Chapter 71: A Lifetime (20% Forum Format)
Actually, that wasn’t exactly what the company had told her.
From their vague words, she could tell they were furious. However, they hadn’t revealed the reason, and at this moment, she had no way of explaining it either.
She could only face the screen full of question marks and astonishment in silence, typing out a somewhat powerless response:
[Wait and see. Wait for the announcement.]
That was all.
But instead of another message from the company, they were met with trending news.
That night, the hashtag #Guan Heng Quits The Competition# shot to the top of the trending list, only to be quickly taken down and replaced with a new one: #Guan Heng Contract Termination#. The top post under the tag was from a marketing account.
@ylqcgqz: According to sources, contestant Guan Heng from the currently popular talent show Super Rookie has withdrawn from the competition. Furthermore, he has filed a lawsuit against his former company, Shenghong, claiming that the company breached the contract first by failing to fulfill its obligations. He is now seeking contract termination.
What are your thoughts on this?
The top comment was from a hardcore Guan Heng fan.
She only replied with one word:
[Get lost.]
Clearly, she was on the verge of breaking down.
Guan Heng was a hot favorite. Although his popularity had dipped somewhat, he was still far from being an unknown contestant. With these rumors spreading, not only his fans but also other talent show followers were shocked.
The forum immediately exploded with discussions.
[Guan Heng quit the competition???]
1L: My whole family is shocked. Why would he suddenly drop out? I actually liked him.
2L: If you liked him, did you vote for him?
3L: Fans, stay calm…
Forget it, I’d be losing my mind too if it were my bias.
4L: They say he’s suing the company for contract termination. Must’ve had a falling out.
Did Shenghong stop him from competing?
5L: Honestly, I’ve always felt that Shenghong puts a lot of effort into their top stars, but they really don’t treat smaller artists well. A lot of them get signed only to be shelved, right? Guan Heng was one of them too. If I remember correctly, he joined the company at sixteen, and this was his first real exposure…
6L: Weren’t they planning to debut a group before?
7L: They did. It’s a long-term group.
There were rumors he was supposed to be in it, but when they actually debuted, he wasn’t there.
8L: That means it’s been eight years now.
9L: At the start, everyone said Guan Heng’s debut was a do-or-die situation. That’s why his fans were so aggressive in supporting him…
10L: Oh right, I almost forgot.
It probably started from the first public performance.
Even his original popular “childhood best friend” CP turned into a “sudden encounter” trope. I actually shipped him and Ai Qingyuan for a while. People said that when Ai Qingyuan first joined the company, Guan Heng was the one who guided him through training. And now, in just a few months, it’s all just a relic of the past.
Sigh.
11L: So why did he drop to eighth place?
12L: I think Shenghong originally wanted him to debut. They wanted the C + leader position, so they probably had plans for him too. But now, they’re struggling to manage their own affairs. Their priority is definitely their “little prince.” If something goes wrong, they’ll protect Ai Qingyuan first.
Right now, Xie Xizhao is competing with Ai Qingyuan for the center position, and Shenghong is too busy negotiating the C position with Stardust. There’s no way they’d bother with secondary promotions.
Also, don’t forget—the Ai family owns a significant share of Shenghong.
13L: So they sacrificed Guan Heng…
That’s brutal.
I saw some of his fans completely breaking down and quitting the fandom, some waiting for updates, and some just worrying about how he’s doing. Honestly, I get it. This whole thing was way too sudden.
14L: I’m just going to be honest…
Ever since Xie Xizhao entered the debut lineup, Guan Heng’s chances of debuting were basically gone.
Any veteran talent show fan should’ve seen this coming.
The competition for debut spots is way too intense. Even without vote manipulation, there’s still limited screen time and company resources. Trying to balance both usually means losing both. Guan Heng dropping out of the debut lineup wasn’t just about his stage performances—it was also because he practically became invisible.
I checked the stats. His total screen time over the last few episodes barely adds up to a few minutes. Some people were saying he’d become the next Lu Xing, but I never thought that was the case.
My guess? Shenghong really did give up on him.
Usually, when a company drops an artist, they offer some kind of compensation. Did negotiations fall through?
15L: …Honestly, if I were Guan Heng, I wouldn’t accept compensation either.
Eight years. What kind of insult is that?
16L: Is no one curious about how Ai Qingyuan feels right now?
Weren’t they actually close? Like, even without the CP lens, they had a solid friendship.
17L: Yeah, their relationship was good.
Probably because one of them was clueless and the other knew how to tolerate it.
To be fair, I’m not a Guan Heng fan, but if I were, I’d never ship them. Ai Qingyuan’s fans keep calling him a leech, but I won’t say who actually got sacrificed in the end.
—
Ai Qingyuan walked through the crowd in a daze.
Discussions buzzed around him. He heard his name being mentioned, but the words blurred together.
Only one thought echoed in his mind:
Guan Heng, the person who had once promised to debut together with him, the one who had trained alongside him for so long—had withdrawn from the competition.
Why?
The question swirled in his mind, leaving him lost.
Why did he quit?
Why did he terminate his contract with the company?
Why?
Why hadn’t Guan Heng told him anything?
They had promised to share everything with each other, hadn’t they?
The thoughts spun in Ai Qingyuan’s mind, and suddenly, he realized—perhaps Guan Heng had never truly seen him as a real friend, or even as a close… younger brother.
He had always thought of Guan Heng as half an older brother.
But Guan Heng had never actually agreed to that.
A dull, indescribable ache spread from his chest. He had to stop walking, close his eyes for a moment, and steady himself.
Then, he pushed open the dormitory door.
Inside, it was quiet. Only Fu Wenze was there.
Hearing the door, Fu Wenze looked up at him, his expression carrying a subtle trace of pity.
Ai Qingyuan didn’t want to think too much about where that pity came from. He simply asked, “Where’s Guan Heng?”
The moment he spoke, he realized his voice was hoarse.
“He went out,” Fu Wenze replied. “Probably on the rooftop with Xizhao.”
Ai Qingyuan’s chest tightened again.
The moment he saw the trending news, he had called Guan Heng.
Since he had already withdrawn from the competition, the showrunners wouldn’t have cared whether he used his phone or not. But Guan Heng hadn’t answered.
He hadn’t answered Ai Qingyuan’s call.
Yet he was talking to Xie Xizhao instead.
…So.
In his heart—
Even a newcomer like Xie Xizhao was more important than him now?
Ai Qingyuan pressed his lips together tightly.
A crushing sense of abandonment surged toward him, threatening to drown him. He said nothing more, simply turned, and walked out of the dormitory, heading straight for the rooftop.
—
On the rooftop, Xie Xizhao took the cup of warm water that Guan Heng handed him.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Guan Heng sat down across from him.
At that moment, they were in a quiet, secluded space.
This space was actually designated by the production team for post-filming psychological counseling and heart-to-heart conversations. Of course, at this moment, it was completely empty.
The two of them casually picked a half-open partition and sat across from each other, each with a cup of warm water in front of them.
“This feels like a negotiation,” Xie Xizhao sighed.
Then he asked, “Have you finished talking with Shenghong?”
Guan Heng replied, “Still in discussions.”
His complexion was pale, but his expression was relaxed, as if the heavy burden he had been carrying had finally lifted.
—
Yes.
A heavy burden.
No one had noticed that Guan Heng had been under immense pressure and internal conflict these past few days.
Except for Xie Xizhao.
So out of everyone, Xie Xizhao was the least surprised when Guan Heng withdrew from the competition.
But being the least surprised didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised at all. When he first heard the news, he was stunned for a few seconds. Then, what followed was an overwhelming sense of regret.
He had always admired Guan Heng.
His talent, his dedication, his personality, and his resilience.
A true gentleman—refined, upright, and unwavering.
But soon, Xie Xizhao realized there had to be more to the story. And sure enough, not long after came the news of the contract termination.
When Guan Heng returned to the dorm, Xie Xizhao had immediately stood up. Neither of them said a word as they left, one following the other to this quiet resting area.
Xie Xizhao hadn’t even known what he wanted to say. But once they sat down, the conversation just naturally unfolded.
“Have you found a new company?” he asked.
Guan Heng chuckled.
“You’re so ruthless, Xizhao. It’s like you can see right through me.”
Xie Xizhao took a leisurely sip of his water.
With the withdrawal and contract dispute, most people now sympathized with Guan Heng. At least for the moment, everyone assumed that Shenghong had exploited him, and that he had quit in disappointment—
Xie Xizhao believed all of that was true.
But he also firmly believed that Guan Heng was never someone who acted on impulse.
Not even when he was pushed to a dead end.
Sure enough, Guan Heng mentioned a name.
Xie Xizhao raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise. “That’s a pretty good company.”
The company Guan Heng named wasn’t one of the widely recognized major corporations but rather a mid-sized, well-reputed emerging company called Songyong.
Songyong primarily focused on the film and television industry. In the past two years, there had been rumors about them launching an idol group, but so far, no concrete progress had been seen.
Still, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Songyong had excellent resources, though it kept a low profile.
Of course, that so-called “low profile” was relative. At least in Xie Xizhao’s view, any company capable of orchestrating Guan Heng’s withdrawal at such a critical moment—while also seizing the upper hand in public opinion and catching Shenghong off guard—was clearly not simple.
Overall, it was a solid choice for a new company.
After thinking for a moment, Xie Xizhao asked, “Are you planning to debut in their new group?”
Guan Heng nodded. “The company promised me a core position in the group and the role of captain.”
Xie Xizhao understood immediately.
He remained silent, but Guan Heng seemed a little uneasy.
“You probably think I’m too calculating,” Guan Heng said.
Xie Xizhao responded honestly, “If you were truly calculating, you wouldn’t have wasted eight years at Shenghong.”
Guan Heng: “…”
After a brief pause, he sighed. “I was too young when I signed the contract.”
Too young, indeed.
Sixteen years old.
Unlike Ai Qingyuan, who still had family support even after running away from home, Guan Heng came from an ordinary working-class family.
Just convincing his parents to let him pursue an idol career had been an uphill battle—let alone expecting them to help him navigate the risks of the industry.
In the entertainment business, nine out of ten companies had hidden traps.
But he hadn’t expected that, while his choice wasn’t the worst possible one, it wasn’t far from it either.
Xie Xizhao fell silent for a moment.
Then, he asked, “Did Shenghong talk to you?”
Guan Heng didn’t hide it. “Yes.”
“They told me,” he paused briefly, “that I most likely wouldn’t debut and should start preparing myself mentally.”
“Then they started making empty promises.” He chuckled. “Said the company was planning a new group and that if there was a suitable opportunity, they’d arrange for me to join. But after spending so many years there and seeing all the unrevealed trainees, I knew there wasn’t any position that truly fit me.”
It was just stalling.
Dragging things out until he either couldn’t take it anymore or until his contract expired.
He chose the former.
Outside the window, the wind rustled through the leaves. Xie Xizhao didn’t speak for a long time, but Guan Heng heard him let out a soft sigh.
—
Xie Xizhao rarely showed this kind of emotion.
Why did he sound… sad? Or maybe… regretful? Guan Heng wondered.
In truth, he was a little envious of Yun Pan.
At eighteen, still just a kid, Yun Pan could openly cling to Xie Xizhao and call him “brother.” When he faced difficulties, he could turn to his “brother” for help without hesitation.
To be honest, when Guan Heng first heard about Yun Pan being b*llied, his initial reaction had been something completely insignificant.
Yun Pan had said that Xie Xizhao had been really angry when he heard about it.
What would Xie Xizhao look like when he was angry? Guan Heng couldn’t imagine it.
The guy always seemed so composed and unbothered.
By now, how could he not see it? Xie Xizhao wasn’t just above the trainees—he was playing at a level far beyond the entire production team. Those gestures of care and concern… they were never necessary.
Xie Xizhao only accepted them out of politeness. And then, in turn, he comforted them instead.
Guan Heng thought that maybe he really was being pushed to the brink of losing his sanity.
Seeing the obvious regret on Xie Xizhao’s face, he actually…
Felt kind of happy.
…Just like back then.
He paused for a few seconds before suddenly saying, “Xizhao, do you know why I wanted to talk to you alone today?”
Xie Xizhao was briefly stunned.
After a moment, he answered honestly,
“I don’t know.”
He had always felt that Guan Heng might hold some resentment toward him. Just like… that other person. Putting that aside for now, the direct reason Guan Heng lost his debut position was because of his presence.
Even though, logically speaking, that wasn’t really fair.
But Xie Xizhao knew that many people thought that way.
Because he had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and taken a debut spot, it affected not just Guan Heng but all the trainees who might have otherwise had a chance.
Most people only noticed that he had pushed Ai Qingyuan out of the center position. Very few looked beyond that to consider the broader impact. And those who did often directly linked the two events together.
This perspective wasn’t necessarily right or wrong—it was just how people saw things. And if he were in Guan Heng’s shoes, he could understand if Guan Heng felt some resentment toward him.
So when Guan Heng looked like he genuinely wanted to have a conversation, Xie Xizhao was genuinely surprised.
Then, he heard Guan Heng say, “Do you remember what you said the first time we met?”
Xie Xizhao froze.
“I greeted you and said, ‘I’m Qingyuan’s teammate. You probably don’t remember me,'” Guan Heng said softly. “And you said…”
— I remember you.
— Your breathing is steady, and your rap lyrics are well written.
— The lyrics have your watermark, don’t they?
For a long time, he had existed as nothing more than “Ai Qingyuan’s teammate.” To the company, to the family fans, and even to the other trainees within Shenghong, he and everyone else were just someone’s backdrop.
Over time, even he had started to give up on himself.
But Xie Xizhao hadn’t.
Only Xie Xizhao had recognized his watermark in the lyrics, had heard the unwillingness buried deep in his subconscious, had acknowledged the voice of Guan Heng—not as someone’s shadow, but as an individual.
For that alone, he would be grateful to Xie Xizhao for a lifetime.
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