Chapter 92: Gossip
[Holy sh*t, what’s going on??]
[It’s already deleted now, so it was probably an accident. But an idol actually pays attention to this kind of meaningless fandom poll? LOL, that’s insane.]
[Wait, it wasn’t even him? It was his teammate? Uh, that’s even crazier…]
[OMG, let me explain—this is our Newstar’s beauty enthusiast. He’s one step away from kicking open the closet door. The kid got a little too excited—sorry for the scene, folks, we’ll be taking him away now.]
[AAAAAHHHH ZHENG YUNLI YOU’RE SO REAL!!!]
[?? 6]
Even though the auto-shared voting post was deleted instantly, plenty of people had already taken screenshots.
For a moment, the cooling comment section became livelier than ever.
—
At 5:30 PM, TP group wrapped up practice right on time.
When they checked Weibo again, they found that the world had completely changed.
Ai Qingyuan twitched his lips.
“No, seriously.”
He looked utterly baffled.
“What kind of performance art is this?”
Yun Pan, being the most naive one, suddenly recalled himself voting earlier and felt a wave of terror wash over him.
“Did he forget to switch accounts? But… isn’t this bad?”
Of course, it was bad.
Xie Xizhao glanced at the real-time discussion.
Quite a few of Xie Xizhao’s and TP group’s fans were already complaining that Newstar couldn’t take the heat—not only were they lurking in fandom circles, but they had even jumped in personally.
What had originally been a tiny, insignificant matter was now blowing up more and more.
And that was the truth.
The reason Fu Wenze had specifically warned Yun Pan not to use his main account earlier was precisely because this whole thing was a fandom matter.
If an idol happened to come across fandom drama, that was one thing. But if they actually joined in, especially in something that was one step away from turning into a fight, it was as good as throwing fuel on the fire.
Fu Wenze frowned. “How could he make such a rookie mistake?”
He hated trouble—especially when that trouble involved his friends.
The situation had almost died down, but Zheng Yunli had stirred things up again, reigniting the heat. Now, it wasn’t going to cool down anytime soon.
Zou Yi stayed silent for a moment, then muttered thoughtfully, “Honestly… it doesn’t really seem like an accident to me.”
He glanced at Xie Xizhao, but the latter didn’t say anything.
Instead, he simply put away his phone.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Time to eat.”
—
They had their meal at Shenghong’s cafeteria.
As a large company, Shenghong naturally had a decent employee cafeteria.
At the very least, the entire TP team had managed to get a free meal there once, and then, shamelessly, they started treating it as their long-term dining spot.
Xie Xizhao picked up a serving of sweet and sour pork ribs, a portion of hot and sour shredded potatoes, and a small bowl of boiled broccoli. He also added a fried egg for himself. Feeling that it was enough, he returned to his seat and sat down.
Across from him, Zou Yi had only taken a salad.
Their actual diet plan hadn’t started yet—Zou Yi was just managing himself in advance.
Fu Wenze, who was sitting nearby, noticed and couldn’t help but comment, “Take it easy.”
“I’m not even fat,” he replied.
Zou Yi laughed, “Oh, wow, oh, wow.”
“I feel like I’ve put on a bit of weight.” He pinched his own face. “I’m just afraid of stepping on the scale in a couple of days.”
“Ah—”
He wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t brought it up, but now that he did, Yun Pan frowned as well.
A salad sat in front of him too, looking just as uninspiring.
Fu Wenze said, “How about you two just join Zhaozhao and me at the gym?”
He paused for a moment. “You too.”
He was pointing at Ai Qingyuan, who was sitting across from them, tearing into a large chicken leg.
Ai Qingyuan had already been feeling a little guilty, and now, being called out so directly, he reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Fine… I’ll train! Who’s afraid of who?”
Fu Wenze let out a snort of laughter.
As they ate, their conversation drifted from one topic to another. Meanwhile, Xie Xizhao was looking at his phone.
Xie Xizhao had just finished picking up his meal at the window when he saw a message from Guan Heng.
In just that short moment, the issue of Zheng Yunli slipping up had already escalated to trending status. It had shot up to number eight on the hot search list—so fast that no one would believe it wasn’t bought.
Under the trending topic, the comments were split evenly between mockery and damage control. However, thanks to this near “vote-pushing” move, the vote count had increased significantly, and the gap was continuously shrinking. Xie Xizhao estimated that by evening, they would probably be surpassed.
He didn’t feel much about it.
He glanced at the fan side of things—it seemed that the company’s staff had already contacted the fan club. By now, everyone had calmed down and was urging people to stay rational, reminding them that they hadn’t officially debuted yet and shouldn’t get carried away battling with seniors.
That was also why the voting growth had slowed down.
Xie Xizhao thought that was a good thing.
Just then, his phone vibrated. He took it out and saw a new message.
Guan Heng: Online? Our active group’s visual peak, send a selfie.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Xie Xizhao: Don’t be so straight-man about it.
Guan Heng: O.o
Xie Xizhao casually snapped a photo of his sweet and sour pork ribs and sent it over. The other side responded with a bowl of leafy green salad.
Xie Xizhao was momentarily stunned and typed:
Xie Xizhao: Are you debuting?
Guan Heng: No.
Guan Heng: Originally planned to ride on your popularity wave, but the boss said your hype is too strong right now, we’d probably get crushed, so the debut got postponed.
Guan Heng: But the diet meals still have to continue. [Crying]
The crying emoji he sent was of a chubby, adorable rabbit hugging a carrot while shedding tiny pearl-like tears.
Xie Xizhao accidentally choked on his ribs.
His sudden coughing fit startled everyone at the table. Zou Yi quickly handed him a tissue.
Xie Xizhao waved a hand. “I’m fine.”
Xie Xizhao: Teacher Guan, your style has been getting a little strange lately.
Guan Heng: Actually, this emoji is one our group’s maknae always uses. I stole it.
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Just as he was about to say something else, Guan Heng sent another message:
Guan Heng: He also told me to remind you guys to avoid interacting too much with Renyu’s artists, whether it’s collaborations or anything else. No relationship is the best relationship.
That was his real reason for reaching out.
Xie Xizhao’s hand paused.
—
Back at the dorm, he called Guan Heng.
The other side picked up quickly. “Hello?”
The background was quiet, and he could hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor—Guan Heng had probably gone back to his room as well.
“Teacher Guan seems to have a lot of free time lately?” Xie Xizhao found a comfortable spot by the bay window, wrapped himself in a blanket, and idly doodled on a piece of paper.
“Not too bad,” Guan Heng replied with a chuckle. “Like I said, we were just about to debut, and then we got pulled back at the last second. Now we’re just in limbo. Luckily, our promotions hadn’t started yet.”
Xie Xizhao laughed. “Who told you our debut date? Even we don’t know yet.”
“You’re bound to debut within the next six months, right?” Guan Heng sounded amused. “No way they signed you guys just to shelf you.”
That was true.
Xie Xizhao said, “Your boss is pretty smart.”
The hype around survival show groups was different from fixed groups.
To put it bluntly, even though The Phoenix hadn’t officially debuted as a group yet, their popularity was already at the level of a top-tier group.
Forget small-company rookie groups—even Newstar, the TOP group they had just clashed with, wouldn’t have stood a chance if Shenghong hadn’t stepped in.
After all, at the very start, when no external interference had taken place, Xie Xizhao had been leading in votes.
From that perspective, this whole thing had actually turned into an unofficial fanbase strength test, boosting morale among Xie Xizhao’s fans.
“Yeah,” Guan Heng said.
He paused for a moment. “But we might still end up overlapping a little. Maybe we’ll run into each other then.”
“Hmm.” Xie Xizhao responded.
After a brief silence, he asked, “Are you doing well now?”
It was something he had inferred from Guan Heng’s words. If things weren’t going well, their maknae wouldn’t be talking to Guan Heng so casually.
“Not bad,” Guan Heng chuckled. “The little brother I mentioned on WeChat is pretty cute, and the other members have good personalities too. I got lucky.”
Xie Xizhao could hear an unprecedented lightness in his tone.
Time truly was the best remedy for everything.
New encounters helped, too.
He didn’t press further and instead returned to the main topic. “Renyu isn’t a great company, is it?”
Guan Heng hesitated for a second. “…Yeah.”
“You probably figured it out already,” he added. “The thing with Zheng Yunli.”
Xie Xizhao thought for a moment. “Clout-chasing?”
“And maybe milking the controversy while they were at it,” Guan Heng said. “Are these two from Meidi?”
He wasn’t familiar with the group—his guess was purely based on experience.
Guan Heng let out a laugh.
“Knew I didn’t have to worry about you,” he said.
—
Xie Xizhao had, in fact, already guessed it.
But he had figured it out even earlier than Guan Heng assumed.
Not when Zheng Yunli joined the voting, but from the very beginning—when the hashtag war started.
To be honest, he had seen more fan wars than Zheng Yunli had ever misclicked votes in his lifetime. He could tell at a glance which ones were coincidences and which ones had been deliberately orchestrated by someone behind the scenes.
And after digging a little deeper, it turned out this group had a history of doing exactly that.
To be honest, using clout-chasing and fan wars to manipulate and strengthen a fanbase was just a way of draining them. Xie Xizhao knew this was a common tactic among major companies, but he always felt it was both unethical and unsustainable.
When he said unsustainable, he meant in terms of reaching the top.
Otherwise, why would Newstar, after two years of debut, still be fighting over being the only visual peak instead of being the only top group?
Because they didn’t dare to aim higher.
Xie Xizhao and Guan Heng continued chatting casually for a bit. Guan Heng told him that Renyu’s inability to produce a truly successful group over the years wasn’t without reason.
Victory, their first-generation group, had been too successful. It had set the bar too high, making the company greedy. They were always chasing that one-hit-wonder moment again.
And when they couldn’t achieve it, they looked for shortcuts. Even now, their group strategies were a complete mess.
“But honestly, their members seem to have adapted,” Guan Heng said. “Putting everything else aside—if I didn’t already know that Zheng Yunli and Xue Zixiao have been at odds since debut over their group’s core concept, and that they’re basically strangers in private, just from their interactions, I’d think they were about to get married.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
“Teacher Guan, did you just drop some seriously forbidden gossip?”
Was this even something he was allowed to hear?
On the other end, Guan Heng sounded completely unbothered. “I didn’t say anything.”
Xie Xizhao: “…Alright then.”
After hanging up, Xie Xizhao climbed down from the bay window.
He thought for a moment and decided against posting a work-related Weibo update that day, saving his backlog for another time.
After a simple nighttime routine, he turned off the lights and went to sleep—ending the day just like any other.
—
After clearing things up with Guan Heng that day, Xie Xizhao stopped paying attention to the matter altogether.
The facts proved that this really wasn’t something worth paying attention to. Aside from that accidental vote and the much-discussed repeated logins afterward, Newstar didn’t make any inappropriate comments regarding the situation.
The matter ended amidst mutual disdain between fanbases and amusement from onlookers.
As for the voting results—Xue Zixiao won.
But he won in a rather humiliating fashion.
The final vote gap was locked at 1,539 votes. As some snarky bystanders put it, “Good thing the marketing accounts stopped covering it when they did, or Xie Xizhao would’ve pulled off another one of his signature comebacks.”
Xie Xizhao was also quite surprised.
But Miao Haicheng, who had been closely monitoring the backend data, understood exactly what had happened.
It wasn’t that Xie Xizhao’s fans had gone all out—it was that the voting had expanded beyond fandoms and reached casual voters.
And the fact that the gap kept narrowing after that made the implications pretty obvious. Everyone struggled to maintain their composure as dignified adults, except for Yun Pan, who bluntly voiced the truth:
“Wow, doesn’t this mean that in the eyes of completely unbiased passersby, Brother is actually better looking?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Miao Haicheng: “…”
Miao Haicheng coughed. “Alright, let’s drop this topic.”
“The reason I called you all here today,” he got back to the main point, “is to discuss the song selection for the first album.”
Just as he was speaking, their team’s project lead arrived. The group sat down together and officially began their song selection meeting for the day.
