Chapter 75: Cute Style
Although Xie Xizhao spoke in a teasing manner, actually implementing the makeup was a different matter.
In public discussions, many people mentioned that Xie Xizhao’s makeup always looked especially good, perfectly complementing his beauty and each stage’s theme. Some joked that even though Xie Xizhao was neither favored nor cared for in the show, he had the strongest backstage support—
His makeup artist.
This statement was half true and half false. Xie Xizhao had a good relationship with the show’s staff, but the reason his makeup stood out also had another factor—very few contestants had such a refined understanding of stage makeup.
He was naturally good-looking, which made applying makeup easier. With his own stunning ideas, it was hard not to like him.
This time, the makeup artist had also finished his look according to his request.
Xie Xizhao lifted his gaze. In the mirror, the young man’s features were delicate and his eyes carried a soft, shifting light. In that moment, he truly exuded the cool, distant aura of a mountain moon. He even seemed out of place in the modern makeup room.
Ye Yiyang, watching from the side, praised, “Brother, I really think ancient styles suit you best.”
Xie Xizhao suited ancient styles the most.
This was also a hot topic in his fan forums.
Lately, while other fandoms were going through turmoil, Xie Xizhao’s fan base remained steadily happy. Of course, this happiness was built upon their daily efforts in voting for him. After tiring themselves out with that, fans liked to chat about random topics.
Like fan-taken photos, daily content, Xie Xizhao’s waist and legs…
And so on.
The buzz from his magazine shoot had yet to die down, and his versatility was once again confirmed. Now, as people lined up to enter the venue for the upcoming performance, boredom set in, and the fan forum erupted into a heated debate—what style suited Xie Xizhao best?
[That’s definitely the pure and fresh top university heartthrob style! Let me see who still hasn’t watched the first public performance—my pure Xiao Zhao, sob sob sob.]
[I feel like that’s more of a high schooler vibe, like a delicate little cabbage… TwT]
[High schooler aesthetic forever! Honestly, our Xiao Zhao could totally pass for eighteen.]
[Am I the only one who likes the wilder look? Damn it, are you all mom fans? This discussion is way too tame and wholesome! His second performance was so wild and seductive! Don’t you guys have any thoughts on that?!]
[A peerless alpha, with S-class pheromones.]
[You’re all looking at him through your own filters. Can we be a bit more objective? His features are typical of a southern guy—very delicate. I think ancient styles suit him best.]
[Yes, yes! I was just about to say ancient style. When he first debuted, everyone was worried about how he would handle dancing, but honestly, I’m weak—I’m a face fan. I just think Zhaozhao in Chinese-style outfits would look amazing, so I’m super looking forward to it.]
[With his delicate features and scholarly vibe, ancient style is definitely the best fit.]
As the discussion heated up, anticipation for the evening’s performance soared.
—
By evening, the audience gradually entered the venue for the third public performance.
At the same time, Xie Xizhao had already finished his hair, makeup, and outfit, waiting backstage with the others.
—
After two rounds of eliminations, the spacious waiting lounge had become noticeably quieter. But when Xie Xizhao walked in, quite a few people still cast a glance in his direction.
He was impossible to ignore.
His outfit stood out, but he stood out even more.
Xie Xizhao remained unbothered, as if he didn’t notice the attention. He scanned the room before finally taking a seat next to Fu Wenze.
Fu Wenze complimented him, “You look great.”
The cool guy gave compliments without much emotion, but the fact that he spoke up on his own was enough to prove the success of Xie Xizhao’s styling. He didn’t bother with false modesty—he simply smiled, taking it as a silent acknowledgment, then asked, “Which slot did your group draw?”
“The third,” Fu Wenze replied.
“Then our group is right after you.” Xie Xizhao nodded.
He was quite satisfied with this order.
If an explosive performance came first, then a more delicate one afterward could stand out in contrast—it was a win-win situation.
As they chatted, the screen in front of them lit up. Dou Yu had already announced the start of the show.
The first group: Dance B, One by One.
—
Ai Qingyuan had been getting scolded a lot lately.
It wasn’t like he was new to it—he’d been criticized plenty before—but ever since joining Super Rookie, the frequency had increased. This time, it was because of Guan Heng.
After leaving the show, Guan Heng had been fully focused on preparing for a lawsuit. Several press releases had been sent out, each a strategic move in the ongoing battle behind the scenes.
And when there was a battle, others inevitably got dragged into it. Ai Qingyuan had been caught in the crossfire multiple times, with haters using Guan Heng’s fans as a weapon against him, painting him as an emotionally detached, heartless scumbag. They were waiting for him to make a statement so they could stir up even more drama.
Some of those stirring things up were likely Song Yong’s hired trolls.
But the usually outspoken Ai Qingyuan had gone completely silent this time, as if he had suddenly changed his personality. The haters ended up performing a one-man show, and when nothing came of it, they could only resort to insults. Ironically, their efforts solidified his fanbase even more.
Yet, despite being criticized, Ai Qingyuan himself was in a pretty good mood.
It wasn’t that he enjoyed being scolded—he wasn’t a mas*chist—but two days ago, he had received a message from Guan Heng, wishing him luck for the third public performance and politely explaining the situation behind the online smear campaign.
Ai Qingyuan selectively ignored the latter part of the message and focused only on the “good luck for the third performance.”
Xie Xizhao: “……”
He took Ai Qingyuan’s phone and sent a message to Guan Heng: Did you do that on purpose?
Guan Heng replied with a smiley face.
And just like that, Xie Xizhao understood.
The whole world loved teasing kids—especially now that Guan Heng had switched to a new environment, free as a bird in the open sky.
And the results were spectacular.
One by One was a textbook boy group song—strong rhythm, intense style—the perfect domain for Ai Qingyuan.
For today’s performance, their outfits leaned toward hip-hop. Ai Qingyuan wore a black T-shirt and a denim jacket, head-to-toe in trendy streetwear. Standing on stage with a cocky stance, there was no trace of the giddy little brat who had been elated all day just because of a single message from his “big brother.”
As the center of the group, he had a solo dance break during the bridge.
The camera captured his movements—the sharp set of his jaw, the veins subtly visible on his arms as he braced himself against the floor, every motion clean and powerful. A bead of sweat traced its way down his jawline before falling onto the stage.
Even from the waiting lounge, Xie Xizhao could hear the sudden eruption of screams from the audience.
Even Fu Wenze, typically indifferent, showed a rare spark of interest.
“Ai Qingyuan’s dancing is a given—he’s always been in the top ranks,” he remarked. “But his vocals have improved?”
Xie Xizhao raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”
“His voice isn’t as tense as before,” Fu Wenze analyzed objectively. “He used to sound like he was holding back when he sang—never off-key, but always like he was dangerously close to it.”
A sharp and spot-on description.
Xie Xizhao’s eyes curved in amusement. “I’m telling on you later.”
Fu Wenze: “…Go ahead.”
Was this guy three years old?
Then he asked, “Did you teach him?”
By now, Fu Wenze had developed a conditioned response—whenever someone showed improvement, it was usually thanks to “Teacher Xie.”
Xie Xizhao propped his chin up. “No.”
His tone carried a rare hint of pride.
“The kid’s grown up.”
Growing up meant learning to control emotions. It meant understanding that good medicine tastes bitter and honest words are hard to hear. The boy who once threw a fit over a single remark during his initial evaluation had finally faced his weaknesses and quietly worked to improve.
And as it turned out, it was never too late.
—
Of course, not all changes happened overnight.
Once the performance ended, everyone waited for the votes to be tallied. Xie Xizhao watched the screen, hesitating as if he wanted to say something but ultimately held back.
Fu Wenze, however, was more straightforward. “That was a terrible stage.”
It really was.
To be precise, the issue wasn’t the individual trainees’ skill levels—it was their coordination.
The most popular members in the group were Ai Qingyuan and Qiao Ye, but the rest weren’t far behind in rankings. Since the song was a fan-favorite, many supporters had voted for their picks to join this team.
And perhaps because they were all high-ranking trainees, they each had their own strong personalities.
The most immediate impression? A lack of synchronization.
Everyone could dance—but they were all dancing their own way. The most eye-catching part was Ai Qingyuan’s solo, and it stood out precisely because it was a solo.
Then there was the issue of the vocal arrangement.
The energy was good—the audience was clearly enthusiastic.
But this wasn’t just a live performance. The stage would be re-edited and uploaded online for a much larger audience to see.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Xie Xizhao had faith that the editors would do their best to salvage it—cutting out wide shots if the formations were messy, fixing vocal cracks in post-production—but no amount of editing would save this performance from criticism. Even with all that effort, the stage was probably beyond saving.
As soon as Ai Qingyuan stepped offstage, he walked straight toward Xie Xizhao.
He used to stick to Guan Heng, but now he had simply switched targets—he always needed someone around. Sitting down next to Xie Xizhao, he was met with a dry remark:
“Got into a fight?”
Ai Qingyuan replied calmly, “There was never a time we weren’t fighting.”
He couldn’t stand Qiao Ye.
From the bottom of his heart, he couldn’t stand him.
Just the thought of being on the same team as Qiao Ye made his skin crawl.
Because of this, even Fu Wenze seemed more pleasing to the eye in comparison. He turned to him and said, “You have to kick him out before debut. You hear me?”
Fu Wenze couldn’t even be bothered to respond.
Qiao Ye, on the other hand, couldn’t stand Ai Qingyuan either.
From a distance, Xie Xizhao could feel someone staring at him. When he turned his head, Qiao Ye was looking at him with the expression of a tragic beauty forced to consort with bandits.
Xie Xizhao held his gaze for a long moment before ultimately choosing to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, silently turning his head back around.
Fu Wenze left for the waiting area, and at that moment, the second group had already taken the stage.
“Pause,” center: Yun Pan.
—
The moment Yun Pan stepped onto the stage, the audience’s reaction was electric.
His outfit was a balance between fresh and flamboyant—he wore a white T-shirt covered in colorful graffiti and a pair of light-wash, ripped jeans. But the most eye-catching detail was on his face.
The makeup artist had playfully adorned his cheeks with tiny hearts and stars in the same color scheme as his outfit. Combined with his bright, expressive eyes, the effect was surprisingly good.
In just a few months, he had grown into his features. The constant tension and nervousness that used to show on his face had completely disappeared, replaced by a newfound steadiness—tinged with just a hint of excitement.
The excitement came from seeing his name in the audience.
By comparison, the trainee beside him, Lu Xing, seemed to fade into the background.
Yet Lu Xing also had a naturally adorable face, with dimples appearing whenever he smiled. His makeup was just as fresh and clean, dusted with silver star accents.
But his smile looked a little forced, and there was an unmistakable heaviness in his demeanor.
Lu Xing was the leader of this group.
The center position and the leader role didn’t align, and everyone knew why.
At the very least, the leader would get plenty of screen time in behind-the-scenes footage, but on stage, the spotlight naturally belonged to the center.
The center was chosen by the fans. As for the leader, no one knew the exact reason behind the decision, but given the ongoing rivalry between the two—both personally and among their fanbases—everyone had their own guess.
Yun Pan never brought this matter to Xie Xizhao, but Ai Qingyuan, whose practice room was next to theirs, overheard bits and pieces.
He drawled lazily, “Your kid’s got some backbone.”
“He kept his tone soft,” he added after some thought, “but he didn’t really back down on anything. Making Lu Xing the leader was probably a compromise—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to save face.”
At the end of the day, it all came down to company politics.
Lu Xing’s agency still wanted to fight for more opportunities, but Yun Pan didn’t budge when it came to his share of the performance. In return, he allowed Lu Xing to have more presence in the behind-the-scenes footage, ensuring he had enough exposure.
“Choosing the lesser of two evils,” Xie Xizhao commented. “Not a bad decision.”
This also showed that Yun Pan had confidence in his stage presence.
He believed that even if he gave up some screen time in the behind-the-scenes material, he could still gain fans through his performance alone.
And when the stage began, he proved that belief was well-founded.
The style of Pause was similar to Stand By, the song Xie Xizhao’s group performed in the first public stage. Both had a fresh, youthful vibe, but while Stand By was about mutual secret admiration, Pause captured the restless energy of adolescence with no specific target, making it feel even more vibrant.
The stage was set up like an amusement park.
In one corner, a carousel swayed gently, while the background screen displayed a slowly rotating Ferris wheel.
As the intro played, the melody was bright and lively.
The center took the stage.
The beautiful young boy leaped lightly down from a pastel-colored windmill prop and opened the performance with the first line of the song, his voice blending seamlessly with the quirky, playful accompaniment.
Almost the moment he sang, the audience felt as if their ears had been cleansed.
Yun Pan’s voice wasn’t particularly bright, but compared to the overwhelming, almost deafening backing track of Ai Qingyuan’s group just before, this simple instrumental melody paired with clean vocals felt much more refreshing. And more importantly—he sang very well.
On the screen, the boy lowered his eyes with a slightly troubled expression, his voice carrying a faint emotional lilt at the end of each phrase. For a fleeting moment, he truly seemed like a high schooler worried about his studies.
Which, in fact, he was.
The large screen displayed his current expression, and in the audience, his mom fans were melting from the sheer adorableness.
In front of the screen, Ai Qingyuan nudged Xie Xizhao’s arm, his face full of anticipation. “Hey, what do you think about trying this style too? I’ve never seen you do a cute concept before.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He answered concisely, “Not happening.”
Ai Qingyuan’s eyes darted around as he started scheming.
Performing on stage? Impossible.
When it came to his performances, Xie Xizhao had absolute authority. Even before debut, he had the final say, and after debut, the company would probably still consider his opinion first.
But…
There were other ways.
He just needed to convince Xie Xizhao’s fans to bring cute gifts to a signing event!
If the fans wanted him to be cute, surely he wouldn’t be able to reject it so confidently, right?
Ai Qingyuan’s mind was buzzing with plans, and a smirk even tugged at his lips. Xie Xizhao, seeing his strange expression, felt an inexplicable chill down his spine.
Meanwhile, on stage, a complete disaster was unfolding.
Yun Pan set the tone very well.
In comparison, Lu Xing, who took over after him, faltered significantly.
The lyrics he sang were: “The rest note on the music sheet is the beat my heart skips when I see you.” It was a relatively long phrase with a slight melody-rap feel, but he failed to grasp the rhythm properly when he entered—
As a result, the words “beat my heart skips” ended up a complete mess.
Almost the moment he fumbled the lyrics, a flicker of panic flashed across his face. The contestants in the waiting room all saw it and let out a silent sigh.
They had all been on stage before and knew just how nerve-wracking it could be.
Especially for inexperienced newcomers.
Once someone faltered like this, if they couldn’t adjust quickly, they would likely keep slipping until the very end.
And sure enough, Lu Xing’s next few lines didn’t go well either. He even went off-key in one of them.
He wasn’t a particularly strong contestant to begin with. At his best, he was just average—but if he had performed at a passable level, his fans could still hype him up. Now that he had actually made mistakes, even the most dedicated supporters would struggle to defend him.
Perhaps realizing this, Lu Xing’s eyes turned red the moment the performance ended.
After the stage, Dou Yu came up for the usual post-performance interview. As soon as Lu Xing got the microphone, he choked up.
Fans in the crowd shouted, telling him not to cry, but the atmosphere in the waiting room was cold and tense.
Some people sucked in a sharp breath, while most just watched silently.
Among them, only Ai Qingyuan spoke his mind, muttering under his breath, “Why is he crying? It wasn’t that bad at first, but now he’s just scaring his fans away.”
Xie Xizhao said nothing.
He knew that this time, Ai Qingyuan was right.
A little bit of emotional manipulation could help solidify a fanbase, but only if the artist themselves didn’t make mistakes. Crying over a stage mishap might evoke sympathy from some fans, but most rational supporters would just find it unnecessary.
Because, in the end, it was his own mistake.
Moreover, Lu Xing had already pulled the “pitiful” card during the second public performance. His fans’ tolerance for this kind of thing had already increased.
If he hadn’t cried, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.
But now that he had—
He had completely deflated the morale of his entire fanbase.
