up during the first public performance.
Just like how Xie Xizhao knew that the CP hype between him and Ai Qingyuan, as well as the recent debut position controversies, were all being orchestrated by Shenghong Entertainment. But instead of confronting Ai Qingyuan and telling him to make his company stop, he only discussed countermeasures with Fang Qingqing.
At the end of the day, in the adult world, there were rarely perfect solutions—only an unspoken balance that everyone maintained.
Unfortunately, Ai Qingyuan didn’t understand this.
One night, when Xie Xizhao returned from the practice room, he saw Ai Qingyuan sitting alone in front of the mirror, staring blankly.
He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. “Wanna head back to the dorm together?”
Ai Qingyuan looked up.
In his eyes, Xie Xizhao saw confusion.
It only lasted a moment before he snapped back to reality.
“Sure,” he said.
The two of them packed up and left together.
As expected, when they passed through the iron gate, they were met with a sudden explosion of screams.
Ai Qingyuan muttered, “What the hell are they screaming about?”
He was already irritated, and everything was rubbing him the wrong way.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Of course, he couldn’t just say “Actually, our CP is still pretty popular.” But this did confirm that the young master really didn’t pay much attention to his company’s behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
After a brief moment of thought, Xie Xizhao said, “Maybe it’s because we haven’t been seen together in a while.”
This wasn’t baseless speculation.
During the first public performance, he and Ai Qingyuan had been on the same team, which meant they were in the CP fans’ honeymoon phase. But by the second performance, they had been placed in separate groups. On top of that, Xie Xizhao was being suppressed by the show’s editing, so they didn’t even have a single frame together.
Now, CP fans were crying tears of joy—purely because their ship had reunited after a breakup.
Ai Qingyuan froze for a few seconds before finally realizing what was going on. A visible look of discomfort spread across his face.
“…What kind of nonsense is that?” he muttered, quickly changing the subject. “Why are you out so late today?”
“Writing a song,” Xie Xizhao replied.
Ai Qingyuan: “…”
“This shitty show is really giving you a lot of inspiration,” he commented, completely deadpan.
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
They walked all the way back to the dorms. Just before they reached the entrance, Ai Qingyuan suddenly stopped in his tracks.
He said, “These past few days, I’ve been…”
“Pretty harsh,” Xie Xizhao finished for him.
Ai Qingyuan pressed his lips together.
After a pause, he admitted, “…I don’t want to be like this either.”
Another silence. Then, as if talking to himself, he added, “He doesn’t tell me anything.”
Xie Xizhao didn’t respond.
Ai Qingyuan took a deep breath. “Forget it,” he muttered.
The shadows of the trees swayed gently. Standing beneath them, Ai Qingyuan had an expression of confusion for the first time.
Seeing his conflicted look, Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He chose his words carefully. “Survival shows are brutal. It’s all about competition.”
Ai Qingyuan hesitated before saying, “…But when I joined, Brother Heng told me that he and I would definitely debut together.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Internal company decisions like that definitely weren’t something he should be sharing.
But since it was Xie Xizhao… it should be fine, right?
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Now he understood why this young master was so naive.
Behind him, there was always someone planning his future, someone handling everything for him, and even someone acting as his personal babysitter.
Xie Xizhao sighed. “That was back then.”
“Did he also promise you’d be center?” he asked bluntly.
The words were direct enough.
Ai Qingyuan fell silent.
His expression darkened, but not toward Xie Xizhao.
Xie Xizhao left it at that.
He added, “Be nicer to Brother Heng. Don’t make things harder for him. Some things… it’s not that he doesn’t want to tell you.”
That was all he said.
Ai Qingyuan’s face went pale. This time, he understood.
Maybe it was because of what Xie Xizhao had said.
In the days that followed, the dorms returned to a temporary state of peace. Fu Wenze no longer had to escape to the gym just to avoid Ai Qingyuan’s sudden mood swings. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Guan Heng, however, was caught off guard.
In private, he asked Xie Xizhao, “Did you…?”
Xie Xizhao replied, “No.”
He looked completely innocent.
And he really hadn’t done much.
He had just said a few words.
Guan Heng didn’t press further.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t sure what he was thinking during those few seconds of silence. But when Guan Heng finally spoke again, he had already switched topics. “By the way, have you decided on a song for the third public performance?”
Xie Xizhao paused.
After a moment, he answered truthfully, “Not yet.”
“My agent reached out to me,” he added. “I told her I’d wait until the demo was out before deciding.”
Guan Heng chuckled. “That’s very much your style.”
Then he said, “But with you… I don’t think you have much to worry about.”
His tone was subtle—neither purely admiring nor outright envious.
Xie Xizhao sighed inwardly. He was feeling a little troubled about the selection too, though not out of worry.
Two days later, the official song list for the third public performance was released online.
Five original songs, produced by renowned producers. The moment they dropped, they sparked intense discussion.
Of course, it wasn’t just because of the songs themselves.
Song selection for the third public performance was a preliminary stage before practice officially began.
The show would first release demos of the songs, allowing fans to listen. Then, each trainee’s fans would vote for the song they wanted their favorite to perform. The trainee with the most votes for a song would automatically become the center, and the next four most-voted trainees would fill out the team.
Even though this was a fan-driven event, there were two major points of interest.
First, the battle for center position.
Second, team composition.
The first was self-explanatory. As for the second, it meant that once a popular center’s fans had secured their idol’s spot, they would often continue voting for other strong contestants to ensure the entire group’s performance quality.
This lined up perfectly with a popular discussion thread that had been making waves on the forums in the past few days.
Many joked that this time, Xie Xizhao and his fans were about to engage in a real “selection of consorts.”
Of course, it was all in good humor. Meanwhile, his fans were already on high alert. Although the vote was technically fan-driven, it was common practice for fan clubs to communicate with the company and align their choices with the idol’s own preferences.
That day, Ming Ling reached out to Fang Qingqing to ask if Xie Xizhao had any thoughts on the demo.
Rather than relay the question, Fang Qingqing decided to cut to the chase and find Xie Xizhao in person.
But he wasn’t in the practice room.
That day was one of the rare group activities.
A magazine photoshoot.
It was a collaboration with Stardust.
A cover shoot for a top-tier domestic magazine. While it wasn’t the absolute top publication, and it was only a group cover for the top five contestants, it was still an impressive opportunity for an unfinalized debut lineup. The fact that they secured this resource spoke volumes about the platform’s confidence in the debut group.
By the time Fang Qingqing arrived, the staff was already setting up the scene.
Xie Xizhao stood to the side, listening intently as the photographer explained the shoot’s details.
In his hands, he held the outfit he was about to change into—a pure white, semi-transparent silk shirt.
