Superstar Ch.149

Chapter 149: They offered way too much

When this itinerary was officially announced, Xie Xizhao was still trending on the hot search.

Back when the video was uploaded, Xie Xizhao had borrowed the help of some paparazzi and fan site managers who were secretly filming. They were called “fan site managers,” but in reality, they were a few TP sasaengs (obsessive fans) who had been staking out secretly. Fang Qingqing and Miao Haicheng discussed the matter and, considering that those people had at least helped preserve some evidence, they cooperated with the police to give them a bit of a lesson—then let them go.

Even so, Fang Qingqing still found it a bit of a headache.

She said, “We’ve warned them so many times already, and they still followed him all the way to where he lives. That’s just too much.”

Xie Xizhao, however, was more pragmatic.

He said, “Don’t worry, there might be even worse to come.”

Fang Qingqing: “……”

Sure enough, after educating the culprits, that very evening a few familiar sasaengs posted on Weibo, sarcastically accusing Xie Xizhao of being “ungrateful.” They claimed that now that he had ascended to stardom as an actor, he looked down on his fans—and didn’t even bother to think about who had helped vote him into debut in the first place.

Sasaengs had always been one of TP’s persistent headaches. When it came down to it, as long as they stayed popular, this situation would be hard to improve. In comparison, Xie Xizhao actually had relatively few sasaengs within TP.

There was a simple reason for that.

He spoiled his normal fans as much as he was ruthless to the sasaengs.

He never confronted them directly. Even if a camera was shoved right into his face, he could remain completely unfazed. The only actions he ever took were calling security or the police. And even then, his expression never showed the slightest hint of being affected—like he was just shooing away a few flies that had gotten too close.

And once things reached the point of involving the police, he would never choose to settle things privately. Whatever procedures needed to be followed, he’d follow them—never wasting law enforcement’s time.

Generally speaking, those who become sasaengs are mostly hoping their idol will notice them in some special way outside of work. But with Xie Xizhao, they never felt even the slightest sense of presence. Add to that the fact that many of them were indeed emotionally immature minors, and eventually, fear started to set in. Over time, their numbers dwindled.

Of course, “fewer” didn’t mean “none.”

The few that remained had already developed a love-hate relationship with Xie Xizhao.

Not long after they posted on Weibo, they saw a joint statement released by Shenghong and Xie Xizhao’s studio, officially denouncing sasaeng behavior.

And just like that, public discussion flared up again.

—

Although Specter was taken down halfway through airing, Xie Xizhao’s reputation had never been better in recent times.

On one hand, the studio had already prepared a detailed response plan. After Yu Lin’s downfall, all the manipulative narratives he’d pushed were exposed. So, everyone came to understand who was really behind that absurd “80-point acting” rating back then.

That tactic was honestly pretty low, to the point where people spent a long time reflecting on how deceptive the façade of the entertainment industry could be. In the end, Yu Lin even became a catchphrase.

Now, whenever someone wants to describe a person as insecure and arrogant at the same time, they say: “Wow, you’re being so Yu Lin right now.”

On the other hand, Xie Xizhao’s portrayal of Huo Xiangyang had thoroughly proven his acting skills. Even though the role was meant to be a background, a tool-like character, he still delivered at 200% capacity.

So, when the joint statement came out, any criticism that might’ve arisen was completely drowned out by waves of support.

[Good statement! Sue a few more while you’re at it. Sasaengs aren’t even real fans. I wanted to say something when those videos first came out—this definitely calls for some post-season revenge.]

[Ungrateful? Please, the sasaengs really have no shame. Even the paparazzi kept quiet [laugh-cry emoji] (not that I’m praising the paparazzi lol)]

[So Xie Xizhao and TP really don’t have any scandals, huh? Things have already gotten this messy and still no dirt or rumors? I’m not jinxing it, I just want to ask—TP, what have y’all been doing holed up for so long if your five-stack still keeps losing every game? Are you really that bad at the game?]

[Am I the only one who noticed that while Xie Xizhao was explaining the whole backstory, he casually mentioned they were having hotpot together at the time? QAQ That’s so sweet. It’s been years and the boys still have such strong bonds, wahhh…]

The last comment became a gathering point for TP group stans, and even trended on the hot topics list.

Because of that, when Xie Xizhao was officially announced as a mentor for Super Rookie Season 4, it immediately set the TP fandom ablaze.

—

Super Rookie—a massively popular survival show for male trainees. Every limited-time group that debuted from its three seasons had gone viral.

And the most wildly successful one by far was the third season’s debut group: The Phoenix, still at the height of their career.

People had speculated that the new season might invite senior members from previous groups to make appearances.

But no one expected the production team would land Xie Xizhao.

If TP was a miracle, then Xie Xizhao was undoubtedly the most unbelievable and crucial part of that miracle.

From complete unknown to center position, from debut to instant legendary status—and now, while he was still actively promoting, he had already become a nationally beloved actor.

He had popularity, reputation, and solid works to his name.

He was the kind of success story every idol-turned-actor dreams of:

He made money and climbed to the top of the entertainment industry’s social ladder—in both influence and status.

Everyone thought he would never look back, because his present was already glorious enough.

But as soon as the official Weibo announcement dropped, the comments section exploded, shooting up to a staggering number within minutes.

Top liked comment:

[Production team, from today on, you are my biological father.]

TP fans and Xie Xizhao fans were nearly in tears. They kept refreshing the page, spamming,

[Aaaaah, back to where the dream began!]

No one expected that the recording location for Super Rookie Season 4 would coincidentally overlap with Season 3’s.

By the time anyone found out, Xie Xizhao was already in the car, heading there.

—

Today, Xie Xizhao was dressed in a sky-blue, long, casual shirt tucked into a silver, intricately designed belt. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed decorative glasses on his face, giving off a fresh, cultured vibe.

It was rare to see him in casual clothes, but since today wasn’t a public event—just a meeting with the production team—he opted for his own outfit.

Seeing the familiar scenery outside, Fang Qingqing couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic.

She said, “So, are you gonna tell me why you accepted this gig?”

When the show first extended the invitation, Fang Qingqing had been genuinely surprised.

Super Rookie Season 4 was sticking with the original production team—even the two directors remained unchanged: Ma Hongping and Lu Yan. They were solid at making variety shows, but their relationship with Yaoxin Entertainment was famously rocky.

This kind of opportunity was a dream come true for most people. But for Xie Xizhao, it was honestly just… a schedule filler.

At his current level of stardom, unless it was a role that could land him an international award, nothing else really counted as a big “win.”

Any gig he took on would automatically become a big win—for others.

Xie Xizhao replied, “I didn’t have much going on anyway.”

A very Xie Xizhao kind of answer.

Fang Qingqing: “…”

“You had the same attitude when you first signed up for the survival show, didn’t you?” she said.

He’d passed by, casually applied, and ended up debuting as center.

Xie Xizhao grinned brightly.

He had always had a youthful look, and when he smiled, it became even more dazzling—carrying a natural, boyish charm. The whole person seemed to be bathed in starlight. Fang Qingqing found herself momentarily dazed, a little overcome with emotion.

She thought of Xie Xizhao during the trainee period—composed, but still inexperienced.

Not like now.

Just as she zoned out, Xie Xizhao said, “Also—”

“They really offered way too much,” he added, with honest and innocent sincerity.

Fang Qingqing: “……”

—

They really had offered too much. Maybe they felt a bit guilty about it themselves.

And the treatment? Truly top-tier.

When Xie Xizhao walked through the door, the entire room stood up—startling Fang Qingqing.

Ma Hongping came over, reaching out for a handshake, a performatively warm smile on his face:

“Ahhh, Xizhao, long time no see!”

Lu Yan quietly turned her head away.

Xie Xizhao was here mainly to confirm the schedule and go over a few filming details.

At first, Ma Hongping was genuinely nervous. To be fair, no one back then had expected Xie Xizhao would blow up this much.

But as the conversation went on, he gradually relaxed.

Xie Xizhao had become even more good-looking.

That was the unspoken consensus in the room.

Maybe fame does nourish a person—because even in casual clothes, he radiated a subtle air of elegance and rarity.

Yet his demeanor remained unchanged. His tone was calm and measured when speaking, and he listened with patience and care.

Ma Hongping took all this in, his feelings a little complicated.

When he finished explaining everything, Xie Xizhao asked, “So… I can just speak honestly about everything on camera?”

He was referring to giving commentary in front of the lens.

Ma Hongping wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded: “Right.”

Xie Xizhao looked thoughtful.

—

Back in the car, Xie Xizhao asked, “Sister Qing, what do you think?”

Fang Qingqing replied honestly, “It’s obvious they’re really afraid to offend you—but that doesn’t rule out the possibility that they’re planning to use you for hype.”

Survival shows all more or less have scripts.

It’s an unspoken rule among production teams, and something fans generally understand, too.

A script doesn’t necessarily mean rigging the votes.

Crafting a compelling group dynamic doesn’t mean every contestant needs to have their own feature on screen.

Normally, in the early stages, the production team would have a list of names—those marked for special attention or considered to have potential.

And when mentors give their commentary, they’re usually well aware of who’s on that list.

Fully “freeform” survival shows—where criticism and praise are totally up to the mentor—are rare. Slightly more ethical shows give the mentors a bit more freedom, which can make the show feel more authentic. Xie Xizhao had just received the list, but the team had told him he could say whatever he wanted. That level of freedom was unusual.

Like Fang Qingqing said—it was either that they were truly scared of offending him…

Or they were setting him up as the “strict, harsh mentor” archetype, letting him say what he wanted so they could later stir up drama and attention.

Either way, Xie Xizhao didn’t really care.

Given his current status, there’s no way the production team would risk putting out negative press on him. Even the second approach was built on fear—they’d rather play the villain card themselves than risk upsetting him.

But—

Xie Xizhao said, “Wait—do I really look that scary?”

—

He was genuinely confused.

Back at the dorms, the first person he ran into was Zou Yi.

He said, “Brother, look at me for a second.”

Zou Yi: …?

Xie Xizhao asked, “Do you think I look scary?”

Zou Yi: “…”

With a perfectly calm face, he replied, “Quit acting cute.”

Xie Xizhao: “???”

Zou Yi went off to tidy up the composing studio, while Xie Xizhao sat quietly on the couch, playing Aeroplane chess by himself, rolling dice and moving his pieces. Before long, Fu Wenze and Yun Pan walked in one after the other, each carrying a bag of groceries.

They had agreed to finally have the hotpot dinner they never got around to.

Fu Wenze planned to stir-fry a couple of dishes. Yun Pan tied the apron strings for him, twisting the bunny-ear straps into a neat little bow. Xie Xizhao caught them both in the act and asked:

“Do I seem scary to you guys?”

Yun Pan didn’t even look up. “Nope, not at all, brother. Why would you ask that?”

Fu Wenze turned back to glance at him, wary: “Did someone scold you again?”

Xie Xizhao: “……”

The emphasis on that “again” was truly the highlight.

He said, “No.”

Fu Wenze turned his attention back to cooking. “Alright then.”

Xie Xizhao was barely satisfied with that answer.

Later that evening, Ai Qingyuan came back from recording his radio show. First thing he did was drag Xie Xizhao out of his room.

He gave him a serious reminder:

“When you’re out there, take care of yourself. I’m telling you, that age group is at their peak rebellious phase. If they act out, just scold them. We’re richer than them anyway, so say whatever you want, got it?”

Xie Xizhao quietly swallowed down the question “Do I seem scary?” and just as painfully held back from saying, “Rebellious kids… are you talking about yourself?”

Instead, he said:

“Got it.”

Ai Qingyuan was satisfied.

Then Xie Xizhao asked, “What about people richer than you?”

Ai Qingyuan: “…”

Without missing a beat, he said, “I’ll tell my brother to work harder.”

And off he went to go actually push his older brother to make more money.

Xie Xizhao blinked, standing there, feeling the deep and genuine care of his teammates.

—

One week later, carrying that love (and a very confident sense that any idea of him being scary must’ve been a production team illusion), he returned to the so-called place where the dream began—to begin filming the first episode of Super Rookie Season Four.

And the first recording happened to be something he was very familiar with:

The initial stage evaluations.

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