Chapter 70: The Sign of a Major Breakout
First, there was the matter of the promotional photos.
Generally speaking, when it came to group shoots for contestants who had yet to debut, everything was kept fair and even. After all, no one knew who the final winner would be.
Besides, compared to already-debuted popular artists, the buzz surrounding contestants in a survival show was still somewhat lacking. So, magazines usually didn’t bother nitpicking over the details.
At most, the more popular contestants would get a few extra shots.
Xie Xizhao just so happened to be the one who “accidentally” got a few extra pictures taken.
Several sets of photos, each showcasing a different expression and mood, rich in variety, but all undeniably more refined and stunning than his usual stage presence. Fans went wild in the comments, their fingers glued to the save button.
At first, no one thought much of it. After all, Xie Xizhao was currently ranked number one, so it made sense for the promotional team to prioritize him.
Only Ai Qingyuan’s fans gritted their teeth in frustration, feeling their hearts bleed.
If they had worked just a little harder, this kind of treatment and exposure could have belonged to their idol.
But soon enough, everyone started to notice…
The number of extra shots Xie Xizhao received was a bit excessive.
The official promotions followed a set schedule, making it less obvious at first. But outside of the official group photos, behind-the-scenes snapshots, video thumbnails, and even candid group pictures posted by staff on their personal accounts—all of them, without exception, featured Xie Xizhao.
And that wasn’t all.
Magazines usually pinned the group photo as the top promotional post for that issue.
But this time, the pinned post wasn’t the group shot—it was Xie Xizhao’s solo picture.
The moment this was revealed, the public finally took notice.
Under the pinned post, a flood of new comments appeared, all discussing the same thing.
[?! Did I see that right? They pinned it?!]
[My god, they actually pinned a solo photo! Is the magazine spoiling our Zhaozhao too much? 2333]
[Brother, are you sure you got this right? You were shooting a five-person group cover???]
[Someone’s losing it, but I won’t say who.]
[There was never a rule that the group photo had to be pinned… This isn’t even a fixed group. What’s wrong with pinning a featured artist from the issue?]
[This shot is seriously gorgeous T.T. Forget the magazine, I’ve already made it my WeChat banner.]
[First of all, Zhaozhao is currently ranked number one. Second, anyone with working eyes can see how expressive he is. And lastly—he’s stunning. If you’re salty about the pinned post, just leave, thanks. Big love to the magazine for appreciating our Zhaozhao! Hope we can collaborate more in the future. [Heart]]
The comment section got more heated by the minute. Ai Qingyuan’s fans were usually the loudest and most aggressive online, but at the end of the day, money and influence weren’t on their side. Uncertain of the consequences, they backed off and quietly deleted their complaints. Meanwhile, the other fanbases stayed silent, pretending they didn’t exist.
Just when everyone thought the magazine’s promotions would wrap up with yet another dazzling moment for Xie Xizhao, the photographer, Yan Zicheng, made his move.
A Weibo post featuring an 18-grid collage of solo shots.
A photo-and-text post on Twitter.
And a bilingual caption in Chinese and English: “My muse.”
His wording was bold, his enthusiasm—blazing hot.
Those in the industry, familiar with Yan Zicheng’s clear-cut preferences, weren’t particularly shocked. But even they couldn’t help but take a closer look at the star of this cover shoot.
As for Super Rookie fans—
The moment the post went live, Weibo’s trending topics, fan forums, and discussion boards exploded.
—
At first, even Xie Xizhao’s own fans were worried when they heard Yan Zicheng’s name.
Yan Zicheng’s photography style was known for being unpredictable and daring. From color schemes to outfits to poses—if any single element didn’t land just right, it could easily result in a “legendary disaster shot.”
Of course, they weren’t worried anymore.
But even if they weren’t worried, they had never expected someone as discerning as Master Yan to go out of his way to promote Xie Xizhao.
The magazine they had landed this time wasn’t a top-tier publication, but it was still a major fashion opportunity thanks to its connection with Stardust. For a newly debuted artist—especially an idol—this was already a huge deal.
As for the photographer—since he had captured Xie Xizhao so well, it was clear he didn’t dislike him. That alone was already a great sign.
—At least, that was what most Xie Xizhao fans thought.
In reality, given the platform’s consistent suppression of him, as well as his family background and agency, anyone who supported Xie Xizhao had already set their expectations accordingly. They never counted on capital backing them.
But those who supported Xie Xizhao never cared about that in the first place.
If they were after well-connected idols, there was already a battle of titans going on between big companies within this very survival show. They would have switched camps long ago.
What attracted them to him was his charm—him as a person.
That was the foundation of Xie Xizhao’s fanbase.
And with this kind of fanbase, they were easily content.
For example, the new magazine photos alone were enough to have them screaming in excitement for days.
When Yan Zicheng’s Weibo post dropped, Xie Xizhao’s fans were still losing their minds—over another new photo.
Unlike the initial black-and-white shot, which had exuded an air of cold elegance, this one was a behind-the-scenes candid.
In the image, Xie Xizhao was still wearing that semi-transparent shirt as his inner layer. Maybe he had felt cold, because he had thrown on a thick, oversized coat over it. The contrast made him look even smaller, his face appearing barely palm-sized in the frame.
And when he was called to look at the camera—
His expression was pure, wide-eyed confusion.
Fans were completely melted by the cuteness overload. They immediately begged fan site admins to remind him to dress warmly and not catch a cold—conveniently ignoring the fact that they had just been screaming over that sheer shirt a moment ago.
And then, a new Weibo post popped up.
Top Comment:
– ?
Yan Zicheng V: ?
Second Top Comment:
[- Brother, you’re such a creep. He’s just a rookie.]
Yan Zicheng V: [Shy emoji]
Yan Zicheng V: Finally caught my chance, hahaha! Good thing he’s still a rookie—once he blows up, I probably won’t even get to shoot him anymore. [Sad emoji]
Xie Xizhao’s fans: ?!
Netizens: !!!
Yan Zicheng only replied twice before logging off, leaving everyone completely dumbfounded.
[Wait, what is this madman on about? Did he take the wrong meds today?]
[Holy crap, an 18-grid post?! The last time this old dog did that, it was for a god-tier A-list visual, and even then, his caption was all high and mighty. Did Xie Xizhao cast some kind of spell on him?!]
[He loves him so much…]
[He really does. He even posted on Twitter. He’s literally celebrating.]
[Damn, this guy is seriously good-looking. He has such a strong presence on camera. If you didn’t tell me he was an idol, I’d have thought he was a rising film star. Are idol visuals this intense these days?!]
[Uh, I think y’all are missing the real point here. Yan Zicheng said he finally got his chance, which means he’s been wanting to shoot Xie Xizhao for a while now. And he even said he won’t get to in the future?! When has this man ever been this humble? Somebody pick between ‘industry darling’ and ‘rising superstar’—one of them has to fit.]
[Calling Xie Xizhao an ‘industry darling’ is the funniest joke I’ve heard all year.]
[Say what you will, but Yan Zicheng has vicious standards and insanely sharp eyes. Xie Xizhao’s fans, y’all won the lottery. This guy has the makings of a superstar.]
That last comment hit the nail on the head, directly pointing out the real reason this was attracting so much attention—Yan Zicheng had sky-high standards, and whoever caught his eye was never just an average talent.
This time, Xie Xizhao’s title as a rising star wasn’t just limited to the survival show scene. It had now expanded to the entire entertainment industry.
As a result, his follower count skyrocketed once again.
—
As Xie Xizhao’s follower count surged, his rehabilitation process was also slowly progressing.
Due to the tight schedule of the third public performance, contestants in higher-ranking songs had already begun practicing their assigned tracks. The production team wasn’t actually waiting for the final vote tally—they had already released the song selections early so trainees could start preparing.
For the Palace in the Clouds team, the current top-ranked members were Qi Hang and Ye Yiyang.
Qi Hang was investing all his efforts into another song and wouldn’t be in this group, so Ye Yiyang became Xie Xizhao’s primary practice partner.
At first, Ye Yiyang had a lot of reservations about Xie Xizhao.
He was naturally reserved and didn’t express his thoughts openly, even when he was skeptical. So, when Xie Xizhao invited him to practice together on the first day, he politely declined—but his refusal was fueled by concern.
He had never seen Xie Xizhao perform Chinese classical dance.
He had never heard that Xie Xizhao had any experience in it.
With Xie Xizhao’s soaring reputation, Ye Yiyang couldn’t shake the feeling that he had chosen this dance just for clout.
And the reason Xie Xizhao wanted to practice with him? It was probably to have him teach the basics.
But basic dance foundations weren’t something you could pick up overnight.
It wasn’t that Ye Yiyang didn’t want to help—he was just short on time himself. He made an excuse to decline and was worried that Xie Xizhao would persist and ask again the next day.
But to his surprise, Xie Xizhao was sharp enough to catch the hint and never brought it up again.
Thinking back to how Xie Xizhao had helped so many people during the theme song evaluations, Ye Yiyang started to regret his decision.
So, he did something that sounded a little creepy.
As he passed by Xie Xizhao’s practice room, he sneakily hid behind the door, trying to catch a glimpse of Xie Xizhao’s training session.
No one knew exactly what he saw.
But by the time Xie Xizhao stepped out of the practice room at noon, he was met with a shrimp—
A completely boiled, bright red shrimp.
Sensing something, Xie Xizhao greeted, “Morning?”
Ye Yiyang, still lost in his own thoughts, reflexively corrected him, “It’s not morning anymore. It’s already—”
Then, realizing what he was doing, he stammered, “M-Morning, Xizhao! Hehe.”
His ears burned red, and he looked utterly embarrassed.
He was waiting for Xie Xizhao to say something.
But unlike before, Xie Xizhao didn’t take the initiative this time.
So, after struggling for a bit, Ye Yiyang finally forced out the words, “Um… Xizhao, I don’t have much to do today.”
He hesitated, then gathered all his courage for the final sentence: “Can we practice together?”
Xie Xizhao paused.
In just those few seconds of silence, Ye Yiyang mentally replayed all his mistakes at least eight hundred times.
Just as he was about to sincerely apologize for judging Xie Xizhao unfairly, Xie Xizhao smiled and said:
“Sure.”
At that moment, Ye Yiyang almost felt like he had been saved.
—
Back when Xie Xizhao had first invited Ye Yiyang, he truly hadn’t meant anything by it—he had just been bored practicing alone.
But since Ye Yiyang wasn’t interested, he didn’t feel the need to force the issue.
Still, after actually practicing together, Xie Xizhao realized that Ye Yiyang was incredibly hardworking.
He and Qi Hang had very similar styles, to the point that they were basically interchangeable.
At first, Xie Xizhao had actually thought Qi Hang had more potential, since Qi Hang had trained in classical dance from a young age, while Ye Yiyang’s foundation was a little weaker.
It was only after working with him that Xie Xizhao realized something—Ye Yiyang hadn’t been training for long and had actually started dancing pretty late.
Considering that, he was already quite talented.
Xie Xizhao believed that whether a hardworking person ultimately succeeded or not was a different matter, but at the very least, they were always worth befriending.
And sure enough, Ye Yiyang must have had some previous misconceptions about him, because over the next few days, he treated him with extra kindness.
Not only did he often bring him food, but he even corrected one of his movements during practice.
“You could get injured if you do it like this,” he said seriously.
Xie Xizhao hummed in acknowledgment and adjusted his posture accordingly.
In one of his past missions, his assigned character had been a main dancer, once incredibly famous—until he injured his leg.
When Xie Xizhao took over that role, it had been right before the injury happened, and he had simply continued training in the same way.
So this was how the injury had happened.
Now that he had corrected it in time, he let out a breath of relief and thanked Ye Yiyang.
Ye Yiyang, a little embarrassed, muttered, “You don’t have to say that, brother. I just happened to know about it.”
They sat down on the mat to rest.
Ye Yiyang quietly pulled out his phone.
Xie Xizhao hadn’t planned to look, but Ye Yiyang, perhaps feeling guilty for keeping it to himself, actively offered:
“Do you want to check the current song selection votes, Xizhao?”
Xie Xizhao: “…Ah.”
Why was it that gossip always seemed to find its way to him, even when he wasn’t looking for it?
Ye Yiyang handed him the phone.
Unsurprisingly, Xie Xizhao was the undisputed first place for Palace in the Clouds.
In fact, his vote gap had been increasing by the day, thanks to a flood of casual fans who had discovered him through the magazine and voted for him on a whim.
Right below him was Ye Yiyang.
Xie Xizhao scanned the rest of the list briefly, then sighed in relief.
What he had been most concerned about wasn’t whether he got center—it was who his teammates would be.
Traditional Chinese dance was different from other styles—it wasn’t something that could be mastered in a short time just by using provocation tactics or practicing a little. And Xie Xizhao was no miraculous coach.
Fortunately, since most people recognized the difficulty of the style, the trainees ranked at the top weren’t necessarily the most popular, but they all had some level of skill. This was undoubtedly good news for Xie Xizhao.
However, just before handing the phone back to Ye Yiyang, Xie Xizhao glanced downward out of the corner of his eye—and froze for a moment.
Noticing his gaze, Ye Yiyang asked, “Brother, are you looking at the other groups?”
“Yeah.” Xie Xizhao snapped out of his thoughts.
He had just accidentally caught a glimpse of the rankings and saw that the first place in the lyrical vocal group was actually Shi Song.
This was the kind of thing he might chat about with Fu Wenze, but he wasn’t that close with Ye Yiyang. So instead, he returned the phone and said, “It’s nothing, just looking around.”
Ye Yiyang didn’t doubt him and took his phone back.
These past few days, Xie Xizhao had indeed maintained the image of someone completely uninterested in outside affairs when he was around Ye Yiyang.
—
On the way back, Xie Xizhao casually asked Fu Wenze about the matter.
Fu Wenze responded, “Did he get surpassed?”
“Maybe just temporarily.” Xie Xizhao thought for a moment. “But the competition is definitely intense. I also thought Guan Heng would be in first place.”
The fact that Guan Heng had dropped to eighth place didn’t really feel real to anyone in the dormitory.
After all, Shenghong had a strong influence, and it wasn’t impossible for them to secure two debut spots. Besides, Guan Heng had always ranked high before.
That was how Fu Wenze saw it.
He said, “Don’t worry, he seems to be in a good mood.”
“Mm.” Xie Xizhao replied.
He wasn’t exactly worried—after all, worrying wouldn’t change anything.
It was just that he had a feeling this kind of momentum wasn’t a good thing. A strong start, a weaker follow-up, and then a decline. Many of Guan Heng’s fans were drawn to strength, and if things continued this way, the backlash could be severe.
Besides…
Xie Xizhao thought for a moment.
Guan Heng’s situation was probably influenced by his company.
It was actually quite simple.
There were only five debut spots, and the major companies were fighting for them. While rumors suggested that Shenghong was aiming for two places, securing two out of five—nearly half—was a bold move. The only way that would happen was if the show flopped.
If the show flopped, then trainees with pre-existing fans and strong company backing would have the upper hand.
Based on Ai Qingyuan’s offhand remarks, the most likely outcome was that Ai Qingyuan would debut as center (C), with Guan Heng taking a lower spot.
But now, an outsider—himself—had entered the equation.
Ai Qingyuan couldn’t secure the C-position anymore, and instead, the overall popularity of the show had surged.
At this point, the ones benefiting were the fresh new faces. Meanwhile, someone like Guan Heng—whose company was too occupied elsewhere—would struggle to maintain his momentum and exposure.
For this song selection, aside from instructing Guan Heng’s team to avoid clashing, the company likely didn’t have any other plans for the time being.
After all, on the other side, Ai Qingyuan and Qiao Ye’s supporters were still locked in a fierce battle.
Fans could easily see where the company stood. Those who had lost hope had already left, while those who remained were clearly discouraged by the setback, feeling that their chances were slim. Not to mention that with several factions competing, the verbal attacks were bound to be harsh.
Moreover, there was another issue.
A portion of the CP fans and family supporters that Guan Heng had originally relied on had shifted their focus to saving votes for Ai Qingyuan.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t sure if Shenghong intended to support Guan Heng, but he knew that if things continued this way, Guan Heng’s ranking would keep dropping.
Under these circumstances, it was almost impossible for Guan Heng to remain relaxed.
He let out a quiet sigh.
—
Meanwhile, the fan base was engaged in discussions.
The president of Guan Heng’s fan club was a longtime supporter—experienced and strategic.
In recent days, she had barely spared any attention for anything else, focusing entirely on handling the song selection.
Due to the recent botting scandal involving Qiao Ye’s fans, the ranking system had been freezing votes at midnight. Each day at the ranking cutoff, she was on edge. The overall mood within the fan club had been gloomy, let alone among the casual fans in the super-topic.
The management team did their best to calm the situation, but on this day, when their ranking was overtaken, a wave of dissatisfaction still erupted in the super-topic.
Some questioned the decisions of the fan club, some wanted to confront the company, but the majority were simply lost—if their candidate couldn’t even break into the top ten, did he still have a chance to debut?
Within the fan club, the super-topic moderators had no choice but to tag the leadership and the president.
[Sister, what now? Has the company given any statement?]
The fan club president didn’t know how to respond.
She didn’t dare say that the company had only been offering empty reassurances, telling them to stay motivated and secure another center position—yet refusing to provide any actual help.
She took a deep breath.
A deep sense of confusion suddenly washed over her.
Just then, her WeChat notification chimed.
She opened the message, and in that instant, she froze in place.
Messages kept coming in the fan club group chat. Some were saying, ‘Let’s keep pushing, we’re so close.’ Others suggested managing the conversation in the super-topic to prevent negativity from spreading, and this gained a lot of support. Someone tagged her for advice:
[Sister, the new day’s rankings are about to start. Should we try sniping at the last minute again before the cutoff? Honestly, I feel like the gap isn’t that big. Even Zou Yi’s team is discussing it.]
The president remained silent for a moment.
Then, she typed:
[No need.]
Her fingers were trembling. She mistyped several words.
But in the end, the message was sent smoothly:
[…The company just told me—Xiao Heng has withdrawn from the competition.]
