Chapter 112: Complaints
Almost the moment he received the message, Xie Xizhao’s hand paused.
From the front seat, Miao Haicheng nagged, “By the way, Xizhao, even though most of the people at the airport were your fans, you shouldn’t be too approachable. Just now, I heard from the assistant that they almost knocked you over…”
While half-listening to him, Xie Xizhao replied to Fang Qingqing with a short message: [Okay, I’ll check it out later.]
Then, he turned off the screen.
“Xizhao, are you listening?” Miao Haicheng turned around.
Xie Xizhao slipped his phone into his pocket and looked up at him with an innocent expression. “I am.”
After thinking for a moment, he added, “Either we don’t let them come at all, or we shouldn’t give them the cold shoulder. They don’t mean any harm.”
Miao Haicheng hesitated, then sighed.
The car drove all the way to the villa and stopped at the entrance. Xie Xizhao got out.
Miao Haicheng rolled down the window. “I’ll come pick you up with Xiao Huang in half an hour for the event. Make sure to eat enough—there won’t be anything to eat at the banquet tonight. But don’t eat too much either, just enough to keep you from starving…”
Xie Xizhao patiently listened to the whole thing, waved at him, and walked into the villa.
As he stepped inside, Fu Wenze had just fished the noodles out of the bowl.
In the living room, Yun Pan was getting his hair and makeup done. His chestnut-colored hair had been blown into soft curls. He poked his head out and greeted him.
“Brother, you’re back!”
Xie Xizhao’s hands itched—he had the urge to ruffle Yun Pan’s curls. But under the stylist’s shriek of protest, he reluctantly pulled back and sat down at the table.
Before long, Ai Qingyuan and Zou Yi, both fully styled, came downstairs.
After nearly three years together, they were so familiar with each other that they didn’t even bother with greetings anymore.
As they passed by the dining area, each of them gave Xie Xizhao a ruffle on the head before plopping down on the sofa, scrolling through their phones.
—
TP’s schedule for today was a summer gala hosted by a top-tier domestic magazine.
For TP at this stage, such galas were among the easiest gigs—just showing up, walking the red carpet, and at most performing an opening dance.
Aside from the slightly annoying socializing inside the venue, it was far less exhausting than the back-to-back schedules of a comeback.
Even so, by the time they left the banquet, everyone’s smiles had frozen stiff.
Once they got into the car, Ai Qingyuan plopped down next to Xie Xizhao.
He had taken a few sips of red wine earlier, and his face was still flushed. Xie Xizhao, finding it annoying, shoved him away slightly, but Ai Qingyuan immediately scooted back over.
Zou Yi, unable to watch any longer, reached out to pull him away. “Qingyuan, quit messing with Xizhao. Let him rest for a bit.”
“I won’t,” Ai Qingyuan declared stubbornly.
Leaning against Xie Xizhao, he childishly played with the ties on his shirt.
Tonight, Xie Xizhao was wearing a rare outfit—a soft, gauzy white shirt—specifically for the opening performance.
TP had performed “Spring Dance”, the title track of their second album. The choreography incorporated elements of modern dance, making it fluid and graceful. When they finished, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. The performance was still trending online.
After fiddling with the ties—a detail that countless fans would have loved to undo—Ai Qingyuan started to tie them into a dead knot.
From the front, Yun Pan turned his head. “Brother, you’re trending again.”
Xie Xizhao calmly swatted away the drunkard’s hands and asked, “What happened?”
Yun Pan answered honestly, “Apparently, a fansite master took some really good shots of you, so you ended up on the trending list.”
This was nothing new.
Everyone in the car nonchalantly withdrew their attention and went back to whatever they were doing.
Xie Xizhao paused, then opened Weibo and saw the top trending post under the hashtag…
They were two candid shots.
Xie Xizhao remembered the photographer.
She was a petite girl, seemingly not one of his fans. He had a good memory—he could recall most of the fansite masters who carried professional cameras to photograph him.
Still, out of habit, he had smiled at the camera.
Looking at it now, that had been the right choice.
Because she had captured him beautifully.
Not in the over-processed, heavily filtered way, but in a way that truly showcased her photography skills.
The angles were well chosen, and the post-processing was stunning, creating a cinematic atmosphere—like a scene where “amidst the bustling crowd, my eyes are only on you.”
The photos had been posted an hour ago, and the comments had already racked up tens of thousands.
He tapped in, unsurprised to see the usual outpouring of excitement.
[Ahhh, Xizhao looks so beautiful! Thank you, Sister Xi, for these shots!]
[Wait, I thought this photographer never shoots idols with over 10 million fans? Why is Xizhao an exception? I was so shocked I had to check his follower count—these photos are stunning! Sending love to the photographer!]
[Same, checked the follower count +1.]
[Xie Xizhao’s bone structure is unreal. He might just be the most beautiful male idol in the industry. It’s like he naturally generates god-tier photos.]
[Be bold—don’t limit it to just male idols. I was lucky enough to see him in person once, and he’s more handsome than 99% of male actors. A rare case of both bone structure and features being flawless. It’s honestly a waste for him to be an idol.]
[Ugh, can Shenghong stop being useless? Where’s my boy’s solo career? Where’s his individual brand and acting opportunities? I’m actually going to start hating them :)]
[Every day I want to assassinate that exploitative company. Signing with them was the worst stroke of bad luck in Xizhao’s entire life. :)]
Amidst the chorus of praise, there were, of course, dissenting voices.
[You guys are seriously exaggerating… Every time you compare an idol’s looks to an actor’s, I can’t help but laugh.]
[Xie fans have always had sky-high expectations—just let them be. Their favorite phrase is that their brother is a ‘hidden gem buried in dust.’ But come on, Shenghong let him write songs for their debut album. Even their little prince didn’t get a producer title, but Xie Xizhao did. And yet? His fans are still crying every day about how he’s being treated unfairly. Honestly, this fandom is the most ungrateful one in C-ent. 🍉]
[Oh, and their second favorite phrase? ‘If Xie Xizhao starts acting, no one else in the film industry will stand a chance.’]
[Hahaha, really? I’m just a casual fan—is it that exaggerated? But Xie Xizhao is super popular. He’s only 24, right? It feels like he has no real competitors, whether in terms of public appeal or die-hard fans. Plus, he actually has work to back it up. I personally like him.]
[I don’t think anyone really dislikes him as a person. He’s hardworking. People just hate how his fans drag others down.]
[Uh, but I kinda think his fans have a point? I’m just a casual fan who hasn’t spent much money, but even I can tell—Shenghong treated him decently in the first year. But lately? TP’s members have all started getting personal gigs—Zou Yi even released a solo single (not saying Zou Yi shouldn’t, his song was great). But Xie Xizhao? Zero personal resources outside of what his original company gives him. Not even a solo. And he’s by far the most popular member. That’s pretty insane, no? Plus, TP has had so many comebacks these past two years, and Xie Xizhao writes every title track. It just feels like they’re milking him dry…]
[Yeah, TP has good team dynamics, but from an outsider’s perspective, it really looks like Xie is carrying the whole group. Also, no need to mock his fans—every fandom thinks their bias is the best. And honestly, I’ve seen his MV acting. His eyes are super expressive. With the current state of C-ent’s film industry, he could easily land a supporting role. I refuse to believe no company has offered him a script.]
[Idols in C-ent are still at the bottom of the hierarchy. If he has the chance to move up, he should take it. His popularity was miles ahead from the start—sticking with this group for two years is already more than enough. Shenghong should get him some good scripts to try out.]
Xie Xizhao turned off his phone.
His expression remained as calm as ever, as if everything he had read was exactly what he had expected.
In reality, these discussions had become routine—an ever-repeating cycle in any trending topic related to TP.
—
TP was one of the rare groups that had debuted at the top. Their debut songs, “Rift” and “Boundless Sea,” had dominated the year-end charts, taking the top two spots. From then on, their success remained unwavering—every comeback hit number one on the daily charts upon release, and by year’s end, they would sweep all major music awards without suspense.
Even now, people still tracked their comeback schedules. But unlike how NS had once tried to go head-to-head with them, other groups now deliberately avoided direct competition.
Because when TP released an album, all six tracks would flood the top of the charts.
Externally, they seemed invincible, untouchable. But within TP’s fandom, conflicts had been brewing for years.
The biggest issue? The massive gap in popularity.
Thanks to the members’ genuinely strong relationships and some careful guidance, TP was one of the rare idol groups with a large percentage of group-focused fans. For these fans, TP’s current status was ideal. They held Xie Xizhao in almost god-like regard, feeling nothing but gratitude for him.
But solo stans had far more to say.
For fans of the other members, it was frustrating that their group was often referred to as “that group with Xie Xizhao in it.” No one liked their bias being overshadowed.
For Xie Xizhao’s fans, however, it was a mix of satisfaction—and resentment.
Xie Xizhao’s fans felt both pride and frustration.
They were proud because their idol excelled in every aspect of his craft. Whether it was shooting an MV or appearing in a magazine, industry professionals always had high praise for him. Anyone who had worked with him spoke highly of him, and that wasn’t even mentioning his most fundamental skills—songwriting and composing.
But the frustration…
Just as the comments had said, what Xie Xizhao gave and what he received were nowhere near proportional.
For the sake of his career, his fans still bought albums and endorsed his brand deals, but deep down, resentment lingered.
Lately, the tension had only worsened due to the issue of personal resources.
Every member in the group had taken turns getting solo opportunities—except for Xie Xizhao. Not only that, but his screen time in MVs had been shrinking, and his lyrics contributions had been reduced. In their latest album, his share was ranked second to last.
The only one below him was Zou Yi, who had just been the conceptual core of the previous album.
Xie Xizhao’s fans were furious. After the comeback, they launched a full-scale campaign against the company, bombarding every move Shenghong made. Even now, their latest Weibo post was still flooded with complaints from his fans.
What his fans didn’t know was that the distribution in this album was already the result of Ai Qingyuan stepping in to negotiate on his behalf.
In the car, Xie Xizhao slapped Ai Qingyuan’s hand away. This time, Ai Qingyuan didn’t push his luck.
He grumbled, “Why are you so mean?” Then, after spacing out for a while, he suddenly lowered his voice and asked, “What did my brother say to you today?”
At the banquet earlier, plenty of powerful figures had shown up—including the current heir of the Ai family, Ai Qingyuan’s older brother.
Ai Qingyuan had noticed him talking to Xie Xizhao for a few minutes and had been thinking about it ever since.
“Nothing much,” Xie Xizhao replied.
Ai Qingyuan hesitated, about to press further, when Xie Xizhao added, “He asked if you were dating anyone.”
Ai Qingyuan’s eyes widened in shock.
Zou Yi, who had been drinking water on the side, ended up choking violently.
He glanced past Ai Qingyuan and locked eyes with Xie Xizhao. The latter blinked at him playfully. Understanding the silent message, Zou Yi sighed and looked away, choosing to ignore whatever nonsense these two were up to.
While the two of them were exchanging glances, Ai Qingyuan, on the other hand, took it seriously.
He stared blankly for a few seconds before asking in confusion, “…Why would he suddenly ask that? I’m not dating anyone?”
Xie Xizhao replied tactfully, “Maybe it’s because you’ve been mentioning me in front of him a little too often lately.”
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
The alcohol dulled his reflexes.
It took him several full seconds to process what Xie Xizhao meant. Then— “What the—!”
“No, listen to me!” Ai Qingyuan stammered, flustered. “I—damn it—”
Xie Xizhao sighed. “Your brother said that if I keep whispering things into your ear, he’s going to blacklist me.”
Ai Qingyuan: “…………”
He stared at Xie Xizhao for a long moment. Xie Xizhao looked back at him innocently.
Three seconds later, Ai Qingyuan finally caught on.
“…Are you messing with me?”
The car pulled up to the villa. In the front, Fu Wenze and Yun Pan had already stepped out one after another.
Zou Yi followed behind them. Before leaving, he glanced back at the two in the car and then, being the considerate friend that he was, took a few extra steps ahead—subtly giving them some space.
That left only Xie Xizhao and Ai Qingyuan behind.
Under Ai Qingyuan’s doubtful gaze, Xie Xizhao finally told the truth.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “He just asked if I’ve been busy lately and why you haven’t been going home for meals. Then we exchanged some pleasantries.”
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
“So you really have been bringing me up?” Xie Xizhao asked.
Silence filled the air. The temperature in the car was just right.
The two of them leaned back in the spacious seats, enjoying a rare moment of heart-to-heart conversation.
Ai Qingyuan was completely sobered up by the scare Xie Xizhao gave him. He felt utterly helpless against him, his brain short-circuiting for a long while before he finally let out a soft “Mm.” Then, after a pause, he added:
“I just think…”
He struggled for a moment before finishing, “It’s a pity.”
Ai Qingyuan couldn’t understand.
He used to be confused about why Guan Heng left. Now he had figured it out.
But he realized that understanding didn’t change anything.
That same helplessness he felt as a teenager, standing powerless in front of his family, came flooding back. Sometimes, he even wondered—would Xie Xizhao have been better off if he hadn’t debuted with them?
That thought was interrupted by Xie Xizhao.
“There’s no faster way to debut than through a survival show,” he said.
Ai Qingyuan’s fingers twitched slightly.
Xie Xizhao didn’t elaborate, leaving it at that. Instead, he looked at Ai Qingyuan seriously and said, “Thank you, Qingyuan.”
He truly was grateful.
Without Ai Qingyuan, his situation would have been far worse. And Ai Qingyuan had no obligation to help him. Back then, he had spoken beautifully about sticking together, but in the end, the world was still a place where only the fittest survived.
Hearing that, Ai Qingyuan finally felt a little embarrassed. “…Don’t say it like that. I didn’t really do anything.”
They sat in silence for a while longer.
Then, Xie Xizhao asked, “Heading back?”
Ai Qingyuan nodded.
The two of them got out of the car together. But just before they entered the villa, Xie Xizhao suddenly called out to him.
“Qingyuan.”
Ai Qingyuan turned back. “Hm?”
Xie Xizhao was silent for a moment before asking, “If I really went into acting, would it make you uncomfortable?”
Ai Qingyuan looked surprised.
“How could it?” he said.
He responded just as seriously, “From the first time you filmed an MV, I knew you would go into acting. You have the talent—it was only a matter of time.”
Xie Xizhao smiled at him.
—
After entering the villa, he chatted with everyone for a while before returning to his room and opening the document Fang Qingqing had sent him.
Was it a pity?
Xie Xizhao didn’t think so.
Just as he had told Ai Qingyuan, a survival show was the fastest way to debut.
With rights came obligations. Within the scope of those obligations, he had already enjoyed the greatest freedom possible. Back then, he had signed a special contract with Shenghong.
For Xie Xizhao, that was enough.
Of course, he suspected that by now, Shenghong probably regretted it.
But that had nothing to do with him.
His only concern was whether his teammates would hold any resentment because of it. In theory, this had nothing to do with them, but Xie Xizhao was actually someone who valued relationships deeply.
Fortunately, he had a team that was very understanding.
That allowed him to let go of his final concerns.
The idea of acting had come to him suddenly.
In Xie Xizhao’s past, he had spent more time acting than being an idol. He had always been playing a role, so acting came even more naturally to him than being an idol did.
The reason he hadn’t made the shift until now was, on one hand, his responsibility to the group, and on the other, the lack of a suitable script.
Two years had passed in the blink of an eye, and TP’s situation had stabilized. Xie Xizhao felt that the time was about right.
So, when Fang Qingqing once again asked if he wanted to take a look at some of the many scripts she had on hand, he nodded.
Of course, idols rarely got good scripts.
Among the scripts Fang Qingqing handed him, half were for decorative side roles, and the other half were for brainless, sweet romance dramas.
The former had no technical challenge, while the latter, despite offering him a male lead role, felt like a waste of time—time that Xie Xizhao believed was too valuable to be spent on something meaningless.
Fortunately, instead of passively waiting for opportunities, he could take the initiative.
He asked Fang Qingqing to reach out and search, and after two months, they finally found a suitable script. However, the production had not extended an invitation—he would need to audition.
It was a xianxia drama.
An adaptation of a popular male-oriented novel, the original work had a massive following, ensuring a high-quality production team.
For dramas like this, the male lead was almost always a well-known actor in the industry. If the director was bold and had a unique vision, they might even cast a professionally trained newcomer—but never an idol.
Yet, Xie Xizhao wasn’t bothered by that.
Because the role he was interested in wasn’t the male lead.
Opening the document, he peeled an orange and began reading the scene he would soon be auditioning for.
