Chapter 102: Traffic is King
As early as the first month after Xie Xizhao returned, he had already understood what kind of small society the entertainment industry in this world was.
He had experienced many worlds.
Some worlds had entertainment industries that were just starting out, where everything carried a rustic clumsiness. In other worlds, entertainment was a matter of life and death—where extreme luxury coexisted with darkness and chaos, and survival required a deep understanding of the law of the jungle.
The world he was in now was somewhere in between.
Before the car accident, he had occasionally seen some of his classmates discussing their favorite celebrities. In times of peace, people’s spiritual needs grew, and the entertainment industry had already become both developed and mature.
This naturally led to one result—intense competition.
The current market, whether for boy groups or girl groups, was already saturated.
In such a situation, those with mediocre abilities would only be eliminated. The ones left were either the truly top-tier performers or those looking for shortcuts.
And Newstar was clearly not part of the former group.
“I watched their most recent comeback during the day,” Xie Xizhao said. “They hired a well-known composer, but probably due to communication issues, the final style of the song didn’t suit them at all.”
He paused. “As for the results…”
“If you’re looking at the numbers on paper and the buzz their fans generated,” he said, “it looks alright.”
Guan Heng finally snapped out of his thoughts. “And in reality?”
“In reality, only the company knows.” Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze, marking song segments on the transcript in his hand with a pencil as he spoke. “Based on experience and the way they word their press releases, a conservative estimate would be a one-third drop from the reported figures.”
Guan Heng: “……”
Hadn’t he already analyzed everything?
Even after knowing Xie Xizhao for so long, he still couldn’t stay completely calm when facing him like this.
—Saying the most terrifying things in the most indifferent tone.
He forced himself to steady his mind. “So you think their company sees the group as being on a downward trajectory and is trying to take an unconventional approach—attaching themselves to you guys to maintain their popularity?”
When he first saw the news, his heart had skipped a beat.
After all, his own company was doing something similar. He was highly sensitive to this kind of thing. Given Newstar’s history of clout-chasing, his first reaction was that they were trying to go head-to-head with The Phoenix. But that didn’t seem entirely likely.
Capitalists didn’t make moves for nothing—there had to be a profit to be made.
Newstar hadn’t reached the very top, but they were still a highly popular group. They had their senior group’s legacy backing them, along with a stable fan base. Unless it was a scheduling coincidence that they couldn’t avoid, there was no real reason to go head-to-head with a talent show group that naturally generated its own buzz.
For years, talent shows had remained a constant presence. Wave after wave of trainees stepped forward, knowing full well that they might end up with nothing, yet still taking the risk—because the hype that came with it was unmatched.
Everyone usually staggered their schedules so they could all achieve good results.
That was the usual approach for major companies and successful groups.
Even smaller companies like theirs, hoping to ride the wave, wouldn’t gamble with a newly debuted group’s results.
However, for a group that had already achieved some success but was now on the decline—it was a different story.
Despite Guan Heng’s reasoning, Xie Xizhao didn’t immediately respond.
After finishing his markings on the page, Xie Xizhao finally spoke. “Brother Heng, do you know what I’m thinking right now?”
Guan Heng: “Hm?”
“I’m thinking,” Xie Xizhao said with a smile, “marketing really works.”
—
Why had Guan Heng come to ask Xie Xizhao about this?
Because he wasn’t sure.
At its core, Newstar was still a highly popular group in his eyes. Even though he knew some of the behind-the-scenes details, he still found it hard to believe that they would willingly lower their status and use something as important as their comeback to deliberately ride on the hype of a rookie group.
And as it turned out, Xie Xizhao’s response had already made things clear.
When he watched Newstar’s comeback stage, he had only one impression:
Superficial.
Newstar wasn’t lacking in qualifications. On the contrary, it was a boy group where each member was more visually stunning than the last—hence their large fanbase. From a singing and dancing perspective, none of them were outright terrible either.
But the overall performance felt restless and hollow.
The song not suiting them was one reason. The excessive little tricks and tactics were another.
Some were clearly trying to coast by with minimal effort. Some were overly focused on fan service. Some even turned their stage talk into deliberate fanservice bait.
Honestly, apart from those slacking off, Xie Xizhao didn’t have a strong opinion on the latter two. But those things shouldn’t be an idol’s main focus—they should be extras, not the core of their performance.
In the end, he only watched their comeback stage once.
Mainly because the ride was bumpy, and too many greasy winks in a row were enough to make him carsick.
He just didn’t understand—how could a group that had already been around for two years still not manage proper facial expression control?
And yet, this was a group that was currently at the peak of its popularity.
Although Xie Xizhao had known the general situation with Newstar, he had never really paid them much attention before. It was only at this moment that he finally felt a bit of emotion about it.
Deep down, he still believed in the most traditional path to stardom in the entertainment industry—
Having real skill, producing solid work, and then step by step climbing to the very top.
But times had changed.
In this era, traffic was king.
Guan Heng sighed. “Isn’t that the truth?”
“But you said their numbers were inflated by a third,” he continued. “Doesn’t that mean they aren’t much of a threat?”
Though he was concerned, he still had more confidence in TP.
Not just because of personal bias—fans of survival show groups were notoriously strong when it came to fighting for their idols.
While Guan Heng remained optimistic, Xie Xizhao said, “Not necessarily.”
Guan Heng was taken aback.
“I don’t think Renyu Media would schedule their comeback at the same time as ours just for the sake of hype,” Xie Xizhao said, lowering his gaze as he continued marking his notes. “I lean more toward the idea that, while they are anxious about their flagship group’s declining popularity, they still believe that ‘a starved camel is still bigger than a horse.’ And that makes sense. Besides—”
He paused for a moment. “If they’re really planning to go head-to-head with us, they will have countermeasures in place.”
As for what those countermeasures would be, Xie Xizhao knew there was no need to spell them out for Guan Heng.
Both of them were well aware of how Newstar operated—Guan Heng even more so. Over the past two years, Newstar had been riding a wave of success, with their company pouring all its resources into them. They were, without a doubt, the crown prince group, receiving an overwhelming share of advantages.
If they were prepared to face TP directly this time, then—
Media campaigns, fake engagement bots, marketing manipulation, smear tactics, fan exploitation.
Every underhanded trick in the entertainment industry would be played, one after another.
Especially fan exploitation.
Newstar had always enjoyed smooth sailing, with their popularity largely fueled by internal conflicts. But now, they had finally encountered a real opponent.
If this were a competition analogy, it was like Lu Xing and Yun Pan clashing for the center position in the third public performance.
No matter who won, the battle would only end when one side was completely defeated.
At times like this, shameless companies always had the upper hand. And a major company like Shenghong, which still cared about its public image, obviously wouldn’t resort to tactics like having members “accidentally” engage in fanservice to manipulate votes.
The more Guan Heng thought about it, the deeper his frown became. He could already feel the headache TP was about to face.
The sense of relief he had just felt vanished once again.
After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Then what are you planning to do?”
A flood of countermeasures flashed through his mind, but something felt off.
Then, he heard Xie Xizhao’s helpless voice. “Listen to what you’re asking.”
“What can I do?”
Guan Heng: “……”
That was when he finally realized the problem.
No matter how aggressively Newstar tried to clash with them, it was Shenghong’s job to handle the situation. Xie Xizhao was just a new employee—unlike Ai Qingyuan, he didn’t even hold company shares. This was entirely out of his hands.
Guan Heng let out a wry laugh and sighed. “I don’t know why, but I always feel like you can do anything.”
Xie Xizhao chuckled as well.
“Your filter is too strong, Teacher Guan.”
After exchanging a few more words, they ended the call.
Xie Xizhao got up and went to make the fish soup he had promised.
—
Even though he had talked to Guan Heng about so much, it had mostly been casual conversation. As he had said, neither Newstar’s decisions nor Shenghong’s truly had anything to do with him.
And he certainly didn’t have the power to change anyone’s mind.
He was just a regular employee who could analyze his boss’s decisions.
No matter how sharp his analysis was, it wasn’t his money, and the boss wouldn’t listen to him.
…Well, except for Yaoxin.
It was a frustrating feeling, but Xie Xizhao took it in stride. He had once controlled the fates of countless “protagonists” across different worlds, yet he had never developed the kind of domineering mindset that demanded the world bend to his will.
On the contrary, he believed that because of this, focusing on doing his own job well was what truly mattered.
From the competition period until now, that was exactly what he had been doing.
That evening, after dinner, everyone went to bed early. Xie Xizhao even had a dreamless night’s sleep. The next morning, the group headed to the company together, ready to begin the final item on their schedule:
Recording.
—
Originally, the recording process was supposed to be handled by the team captain alone. But at Xie Xizhao’s request, it ultimately became a two-person job.
Both of them were looking out for each other.
Zou Yi didn’t want Xie Xizhao to overwork himself, while Xie Xizhao felt that making one person responsible for all five members was too cruel. After a bit of back-and-forth, the two of them entered the recording booth together.
The song they were set to record had already been distributed to each member beforehand.
Everyone had sung the entire track once in full, and based on their vocal performance and positioning, the company had assigned specific parts to each member.
The intro was led by Yun Pan.
After Zou Yi and Xie Xizhao finished their recordings, the youngest member nervously stepped into the recording booth.
“Do you want to warm up your voice first?”
Holding the microphone, Xie Xizhao spoke gently to the person inside.
Yun Pan shook his head firmly. “No need.”
He had lost a lot of weight recently. Shenghong’s weight management plan had worked on him too well.
At the most difficult points of his diet control, he had even followed in Xie Xizhao’s footsteps—attempting to survive on iced Americanos.
The results were remarkable.
At that moment, the young boy was wearing a gray hoodie, its plush collar accentuating his sharp, fair jawline.
He took a deep breath before starting to sing the first line.
When he finished, he glanced anxiously through the glass. Zou Yi gave him a thumbs-up.
Xie Xizhao made a note on the paper and then said, “The second half was great. Can you try the first half again?”
He added, “For the words ‘hour hand’ at the beginning, enunciate them a bit more clearly. Don’t let the fast tempo make you blur them.”
His voice was gentle, and Yun Pan listened carefully before trying again.
After he finished, he turned to Xie Xizhao, who smiled and said,
“That was excellent.”
Encouraged, Yun Pan’s confidence soared.
Soon, he completed his part smoothly, and Ai Qingyuan stepped up next.
—
To be fair, The Phoenix was truly a rare group—one that had both talent and visuals, as chosen by the public.
Some members had their strengths and weaknesses, but none were outright weak links. Even the designated rapper could hold a tune when needed.
But the reason the recording turned out exceptionally well wasn’t just because of their skills.
Originally, when the final version of the song was drafted, the line distribution was different.
This was one of the biggest challenges in managing an idol group.
Just because someone could sing didn’t mean they knew how to sing well—each person had their own comfortable vocal range. But due to factors like fan expectations and balancing member popularity, some members often ended up with lines that didn’t suit them.
At first, Xie Xizhao didn’t say anything.
After two days of practice, he discussed it with Zou Yi and then approached Miao Haicheng.
Miao Haicheng hesitated. “This…”
“I understand what you mean, Xizhao,” he said. “But sometimes, if the issue isn’t too severe, it’s really hard to change things.”
He didn’t explicitly state the reason, knowing that Xie Xizhao would understand.
Xie Xizhao thought for a moment and asked, “Can I handle the adjustments myself?”
Miao Haicheng was momentarily stunned.
Over the next two days, Xie Xizhao and Zou Yi meticulously listened to each member’s recordings repeatedly. Whenever they were uncertain, they would find the person and have them sing live again. Through this process, they thoroughly analyzed each member’s comfortable vocal range.
Then, the two of them worked together to redistribute the parts as evenly as possible.
This time, the line distribution was entirely based on actual capability. Everyone received a part that truly suited them—some even hadn’t realized before that they fit certain lines so well. They only noticed that singing suddenly felt much easier.
When Miao Haicheng first took over The Phoenix, he expected the group to explode in popularity under his management—but he hadn’t expected them to be this effortless to guide.
Each member was sincere and hardworking, united by a common goal.
It almost made him feel the same inspiration he had felt when he first entered this industry—something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
The best thing he could do now was to ensure that the behind-the-scenes team captured every bit of this process on film and to support them in every way possible, acting as the bridge between them and the company.
—
Just like that, another two busy days passed, and their debut preparations were finally nearing completion.
At the same time, a long-hanging rumor was finally confirmed.
Three days after the recording, Newstar officially announced their comeback date.
Their third comeback of the year was scheduled for:
February 12.
