Chapter 119: I Will Always Love The Phoenix! (Group Variety Show 2) (Includes 30% Broadcasted Comments)
That day, the production team did not arrange any challenge activities.
In the morning, after finishing breakfast, everyone drove to a nearby tourist attraction. First, they spent the morning strolling through a beautiful ancient city with a history of over a thousand years. They had lunch there, but after being recognized by fans, they had to make a frantic “escape” on a tour bus.
In the afternoon, they visited a quiet spring located at the foot of a mountain.
Since it was the off-season for tourism, there weren’t many people at this spot, so they ended up staying there longer than they had in the ancient city.
While they were there, Fu Wenze took a photo of Xie Xizhao.
At that moment, Xie Xizhao had spotted a small squirrel by the roadside and squatted down, intending to take a picture of it.
The squirrel was wary of humans and darted away the moment it made eye contact with Xie Xizhao. However, it seemed to find this particular human especially beautiful and didn’t run too far. It hid behind a tree, but its pair of shiny black eyes continued to watch the person standing below.
The sight made Xie Xizhao laugh.
In the photo, the sunlight was brilliant.
The young man’s profile was delicate and gentle, his eyes curved in a smile—like a painting.
Fu Wenze posted this photo on Weibo.
Since they had started filming the group variety show, they had rarely posted any pictures to keep the trip confidential.
The comment section was instantly flooded with wails.
[Ahhh, wifey! My long-lost wifey! Where on earth have you guys been? (bites handkerchief)]
[Is it K City? Hahaha, a friend of mine ran into you guys and even got all three of your autographs! She said you all look super handsome in real life. There are so many fun places in K City—can’t wait for the variety show!]
[Oh my god, who is this? My CP either doesn’t give us any moments, or they drop a huge one! Are you two showing off?]
[Xizhao looks so beautiful in this photo! I’m going to kiss the screen like crazy!]
[Their bond is so precious… You can tell from the angle and the content of the photo that it was taken with admiration and affection. Wuwuwu, TP forever!]
Fu Wenze read through the comments with an expressionless face, feeling very satisfied as he locked his screen.
Meanwhile, after sneakily taking a picture of the squirrel, Xie Xizhao glanced at Weibo and chuckled. “Why were you secretly taking pictures of me?”
“It was just convenient,” Fu Wenze replied. “Let’s go, they’re calling for us.”
Xie Xizhao nodded.
The two of them left the quiet little path and returned to the meeting point.
As the sun set in the west, their journey for the day was coming to an end.
The last stop of the day—the final filming location of their entire variety show.
The ocean.
—
By the time they arrived at the seaside, it was almost dark.
The production team set up the equipment and pitched a few tents nearby before calling each member in one by one to record their closing remarks. Each session lasted an unusually long time, as if they were reciting an entire mathematics textbook.
“Why a math textbook?” Ai Qingyuan asked in confusion.
“Obviously because Xie Xizhao has been working on his graduation thesis lately,” Yun Pan replied with certainty.
As soon as those words fell, Fu Wenze and Zou Yi emerged from the tent—it was their turn to be called in.
Xie Xizhao looked at Zou Yi and said, “Come clean.”
Zou Yi dodged the question and said, “Let’s build a sandcastle instead.”
And so, the three of them—two young men and one who was already stepping into “old age”—sat down and seriously played with the sand.
Halfway through building their castle, it was finally Xie Xizhao’s turn. He entered the tent.
On the table, there was a stack of paper and a pen.
The director said, “I won’t do an interview this time.”
Xie Xizhao looked at him. “So?”
The director chuckled.
After a brief pause, he said, “Just write something. Whatever you want—to your teammates, to your future.”
The sentimental segment that every variety show must have.
This was a group variety show. A proper conclusion was inevitable.
Xie Xizhao had expected this.
He picked up the pen, the crisp scent of the sea breeze still lingering on him.
The camera quietly recorded from the side. Before long, the paper was filled, then neatly folded and sealed into an envelope with his name on it.
—
The final moment was a time for celebration.
For dinner, they had a seafood barbecue. The little yellow croakers and oysters sizzled on the grill, filling the air with a mouthwatering aroma.
Several cans of juice were opened on the table, but the way they drank made it seem like they were actually drunk.
Ai Qingyuan even dragged out the restaurant’s speaker and sang a song. Unfortunately, his throat was too hoarse, and he gloriously cracked halfway through.
From a distance, Yun Pan called out, “Brother Qingyuan—you’re gonna get made into a meme again—”
During one of their peak comeback performances, Ai Qingyuan had once botched a high note on a variety show due to being in poor condition. Anti-fans had latched onto that clip, including it in every vocal comparison video they made. He was so furious that he stayed grumpy for an entire week.
The sea breeze carried over Ai Qingyuan’s voice as he completely broke down: “Let them make it! I’m a damn dancer, not a vocalist—!”
Zou Yi groaned in pain. “Director, this part really needs to be cut out. I’m begging you.”
Sitting beside him was Fu Wenze.
The two of them, feeling bored, started playing a simple dice game—whoever rolled the higher number had to take a sip of Wangwang milk. They had even borrowed Xie Xizhao’s dice for this. Of course, the real intention wasn’t about drinking; they just wanted to see how cursed the dice really were.
And sure enough, something weird happened.
Zou Yi rolled three consecutive “1s.” He let out a long sigh. “I knew it! This dice is definitely rigged!”
Moments later, Fu Wenze rolled “1, 2, 3” in order. He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”
On the side, Xie Xizhao stared at his poor, innocent dice, looking as if it had been terribly wronged.
A moment later, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “If your luck sucks, don’t blame it on my dice, okay?”
Chaos ensued. The sound of waves filled the night, mixed with laughter and shouts.
At the peak of the excitement, Yun Pan suddenly clung to Xie Xizhao, his face flushed red from the sea breeze, wrapping around him like he had when he had just turned eighteen.
He sniffled, “Brother, thank you for saving me back then… wuwuwu…”
The kid was milk-drunk.
What could Xie Xizhao do?
He sighed, adjusted his grip, and held him up properly.
When he turned his head, Zou Yi was staring at him, his eyes reflecting the starlight in the sky.
Xie Xizhao felt a chill. “Teacher Zou…”
You’re not gonna start too, are you?!
He dreaded emotional moments the most. He had never even dared to rewatch his debut video from the survival show. What scared him wasn’t just seeing himself on the verge of tears, but also the long string of heartfelt thank-you speeches from his teammates—with him as the main subject.
Zou Yi said nothing.
Xie Xizhao let out a relieved breath.
Then, as he turned around, he was handed a letter from the director’s team.
The letters were handed out at the very end, when all the excitement had finally settled.
The dim lights illuminated the entire set. The paper, carrying the chill of the late night, was distributed to each of them. The sheets had already been cut—each person received letters from their teammates, along with their own message for the future.
Xie Xizhao opened his.
The first thing he saw was his own words to himself.
Just seven simple words:
“Stay true to your heart, keep going.”
He had always been someone who focused on the present.
To him, the past couldn’t be changed, and the future couldn’t be predicted. Only the present was something he could truly grasp.
And right now, he was satisfied with the present.
Then, he continued reading.
In a survival show group like theirs, everything had to be ranked—even something like this.
The first letter after his own was from Ai Qingyuan.
The first words were:
“Zhao ah.”
Just those two words made Xie Xizhao laugh.
He could almost hear Ai Qingyuan’s tone as he said them.
Honestly, it wasn’t just Xie Xizhao—the entire TP group had never been the sentimental type.
He wasn’t the only one who found it unbearable to rewatch their debut video from the survival show. And now, facing the blank pages and the teammates who had been by his side for nearly three years, even though they had spent every day together, even though they had long since become family…
When it all came down to words on paper, it still ended up being a bunch of stiff, awkward sentences.
Ai Qingyuan wrote:
“Even after all this time, I still haven’t surpassed you. But you better stay on your toes—who knows? One day, I might just quietly overtake you.”
Yun Pan wrote:
“Brother Xizhao, I want to eat delicious food with you for a lifetime. T.T”
Fu Wenze wrote:
“Eat well, sleep well, take good care of yourself.”
And Zou Yi…
The sea breeze was silent in his ears as his eyes landed on the final line.
Zou Yi wrote:
“As long as our Xizhao can always happily do whatever he wants, that would be enough.”
…
The night wind was chilly, especially on the balcony.
A little past midnight, the filming of TP’s season of Challenge! Impossible had officially wrapped up.
Xie Xizhao and Zou Yi stood on the balcony of his hotel room. In the distance, the mountains were shrouded in darkness. Below, the night wind swept fallen leaves along the pathway, filling the silence with a soft, soothing rustling sound.
Xie Xizhao curled up in a wicker chair, his voice barely above a whisper.
“When did you find out?”
“Right after you finished negotiating with Shenghong,” Zou Yi said. “The company came to me. Told me you mentioned withdrawing from the group—and wanting to become an actor.”
He paused before adding, “Yida.”
That was his own company.
Back when Zou Yi debuted, his company had done next to nothing for him—he had relied entirely on himself. It wasn’t until TP’s debut album hit number one that he finally became a priority artist, earning enough influence to have a say in things. Yida had since started securing resources for him.
That was the reality for 99% of artists in the entertainment industry.
To put it bluntly—when you were unknown, you were a puppet. Only when you became famous did you turn into a business partner.
Xie Xizhao thought back to his own arrogant words from before and hesitated for two seconds. “Actually, I—”
“No need.”
Zou Yi cut him off.
“No need to explain,” he said. “Xizhao.”
His voice was warm, gentle.
Xie Xizhao fell silent.
He listened as Zou Yi slowly explained—how he had spoken to the company, how he had discussed it with the rest of their teammates. Despite their different personalities, on this matter, their opinions had been surprisingly unanimous.
And that was:
As long as Xie Xizhao was happy, that was enough.
That simple written blessing wasn’t just from Zou Yi personally.
It was also his message as their leader, speaking on behalf of the entire team.
“Everyone has seen how hard you’ve worked these past two years,” Zou Yi looked at Xie Xizhao and smiled softly. “And we all know exactly how the company has treated you. So, Xizhao—there’s no need to explain.”
He said, “Even if you had really chosen to leave the group, we would have understood.”
He paused for a moment before adding, “Besides, in the end, you chose to stay, didn’t you?”
At that moment, all the unspoken words from the past few days suddenly made sense.
Why had Fu Wenze asked why he still wanted to bring his guitar? Why had he told him that even if the sky fell, it wasn’t worth exhausting himself? Why had Zou Yi hesitated for just a split second when they talked about their twentieth album?
Xie Xizhao had always thought it was just their usual way of showing concern. But he had never realized that behind every word, they had actually been telling him—
‘Go forward without fear. Don’t worry about anything.’
‘Because we’ll always be here to support you.’
‘Always.’
That night ended with a hug.
Xie Xizhao looked at Zou Yi and said, “Teacher Zou, I want a hug.”
So Zou Yi stepped forward and let him lean against his waist. The autumn night was cold, and through their clothes, the warmth of their bodies was distinct. Xie Xizhao’s voice was muffled against Zou Yi’s gray hoodie.
“I passed the audition.”
He said, “I did it on my own.”
It sounded both like a boast and a bid for recognition.
Zou Yi chuckled. “That’s great. You did amazing.”
He gave Xie Xizhao a light squeeze at the back of his neck. “I could already tell you had talent when we shot the MV.”
It was almost like coaxing a child.
Xie Xizhao’s laughter was muffled in his throat.
Then, he said, “I’ll do my best in filming.”
He had never been someone who said too much—whether it was gratitude or sentimentality.
He only made promises.
And this was not just a promise to a contract written on paper, but a promise to himself, to the name he carried.
He would do his best.
As Xie Xizhao.
As TP’s Xie Xizhao.
TP was the miracle of talent shows, the peak of idol groups. Whether together or on their own, their story was still being written.
Just like the theme of this group reality show—
This, too, was just another new challenge.
—
The day after the group reality show finished filming, all TP members set off back to A City.
On the way back, they received a warm welcome from their fans. Surrounded by countless reporters, the five members of TP boarded the car for their return trip.
Then came the overtime editing sessions.
The final outcome of this group show far exceeded expectations. The production team kept cutting and recutting, unwilling to discard this shot or that scene. In the end, what was originally planned as three episodes totaling six hours was extended to nine hours.
This, of course, delighted TP’s fans.
On the day the first episode aired, Jing Jin sat in front of her computer with a bowl in her hands.
Just five minutes past eight, the live chat was already flooded with thousands of comments. As she silently criticized these people who seemingly had nothing better to do than obsess over her “husbands” (well, one of them was actually her brother), she also kept her eyes fixed on the screen.
The opening scene was their familiar villa.
The moment the production team asked them about their expectations, the warning bells in the chat went off.
[I bet the production team is definitely up to something sneaky.]
[Ahhh, my poor babies, they look so innocent. Just seeing the teaser titles for later clips is already making me laugh.]
[Don’t trust the production team! Oh no!]
The screen then cut to an eerie silence inside the nanny van.
The chat exploded with laughter.
[I knew it.]
[Xiao Ai, your face is so pale—what’s on your mind?]
[Ahhh, I also want Zhaozhao to feed me tangerines! Zhaozhao, feed me T^T]
And all this schadenfreude reached new heights when TP officially began their challenge.
When the insect feast was served, the live chat went wild along with TP.
[Ahhh, my rational mind tells me these are all edible, but I just can’t accept it!]
[+1, especially when I think about what they looked like when they were alive…]
[Damn, Little Dice volunteered himself, hahaha!]
[Not gonna lie, Zhaozhao and this dice are seriously something else. Back in the talent show, it was practically his little pet. Is it gonna work its magic again this time?]
[Help… it really did! Little Dice came through!]
[That “trying not to laugh” face is too cute, waaah! Mama kiss!]
Aside from this, the other challenges also received high praise.
Viewers screamed alongside TP while eagerly expressing:
[We could use more shows like this!]
What?
You say it’s a prank show?
They just wanted more content to watch—what bad intentions could the fans possibly have?
—
Another major factor in the skyrocketing popularity of this group show was, of course, the ultimate CP chaos.
Among them, the most ecstatic were the fans of the Xie Xizhao ship.
From the very beginning, it was clear that although TP had significant differences in popularity—leading to occasional fan conflicts—the group’s conceptual core and biggest star, Xie Xizhao, had never been ostracized.
On the contrary, within TP, he was practically pampered by everyone.
The older members, Fu Wenze and Zou Yi, genuinely played the role of big brothers.
Back when Zou Yi first took on the role of leader, he was heavily criticized. But after two years, he had become the least criticized member in TP’s fandom.
Everyone could see how hard the leader worked—especially with younger members in the group.
As for Fu Wenze, who was Xie Xizhao’s creative partner, he might have been quiet and reserved, but over the years, he had taken care of Xie Xizhao countless times—draping coats over him, soothing him during creative discussions.
As CP fans put it: [Cool guy doesn’t talk, but cool guy loves you. How is this not a form of soft romance?]
Then there was Yun Pan, who was younger than Xie Xizhao—no need to say more.
This time, due to the overwhelming popularity of the show, the heavily edited “separation” of Yuan-Zhao-Yuan—imposed by Shenghong—was completely undone by the editing team. They let it all run wild.
When late-night footage began circulating, CP fans lost their minds.
[What are you doing… tell Mommy what you’re doing…]
[Just do it, just do it! I KNEW IT! Ugh, what’s the big deal? AAAAH, MOMMY, MY CP IS CLIMBING INTO EACH OTHER’S BEDS AT MIDNIGHT!]
[I’M SHOCKED. Did they hug again when they entered the room? 1-fans, 2-fans, please reconcile! You hit me, I hit you, meanwhile your brothers are hugging at night! SOS! Ai Qingyuan, do you remember what you said during the competition?! Is this how you treat a ‘rival’?!]
As CP fans were spiraling into hysteria, the next scene—bungee jumping—had the entire chat exploding with laughter over Xie Xizhao’s reaction.
Amid Ai Qingyuan’s desperate screams, the number of “gee gee gee” laugh comments in the chat skyrocketed to a terrifying new high. No one spared Ai Qingyuan any dignity.
But, of all the hilarious moments, nothing could top the rainforest trek argument.
The second the tension reached its peak, the entire live chat synchronized perfectly—spamming the exact same sentence.
[Stop fighting! Zhaozhao is mine!]
Some viewers couldn’t help but comment:
[People who know the situation understand they’re just in the same group. But if you didn’t, you’d think Zhao was throwing a silk ball* to choose a suitor! I mean, you guys are literally going to walk together later anyway—just for convenience and to look out for each other! Was all that drama really necessary?!]
[Wait… but why do I feel like Zhao isn’t that weak? Does he really need protection from you little weaklings?]
That comment turned out to be eerily prophetic. The next second, the screen cut to a perfectly calm Xie Xizhao—standing next to a panting and exhausted Yun Pan.
And, in Xie Xizhao’s hands—was their bag.
The live chat: “……”
So… what was all that fighting about just now?!
And just like that, thanks to this one group reality show, TP and the production team achieved a mutually beneficial victory.
The production team and sponsors gained massive attention and traffic, while TP used the show to fully showcase each member’s personality—as well as their undeniable, close-knit bond.
In the final episode, the handwritten letters they exchanged were released online.
Some wrote blessings for the future, while others reminisced about the past.
That was when everyone realized—those precious little moments, those thoughtful sentiments, weren’t just something that only fans held onto.
The idols they loved also cherished their past, treasured their present, and looked forward to the future.
It wasn’t just about chasing honor. It was something far more grounded—a sincere hope for something beautiful, and a deep optimism for what lay ahead.
One fan left a comment during the finale:
[Why do I love TP? Of course, their talent and skills are undeniable. But honestly? What pulled me into this fandom in the first place… was just the way they smiled on stage.
What is the power of an idol?
Isn’t it the ability to create dreams?
Dreams where, if you reach out and try hard enough, you can touch the light. Dreams of a beautiful utopia.
I’m so glad that the group I love is TP.
In these past two years, they’ve never once half-assed a performance. Never once treated their work perfunctorily. Even when their schedules were at their most exhausting, they always pushed through and completed every single event.
Most importantly, the only thing they’ve ever left us with is happiness and joy.
At times, I regretted that they were only a temporary group. I used to question the meaning of their formation, especially when fandom fights broke out.
But right now, at this very moment, none of that matters anymore.
Just like Zhaozhao said—stay true to your heart, and keep going forward.
So whether it’s TP or us fans, let’s lift our spirits, hold onto our passion, and bravely face the unknown future ahead.
And finally—
I will always love The Phoenix!]
That very night, this final sentence shot to the top of the trending list.
And beneath it, all of TP’s fans, perfectly in sync, flooded the feed with the same words—preserving the magic of this finale night, forever etching it into the number one spot.
**TN
Throwing a silk ball – A traditional custom where a woman throws a silk ball to choose a husband.
