Superstar Ch.107

Chapter 107: Today’s Daily Chart

The album The Phoenix had been planned with Xie Xizhao’s involvement—something that had been well-known ever since the teaser poster was released.

However, while people knew about it, most had no real concept of what “involvement in planning” actually meant.

In most people’s assumptions, participation in planning simply meant a group of people gathering for meetings; once the meeting ended, the concept for the new song would be set, and then production could begin.

This was especially true when it came to small idols and their so-called “participation.”

Before this, many had criticized Shenghong for its favoritism toward Xie Xizhao. In their view, adding Xie Xizhao’s name to the main creative team was nothing more than a publicity stunt by the company—its sole purpose was to brand him as a creative artist.

During that period, the frequency of attacks labeling Xie Xizhao as “royalty” had been no less than what Ai Qingyuan had faced during competitions. The ridiculous old rumor claiming that Xie Xizhao was a hidden royal had resurfaced, sparking a frenzy among anti-fans.

But this video had put all those rumors to rest.

Because Xie Xizhao had simply been too busy.

The video was compiled from footage of five people. Before the song selection had been finalized, while everyone else maintained their regular practice routines, they had still found time to relax now and then. Only Xie Xizhao had remained constantly in the composition room.

It wasn’t a deliberate editing choice—there had simply been nothing else to show.

Even in the vlogs of his teammates when they went out to have fun, any mention of Xie Xizhao had been along the lines of: “We originally planned to go out with Zhao today, but when we asked, he said he was a bit busy, so we’ll go together next time.”

And whenever the footage cut to Xie Xizhao, he had always been in that small space.

Morning, noon, night, and the early hours before dawn.

When rain could be heard outside the window, when sunlight streamed onto the desk.

And even during the first snowfall.

On the day of the first snowfall, Yun Pan had excitedly grabbed a selfie stick and dragged Ai Qingyuan along to find Xie Xizhao. The door had been left slightly ajar, and when they pushed it open, they were met with complete silence.

The boy’s figure, slumped over the desk, made everyone instinctively lower their voices.

Yun Pan had been about to speak, but his words had abruptly stopped in his throat. He stood frozen in place, still holding the selfie stick.

The camera had remained fixed on the figure in the distance as Ai Qingyuan casually picked up a jacket and gently draped it over him.

In the following scenes, a transparent cup had appeared on Xie Xizhao’s desk.

Inside the cup sat a tiny, crystal-clear snowman.

Facing the camera, Xie Xizhao had softly explained, “Panpan said this was the first snowfall of 20XX. It would be a shame not to see it, so he made one for me. It’s so cute.”

The snow had melted quickly, and so had the hearts of his fans.

[My baby… I really feel so heartbroken T.T]

[So this is what “involvement in planning” actually meant—shaping the entire concept from scratch, piece by piece. I saw the drafts on his desk—not just sheet music but also a whole concept story… I don’t even know what to say. I’m in awe.]

[I remember on the day of the first snowfall, he even posted a picture of the little snowman on Weibo, saying it was “especially, especially cute.” Someone in the comments asked why he hadn’t gone out with Panpan, and he said he had overslept. And then antis called him lazy. Damn it, do you people even have a heart?! I swear I’m reporting all of you right now!!]

[It was the same during competitions… We only found out how much work he had put in behind the scenes when his teammates went live. He never talked about it himself. My heart is shattered. Shenghong, if you were aiming to make me cry, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.]

[Panpan and Xiao Ai are so sweet too, T.T. The best TP in the whole world.]

This moment had been the true prelude to the climax of the entire documentary.

After the barrage of heartfelt, emotional, and relieved comments flooded the screen, the real process finally began unfolding on camera.

And so, everyone witnessed how this song—the one that had shaken countless people tonight—had come to life.

The proposal was submitted, followed by days and nights of discussions, revisions, and finalization.

Xie Xizhao sat with the planning team, fully immersed in the behind-the-scenes work. There was no trace of pretense or distance—he engaged with every staff member, openly discussing every possible way to make the project even better.

In a behind-the-scenes interview, the lead planner said, “Shenghong almost never allows rookie idols to participate in album production right after debut, but Xizhao broke that rule. He fought for this opportunity himself. And as it turns out, no rule should ever be without exceptions.”

During the MV shoot, there had been countless NGs and retakes—sometimes accompanied by muttered complaints, but each attempt was more focused and determined than the last. As time went on, even the director had become completely familiar with the group, exchanging casual banter with them.

“Never heard of your group before,” he had joked. “When are you letting me ride your wave of popularity?”

Zou Yi had laughed and replied, “Next time for sure.”

“If you make this MV look good enough, we might just blow u—Ah, shit! Fu Wenze, can you stop physically covering my mouth? Your hands are seriously freezing, do you know that?!”

This camaraderie had come from countless moments of genuine effort—mutual respect exchanged for mutual trust.

And then, there was the recording process.

Before the album release, even though some recording footage had appeared in their reality show, most of the real content had been left unedited. But now, fans finally saw how those spine-chillingly powerful vocals had been recorded.

Xie Xizhao had helped Zou Yi refine and adjust his parts, and in turn, Zou Yi had given him feedback as well. The two had stayed in the recording studio for an entire afternoon, and by the time they walked out, their eyes were practically unfocused from exhaustion.

Zou Yi asked, “Wanna head back for dinner? Wenze said he made sweet and sour ribs.”

Xie Xizhao: “…”

He had nearly lost the ability to speak.

The day before, he had recorded a solo guide vocal version, and now his throat was so exhausted that he didn’t even feel like saying “okay.” Zou Yi gave his face a light squeeze, letting him collapse bonelessly onto his shoulder before guiding him into the car that would take them home.

…One moment after another, one event after another.

All these fragments of their daily lives had been woven together into a short video, only a few dozen minutes long—but it was enough to recreate most of what had truly happened.

At the very end of the video, a fast-forwarded surveillance clip from the TP practice room played.

Since their debut, not once had they slacked off.

As the progress bar neared its end, the third interview question appeared on screen:

“With the album about to be released, is there anything you’d like to say to your fans?”

The scene shifted to Xie Xizhao sitting on a sofa, hugging a pillow. He was wearing a soft, cozy sweater and fitted jeans. A small cat circled at his feet.

He gazed into the camera, thoughtfully considering his words.

A moment later, he spoke.

“I hope you can enjoy this journey we’ve taken together.”

No pleas for votes, no complaints about hardship.

Just a simple, gentle sentence—consistent with him as always.

As the video faded to its final second, the comment section exploded.

—

Everything that needed to be said had already been expressed in the barrage of comments. The discussions in the comment section mostly revolved around the same themes—people feeling heartache for Xie Xizhao, admiring TP’s relentless drive, or simply posting emotional, incoherent phrases.

But among them, one comment had been upvoted to the top:

[I’m not a fan, but after watching this video, I sincerely hope that every member of this group, along with everyone working behind the scenes, gets what they wish for. I hope TP reaches even greater heights—not for any particular reason, but just so that everyone striving in this industry can see that sincerity truly does pay off.]

Sincerity truly does pay off.

A truth that had stood the test of time, across all eras and circumstances.

And this time was no exception.

That night, as the MV continued to gain traction, the song’s reputation kept growing. While it never quite reached the top spot in real-time rankings, its stream count and likes steadily climbed. Even when the charts locked at midnight, it held firm at #2.

By the next day, when the charts refreshed, “Rift” maintained its upward momentum.

Everyone knew what this meant.

Sure enough, when the daily rankings updated that afternoon, “Rift” debuted at #9.

Even though the fans had mentally prepared themselves, they still lost their minds with excitement.

What did it mean to debut at #9?

Even Victory, the national boy group that had skyrocketed to fame upon debut, had only managed to land at #11 on their first day with their debut track.

Sure, TP had the advantage of a pre-existing fanbase from their survival show, but this was still an astonishing achievement.

The moment the rankings dropped, TP fans stopped arguing, stopped debating with antis—they all rushed back to their fan community to celebrate. From bubble tea giveaways to snack boxes to jewelry, the sheer scale of their fan lottery events made it feel like a holiday.

Passersby were just as shocked.

Among them, those who had seen the MV had at least expected the song to perform well. But even with that expectation, no one had anticipated it would soar this high. In an instant, forums and social media were flooded with yet another wave of discussions.

…But.

It wasn’t over yet.

What happened next would become an unforgettable moment for every TP fan.

—

First, the song itself.

Debuting at #9 on the daily chart was already an incredible achievement. But soon, people began to notice—

It was still rising.

Streams kept increasing, like counts continued to skyrocket, and even the MV’s views were climbing at an astonishing rate, pushing towards an almost unbelievable figure.

By the second day, “Rift” had shattered its own record, shooting up to #6.

A data analyst even dedicated a full breakdown post, ultimately concluding:

[The song has officially broken through to the mainstream.]

And it wasn’t just the MV that was gaining traction—”Rift” itself was breaking out of its initial audience.

At first, the song’s exposure through the MV had drawn in both curious listeners and skeptics. These days, idol groups adopting ambitious artistic concepts were nothing new. Some groups put all their effort into crafting a highbrow aesthetic, only for the actual music to end up disappointingly average.

Many assumed TP’s “Rift” would follow that same pattern.

Some even created discussion threads complaining that TP was just another overhyped “marketing group,” more focused on flashy promotional tactics than on delivering real substance—ignoring the fact that an idol’s core should be their music and performance.

But those comments didn’t go unchallenged.

The pushback came from one of the most well-respected music critics in the Chinese entertainment industry. He rarely engaged with the idol scene, usually reviewing works from established vocalists. With a meticulous scoring system that covered everything from studio vocal technique to live performance quality to the musical composition itself, he had built a reputation for his sharp, unbiased takes.

He gave “Rift” a perfect 5/5 score.

Beneath the rating, he left this review:

[The composer of this song is a friend of mine. He invited me to give it a listen. I’ve always admired his talent, so when he told me, “Now I finally understand what it means for the student to surpass the master,” I didn’t take him too seriously. But now, I understand exactly what he meant.

This is, without a doubt, an idol song.

I have never believed that ‘pop’ is synonymous with ‘shallow’ or ‘mediocre.’ Many people argue with me about this, but this song proves my point.

A perfectly structured composition, thoughtful looping elements in the arrangement, an emotionally resonant melody—rather than categorizing it with any particular label, I would simply call it a great song.]

Pinned at the top of his profile was a statement:

[‘Great’ is the highest praise I can give a song.]

The entire idol fandom went wild.

This was an endorsement from a professional musician.

Many idols spend their entire careers chasing validation from these high-standard music critics—often without success. Even viral idol songs, no matter how popular, were often dismissed by professionals as meaningless commercial fluff.

And yet, this wasn’t just one positive review.

The critic had even revealed the opinion of the original composer. In other words, even the song’s creator fully recognized and approved of Xie Xizhao’s arrangement.

[The student has surpassed the master.]

What level of admiration and satisfaction did that take?

Countless people rushed back to listen to the song again. And as the review spread beyond the idol fandom, “Rift” saw another meteoric rise in the charts.

This time, it was a straight, unstoppable climb.

Day 2: #5 on the daily chart.

Day 3: #3

Day 4: The MV once again went viral, with Xie Xizhao’s scenes being clipped into GIFs. His soft-spoken “I miss you” echoed across every idol fan’s timeline for an entire day—pushing the song all the way to #2 on the charts.

Day Five…

On the fifth day, everyone sat together on the living room couch.

The air was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock’s second hand—

Tick.

Tock.

Until it reached the 12.

At exactly 1 PM, the rankings updated right on schedule.

After days of waiting, TP’s members had developed an unspoken synchronization.

Almost simultaneously, they scrolled down to refresh the page.

And then—

They saw it.

The ranking they had anticipated, yet still felt like an impossible dream.

Today’s Daily Chart:

1. Rift

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