Chapter 152: Still Recording (25% Forum Format)
The trending topic when the broadcast first started was purely about visual appeal.
In the words of fans: “Miracle Zhaozhao has changed skins again today—never seen this one before!”
So, naturally, they liked =3=
And honestly, he really did look amazing.
Xie Xizhao has his own styling and makeup team, and ever since he switched teams, his beauty seemed to level up entirely.
Since he was serving as a mentor, he wore a more formal outfit for this recording. A white shirt with minimal black line details, layered with a black suit jacket.
His makeup was light and subtle. Ever since he became an actor, his on-camera makeup leaned more toward an actor’s look—clean, emphasizing his natural facial structure. And for him, it suited perfectly.
Once the finalized promo shots were released, fans started squealing nonstop.
Even a certain film & TV forum that usually didn’t care for him couldn’t help but admit a few things in the live thread:
[XXZ is getting better-looking by the day. YL took the fall for ‘Specter’ and went in, but somehow he’s just getting more and more radiant. Is this the aura of a Purple Star?]
[…Turns out success really makes people glow. I remember when he was a special MC, he didn’t have this kind of presence. Or maybe I was just too biased before.]
[Top-tier celeb aura is real. Once you get that official title, people start seeing you differently. But I gotta say, his stage presence has always been solid—whether he’s competing or mentoring.]
But as time went on, the forum posts started to lose that cheerful tone.
Two episodes of the initial evaluations aired back-to-back, and the audience went silent.
When Liang Yi’s evaluation was shown, the forum instantly exploded with a hot post.
The title was simple and blunt:
[XXZ… went absolutely berserk…]
1L: Is this what ridicule from the top-tier all-round ACE of the Chinese entertainment industry looks like?
Not gonna lie, a little bit… I got wrecked by how good-looking he is.
2L: He’s so handsome ahhh! It’s been ages since we saw Idol Zhao. Even though it’s not a stage performance… still!!
Not gonna comment on anything else, but my advice is: maybe it’s time for these talent shows to take a break.
3L: Isn’t he afraid of getting dragged for being this blunt? LOL I remember LY’s fans being kinda fierce.
4L: Doesn’t matter if they are. Not to mention XXZ’s fans can totally outmatch them. Plus, LY’s already had confirmed dirt come out—like liking every single one of XXZ’s posts on Weibo but not even following his own senior brother from the same agency.
Before debut they had to do a cleanup sweep, remember?
What’s up with your Shenghong Crown Prince? Is idol status inherited now?
5L: This reminded me of something hilarious… LY’s fans really didn’t want to admit their fave was a simp (no offense to him, just quoting), and firmly denied that LY liked XXZ. You know the drill.
But when they tried to clarify, they used phrases like “he stood out” and “shines solo”… like come on, we all know about the messy drama between the 1 and 2 from Season 3. Senior Brother’s fanbase was raging.
Then AQY’s big fans jumped in with passive-aggressive shade like, “He’s not even half as skilled as his senior brother and already dissing the mentor?” Back when AQY and XXZ debuted together in friendly competition, LY was probably still out playing in the mud.
And XXZ himself even called AQY his true rival.
Meanwhile, your fave’s just a simp—blah blah blah.
I hereby declare this a major win for Team Yuan-Zhao Sisters.
6L: I’m laughing so hard it hurts…
7L: CP lives on… in solo stans’ desperate clarifications.
But honestly, LY is still too green. AQY’s skills are solid. Actually, everyone in TP besides XXZ always got flak for being weaker, but that’s just because he made them all look bad in comparison.
Say what you will, even Yun Pan—universally acknowledged as TP’s worst dancer—could probably mop the floor with every trainee from Season 4, including LY.
8L: You’re really bullying people if you start pulling out TP. That’s a group XXZ personally built from the ground up.
Everyone’s saying he snapped, but I honestly think XXZ showed a lot of restraint. He’s a hardcore career type, you can tell he probably wanted to cuss after seeing that first stage.
But even his criticism was phrased gently.
9L: He’s always been super strict with himself. Even during competitions, that’s how he was. If someone didn’t want to put in the work, he never forced them.
I still remember that moment in the debut documentary when he was having a heart-to-heart with the team leader and said, “Everyone has their own path.”
He knows some people are just there to coast.
And with a pretty face, even if they have no skills, fans will still coddle them. That’s why he keeps it subtle.
Honestly, LY’s fans shouldn’t be so defensive—he clearly sees potential in LY, which is why he gave real feedback. And his instincts are usually spot-on. LY fans should feel lucky.
10L: Yeah. And to the person earlier who said he might get backlash—he could’ve easily played the pretty-face mentor role and avoided all controversy.
But I don’t think it’s just about LY. All the trainees should be listening to what he says.
This is basically a free masterclass. Doesn’t cost a dime.
——
Even though the buzz online was loud, most of the criticism was squarely aimed at the trainees.
As for Xie Xizhao himself, the general public was overwhelmingly positive—praising him, even.
LY’s fans did have a lot to say, though.
Even with Shenghong’s PR team trying to guide the narrative, they kept pushing the idea that Xie Xizhao was stepping on the trainees just to boost his own image.
But what no one expected was this:
Instead of thinking Xie Xizhao was too harsh, the public’s reaction leaned more toward:
[Wow, he’s got such a good temper. He didn’t even scold them?]
[So gentle, baby~ Be a little meaner, I love it, hiss hiss.]
Shenghong PR team: “…”
Liang Yi stans: “…”
Excuse me???
What is wrong with all of you?
Are you… mas*chists???
Only Fang Qingqing saw the truth and called it out plainly.
She said: “Only Xizhao could pull this off.”
Only Xie Xizhao.
Everyone had watched him climb from an unknown rookie to the absolute top. Then start again from a new beginning, leading his team, slowly winning over not just fans, but also recognition from the general public.
On the path of being an idol, he’s someone who truly climbed to the peak through his own efforts, step by step.
He’d achieved so much in the film and TV world that even his haters seemed to forget—being an idol was his original comfort zone, his home turf, and the place where his recognition was highest.
Fang Qingqing passed along the public’s response to Xie Xizhao.
He actually sounded a little surprised.
“I thought I’d get roasted for it,” he said with mild astonishment.
But his tone stayed pretty relaxed. Clearly, even if he had been dragged, he probably wouldn’t have cared all that much.
Fang Qingqing replied, “Who’s gonna roast you now? Forget being a talent show idol—even in the industry, people are lining up to hand you scripts and offers. They wish you could work 48 hours a day. Who has the time to drag you?”
What the public feels is one thing—but the industry knows it best.
To variety show producers and film directors alike, Xie Xizhao is a high-yield, zero-risk investment.
Anyone who manages to book him? Guaranteed profit. No losses.
Right now, he was truly the hot commodity of the industry. Not one of the hottest—the hottest. No contest.
Fang Qingqing was simply stating facts.
But on the other end of the line, Xie Xizhao fell silent for half a second.
She didn’t think much of it.
Xie Xizhao had always been the type who neither rejoiced in external success nor wallowed in personal setbacks. That mellow vibe had rubbed off on the entire studio—he made even the kinds of insider news that could shake the entertainment industry sound as casual as ordering takeout.
She was replying to his WeChat while already stressing out over whether to accept a film from that famous director or go with this high-profile male lead role.
Then she heard Xie Xizhao ask: “Sister Qing, did you take on a bunch of scripts again?”
He’d hit the nail on the head.
She immediately forgot about his moment of uncharacteristic silence and responded eagerly:
“Yes! So when are you coming back to go through them? Want me to sort them and send you a batch to look at? Just tell me which ones you’re interested in!”
It wasn’t that she was impatient. But to be honest, Xie Xizhao’s current status didn’t quite match his output.
He was riding a huge wave of momentum, and Fang Qingqing was thriving in it—motivated, pumped, ready to make big moves.
Xie Xizhao chuckled at her sales-pitch tone.
“Send them to me. I’ll look through them tonight.”
Fang Qingqing quickly agreed, then asked curiously: “How’s filming going these days?”
Xie Xizhao paused for a moment, then summed it up in one phrase: “Still recording.”
—
Still recording—meaning things were moving along steadily, but not without hiccups.
That’s how it always was with talent shows. With so many people involved, all kinds of things were bound to happen.
And in a show like this, the web of companies and capital backing each trainee was like a tangled spiderweb.
Xie Xizhao didn’t concern himself with any of that.
But when it came to trainees who had no backing yet genuinely worked hard, he would make a conscious effort to help them get a bit more screen time.
Technically, he didn’t need to be with them throughout the entire filming. But during the theme song evaluation practice before the initial C-position selection, Xie Xizhao stepped in to guide them just a little—and instantly earned himself a flock of clingy little ducklings.
The trainees stared up at him all droopy and pitiful. Xie Xizhao stayed quiet for a moment… then relented.
He had a soft heart.
The production team was, of course, thrilled. They aimed every camera at him and filmed to their heart’s content.
In the behind-the-scenes footage, phrases like “Mentor Who Truly Understands” and “Gentle Senior” were slapped on the screen like they cost nothing.
The fans were very satisfied.
Xie Xizhao, returning as a mentor, was getting more screen time than he did as a contestant back then. Makeup, styling, narrative positioning—all of it was so on point it felt like a reward. Basically, he became weekly premium content.
And the general audience? Also pleased.
Ma Hongping and Lu Yan actually knew what they were doing.
They were well aware: while this season’s trainees lacked top-tier potential and probably wouldn’t produce another phenomenon like TP, forming a decent, popular group was still possible.
After all, the public didn’t hold everyone to Xie Xizhao’s standards of excellence.
The criticism from the first episode? Largely fueled by some heavy-handed editing. The trainees weren’t that hopeless—what looked like C-rank performance was more like a solid B, just cut to look worse.
So now, here came the classic underdog arc. The fiery, hot-blooded youth storyline. The tried-and-true message: success comes to those who sweat and persevere.
Cliché? Maybe.
Effective? Definitely.
And Xie Xizhao really did have his own way of teaching—firm but fair, gentle but assertive. As the show went on, more and more viewers found themselves getting emotionally invested.
Which meant… The only ones truly suffering were the trainees still in the competition.
To the trainees of Super Rookie Season 4, among the four mentors:
The easiest to talk to was Shi Mu.
The one who felt most like a friend was Ni Qinglin.
The strictest was technically Lin Ying.
But the one they feared the most—without question—was Xie Xizhao.
Lin Ying was harsh, too. She was the kind of person who would bluntly say, “This is bad.”
And if she was in a bad mood, she’d fire off without warning—but once she was done scolding, it was over.
Xie Xizhao, on the other hand, never yelled. He was always gentle. But his standards—to the trainees, they were terrifyingly high.
And for this season’s group, who were already under immense pressure from the public, it felt like a fatal blow on top of a crumbling mountain.
Everyone wanted applause, recognition. But everyone also had moments of laziness. Caught between those two pressures, some trainees’ mindsets started to shift… in dangerous ways.
Once the theme song recording wrapped—Round One of public performances was next.
Fourteen teams. Seven songs. And just one week to prepare.
Everyone was grinding under crushing pressure. And right in the middle of all that—it happened.
By now, it was the third day of Round One rehearsals.
All seven songs were chart-topping hits—nothing easy. The intent to cash in on popularity was written all over the tracklist. The production team was having a great time. The trainees and Xie Xizhao? On the brink of collapse.
The trainees were collapsing from practice. Xie Xizhao was collapsing from watching their results.
He was an empathetic person—he truly was. He felt he was already being considerate of the little chicks’ fragile moods.
But still, he couldn’t help thinking:
Back then… when I was just a pure-blooded science nerd… Even when I couldn’t complete tasks, I just practiced silently. I was never this delicate.
He gave them a warning, calm but pointed:
“If you don’t practice seriously, I will scold you.”
Trainees: T^T
But then someone whispered:
“Hey… that sounded kinda like he was pouting, didn’t it?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
Expression flat, he deadpanned:
“Student Ding Yaya.”
Ding Yaya snapped to attention, his face suddenly upright and righteous like a good little soldier: “Here!”
His baby face was the picture of sincerity and virtue.
Xie Xizhao turned his head and said, “Come have tea. The rest of you, take a break.”
Ding Yaya was sent off with a chorus of strange, sympathetic looks from the others.
Once they were out in the hallway and had rounded a corner, Xie Xizhao handed something over and said, “Here. The materials you asked for.”
Ding Yaya’s eyes lit up as he accepted the USB drive.
“These are study materials and courses I organized that I think suit you best,” Xie Xizhao explained. “I’ve already filtered through them. Before you dive into composition, you need a solid foundation. After the show, if you want to keep pursuing this, I can recommend some good teachers to you.”
Ding Yaya was that trainee who scored an A in the preliminary evaluation with his original song.
He had a similar vibe to Yun Pan—clean-cut, obedient-looking. But personality-wise? He was anything but quiet—bubbly, mischievous, a total handful. A proper chaos gremlin.
But he had talent.
Xie Xizhao only learned later that Ding Yaya had never actually studied composition formally. Even the guitar—he’d only picked up the basics.
Xie Xizhao really valued people with potential. It wasn’t favoritism—just a deep appreciation for inspiration and natural skill.
And Ding Yaya stuck to him like glue. He was the kind of kid who was born to be spoiled—like that mischievous little brother everyone indulges.
Xie Xizhao didn’t have a little brother, but he did have a cousin with the same energy, so… resistance: 0.
Ding Yaya carefully tucked the USB into his pocket and cleared his throat, about to awkwardly explain that comment he made earlier about Xie Xizhao “sounding like he was pouting.”
But then, he noticed Xie Xizhao popping a lozenge into his mouth.
His intended explanation got jammed in his throat and rerouted into: “Teacher Xie, is your throat acting up?”
Xie Xizhao gave him a look, half amused and half exasperated: “And whose fault do you think that is?”
He hadn’t properly rested in days. So many trainees, so much to review—just talking to them all was draining.
If you thought about it, he was actually busier than the trainees.
Ding Yaya looked up at the ceiling, suddenly fascinated with the architecture.
He had a talent for composing, but dancing was definitely his weak point. And as for the others—well, their strange and quirky issues were even more numerous.
Xie Xizhao was just joking around. The candy slowly melted in his mouth, spreading a cool, refreshing taste. He said, “It’s fine.”
“Let’s go back,” he said. “Next time, I’ll talk less and do more.”
Ding Yaya whispered, “Ehh, you say that every time, but in the end, it’s still the same…”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
While trying hard to convince himself not to argue with a brat who wouldn’t feel right unless they were being difficult, he took a deep breath and walked past the practice room.
Then, he suddenly heard voices coming from inside.
“It’s just luck, isn’t it? Even a pig can fly if it catches the right gust. If Ai Qingyuan hadn’t had that accident back then, there’s no way he would’ve become the center,” a guy’s voice drifted over.
“We bust our asses and still get bashed by fans for being talentless. Meanwhile, he steps all over us and gets to keep his ‘big boss’ image. So I guess being a nobody means you don’t even get basic respect, huh.”
As the words landed, Ding Yaya’s expression changed. Xie Xizhao paused thoughtfully and looked toward the inside of the practice room.
