Chapter 82: Possibility
The person who exposed Qiao Ye was a well-known gossip account.
Before breaking the news, he had already posted a teaser, with keywords like “hit variety show” and “boyfriend style.”
The scope of these keywords was broad, and the comment section turned into chaos, with everyone throwing out guesses—mostly rival celebrities. Super Rookie was naturally the hardest hit, and some people speculated about Qiao Ye at the time, but his fans immediately shot it down.
Qiao Ye’s company, Qitai Media, had always been skilled at marketing and crafting public personas.
By now, Qiao Ye’s fan base was already well-established.
His branding was all about going head-to-head with Ai Qingyuan—exuding that roguish yet charming “boyfriend vibe.” The only difference was that Ai Qingyuan, with his straightforward and simple personality, sometimes came off as overly “straight-laced,” whereas Qiao Ye was, in the conventional sense, very good at playing the game.
He could effortlessly say romantic lines, and in various promotional content, he flirted with fans like a pro.
Because of this, he had the highest proportion of “girlfriend fans” among all the top trainees.
The gossip source wasted no time getting to the point.
Two photos.
One was an intimate shot, likely taken before the competition. A handsome man and a beautiful woman strolled through a night market hand in hand. Qiao Ye even remembered to wear a hat, but the photo still captured both of their side profiles. With their fingers tightly intertwined, there was no way they could be just ordinary friends.
The second photo was more subtle.
In the first picture, the woman’s face was clearly visible. But in the second one, taken at night, she was wearing a mask as she walked inside with other staff members. Even so, from her eyes and brows, it was obvious she was the same person as in the first photo.
As soon as these two photos were released, the Super Rookie fandom was completely shaken.
To be honest, this piece of gossip was almost undeniable.
But the implications were far too serious.
Qiao Ye couldn’t even be considered a celebrity yet—he was still just an un-debuted trainee in a survival show. And yet, this newcomer had the audacity to go on dates even during a closed training period. What did that mean?
It meant that he might have never taken his fans seriously.
The moment Qiao Ye’s fans saw those two pictures, they completely lost it.
[This has to be Photoshopped, right? The finals are coming up, and some people will do anything for a debut spot. Just wait for the lawyer’s letter.]
[Hahahaha, I’m so done. First, you tried to smear Ai Qingyuan, and now it’s Qiao Ye? What did the top trainees ever do to you? Do you find spreading lies and throwing dirt at people fun? Do you?!]
[@QitaiMedia @QitaiMedia @QitaiMedia, get out here and say something!]
[Can Qiao Ye’s fans stop going crazy? Xiao Ai has already clarified everything. The kid is just a bit too straightforward, but at least he’s way more responsible and accountable than some ‘dating scandal’ trainee. [rose emoji]]
[Qiao Ye fans, don’t drag everyone down with you… There are plenty of top trainees. Don’t try to pull others into this mess.]
Qiao Ye’s fans were so furious that they started lashing out uncontrollably, turning the comment section into utter chaos.
Meanwhile, outside of the gossip account’s post, the casual onlookers from the survival show fandom had a much blunter take on the situation.
[Dating before even debuting? How does he even dare?]
[…This really could lead to a trust crisis. If he could fake being staff just to date someone even in a closed setting, then what about when he’s out in the real world?]
[Yeah, every other fanbase probably hates Qiao Ye right now.]
[I think there’s no need to go on a witch hunt, but this whole thing is just too ridiculous. Whether he was set up or not, if the dating part is real, then Qiao Ye is definitely not innocent.]
[Fans worked so hard voting for you so you could debut, and meanwhile, you were off kissing and cuddling with your ‘girlfriend.’ Hahaha, Qiao Ye, liking you was my biggest mistake.]
[No, seriously—how did he dare? Qiao Ye, how did you even dare?]
No one really knew the answer to that, but within the trainee circle, this incident didn’t cause as big of a stir as Ai Qingyuan’s scandal had before.
When Zou Yi dropped by Xie Xizhao’s dorm, they were in the middle of a game—three against one, with Yun Pan as the extra player in a round of Aeroplane Chess.
He glanced at the game board. The same glowing green die lay there, and three of Xie Xizhao’s green pieces had already reached the finish line. The unluckiest one was Yun Pan—his piece hadn’t even made it out of the starting zone.
Zou Yi was a bit stunned and asked, “How did you manage that?”
Yun Pan silently shot him a look of pure resentment.
Sometimes, when luck was bad, even drinking cold water could make you choke. Let alone rolling a six to leave the starting area after multiple turns.
Just like how some people could date in secret all the way until marriage, even keeping things under wraps until their kid was born—while others got completely exposed before they even debuted, stripped of every last shred of privacy.
By the time Zou Yi stepped inside, more girls had come forward with claims, saying that Qiao Ye had been a playboy even during his trainee days. This wasn’t his first relationship—this one had actually lasted quite a while.
And if it lasted long… then maybe it was real love.
With every new revelation, Qiao Ye’s fans took another hit—until their hearts were shattered into seven or eight pieces.
At this point, Qitai Media rushed out an urgent statement, declaring that their artist was single. But everyone knew—it was far too late to undo the damage.
Yun Pan stayed silent, but Ai Qingyuan spoke up first, lazily drawling, “Teacher Zou, just got back from enjoying the gossip?”
Ai Qingyuan and Zou Yi weren’t particularly close, but Ai Qingyuan had always been naturally sociable, while Zou Yi was emotionally intelligent enough to go along with it. After a few interactions, he had naturally integrated into the group.
Zou Yi nodded. “Yeah.”
“Looks like they really broke up,” Zou Yi said.
He didn’t specify who, but everyone knew exactly who he was talking about.
Ai Qingyuan let out a scornful laugh. “Coward.”
Everyone silently turned to look at him.
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
“Why are you all looking at me?”
Realizing how his words could be misinterpreted, he suddenly reacted and yelled, “What the hell! I’ve been single since birth, okay?! I have zero interest in romance!”
“I just think,” he continued, “if you date someone and betray your fans, that’s one thing. But then if you turn around and dump a perfectly fine girlfriend just to save yourself, doesn’t that mean you’re betraying her too? What’s the point of all this?”
Everyone present silently agreed.
The truth was, within the trainee circle, people more or less knew who was dating whom.
They were all here for the survival show.
It was easy to tell who was fully focused on debuting—practicing hard every day—and who treated the show like a vacation. It was even easier to tell who spent their time judging whether someone was “straight-laced” or not, instead of focusing on improving themselves.
Xie Xizhao had first noticed something off during the second group evaluation when they were picking songs.
That was also the only time he had significant interaction with Qiao Ye.
Back then, Qiao Ye had talked to him, and in just three sentences, he had already mentioned his looks—then tried to convince him to join his group, using the excuse that they “needed a visual.”
Xie Xizhao was well aware of his own good looks. But for most guys, appearance wasn’t something they particularly cared about—especially among trainees, where the baseline for attractiveness was already high.
For someone to pay so much attention to his looks, there were only two possibilities:
Either they were interested in him.
Or they were in a relationship.
Because only people in love had the luxury of worrying about things like whether a fellow trainee was “visually appealing” or “good at flirting”—even in the middle of such an intense competition. That kind of awareness only came from a competitive mindset in relationships.
Qiao Ye looked straight, and Xie Xizhao was certain it wasn’t the first possibility.
Which meant that the only explanation was—he really had been in a relationship.
Xie Xizhao didn’t have any particular opinion on the matter. He had seen far too many idols fail to meet expectations. Compared to all the other possible scandals, a dating controversy was honestly the least surprising.
He was only interested in one thing.
Now that Qiao Ye’s relationship had been exposed, he was most likely out of the running for a debut spot.
Which meant…
“Brother,” he asked Fu Wenze with a smile, “any thoughts?”
Fu Wenze replied, “Thanks to you.”
Xie Xizhao chuckled. “What does this have to do with me?”
Fu Wenze didn’t respond, just smiled.
Then he said, “My little brother really wants to meet you. Want to video call him later today?”
“Sure,” Xie Xizhao agreed easily.
—
Xie Xizhao had met Fu Wenze’s younger brother twice.
Once at the iron gate.
And once over a video call.
It was a long story.
Xie Xizhao had always known about Fu Wenze’s family situation. Fu Wenze doted on his little brother immensely—so much so that the phone he secretly kept wasn’t for checking his rankings, but solely for calling his brother.
But participating in a survival show inevitably brought exposure.
Rumors about Fu Wenze’s family had floated around online for some time, a mix of truth and fabrication. Naturally, some people started digging for more.
That day, Fu Wenze’s little brother had snuck out of the house just to see him. No one knew how the kid had managed to find the recording location, but when Xie Xizhao spotted him, he was standing frozen in front of the iron gate.
A few fan site admins had gathered around, curiously asking, “Hey, kid, are you here to chase idols too?”
Children with autism perceive the world differently than most. The little boy wasn’t good at handling crowds, and a hint of confusion flashed across his otherwise blank face.
As Xie Xizhao passed by, he immediately sensed something was off. He asked security to open the gate and let the child in.
Later, he and Fu Wenze learned that paparazzi and reporters had already caught wind of the situation. They had been planning to use the boy to dig up dirt on Fu Wenze.
Of course, Fu Wenze’s company handled the matter.
But at the time, with Fu Wenze absent, it was Xie Xizhao who had taken care of the child.
Fu Wenze had been deeply grateful ever since.
“I’ve gotten so many sweets from your brother…” Xie Xizhao said, trailing off.
He wasn’t used to being thanked so sincerely, especially by a peer.
“He really likes you,” Fu Wenze said.
Xie Xizhao blinked.
Then he chuckled. “Your little brother is very sweet.”
“Children with autism are different from others. Their world is simple—when they like someone, they just like them.” Fu Wenze explained. “He likes you because he thinks you’re a good person. That’s all.”
Xie Xizhao looked at him and suddenly paused.
“Can I ask you something?” he said. “Just casual conversation.”
“Go ahead,” Fu Wenze replied.
“At the start, you weren’t planning to debut, were you?” Xie Xizhao asked.
Fu Wenze answered without hesitation. “Mm.”
—
Xie Xizhao hadn’t asked this without reason.
He had always had a vague feeling about it—just like how he had sensed that Qiao Ye had a girlfriend.
Fu Wenze had originally joined the show just to gain some exposure before leaving.
People on the outside often said that Fu Wenze’s company was low-key, but in reality, there was no such thing as true low-key behavior in a survival show.
Even “low-key” was just another kind of company-crafted persona.
But Fu Wenze’s company wasn’t like that.
From Xie Xizhao’s observations, they were genuinely Buddhist—laid-back, nonchalant, letting things take their course.
Fu Wenze had fought his way up purely on his own abilities.
And yet, when Xie Xizhao first watched his initial stage performance, he had felt that something was missing.
Later, he realized what it was—drive.
Fu Wenze didn’t have the same desperate hunger to debut that the other contestants did. For him, the stage was just a stage, not some grand debut in front of future fans.
No one else had noticed this.
Except for Xie Xizhao.
The only reason Fu Wenze had managed to hide it so well was because of his reserved “cool guy” persona and his role as a rapper.
Rappers were expected to have a bit of an edge, a more nonchalant attitude. No one found it strange.
But personality quirks and the desire to debut were two completely separate things.
Xie Xizhao had been certain that Fu Wenze didn’t actually want to debut—until they officially met.
It was strange.
On stage, Fu Wenze had looked like someone just going through the motions, treating the show like a temporary gig.
But when Xie Xizhao saw him in the dorms for the first time, Fu Wenze’s gaze was strikingly focused.
And then came the first public performance, the second, the third.
Somewhere along the way, that missing drive had returned.
That determination, along with the way he lost himself in the music on stage, had propelled Fu Wenze step by step to where he stood today. It was also what made fans fall for him.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t a conceited person.
But he couldn’t help but feel that there were only two possible reasons.
Either Fu Wenze was interested in him.
Or his transformation had something to do with Xie Xizhao himself.
—
The night breeze was chilly.
The dorms at Super Rookie weren’t exactly rundown, but they weren’t luxurious either. Outside their room, there was a small balcony.
Ai Qingyuan was still in the practice room. The two of them each grabbed a can of sugar-free soda, drinking with the air of people downing hard liquor.
Unfortunately, there was no barbecue, no scent of alcohol—just two lonely little stools.
Each of them took one, sitting there, sipping their drinks.
Xie Xizhao tucked his hands into his sleeves, but he still relished the refreshing coolness of the night air.
Then, he heard Fu Wenze speak.
“Honestly, when I first came to Super Rookie, I was just here to make some appearance fees.”
“You guessed right.”
Xie Xizhao lifted his eyes to look at him, catching sight of his calm profile.
Fu Wenze met his gaze, his expression open as he said, “Xie Xizhao, I used to look down on idols. I never wanted to be one.”
“I never even understood why I stepped onto this path.”
“But your first stage performance made me see the possibility in the word ‘idol.’”
