Chapter 126: …the ice had melted, and the world had changed anew
It was Zou Yi who told Xie Xizhao that Hong Wu had followed him.
At that time, they had only two days left before returning. They had started flying between cities in advance to shoot some promotional content, and the schedule was extremely tight. Xie Xizhao was so exhausted that he slept soundly on the plane, hugging a pillow.
The pillow was a gift from a fan—soft and squishy, like a giant marshmallow.
The fan had earnestly advised him, “Zhao ah, if you’re tired, just sleep. This thing is really convenient.”
Xie Xizhao had taken that advice very seriously.
When he got off the plane, the place was packed with people. He held the pillow in one arm while greeting fans with the other. His cuteness made their hearts flutter.
Still feeling a bit drowsy, he might have wandered off absentmindedly, so Zou Yi, worried that he would get separated in the crowd, grabbed a corner of his “marshmallow” to keep him close. Amidst the bustling crowd at the airport, Xie Xizhao noticed many unfamiliar faces.
He knew it was because his new drama had brought in a fresh wave of fans.
Once they got in the car, everyone dozed off again—except for Zou Yi, who anxiously scrolled through Weibo, worried about possible stampedes or other accidents. Xie Xizhao had perked up briefly to interact with fans, but now sleepiness was creeping back in.
Just then, Zou Yi suddenly nudged him. “Hey, Xizhao, Director Hong just followed you.”
Xie Xizhao’s eyes were about to close. “…Hmm?”
The next moment, his phone vibrated.
He opened it—there was a message from Fang Qingqing.
Fang Qingqing: Director Hong Wu followed you, Xizhao. But he hasn’t contacted me yet, so you’ll have to decide how to respond on your own.
Xie Xizhao was finally awake.
He logged into Weibo and, sure enough, found a new verified account in his followers list.
Even as he got out of the car, Xie Xizhao still hadn’t figured out why Hong Wu had followed him.
The only conclusion he could come up with was that this director really must enjoy using Weibo. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so dedicated to handling everything on the platform.
However, thinking back to when he had browsed Hong Wu’s Weibo while reading gossip about himself, Xie Xizhao felt that this was more like an old man treating a public platform as his personal friend circle.
But whatever.
In the end, Xie Xizhao decided that, aside from following back, he would take no further action for now.
He had no particular dislike for Hong Wu, but he also didn’t admire him the way Dou Fei did.
As always, the fact remained—aside from himself, no one knew that he was already a seasoned actor who had won a full set of prestigious awards. Given this, he could accept that people who didn’t know him well would have some preconceived notions about him.
Of course, that didn’t mean he would eagerly curry favor with every senior he met.
Following back was simply a matter of basic respect.
As for anything else…
Xie Xizhao figured that since the other party hadn’t taken any further action, maintaining this “mutual following and nothing more” relationship might be the best approach.
With that in mind, he tapped the follow-back button, sent Fang Qingqing a message explaining the situation, and didn’t dwell on it any longer.
His teammates were waiting for him up ahead.
The group entered the TV station at the scheduled time.
Then, they began preparing for that day’s recording.
—
TP’s pre-release promotion period for this comeback was extremely short.
In fact, starting from the end of their second year, they had adopted a pattern of opening pre-orders just two weeks in advance, then returning immediately. Their promotional period after the comeback lasted only half a month before they cleanly wrapped things up.
This was the kind of bold strategy only a top-tier group could afford—mainly to make room for their individual schedules.
For fans, it also meant they no longer had to worry about sales or whether their data would be suppressed by other groups. In the entertainment industry, there was no “successor” to TP. When it came to active boy bands, there was only TP—and then there was everyone else.
The only thing fans cared about was one question:
Would TP be able to sweep all the major music shows’ first-place trophies and maintain their dominance on the digital charts?
This was something that normally wouldn’t even be questioned.
But this time, a few discordant voices had emerged.
And that had everything to do with the concept of their comeback.
Once again, Xie Xizhao was the main creative force behind the comeback. However, this time, two of the B-side tracks were self-composed by other members. The theme of the comeback was a continuation of their previous group reality show, and for the first time, they had chosen to incorporate Chinese-style music.
It was a bold move.
Generally speaking, considering the choreography, most idol groups—if not sticking to the standard styles of male and female idol groups—at least opted for title tracks with strong rhythm and power. Even ballads, which had a sizable audience, were usually released as pre-release singles or included as B-sides.
A genre as distinctive as Chinese-style music, with a niche but dedicated fan base, had the potential to either become a massive breakthrough or crash and burn spectacularly.
Long-time TP fans weren’t worried; it was the casual listeners who were skeptical.
Almost as soon as the concept was released, discussions erupted online.
[Wow, such a bold, self-driven concept. There aren’t many serious Chinese-style performances in the domestic idol scene, right?]
[Oh my god… Are they just giving up on digital charting? Sure, fans can push album sales, but this is just reckless. Are they kidding?]
[Honestly, I think it’s fine. From what I’ve seen, well-produced Chinese-style songs are actually really popular. At the end of the day, the song just needs to be good. But yeah, it’s definitely a daring move. TP is really solidifying their status as the national boy group.]
[…They better be careful. Let’s be real—TP is at a point where if they lose even a single first-place trophy, they’ll be mocked from all directions. I really don’t have high hopes for this kind of high-risk strategy. What was their team thinking?]
As time passed, all these discussions eventually evolved into one single claim:
[Has Xie Xizhao run out of creativity?]
—
[Has Xie Xizhao run out of creativity?]
This was a topic that the entertainment industry liked to bring up at regular intervals.
Or, as Fang Qingqing put it in exasperation, “They bring this up more regularly and punctually than my damn period.”
When TP had fewer comebacks?
It was because Xie Xizhao had run out of creativity.
When TP participated in more variety shows and released fewer projects?
It was because Xie Xizhao had run out of creativity.
There was even one comeback where Xie Xizhao missed a single music show performance due to illness, and rumors snowballed until they turned into claims that he was having a mental breakdown.
And yet, the final conclusion?
Xie Xizhao had run out of creativity.
Fang Qingqing found it utterly ridiculous.
Qi Yin, on the other hand, casually pointed out the real reason: “Deep closet syndrome.”
As he crunched on sunflower seeds, he added, “They love him, but they also hate him. They’re basically admitting that without our Xizhao, TP—ah no, the whole damn world—would stop spinning. That’s why they’re so obsessed.”
Then, he summarized, “Ah, it’s all just tragic unrequited love.”
And just like that, Fang Qingqing had an epiphany.
This time, the same old “tragic lovers” showed up on cue.
But unlike before, this time they finally found a reason that actually seemed convincing.
Under a post discussing Xie Xizhao’s acting skills, a particular comment gained massive traction:
[Everyone keeps talking about Xie Xizhao, but I think our so-called ‘national boy group’ TP is doomed. Let’s be honest, they only reached this level because of Xie Xizhao, and now that his mind is elsewhere, what’s going to happen in three years?
This comeback is already full of controversy. So many fans are making excuses, calling it ‘innovation’ and saying that TP’s current achievements are meaningless compared to pursuing higher-quality work.]
[Pursuing quality? Yeah, right. The main producer just threw himself into acting and got too lazy to care.]
[Since they can’t push the boundaries of boy group music anymore, he just switched lanes. Even if he half-asses it, people will still defend him, saying the style just isn’t mainstream enough. Xie Xizhao, are you here? If I guessed right, give me a like.]
For a while, even many casual listeners got swayed by the rumors, starting to second-guess everything.
These kinds of discussions went on for days until they finally reached Xie Xizhao’s ears.
But…
He couldn’t care less.
After catching up on sleep, his face had finally regained some color.
At that moment, he was backstage, running through the final formation check with his teammates.
As soon as they finished, a staff member came to inform them it was time to go on stage.
And the moment they stepped onto the stage, the entire venue erupted in deafening screams.
—
Contrary to everyone’s speculations, TP’s outfits this time didn’t replicate the white, traditional robes from their competition days. Instead, they wore uniforms inspired by modern Chinese street fashion.
A bold red-and-black color scheme, simple crossover collars, and tapered sleeves—giving them a clean, sharp, and polished look.
But “polished” was just one part of it.
The striking red-and-black combination immediately drew attention, and their custom-made stage outfits featured intricate black-and-gold embroidery on the chest and pants. The moment the lights hit them, the entire audience was mesmerized.
By then, all the rumors in people’s minds had already vanished like smoke.
And the very next second, as Xie Xizhao lowered his gaze and did a mic check, his fans in the crowd were already on the verge of tears.
Lately, Xie Xizhao’s fans had been immersed in his drama, watching him play the ethereal, white-robed Senior Brother on screen. They loved it, but at the same time, they couldn’t help but miss the stage—miss the all-powerful idol who once stood at the very top.
It had only been a few months, but it felt like an entire lifetime.
All the unfamiliarity and nostalgia vanished in an instant, pulled back to reality by one effortless, habitual gesture from Xie Xizhao.
The handheld mics TP used were all gifts from their fans—custom-made, expensive, and filled with love. They had never replaced them. Now, as everyone finished adjusting their equipment, the lights dimmed.
It was the signature Xie Xizhao-style opening.
The crisp, ethereal notes of a guzheng intertwined with the gentle murmur of a flowing stream, creating a timeless, distant melody. As the lighting shifted, the background PV appeared—a vast, majestic landscape shrouded in swirling clouds. A few gasps of admiration rose from the audience.
At that moment, if someone had been able to follow the camera’s perspective from above—
They would have seen that the changing lights had formed a fiery red phoenix at the center of the stage.
Even in their third year, TP had never abandoned their core concept. And now, at this very moment, their Creator God had finally descended to the mortal realm. Under the glow of ten thousand lights, he had fully immersed himself in the world of ordinary people, experiencing the warmth and vibrance of human life.
Ancient buildings, flowing streams, boundless blue skies.
Steaming bowls of rice, soft and fragrant pastries, and an array of rich, flavorful dishes.
All of it was reflected in the lyrics, as well as in the lighthearted, lively instrumental arrangement composed of traditional Chinese instruments.
Just like their outfits, the song’s style didn’t strictly follow a retro aesthetic. Instead, it seamlessly blended traditional Chinese elements into TP’s signature bright, energetic choreography and melody.
Xie Xizhao had composed and arranged the song himself.
By now, he was already a master at utilizing classic Chinese musical modes and harmonies. Adding new, innovative touches on top was second nature to him.
This was a complete audiovisual feast.
The recording wrapped up quickly.
But the surprises this comeback would bring had only just begun.
Starting with an overwhelming flood of positive reviews from the first stage recording, TP’s official comeback—marked by the release of their MV and digital tracks—once again left audiences in awe. Though their return initially faced some turbulence, the outcome remained rock-solid.
Debuting at #1. Daily charts #1. Weekly charts #1.
And on top of that, they completely dominated every major music show, leaving not a single chance for their competitors.
With this victory, Xie Xizhao was officially placed on a pedestal.
Someone joked, “Brother Zhao never lets a slap in the face wait overnight. If he does, it’s only because he’s brewing something even bigger.”
The replies beneath the comment were filled with people shivering in fear.
And no one expected—Xie Xizhao really had been brewing something big.
Seeking Immortality had been airing for nearly three months.
Jing Yin’s storyline concluded near the end of the second month, in a scene filmed during the coldest days of winter.
Once the noble and aloof first disciple of the sect leader, he had succumbed to darkness, aiding the wicked. Banished from his sect, he defected to the demonic cult and rose to become its supreme leader. In order to sustain his dark powers, he had taken countless lives.
The Floating Cloud Sect led the charge against him, waging war for years.
At last, under the leadership of the sect master’s chosen successor, they launched a decisive assault, utterly destroying the demon stronghold.
Gravely wounded, Jing Yin managed to escape with the help of his loyal guards. But just as he reached the borders of the demonic realm, someone caught up to him.
And that person was none other than Yun Jue—the man who had once called him senior brother, now revered by all.
The once frail and bullied boy had grown into a mature and composed young man.
His features remained as handsome as ever, but the mischievous spark of youth had long since faded from his gaze. As he looked at the bloodstained figure before him, pale as a ghost in his black robes, his expression held only quiet sorrow.
He whispered, “Senior Brother.”
It was a familiar title, yet there wasn’t the slightest change in Jing Yin’s expression.
Due to excessive energy depletion and the toxins festering inside his body, he had already gone blind.
The wind rustled softly. The once-renowned most beautiful man in the world was now nothing but skin and bones, his hollow eyes unfocused. At this moment, he exuded a heartbreaking fragility and beauty, a sight that could make one’s heart ache.
But no one pitied him.
Everyone knew that the rusted sword in his hand had been stained with the blood of countless innocents.
He turned his head and coughed a few times, spitting out dark blood—yet he was still smiling.
He said, “Get lost.”
That hoarse, rasping command was the last thing he left Yun Jue.
This once-feared demon lord had fallen step by step from his throne. Some mocked him, others lamented his downfall. But at this moment, as Yun Jue stood before him, his usually composed gaze was clouded with sorrow.
In Yun Jue’s eyes, Jing Yin would always be that gentle senior brother who had once lifted a burden off his shoulders, taken him into his room, and given him the very first warmth he had known in this unfamiliar world.
And as for Jing Yin himself—
Until death, he never regretted.
Almost the very next second after speaking, he suddenly pushed himself up with his sword.
In an instant, the silent wind roared back to life.
Everyone instinctively recoiled, weapons raised in alarm.
The sky darkened.
Mournful cries were swallowed by the raging storm.
And when the world fell silent once more, Yun Jue’s expression stiffened.
His sword had pierced straight through a man’s heart.
The pale hands clutching the blade were drenched in blood.
Jing Yin staggered, lowering his head.
He was blind—yet, in that endless darkness, it was as if he could still see that younger version of himself, sharp and full of ambition, standing in the training grounds and declaring—
“I will become the strongest swordsman in the world.”
His lips moved slightly.
He wanted to say something, but the taste of blood surged up his throat.
In the midst of boundless chaos, his strength gave out, and he collapsed onto the frost-covered branches.
He died.
On this ordinary snowy night.
Yet beyond the screen, the ice had melted, and the world had changed anew.
That very night, Weibo was awash with grief. Countless people howled in impotent rage. Hashtags like #FinalBattleBetweenBrothers, #JingYin’sDeath, and #SuchABeautifulDeath trended one after another.
“…Wait,” Xie Xizhao said. “What the hell does ‘such a beautiful death’ even mean?”
Beside him, Yun Pan was blowing his nose into a tissue, eyes brimming with tears as he stared at the screen. “It just… It just means that even when you died, you still looked stunning, brother. Wuwu, Senior Brother, why did you have to go…”
Xie Xizhao: …
Why did it feel like the entire internet was holding a cyber funeral for him?
But grief aside, the buzz was undeniable.
The trending topics stayed up for days. Film forums overflowed with character analyses and in-depth breakdowns of the plot. Jing Yin, already one of the more popular supporting characters, saw his votes in the original novel’s character poll skyrocket. He climbed all the way to second place, just behind the protagonist.
Of course, the biggest name in all of this was still Xie Xizhao.
With this single role, he had gone from a complete newcomer in the film industry to a rising star. Every production team was speculating about his next steps as an actor and wondering how many others would try to cash in on his popularity.
His momentum was unstoppable—his starting point already a massive hit drama with a top-tier director. The future was nothing short of dazzling.
And just as the industry buzzed with discussion, Xie Xizhao’s phone rang.
Lu Yong, whom he hadn’t spoken to in a while, was as direct and commanding as ever.
“There’s a role,” he said. “You’d be starring alongside the TV Emperor. Co-lead. You in?”
