Chapter 68: A Double Blessing
On the 6th floor of Shenghong.
The man’s makeup was exquisite, and his attire was impeccable, yet his expression showed rare traces of surprise and frustration.
He reconfirmed with the person beside him, “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s Palace in the Clouds?”
It was none other than Ren Cheng, the manager of Ai Qingyuan and Guan Heng.
The assistant hesitated before replying in a low voice, “Yes, Brother Cheng.”
She paused briefly before adding, “I heard that his manager already visited the set. It seems to be his own decision.”
Ren Cheng let out a cold laugh.
Then, he suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the room.
This development had caught him completely off guard.
Just as netizens had analyzed, Shenghong’s original plan had indeed been to follow in Xie Xizhao’s footsteps.
The reason was simple.
Ai Qingyuan was currently in second place.
If he had remained the undisputed first, they would have done everything possible to avoid any association with Xie Xizhao—just like in the early stages of the competition. The two had already garnered considerable CP popularity, but the real surge had only happened recently.
In talent shows, competition was always brutal. Friendships were real, but so was the act of using one another.
When you were at the top, you had to guard against being leeched off. When you were at the bottom, you had to cling to those ranked higher to generate buzz. That was the simplest, most effective rule.
But now, Xie Xizhao’s choice had rendered this rule obsolete.
Because Ai Qingyuan simply couldn’t join Palace in the Clouds. He didn’t have the necessary foundation.
Ren Cheng almost laughed out of anger.
“Xie Xizhao,” he muttered the name, “how clever.”
Too clever.
He had a keen sense of timing and knew when to advance and retreat.
Ren Cheng couldn’t help but see him in a new light.
When the Yun Pan incident first came to light, Ren Cheng had initially thought Xie Xizhao was just an overly kind and naive young man—especially since the whole thing had even been exposed to the public through a livestream.
But now, he had completely changed his mind.
Not only would this decision throw countless companies’ plans into disarray, but the fact that Xie Xizhao could maintain a good relationship with Ai Qingyuan while simultaneously having a crystal-clear understanding of their every move was enough to prove his maturity and intelligence.
…Unlike his own artist.
Thinking about what Ai Qingyuan had said to him recently, Ren Cheng felt a headache creeping in.
The assistant asked hesitantly, “Brother Cheng, what should we do now?”
Ren Cheng sighed slightly.
“Stick to the original plan,” he said. “We’ll still submit for One by One. Since Xie Xizhao isn’t going for it, that means we have to secure the center position. Go inform the fan support team.”
He paused for a moment before adding, “Oh, and tell Guan Heng and the others to avoid this song. Make sure they don’t clash.”
The assistant acknowledged the order and left.
Meanwhile, the internet was already in complete chaos.
—
The discussion had been heating up before, with people making all sorts of wild guesses, but in reality, most fans had their expectations set.
If you wanted to go all out, you’d pick the most popular song, clash with the strongest competitors, and fight your way to the top. If you wanted a safer choice, you’d go for a slightly less popular hit. No one had expected Xie Xizhao to actually pick Palace in the Clouds, a traditional Chinese-style song that people had only ever joked about.
Online forums were in utter turmoil, with fans arguing left and right. Xie Xizhao’s supporters were trying their best to control the narrative while secretly worrying. The official fan club’s Weibo was flooded with comments.
[AAAHHH?? Sister, did you post the wrong thing?]
[What the hell, just woke up—why is he in the dance group?? Fan club, please don’t make reckless decisions! Casual fans are already voting, I just checked, and the numbers are skyrocketing!]
[I can’t wait even a little.jpg. But don’t worry about bad decisions—Yaoxin’s greatest strength is being down-to-earth.]
[I was just casually saying I wanted to see something in a Chinese style orz, but now I’m actually looking forward to it. Didn’t the official post say Xizhao himself had a say in the decision?]
[Go vote, guys. This was Xizhao’s own choice. Sister Lingdang confirmed it in the group. [Image]]
The attached image was indeed a screenshot from the group chat. Everyone recognized the familiar profile picture—it belonged to their fan club president, Ming Ling. Her tone was as gentle and playful as always.
Lingdang: Too many people are asking! Let me just reply to everyone at once—yes, this was definitely Xizhao’s own decision. Otherwise, how could we possibly make such a bold move and choose Palace in the Clouds for him? [laughing-crying emoji] And for those asking about his health, don’t worry—has Xizhao ever done something he wasn’t confident in?
Lingdang: Actually, Xizhao picked this song with you guys in mind. I asked Sister Qing, and she said he was worried you’d have too much pressure voting. T.T
Lingdang: So hurry and go vote! No need to overwork yourselves, but still, work hard!
In just a few sentences, everything that needed to be said was said.
Normally, screenshots from private fan groups weren’t supposed to be leaked. But at this moment, no one was bothered about who had shared it.
There were only two things running through everyone’s minds:
First, Xie Xizhao said he was confident in performing a Chinese dance.
Second, he was worried they’d have a hard time voting.
Xie Xizhao’s fans mentally worked through the equation:
Worried about my voting stress = He cares about me = He knows everything I do and feels for me = He loves me…
Xie Xizhao’s fans: !!!
And so…
The forum debates came to an abrupt halt. The fans who had been gnashing their teeth over smear campaigns stopped grinding their teeth. Xie Xizhao’s supertopic was flooded with one thing—screams.
The entire thread was filled with virtual screaming chickens.
And as they screamed, they frantically poured their votes in like they were injected with adrenaline.
By the time Fang Qingqing finally finished her work in the evening and checked the voting results, Palace in the Clouds had a new leader at the top—Xie Xizhao.
Fang Qingqing: “……”
Ji Yan, who had just graduated and gone home to surf the internet: “……”
He twitched at the corner of his mouth and immediately dialed Ai Qingyuan.
Ai Qingyuan had just finished practicing and was changing clothes in his dorm when he answered the call absentmindedly. “Who’s this?”
Ji Yan slurped up the last of his spicy and sour noodles. “Give the phone to my brother.”
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
He stared at the screen like he had seen a ghost, then scoffed in disbelief.
“Are you sick, you little sidekick?”
Ji Yan responded righteously, “My brother doesn’t have a phone. What’s wrong with calling you instead?”
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
He really wanted to hit something.
He glared at the phone for a long while, tempted to hang up right then and there. But in the end, he gave in and turned to Xie Xizhao, who was already in his pajamas, sitting at the small desk reading.
“Xie Xizhao, it’s for you.”
Xie Xizhao: …?
He took the phone. Ji Yan swallowed the last bite of his noodles and said sincerely,
“Brother, you’re insane.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He glanced at Ai Qingyuan and coughed lightly. “What’s up?”
“Don’t act cool in front of me,” Ji Yan snorted. “I know you know.”
“Right now, every fandom is completely dumbfounded. I heard that Ai Qingyuan’s and Qiao Ye’s fan clubs both contacted their companies this afternoon.” He laughed gloatingly. “Let’s be real, you just wanted to avoid them, didn’t you? So you picked something difficult—now, even if they want to crash into you, they can’t.”
Ji Yan had seen Xie Xizhao wield a staff before. If he could handle that, then dancing was naturally no big deal.
That’s why he had never worried about whether Xie Xizhao could dance or not.
And Xie Xizhao didn’t deny it.
Ji Yan was right.
Crashing into others was just meaningless. He didn’t think idols who relied on tormenting their fans to maintain popularity were truly responsible idols. At its core, being an idol should be about bringing joy and strength to fans.
Now, he had killed two birds with one stone—keeping things clean and peaceful.
But just because he didn’t deny it didn’t mean he was going to explain his entire thought process. Instead, he defaulted to the universal conversation filler:
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“Yeah, just finished,” Ji Yan wiped his mouth. “What about you, brother?”
“Just ate,” Xie Xizhao replied.
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
“Can you not flirt while using my phone?” he said coldly.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Ji Yan, on the other end: “…”
Xie Xizhao coughed again and said, “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.”
“There is!” Ji Yan quickly added.
He knew Xie Xizhao didn’t pay much attention to outside trends, wasn’t easily influenced by them, and definitely wasn’t someone driven by personal gain. But still, he couldn’t help but share:
“Your fans are really touched. And it’s not just them—even other fandoms, though they won’t say it out loud, are secretly jealous.”
At the end of the day, it all boiled down to one thing: comparison highlights the gap.
These days, idol performances were getting worse and worse. Everyone was stuck at the same mediocre level, so fans had no choice but to settle and pick the best of the bunch.
But now that Purple Star had arrived, things were different.
Once you’d seen Xie Xizhao’s stage, everything else felt bland—too tasteless to enjoy, yet too regrettable to discard.
That applied not just to his performances, but to his character as well.
In the world of survival show idol competitions, debuting through fan voting was the norm—so much so that people joked an idol dating was a crime punishable by death. Especially for idols born from survival shows.
After all, their dreams and opportunities were built on the time and effort of their fans. The idols themselves had no right to simply discard that support.
It was an unspoken rule, a mutual exchange.
But Xie Xizhao broke that rule.
He was someone who truly practiced the idea that love should be reciprocated, easing his fans’ burden through real actions.
In contrast, those idols who claimed to care while their companies continued to ruthlessly exploit their fans? Those companies suddenly looked extremely detestable.
And when the company was hated, the idol inevitably suffered collateral damage.
Sincerity or not, they all fell short.
Xie Xizhao’s fans had time on their hands. And since they were already moved, they made sure to spread the news far and wide.
At that moment, it became clear just how smart Ming Ling had been in deliberately leaking that “this was Xie Xizhao’s personal decision.”
It gave the fans solid ground to stand on.
So when other fandoms sneered, “Psh, he’s just scared.”
They had to grit their teeth to suppress the overwhelming jealousy they felt inside.
And it was clear—throughout the countless nights of voting that lay ahead—that envy would only continue to grow.
—
Ji Yan was full of passion, and Xie Xizhao didn’t kill his enthusiasm. He chuckled and said, “Got it. Thanks.”
Then he ended the call and handed the phone back to Ai Qingyuan.
Ai Qingyuan took it. “So you chose Palace in the Clouds?”
Xie Xizhao hummed in acknowledgment.
Ai Qingyuan didn’t say much but felt an invisible weight lift off his chest. “Good.”
He was familiar with the voting system for the third public performance.
And honestly, he didn’t want to compete with Xie Xizhao.
One by One suited him well. If he had to go head-to-head with Xie Xizhao, it would just feel… uncomfortable.
With that unspoken relief, the two went about their nightly routines—washing up and going to bed.
—
The next morning, Xie Xizhao was in the practice room bright and early.
He had to start with the fundamentals.
Truth be told, while everyone now seemed to accept that Xie Xizhao was capable of anything, even he didn’t always believe that to be true.
For example, back when he worked in the system, his physical body had actually been in a dormant state.
The system had cheated a little for him. His current body had inherited some energy from the mental construct he had in the system. However, in order to avoid disrupting the world’s natural balance too much, the recovery process remained very limited.
Take his four-year coma, for instance. Normally, rehabilitation should have taken much longer—possibly leaving him permanently disabled. But the system had adjusted the data for him. Even so, his body was still incredibly weak.
Likewise, while his fundamental skills were technically maxed out, that was only in terms of muscle memory.
Simply put, his mind knew how, but his body only half-remembered.
Before starting practice, Xie Xizhao had been fairly optimistic.
That optimism lasted right until the moment he had to stretch his legs.
—
When Fu Wenze came into the practice room after breakfast for his usual training, he was met with the sight of a person sprawled lifelessly on a mat in the corner.
Half-dead. Half-alive. Looking very much like a dried-up salted fish.
Fu Wenze: “…”
He rolled a water bottle over. Xie Xizhao caught it and, with barely any energy, greeted him, “Morning, brother.”
“Morning.”
Fu Wenze glanced down. “Starting basic training?”
“More like… rehabilitation.” Xie Xizhao sighed.
Technically, he could still perform the moves—it was just painful.
“Don’t rush it,” Fu Wenze said.
That was about the extent of his comforting skills.
Xie Xizhao got the message. After resting for a bit, he resigned himself to getting back up and continuing practice.
By the time he reached the backbend stage, Fu Wenze had finished his own routine and came over to help.
A light sheen of sweat glistened on the boy’s forehead, his flexible waist bending like a drawn bow.
The scene was undeniably aesthetic.
But Fu Wenze knew he was enduring it with great difficulty. The evidence was in his lips—bitten so hard they had turned pale.
He had always been like this. Looked easygoing on the surface but could endure better than anyone. The legends he created on stage were never something that came effortlessly.
After practicing all morning, Xie Xizhao had finally put together a basic recovery routine.
He finally stopped to take a break. There was still some time before lunch, so he and Fu Wenze sat in front of the mirror, drinking water.
“You really got out of this in one go,” he remarked.
There was meaning behind those words.
He thought about it for a second before asking, “There was a fight?”
Completely unbothered.
Slightly insufferable.
Fu Wenze gave him a sidelong glance and didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
Xie Xizhao blinked slowly. His exhaustion vanished instantly, replaced by sheer enthusiasm—he practically wanted to grab a bag of sunflower seeds. “You and Qiao Ye?”
Fu Wenze: “…”
“No. Ai Qingyuan and Qiao Ye.”
Xie Xizhao: ?
Fu Wenze mused, “Wenyao and Shenghong… Would you call this a case of ‘dog eat dog’?”
Xie Xizhao choked on his water, coughing so hard it felt like his lungs might collapse.
—
In the end, Xie Xizhao still got some gossip from Fu Wenze.
As he listened, Fu Wenze casually handed him a piece of milk candy.
Xie Xizhao asked, “Your little brother gave you this?”
There was a faint smile in Fu Wenze’s eyes. “Mm.”
Xie Xizhao popped the candy into his mouth. The rich, creamy flavor melted on his tongue.
“Tastes good. Thanks, little bro. Send me the brand later.”
Fu Wenze replied, “It’s sold by weight at the convenience store.”
“If you see it next time, bring me some,” Xie Xizhao said, not bothering with formalities.
As he chewed on the candy, he listened to Fu Wenze analyze the current situation.
Since Xie Xizhao had made his move, the rest had naturally followed. After all, there was only so much time to vote—delaying it would only mean losing out.
But in the end, the results were completely unexpected.
First was the most competitive “One by One” group. Initially, everyone predicted that the real battle would be between Ai Qingyuan and Xie Xizhao. But after Xie Xizhao chose “Palace in the Clouds,” people assumed Ai Qingyuan would have nothing to worry about—until Qiao Ye unexpectedly stepped in.
Everyone was surprised, but Ai Qingyuan’s fans were absolutely livid, practically grinding their teeth into dust.
Xie Xizhao thought for a moment and said, “Probably because he couldn’t out-rap you. Third time’s the charm.”
Fu Wenze’s rap skills completely crushed Qiao Ye’s—he was simply irreplaceable in this field. Getting beaten again and again, even company PR couldn’t change the truth. After all, people had eyes and ears.
Fu Wenze didn’t confirm or deny it. He simply said, “He also can’t out-sing or out-dance Ai Qingyuan.”
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
“But his company can,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Ai Qingyuan’s overall strength was undeniable, but Xie Xizhao also understood—Qiao Ye had no other choice.
Shenghong had done everything to attach itself to him. If the second-place contestant wanted to cling to the first, then naturally, the third-place contestant would want to move up as well. Since Xie Xizhao was out of the equation, that only left Ai Qingyuan.
Qiao Ye’s company, Qitai Media, had clearly put a lot of thought into choosing his competition.
“What about the others?” Xie Xizhao asked.
“Lu Xing and Yun Pan ended up in the same group,” Fu Wenze replied.
That was within Xie Xizhao’s expectations.
“They do have similar styles. Vocal group?”
“Mm.” Fu Wenze nodded.
“One by One” had been placed in the dance group, while the vocal group, performing “Pause,” was also overflowing with competitors—a battle was practically inevitable.
Xie Xizhao felt a sense of detached sympathy.
However, the drama was far from over.
After Fu Wenze finished listing all the groups, Xie Xizhao finally understood what he had meant by “You really got out of this in one go.”
Aside from those two groups, three more remained.
Vocal Group B had a ballad, with Guan Heng, Shi Song, and Zou Yi.
Xie Xizhao was momentarily stunned. “…Huh?”
Then he quickly figured it out—since Ai Qingyuan had gone to OBO, Guan Heng had to avoid him. If he didn’t want to go against Shi Song and Zou Yi, he’d have to compete with Lu Xing and Yun Pan instead.
Xie Xizhao fell silent.
But the most speechless moment came when he heard that Qi Hang, to avoid competing with him, had switched to the rap group.
Xie Xizhao’s mouth twitched. “…Can he even rap?”
“He knows a little, apparently,” Fu Wenze replied calmly. “Besides, this song is melody rap, so it’s not too difficult. His fan club is calling it ‘a brave attempt.’”
But in terms of fan numbers, Qi Hang and Fu Wenze were on the same level. So, rather than a “brave attempt at rapping,” it was more like a bold move to provoke a rival fanbase. And who knew? Maybe some die-hard fans would rise up from the chaos.
Even though the two of them weren’t even in the same lane.
Xie Xizhao had no idea how to comment on this. After a long pause, he finally said, “Well… best of luck to them all.”
But as it turned out, whether they succeeded or not was still up in the air.
What was certain was that their fans were already losing their minds.
Everyone had been prepared for war, but no one expected the main figure of the conflict to suddenly withdraw. Even though he was gone, his impact remained, triggering a butterfly effect.
Qiao Ye’s fans were on edge but refused to back down, determined to milk the rivalry to the end.
Ai Qingyuan’s fans finally understood what it felt like to be relentlessly hounded, just like Xie Xizhao’s fans had experienced before—but no matter what they did, they couldn’t shake them off.
Meanwhile, the other fandoms were caught in a massive brawl, with Qi Hang’s fans totally lost and Ye Yiyang’s fans too scared to even speak up.
For a while, it was pure chaos—absolute mayhem.
Amidst all the chaos, Xie Xizhao’s fans remained unbothered, watching from the sidelines like spectators at a fishing dock.
Their voting had already left the others in the dust, with a gap over twenty times the amount—so much so that the so-called “runner-ups” weren’t even worthy of the title.
Of course, they still watched the drama unfold, occasionally throwing in some words of encouragement—“Oh no, this must be so tough for them!” “Wow, that was so inspiring and touching!”
It was infuriatingly smug.
But the most outrageous part?
While being so shameless, Xie Xizhao’s fans were actually celebrating.
Two pieces of good news came at once.
The first—the second elimination round had finally aired, confirming that Xie Xizhao had indeed ascended to first place, and his screen time was exceptionally long.
The second—the preview for the magazine shoot featuring the top five contestants had just been released.
