Chapter 156: Rose Rain (20% Forum Format)
Xie Xizhao had known from the start that Round 3 was a collaboration with the mentors.
Ask him how—he’d say it was a sixth sense. Press further, and he’d say, “There’s no such thing as business without scheming.” They’d paid a hefty price to invite him, so they had to get their money’s worth.
And honestly, he wasn’t far off.
He didn’t think much of it—it was just a stage. Though, for a while, he did wonder if anyone would even want to join his group with how he’d been acting lately. Round 2 had just wrapped up, and the little brats were getting all cocky again. Xie Xizhao felt like he was holding down a bunch of balloon strings every day. A whole handful. So, yeah, he’d been a little harsher than usual.
Which led to a fight.
Not physically—just some verbal sparring. But when it came to joining his group during recording, it was practically a war without gunpowder. At this point, Xie Xizhao felt less like he was holding balloons and more like he was tossing embroidered balls at potential suitors…
Uh, that came out weird. What he meant was:
“You guys really aren’t considering going for the center position?”
He asked in disbelief.
In the practice room, it was a literal gathering of elites.
Of the current top ten ranked contestants, six were in this group.
And the group only had six people total.
Yin Li muttered under his breath, “Worst case, I’ll just join Super Rookie Season 5.”
Xie Xizhao: “……”
Well, Yin Li seemed to be in a pretty good headspace right now.
Besides Yin Li, another familiar face in the group was Liang Yi.
At first, Xie Xizhao genuinely hadn’t meant to stir up any drama. But the fact was, the kid got screwed over by that B evaluation of his. Liang Yi had held the top rank for several episodes, but that rival kept harping on Xie Xizhao’s comments about Liang Yi’s initial stage performance.
It wasn’t until later that Xie Xizhao found out Liang Yi had only been in the industry for two years. For someone that new to dance like that—he was clearly exceptionally gifted.
Xie Xizhao actually really liked Liang Yi.
Liang Yi and Ai Qingyuan were indeed a bit alike, but Liang Yi was much more well-behaved. He was the kind of kid who looked fierce on the outside but was a model student at heart.
It was a good character setup. With a bit of effort, fans could even play up the contrast.
But when a character setup becomes someone’s true personality, it can sometimes turn into a disadvantage.
Like on stage, for instance.
—
There was a time gap between the official announcement and the actual recording, so by the time the public got wind of it, Xie Xizhao’s group had already been practicing for several days.
The song was an unreleased original by Xie Xizhao, titled Rose Rain. The original version was a lyrical ballad about heartbreak. He’d written it back when he was filming Tao Yan’s Summer, after binge-watching a bunch of arthouse films for inspiration. It was one of the few songs in his library that dealt purely with love.
TP’s recent comebacks had focused on introspective concepts, so even as a B-side, this song hadn’t really fit in. Xie Xizhao had shelved it.
But a talent show didn’t need to align with a group concept. A touch of hormonal appeal was actually a bonus for trainees at this stage. So he brought the song out and reworked it—shifting it from a sentimental ballad to a more sensual style.
These were all top-tier contestants, so there were no real technical issues. The thing Xie Xizhao corrected most often was their overly forceful facial expressions.
Except with Liang Yi—it was the opposite.
He’d been the final pick for the center position. The center stands at the heart of the stage, and in plain terms, sets the tone.
Not only that, he had a special interactive section with the mentor.
Setting the interaction aside for now, after several days of practice, Xie Xizhao hadn’t said a single extra word of feedback.
—
At the end of that day’s rehearsal, he asked Liang Yi to stay behind.
“The rest of you can head out first,” he said. “Liang Yi, wait a minute.”
The door opened and closed again. The teenager stood in the middle of the practice room, lips pressed tight with nerves.
Xie Xizhao had been practicing for half the day—by now, he was slightly out of breath. He stood off to the side, sipping water in small gulps. When he twisted the cap back onto his bottle and turned around, he saw the kid standing dead center in the practice room, stiff as a board, like he was being punished.
Xie Xizhao: “……”
He said, “Liang Yi.”
Liang Yi snapped to attention. “Teacher Xie?”
Well, at least he didn’t reflexively bark out a military-style “Here!”
Xie Xizhao sighed and patted the floor beside him. “Come on, sit.”
—
Liang Yi’s issue was pretty clear.
He was too tense—or rather, too restrained. A perfectly good love song, and he danced it like a cold-blooded assassin with no feelings.
“Even assassins are usually less frigid,” Xie Xizhao commented. “Liang Yi, are you secretly an AI that’s gained sentience?”
Liang Yi let out a confused little laugh at that dry joke.
But once he smiled, his whole expression became so much more vivid—followed almost immediately by a look of helplessness.
Kids this age often veer to extremes. The entertainment industry had a rotten reputation, and it wasn’t rare for kids so young to already have messy private lives. In comparison, someone like Liang Yi—along with his senior brother—who were so earnestly focused on success and winning, were practically endangered species.
Which, honestly, was a good thing. Up to now, no one had ever said there was anything wrong with Liang Yi’s stage presence.
At least not until he was sitting across from Xie Xizhao now.
Xie Xizhao didn’t sugarcoat it. “Whether it’s dancing or singing, you need to put real emotion into it.”
That was why he hadn’t given Liang Yi high marks during the initial stage evaluations.
Liang Yi had talent, solid technique, and it was obvious he worked hard. From A to B—half the points were docked for being just a bit behind others in fundamental skills. The other half were for lacking emotional expression.
Basic technique could be improved with practice. But emotional resonance? That took a certain kind of innate gift. Xie Xizhao wasn’t expecting him to turn into a love guru overnight.
He said, “But you have to at least learn to let go.”
Liang Yi didn’t understand.
Xie Xizhao made his point a little clearer: “Your facial expressions should match the song, not just revolve around the idea of ‘I need to look cool.’ If every performance is only about being cool, then what you end up with is a soulless stage.”
Liang Yi hesitated slightly.
“You’re worried about coming off as too cheesy, right?” Xie Xizhao chuckled.
“Well, let me be clear—you’re not even close to that point yet. Even if you do overdo it a little, I’m still here. I won’t let you walk onstage drenched in cringe.”
Liang Yi looked like he was finally starting to relax a bit.
That was one issue dealt with.
Then came the other. Xie Xizhao sighed. “And as for emotion…”
Liang Yi said, with blunt honesty and a hint of stubbornness, “I just don’t get why people act like they’re dying when they break up.”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He calmly asked, “How did you feel when I gave you a B on your initial stage?”
—
Thus, the legend goes: there is no problem in this world that Teacher Xie can’t solve.
If there is… it’s probably because he let you save face.
Liang Yi returned to his dorm red-faced, and sure enough, his performance improved significantly in the next day’s practice. The only catch? Whenever he looked at Xie Xizhao now, his eyes carried a complex mix of emotions—one part silent endurance, one part indignation, and about four parts betrayal, like he’d been wronged by a scumbag ex.
A perfectly good kid, now radiating bitter ex energy.
Xie Xizhao felt no guilt about it whatsoever—he was quite satisfied with Liang Yi’s current state.
Which left only the performance itself to worry about.
Rose Rain was a stage entirely designed by Xie Xizhao—everything from makeup to costumes was handled by his own studio.
But in reality, his own presence in the performance wasn’t that heavy.
He gave most of the spotlight to the trainees in his group, keeping only a few scattered technically difficult parts for himself. The only other major segment was the dance break he shared with the center—something the show’s choreographer had personally asked him to keep.
He was certainly enough to hold the stage on his own—but it still felt a bit thin.
After recording the duet version with Liang Yi twice, Xie Xizhao ultimately decided to keep the partner dance segment.
On the day of the performance, his studio team arrived early at the venue.
Everyone was busy with wardrobe changes, makeup, and all the usual prep. Meanwhile, on the forums, discussion about the upcoming third stage performance was already heating up.
—
[The shoot’s about to start—place your bets! Which mentor collab group is going to flop, and which one will blow us away?]
1L: It’s the last public performance… kind of don’t want it to end 😢
2L: No clue who’ll flop, but the most stunning one? That’s obvious.
3L: Xie Xizhao is seriously so responsible… He’s the most dedicated mentor I’ve ever seen. Even if it’s a team-crafted persona, I’ll accept it. No one else puts in the effort he does—he even brought in his own studio team. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was debuting himself.
4L: That’s just how he is. His fans are already used to it.
5L: Honestly, he’s just a genuinely good person—gorgeous and kind. This show is perfect for him. I bet he’s gained more fans than all the trainees combined. The show didn’t even have that many fans to start with, and now they’re all being stolen away by him, LOL. But he deserves it.
6L: Wait ‘til the stage airs—he’ll gain even more. People talk like it’s all just charisma, but let’s not forget, he fought his way up with every single performance.
7L: No, but seriously, sometimes I find it unbelievable…
Like, does a person like this really exist? Super skilled, insanely good-looking, emotionally stable. Is this kind of idol even real?
8L: Usually when I see posts like this, I think it’s a setup for disappointment. But with Xie Xizhao, it really feels like he’s… quality certified. Just gives off that “safe choice” vibe.
9L: Feeling really emotional. Watching him as a mentor on the show lately just keeps bringing me back to when I first saw him.
He was so fresh-faced, but his eyes already had that kind of ambition—you could see it immediately.
Honestly, it was that raw, unapologetic drive that made me choose him. I really admire idols who are ambitious and strive to improve.
10L: +1. He really stood out back then.
When he first joined the show, his styling was super simple, and he didn’t yet have that “big boss” aura.
But even through the screen, you could feel it—he needed you.
11L: That’s such a unique way to put it, now I’m curious.
12L: Ah, I remember thinking he had this fragile quality.
Wasn’t he in poor health at the time? He got sick a lot.
I remember in the behind-the-scenes of Boundless Sea, he almost fainted from low blood sugar.
That contrast—the vulnerability and the burning desire to succeed in his eyes—was just so compelling.
He felt real. Honestly, in today’s entertainment industry, how many people actually feel alive anymore?
Someone like him, with high emotional intelligence and genuine authenticity, is so rare.
13L: Now that you mention it, I’ve always been curious—why did he even join the entertainment industry?
Wasn’t he first known because of some kind of medical miracle?
He didn’t have to debut, right?
14L: Yeah, I heard that too—some people said it was to get famous. I mean, who doesn’t want money?
But from what I’ve seen of his personality, he really doesn’t seem like that kind of person.
……
—
“Checking your phone during the live performance?”
A voice suddenly spoke by his ear.
Yin Li jolted in fright and nearly dropped his phone.
He hurried to turn it off in a panic, then looked up at Xie Xizhao, clearly nervous.
But Xie Xizhao didn’t seem bothered at all. To be honest, you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person on this show who didn’t sneak their phone in.
He thought Yin Li was just tense. After washing his hands, he said casually, “Relax, you’ve been doing really well in practice.”
Yin Li let out a soft “Mm” and looked up, only to be caught off guard for a moment.
Xie Xizhao had already finished doing his makeup.
This time, they were going for a sexy style, though their outfits leaned more toward a school-uniform look — white shirt paired with a slim black tie. The tie looked a bit mature on Yin Li, but on Xie Xizhao, it carried just the right touch of restraint and allure.
Today, he was also wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, which made him look even more like a young professor on a university campus. Yin Li swallowed hard and walked beside him.
As they walked, he suddenly recalled a post he’d just seen. After a brief hesitation, he called out, “Teacher Xie.”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?” he said. “Why did you choose to become an idol?”
He was genuinely curious.
Because, for him, Xie Xizhao was the reason he’d entered the industry in the first place. But thinking about it carefully, it seemed like very few people had ever asked why Xie Xizhao himself had joined in the beginning.
He was a success story. His success alone was enough to prove that he belonged in the industry — so much so that the reason almost didn’t matter anymore.
It was a fairly ordinary question, and Yin Li hadn’t thought too much when he asked it. But unusually, two full seconds passed after he spoke, and Xie Xizhao still hadn’t answered.
Only then, from that brief silence, did Yin Li slowly realize something. “Ah…”
“I was just asking casually,” he said softly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Xie Xizhao finally seemed to snap out of it.
He smiled. “It’s not something I can’t answer.”
“I quite like it,” he paused, “and… I guess I’m pretty suited to it, too.”
A very standard, textbook kind of answer.
Yin Li nodded, as if suddenly understanding. Xie Xizhao originally wanted to ruffle his hair, but seeing the carefully styled head of dazzling blond curls, he ended up just patting him on the shoulder instead.
He said, “Let’s go, time for rehearsal.”
Rehearsal, followed by a brief adjustment period. At exactly seven o’clock, the live performance began on time.
—
Since Xie Xizhao had styled himself for this episode, the special guest MC was Zou Yi. As Xie Xizhao went onstage, Zou Yi happened to be coming off. The two passed each other, and with an expressionless face, Zou Yi gave him a pat on the back. The corners of Xie Xizhao’s lips lifted in response.
The TP fans in the audience were nearly fainting from happiness — and soon, they were about to experience three even more blissful minutes.
It was an extravagantly luxurious stage.
The set design and lighting created a scene reminiscent of a rainy street corner, with warm yellow lights mingling with the darkness of night. On the large screen in the background was the glowing LED sign of a dessert shop. In front of the store was a streetlamp, and in the soft patter of rain, the prelude began. The trainees entered one by one, singing the lead-in before the chorus.
The intro was sung steadily by all.
Among them, the standouts were still Liang Yi and Yin Li.
The boy who had once exuded an icy air during the debut stage was now wearing a dark-colored shirt, his hair dyed a cool blue, eyes lowered, voice husky — he truly looked like someone unable to move on from heartbreak, lingering on a rainy street corner.
In contrast was Yin Li, whose voice was clearer and whose melancholy was more delicate. But precisely because he had always embodied the cheerful, sunny puppy persona, this rare glimpse of vulnerability made him all the more captivating.
The synchronized choreography in the chorus was flawlessly executed.
It was later praised on forums as, “Every frame is screenshot-worthy. Xie Xizhao should start a master class for all boy groups in the industry.”
What made it even more impressive was how, when the camera zoomed in on each performer’s face, the expressions — perfectly poised between sultry and fragile — were just right, subtly highlighting each individual’s personality and charm.
The screams from the live audience were deafening.
And in the midst of the restrained screams, the rest of the performers moved smoothly into their positions nearby. The lights converged at the center, where scattered rose petals were crushed underfoot. In the next instant, a stunning young man appeared as if out of nowhere. He loosened his collar and, in less than half a second, locked eyes with the camera pointed directly at him.
Then, he looked up.
Twelve seconds of a duet dance.
Beneath the light and shadows embraced by darkness, two figures — one in a darker tone, the other lighter — moved like twins, intertwined. Between their passing forms came the sound of heavy, restrained breaths. A slender tie was yanked and tangled in a near-intimate twist.
As they brushed past each other, the young man arched his back into a textbook-perfect curve. The corners of his eyes shimmered with tiny rhinestones, and the line from his chin to his Adam’s apple formed a fluid, elegant silhouette.
Sensing the slowly approaching camera, he cast it a sidelong glance.
It was a glance filled with confusion — yet saturated with emotion.
If Liang Yi had seen that look, he would have finally understood the “state” Xie Xizhao had always been trying to get him to enter — what kind of state it really was.
But at this very moment, clearly, he had no time to spare for that.
According to the plan, at this exact moment, he should’ve been holding a rose.
But during the intense choreography just now, the rose had slipped out of his pocket.
Liang Yi: “……”
Sweat was beading on his forehead. And then — contrary to the choreography — Xie Xizhao didn’t move to his side as planned.
Instead, after a deep backbend, he seamlessly added two improvised dance moves. In a silent second, he scooped the fallen rose up from the floor.
The vivid bloom was smoothly slipped into the breast pocket of Liang Yi’s outfit, as if it had always belonged there.
Their eyes met. Liang Yi took a deep breath, and with that rose, completed the final move alongside him—
Back to back.
The screams from the audience were deafening. Onstage, after a beat’s pause, the two quickly separated.
Then — into the full group choreography.
—
This was the most well-received stage of the night.
A touching melody, crisp and precise group choreography, and interactions that carried an unforced yet electric sense of tension.
The applause lingered long after the performance ended, and almost the moment the show wrapped, the internet exploded with posts and fan recaps.
[Xie Xizhao is my eternal GOD 😭😭 I’m serious — anyone who didn’t see this live has made the biggest mistake of their life!!! AHHHH]
[’m honestly speechless. I finally understand why so many of the original TP members were so grateful to Xie Xizhao when they debuted — he’s not just amazing himself, he actually brings out the best in others. There are a few members I normally don’t care for, but tonight? They looked so good oh my goddd.]
[Pretty sure there was a slip-up in the middle? But he saved it hahaha that recovery move was so smooth.]
[Definitely seemed like it!! I’m so hyped right now, it feels like I’m reliving the thrill of watching Season 3 again 😭😭 even if I have to stand all night it was worth it — waiting for the broadcast!! And Xizhao ahhhh mama loves you!! Thank you for existing in my world 😭😭😭]
—
Meanwhile, in a backstage dressing room, Fang Qingqing stared in disbelief and asked again:
“What did you just say?”
Xie Xizhao didn’t respond.
After a moment, Xie Xizhao said, “I just want to take a break for now. I’m not really quitting, don’t worry, Sister Qing.”
How could Fang Qingqing not be worried? She stared at Xie Xizhao, desperately searching his eyes for any hint of jest.
But there was none.
Before coming here, she had been carrying the congratulations of the entire studio with her.
The performance had received rave reviews, and after the broadcast, it had gone viral. Not only that, but Super Rookie Season 4 held a special significance for Xie Xizhao. He was now the hottest male star in the entertainment industry — his commercial value was sky-high, and his reputation was impeccable. Acting roles, variety show invitations, brand endorsements — every imaginable (and unimaginable) resource was flooding toward him like a tidal wave.
He had weathered countless dark moments, and now, he was at the peak of his career.
At such a moment, Xie Xizhao had set aside his acting offers and told her he wanted to take a break.
Fang Qingqing felt a dizzying wave of shock. She looked at Xie Xizhao, urgently seeking an answer.
And for the first time in his life, Xie Xizhao turned his gaze away, avoiding the concern in her eyes.
