Chapter 83.2: The Eve of the Finals (25% Forum Format)
Yaoxin Entertainment noticed the situation early on.
So early that before public opinion had the chance to escalate, the PR team had already informed Xie Xizhao’s team.
Now, this specialized team was fully operational, with Ming Li overseeing everything, Fang Qingqing handling communications, and others fulfilling their respective roles.
Since Xie Xizhao’s every word and action was under constant scrutiny, the PR team took even the slightest shifts in public sentiment very seriously. After being notified, Fang Qingqing also saw the matter as urgent and went to discuss it with Ming Li.
Qi Yin happened to be present during the discussion.
While the two girls debated intensely, he stood on the side, enthusiastically watering plants.
Ming Li glanced at him distractedly.
“…Boss.”
“If you water them like that, they’ll die,” she said tactfully.
Qi Yin: ?
“Are you serious?”
He felt a little embarrassed, then wandered over and rubbed his hands together. “Is there trouble? Can I help?”
Fang Qingqing: “……”
Even after working here for so long, she still found it hard to get used to their boss’s rather… unique state of mind.
But no matter how eccentric—or how unconventional—he was still the boss. The boss not only paid their salaries but also funded the entire company and supported their very own “Purple Star.” So, she still had to answer him.
She briefly explained the situation but worried that Qi Yin wouldn’t understand, so she broke it down further.
“It looks like another company deliberately started this wave of rumors. They want to frame Xizhao as a ‘royal pick,’ claiming that the show and our company have scripted a ‘defying fate’ storyline for him. On the surface, it looks like one side is suppressing him while the other is helping him, but in reality, they’re just putting on a show together.”
It had to be said—this was indeed a very creative and effective angle.
Targeting Xie Xizhao was difficult precisely because he was beyond reproach.
His character, personality, and professional skills were all spotless.
As industry insiders, they understood this better than anyone.
Since they couldn’t attack him directly, they had to find an external angle. Their goal wasn’t to push him out of the debut lineup—just to slightly reduce his popularity.
And this angle was perfect for that.
Qi Yin, though a little eccentric, was also sharp. He understood immediately.
“Whoa,” he exclaimed. “Our little Purple Star is attracting this much jealousy? So, what’s the plan now?”
“In theory,” Ming Li said, “the one making the claim has to provide the proof. But they’re using an old trick—releasing multiple rumors at once, with only one being true. As long as that one gets confirmed, it’ll ‘prove’ the credibility of the others, and the narrative will take off.”
This was going to be tricky to handle.
The rumors weren’t too big, but if any bystanders believed them, it would become a full-blown br*inwashing package.
If they intervened, it would be a hassle. But if they didn’t, it wasn’t ideal either.
Qi Yin thought for a moment. “Should we release a statement?”
“That’s tricky,” Ming Li said with a wry smile. “How would we even phrase it? Say that Xizhao isn’t a ‘royal pick’? That’s not something we can just lay out in the open, and the production team wouldn’t agree to it either.”
Qi Yin didn’t understand the first part, but he strongly disagreed with the last sentence. “Why should we care what they think?”
Ming Li: “……”
Well, that was a fair point.
But even if they ignored the production team, they still had to solve this problem.
Qi Yin thought again. “Should we ask Xizhao?”
Ming Li had been considering the same thing.
But she hesitated. “Aren’t we relying on him too much…?”
She had already asked the PR team to draft a few potential responses.
“Is he busy?” Qi Yin asked. “If not, we should ask him. From what I’ve seen, his brain works better than ours in these situations. If he thinks it’s not a big deal, then we don’t need to stress over it.”
He paused, then clapped his hands together. “Ah, worst case, we’ll just pay him for handling PR too—or tweak his contract a bit. Honestly, I think the contract we signed with him before was a little unfair to him. We might as well take this chance to revise it.”
Ming Li: “……”
Qi Yin actually called in the finance and legal teams.
While having the lawyers draft a revised contract, he casually told Ming Li, “Go ahead and call him. I’ll talk to him later. A company should care about its trainees before the finals, or we’ll seem too indifferent.”
The finance and legal teams standing nearby couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of their mouths.
Would an artist really be happy to receive a crisis PR call from their boss right before the finals?
As it turned out, their boss wasn’t ordinary, and neither was the artist.
When the call connected, the young man on the other end sounded slightly out of breath, as if he had just stepped off a treadmill. But his tone remained steady.
After listening to Ming Li’s explanation, he was silent for a moment before saying, “It’s fine.”
His slightly husky voice carried a hint of a smile, inexplicably putting everyone at ease.
The sound of the heating system running filled the air.
Qi Yin said, “Are you sure we shouldn’t do anything about it? Ming Li and Qingqing are really worried. What if this becomes a stain on your reputation in the future?”
Ming Li and Fang Qingqing: “…”
Well, not that worried.
They also thought the whole situation sounded ridiculous, but their concern clouded their judgment. Xie Xizhao was at a critical moment, and they couldn’t help but fear he would end up like Qiao Ye—not with a scandal, but with one misstep that would lead to total failure.
“First, let’s determine if it’s even an issue, then we can talk about scandals,” Xie Xizhao said with a smile. “President Qi, I think I might be the most suppressed contestant in Super Rookie. If I were royalty, then half the contestants on this show would be emperors by now.”
Qi Yin: “…”
That actually made a lot of sense.
“Besides,” Xie Xizhao continued, “of course, the show has character arcs and scripts. A ‘defying fate’ storyline is one of them, but it still operates within a reasonable scope. Audience and fan reactions can be anticipated, but not completely controlled.”
He paused. “Whoever came up with this tactic to take me down clearly sees the audience as mindless fools who can be easily manipulated by capital.”
A very arrogant mindset.
Because they had once entertained the idea of a fully automated talent show, they took it for granted that the audience would accept whatever was presented to them. But even the experienced Xie Xizhao hadn’t predicted that fans would vote him into the C position during the second round, let alone these arrogant investors.
His journey had been laid out for all to see. His fans—and even the general audience—had walked this path with him. He knew they would never believe the narrative being pushed.
“As for my suggestion,” he said, “just guide the public opinion within reason. They won’t dare to stir up too much drama. This kind of thing skirts the line—if it really blows up and makes people think the show is fully scripted, then it’s no longer my problem. It’s a matter of whether the show itself will get investigated.”
His words woke them up like a slap in the face.
Ming Li immediately nodded. “That’s true. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Why did the original source of the gossip keep it vague?
On one hand, half-truths were easier for people to believe.
On the other hand, if they outright claimed that the show had tailored the C position specifically for Xie Xizhao and that the entire program was just a launchpad for his debut, then that would be an undeniable lie.
The internet wasn’t a lawless place.
They wouldn’t dare.
So their best move was indeed just to subtly steer public opinion and then watch how things unfolded.
This wasn’t something Xie Xizhao needed to micromanage.
If an entertainment company didn’t even know how to guide public discourse, then the people working there might as well quit their jobs.
With the matter settled, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Ming Li asked with concern, “How have you been feeling lately? Busy?”
Qi Yin chimed in, “Li Li, you sound so motherly right now.”
Ming Li: “……”
Hold it in.
He’s the boss.
You can’t hit him.
On the other end, Xie Xizhao finally couldn’t hold back his laughter.
“Everything’s good,” he said. “Don’t worry, Sister Li.”
“Were you practicing just now?” Ming Li asked. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Just do your best as usual.”
“Yeah,” Xie Xizhao replied. “I know.”
After hanging up, Xie Xizhao looked at himself in the mirror.
The room was silent, the only sound being his own breathing.
He stood there quietly for a moment, then walked over and unplugged the speaker. The power cord fell to the floor with a soft clack, blending with the rustling leaves outside, accentuating the stillness of the night.
Everyone else was out today—a rare moment of solitude.
Xie Xizhao had adapted well to group life, but he occasionally enjoyed solitude. Being alone allowed him to better examine himself and gradually clear his mind.
He had been practicing just now—his solo performance piece.
After spending two days in the studio, he ultimately decided to hold off on using any of his original songs for now. Instead, he chose an extremely standard and traditional hit boy group track.
Of course, the choreography for this song was highly difficult.
His three previous performances hadn’t fully showcased his skills in boy group dance, so he decided to make up for it in his final solo stage.
He took a sip of water. A small die tumbled out of his pocket, rolling excitedly across the carpet.
Xie Xizhao extended a finger in warning. “Shh, someone’s here.”
The little die immediately went stiff, playing dead.
Xie Xizhao chuckled. “Just messing with you.”
The little die: “……”
It was one thing to b*lly a fool, but why pick on a genius pet?!
Huffing, it turned its back to him in protest. Xie Xizhao let out a soft laugh. The phone call hadn’t left him with any lingering emotions. After resting for a bit, he got up and resumed his final set of fundamental exercises.
Outside the window, the moon hung over the treetops. Another silent night quietly passed.
—
The next day, the rumors exploded.
Discussions about Xie Xizhao supposedly being “royalty” in the competition spread like wildfire.
Some bystanders questioned it, others simply enjoyed the drama. The talent show fandom was in chaos—most were skeptical, but a small portion got swept up in the narrative.
Xie Xizhao’s fan club quickly issued an official statement refuting the rumors that had emerged during the gossip frenzy. At the same time, fans launched a full-scale effort to clarify the truth.
By the third day, the “royalty” claims had begun to fade.
As various cut footage, timeline analyses, and concrete evidence surfaced, the frenzy among bystanders finally began to subside. They started seriously considering what Xie Xizhao’s fans had been saying:
[If the show really tailored such a dramatic storyline just for Xizhao, the only logical explanation is that he’s secretly the biological son of Stardust Entertainment’s CEO.]
[There’s only one Xie Xizhao in the world. If it were anyone else, they would’ve been eliminated in the first round. How would they even get the chance to follow a script?]
[If a script like this truly existed, then the production team should quit making shows and set up a fortune-telling stand instead. Otherwise, how could they possibly predict fan psychology with such precision? Or are you all still convinced that voting is rigged?]
[If that’s the case, then we fully support a thorough investigation. It’s not our problem anyway—we’re completely innocent.]
—
By the fourth day, public opinion had largely reversed.
The original gossip source, who had stubbornly insisted on their claims for the past two days, quickly deleted their account once they realized the tide had turned.
But it was already too late.
That very night, internet sleuths uncovered that the account was backed by a professional marketing team specializing in manufactured controversies. One discovery led to another, and soon, yet another storm of online discussions erupted.
—
The fifth day. The sixth day…
In the final week, new rankings were revealed every day, and new controversies emerged just as frequently. No trainee was spared—rumors, both real and fabricated, flooded the internet. Meanwhile, the voting stage had entered its most intense phase.
Both the trainees and their fans were at their mental limits.
Some broke down in tears, repenting. Some watched in silent shock. Some were consumed by anxiety, while others remained unshaken, calmly awaiting the final day.
—
On the last day—the day of the finals—everything settled.
The remaining trainees boarded their cars, heading toward the competition venue.
The past few months of isolated “training” replayed vividly in their minds—
And now, at this very moment, they had finally arrived at their ultimate test.
The results that would shape their futures for a long time to come were just ahead.
