Chapter 113: The Contract
It was an indoor scene.
Not a long one—counting from the title to the very end, it only took up two or three pages in the document.
Xie Xizhao finished reading before he even finished his orange. He stuffed the last two segments into his mouth, tossed the peel away, and went back to the beginning for another read. He found the audition script quite interesting.
When he first saw the casting notice, he had gone to read the original novel. He had a bit of a perfectionist streak—acting and being an idol were just interests to him, but once he committed to something, he had to do it to the best of his ability.
The IP’s original novel was a male protagonist-centric cultivation story, a power-up progression novel. Both the drama and the novel shared the same title: Seeking Immortality.
As expected of a progression novel, the story revolved around growth and face-slapping moments. The protagonist was a transmigrator whose initial identity was that of a talentless junior disciple from a prestigious righteous sect. The story began with him being sent down the mountain for training—a seemingly insignificant departure that marked the start of his legendary journey.
The character setting was decent.
But, as he had thought before, first of all, an idol wouldn’t get this role.
Second, he wasn’t particularly interested in it.
The character felt too… “ordinary.” Not in a derogatory way—just that it was a fairly common archetype.
Xie Xizhao had been a well-behaved kid his whole life. He figured he had developed a bit of a rebellious streak and was always looking to break the mold, to try something new.
Like playing the antagonist who was constantly at odds with the protagonist.
The villain’s name was Jing Yin, the chief disciple of the Floating Cloud Sect—the largest sect in the martial world.
He was also the protagonist’s senior brother.
Jing Yin was born with exceptional talent, hailed as a once-in-a-generation genius. He was aloof, arrogant, and utterly disdainful of the protagonist’s carefree and mischievous nature. The outcome, naturally, was predictable.
As the protagonist steadily grew stronger, Jing Yin, on the other hand, remained stuck, unable to break through to the next stage.
At the sect’s grand annual gathering, he was defeated by the protagonist in a single move. Humiliated before the entire crowd, Jing Yin was so overwhelmed with frustration that his emotions spiraled out of control.
And then—
With a sharp “snap,” he succumbed to qi deviation.
The audition scene was set right after this—Jing Yin, having lost control, encountering the protagonist for the first time on a snowy night.
What intrigued Xie Xizhao about this scene was that it wasn’t particularly dramatic or emotionally charged. In fact, it could almost be considered mundane. Yet, if he were the director, this would definitely be one of his audition choices as well.
The fact that his thought process unexpectedly aligned with the director’s gave Xie Xizhao a slight sense of goodwill toward this stranger he had never met.
What he didn’t know, however, was that while he felt a certain fondness toward the other party—
The other party did not feel the same way.
—
While Xie Xizhao was reading the script, the lights were still blazing in a hotel room belonging to a certain production team.
Inside the suite, Seeking Immortality’s director, Lu Yong, was in the middle of a furious meltdown.
The staff members around him remained utterly silent, listening as he ranted like a machine gun, words firing off in rapid succession:
“I told you to find me an actor, and this is what you bring me? Huh?? Just look at this—an idol! A top-tier celebrity! Who are we trying to scare here?! Do you think our production needs more star power?!”
No one dared to respond.
Lu Yong took a swig of water. “Somebody say something!”
After a long pause, an assistant finally spoke up in a small voice, “Director, you did say that Jing Yin is the chief disciple of Floating Cloud Sect and the most beautiful man in the martial world. You specifically told us that the actor had to be visually outstanding. So… we just followed your criteria. It’s not like we picked him because of his popularity.”
She hesitated for a moment, swallowing down the words she didn’t dare to say out loud.
With his level of fame, just agreeing to join our production is practically an act of charity.
Not to mention, the guy had simply walked a red carpet yesterday and immediately dominated multiple trending searches—he was still all over social media. If he really joined their production, they wouldn’t have to worry about publicity for the entire year.
Lu Yong: “……”
Alright. That was technically true.
He took another sip of water, his expression tense. “Bring me the photos!”
The staff had been waiting for him to say that and immediately handed over a stack of pictures. Lu Yong barely glanced at them before his temper flared up again. “Not the retouched ones!”
The staff protested weakly, “Director Lu, these are unedited.”
Lu Yong: “?”
Frowning, he took another look at the photos, still skeptical. A young man standing nearby caught a glimpse and blinked in surprise. “Xie Xizhao?”
Lu Yong turned to him. “Xiao Fei, you know him?”
“Yeah.” Dou Fei chuckled. “He’s the visual of The Phoenix. We even saw him on the red carpet yesterday. If it’s him… well, this is just how he looks. In person, he’s probably even better.”
He paused, seeming thoughtful. “I didn’t expect him to be reading scripts.”
It was clearly something that surprised him.
Lu Yong didn’t care which group Xie Xizhao belonged to or what his official title was. But if Dou Fei said the guy looked better in person, then he probably did. Dou Fei had always been blunt and truthful. Lu Yong glanced at the photos again, and sure enough, his anger faded slightly.
“Fine. Let him try.” He let out a cold snort. “But if he doesn’t meet my standards, I don’t care who he is—he can get lost.”
—
Xie Xizhao had no idea that, without his knowledge, his photos had already circulated throughout the production team.
That night, he carefully read through the script several more times before pulling up the original novel to analyze the surrounding scenes. By the time he was done with everything, it was nearly midnight.
Zou Yi knocked on his door right on time.
Xie Xizhao responded, “I’m heading to bed soon. Just going to wash up.”
Only then did the other person leave.
Over the past two years, Xie Xizhao had been pushing himself hard. His teammates initially thought he had things under control—after all, during competitions, he had been the most disciplined among them. But to their surprise, he was really obsessed with his work.
After he suddenly had a bout of hypoglycemia, Zou Yi started checking on him every night. If the lights in his room or the studio were still on too late, Zou Yi would come knocking.
By now, it had become an unspoken routine between them.
After washing up, Xie Xizhao got into bed.
—
The next morning, when he woke up, Zou Yi was already gone. Only Fu Wenze was sitting at the table, eating breakfast.
Seeing him come over, Fu Wenze wordlessly pushed a plate toward him. “The meal you ordered last night.”
Xie Xizhao sighed in admiration at how competent Brother Fu was and dug into the perfectly golden fried egg and sandwich on his plate.
After finishing breakfast, he greeted Fu Wenze, “Brother, I’m heading to the company.”
Fu Wenze didn’t even look up. “Go ahead. Make sure to come home early for dinner.”
Xie Xizhao grinned. “Got it.”
—
Once he arrived at the company, he followed his usual routine and headed straight for his favorite studio.
Along the way, he passed several new trainees. Most of them looked pleasantly surprised when they spotted him, eagerly greeting him as “senior.”
Xie Xizhao chatted with them for a bit before pushing open the glass door.
Today, he planned to work on the inspiration he had gotten yesterday on his way back from the airport.
Since he already had a clear idea, composing went smoothly. By lunchtime, the song had already taken shape.
Satisfied with his efficiency, he was just about to grab a meal when there was a knock at the door.
Looking up, he saw Miao Haicheng standing at the entrance.
—
Xie Xizhao didn’t run into Miao Haicheng at the company very often.
The guy didn’t usually meddle in their affairs either. While other companies had staff monitoring live streams, TP was completely unrestrained—members could say whatever they wanted on air, practically revealing their entire comeback plans to the fans.
That was the kind of privilege only a wildly successful group could enjoy.
Now that Miao Haicheng had come knocking, Xie Xizhao wasn’t sure why, but he still got up to greet him. “Brother Cheng.”
“Figured you’d be here,” Miao Haicheng said with a smile. “Writing a song?”
Xie Xizhao chuckled. “Yeah. Have you eaten yet, brother?”
“Not yet,” Miao Haicheng replied. “Want to grab a meal together?”
Xie Xizhao thought for a moment. “Let me tidy up my drafts first.”
Once he finished organizing his notes, the two of them headed downstairs.
There was a private dining restaurant just below the building. Given Xie Xizhao’s public status, Miao Haicheng booked a private room.
After they sat down and ordered a few dishes, Xie Xizhao reached for the bill, but Miao Haicheng stopped him.
“Relax,” he said. “How could I, as your manager, let you kids pay?”
Xie Xizhao, who was already twenty-four and still being called a “kid,” blinked innocently.
Eating with Miao Haicheng was always pleasant.
As TP’s manager for so many years, Miao Haicheng had never made a misstep—a testament to his skill and professionalism.
The two of them were on good terms, too. Since Xie Xizhao was always involved in the album planning process, Miao Haicheng often handled the administrative work for him. Sometimes, Xie Xizhao felt like he was asking too much, but Miao Haicheng always took care of things without complaint.
At some point, their conversation turned to that day’s trending topics.
Miao Haicheng sighed. “Xizhao, don’t take yesterday’s situation to heart.”
“This is what I should be saying to you instead,” Xie Xizhao replied. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, brother.”
Miao Haicheng waved it off. “That’s just how you are.”
Then he added, “You’re someone who knows gratitude. In this industry, only those who truly appreciate their fans can go far—whether they’re idols or actors. Unfortunately, not everyone understands that.”
He meant it casually, but Xie Xizhao took note of the underlying message.
With a faint smile, Xie Xizhao said, “I remember you used to manage actors too, not just idols.”
“Yeah,” Miao Haicheng nodded. “You all know her—Mu Bing? She’s doing really well these days. She’s got a good personality too. If you ever get the chance, you should learn from her.”
Xie Xizhao chuckled, then paused for two seconds before saying, “Brother, if you have something to say, just say it.”
At those words, the air in the room suddenly grew still.
—
A moment later, Miao Haicheng sighed in resignation. “How’d you figure it out?”
Xie Xizhao sipped his water calmly. “You never invite us to a meal without a reason. The last time you treated us, it was because you wanted to give Xiao Ai a motivational talk.”
That had been painfully awkward.
Today’s approach was at least smoother than that.
But no matter how well he handled it, there would always come a point where he had to get to the real reason.
Given the weight of their latest comeback, Xie Xizhao already had a pretty good guess.
“The company wants to renew our contracts, don’t they?” he asked.
Miao Haicheng didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he took a long sip of tea, looking visibly frustrated—as if he had just thrown away his last shred of dignity.
Xie Xizhao was someone who understood gratitude. But not everyone did.
And that certainly didn’t include the company.
Having worked at Shenghong for so many years, Miao Haicheng knew exactly how the company operated.
Of course, Miao Haicheng wasn’t surprised that the company had the audacity to make such a demand.
But still…
Not being surprised didn’t mean he didn’t find it shameless.
Back when Shenghong was negotiating for TP’s group management rights, they made concessions to keep Xie Xizhao. His personal contract had remained with his original agency, Yaoxin. Whether it was individual projects or acting opportunities, only the parent company had the authority to intervene.
It was a gamble—betting that TP, like most idol groups, would flourish together but ultimately fade apart.
But who could have predicted?
Xie Xizhao was a once-in-a-generation anomaly. In just two years, not only had he propelled TP to the top, but he had also built an even higher pedestal for himself, becoming the true peak of the idol industry.
The higher-ups at Shenghong probably woke up in the middle of the night just to slap themselves.
Asking themselves why, why they had ever signed that contract.
A signed contract couldn’t be changed, so the only way left was suppression. But Xie Xizhao’s influence was already cemented. Unless he self-sabotaged and crashed his own career, there was no external force capable of bringing him down.
Would Xie Xizhao do that?
When the executives asked Miao Haicheng this question, he gave a vague response on the surface, but inside, he knew the answer crystal clear.
Xie Xizhao stepping down on his own?
They might as well wait for pigs to fly.
And so they waited.
And waited.
Until Shenghong couldn’t wait any longer.
When capital grows impatient, their go-to strategy is always the same—act first, negotiate later. Anything they had control over—screen time, project resources—would be cut first, and only then would they sit down to talk terms.
That was the real reason Miao Haicheng had invited Xie Xizhao to this meal today.
He sighed. “The contract itself won’t be renewed.”
Xie Xizhao leaned back, completely at ease. “But the terms will be altered.”
Miao Haicheng fell silent.
—
After a brief moment, he asked, “What do you think?”
Xie Xizhao replied, “I want to hear the company’s stance first.”
Miao Haicheng hesitated for a second.
“You should have seen it too,” he said. “Right now, you’re part of the group. Even though your personal contract was actually with Yaoxin, you’ve still been promoting with the group. As an idol, your exposure comes from the stage and albums, and it’s easy for Shenghong to take control of that.”
He paused for a moment before continuing, “You have good looks. The company intends to get you a few idol dramas. If you land a hit, your popularity will rise even further. And in terms of these kinds of resources, Shenghong can negotiate much better than Yaoxin.”
Xie Xizhao paused for a moment.
Then, he let out a light chuckle. “So it’s both coercion and enticement?”
“So,” Miao Haicheng pressed on, “the company’s stance is that you should sign your personal contract with Shenghong. That way, you’d become Shenghong’s own artist, and they wouldn’t be so guarded against you anymore.”
Miao Haicheng had struggled to say the previous words, but this statement was genuinely heartfelt.
Because of the original contract, no matter how much Shenghong coveted Xie Xizhao’s potential, from a business standpoint, they wouldn’t be foolish enough to nurture talent just for another company to reap the rewards. They had put effort into cultivating him, and if, after five years, he simply returned to his original agency, all that investment would go to waste.
But if Xie Xizhao signed with Shenghong, things would be different.
At that point, he would officially be Shenghong’s own artist. They would have no reason to hold back and could push him forward without reservation.
Right now, restricting his screen time was only a temporary measure meant to pressure him into making a decision.
This was business.
But Miao Haicheng also had his own personal thoughts.
He had seen Xie Xizhao film MVs with his own eyes. He truly believed that with such a face and such a naturally expressive performance, it would be a waste if he didn’t enter the acting industry.
The only reason he hadn’t received any scripts yet was because Shenghong was deliberately holding them back.
There had already been more than one casting director who had inquired about Xie Xizhao’s availability. Some of the scripts were so high-profile that even the company’s established actors couldn’t secure them.
Miao Haicheng had been practically dying of envy, but with the company suppressing things, he had no room to act recklessly.
He looked at Xie Xizhao, thinking, I’ve already laid everything out for you. Though this situation was undeniably frustrating, when weighing the pros and cons, signing the contract still seemed like the better option. Over the years, Shenghong had grown stronger thanks to TP, to the point where it was dominating the industry.
To be honest, signing wouldn’t be a loss.
His mind was spinning with countless thoughts, but his palms were already sweating.
Then, he heard Xie Xizhao speak.
“Brother, I have a screen test the day after tomorrow.”
Miao Haicheng hadn’t fully processed the words. “Oh, I’ll have Xiao Huang—”
He suddenly realized what had been said and widened his eyes.
“…What did you just say?”
“I said,” Xie Xizhao repeated patiently, “I’m going to an audition.”
“It’s a role I really like.” He finished the water in his glass and continued, “I know you’ve always wanted me to act. It’s not that I didn’t want to—I just hadn’t come across the right script.”
He added, “Yaoxin has already coordinated everything, and they’ll be sending over my schedule soon so you can plan ahead accordingly.”
As he spoke those words, Xie Xizhao suddenly felt a sense of finality.
Ever since he had decided to take on Seeking Immortals, he had been thinking about how to bring this up to Miao Haicheng. Now, Shenghong had handed him the perfect opportunity. Lowering his gaze slightly, he thought for a moment before adding, “Brother, I listened carefully to everything you just said.”
“But my stance remains the same.”
He lifted his head and smiled. “This is what I asked my agent to convey to your company back when I was still in the talent show—that is, the prerequisite for negotiating at the gambling table is that both parties must have their chips in their own hands.”
He paused for a moment before continuing, “I think your company’s attitude is too arrogant. I don’t like it.”
“So,” he said, “let’s leave it at that.”
“Brother, you can relay my response directly. The contract will not be renewed, and I will not accept any modifications to its terms. If your company believes that I am unfit to appear in the boy group’s MV or undeserving of even a single lyric, you are free to remove me from the group. I have no objections.”
