Chapter 157: Cat Looking at the Scenery.jpg
That day’s conversation ended without resolution.
Xie Xizhao needed to rest, and Fang Qingqing couldn’t force him to work.
Her phone was still vibrating — messages from the work group.
Before leaving, Fang Qingqing finally asked the question that had been lingering in her mind for a few moments:
“Should I find you a therapist?”
She still couldn’t fully accept that Xie Xizhao would suddenly “go on strike.” But in her heart, she knew — if something weren’t truly wrong, he would never make such a request.
This line of work came with high pressure, and mental health issues weren’t uncommon.
Emotionally, she didn’t want Xie Xizhao to be one of those people, but her professional sense of responsibility still compelled her to ask the question.
Xie Xizhao replied, “Already found one.”
Fang Qingqing fell silent.
After a moment, she let out a bitter laugh and sighed, “Maybe you should stop paying us then.”
Xie Xizhao was momentarily stunned.
Then he caught on: “…No, that’s not it.”
He thought for a bit, then said seriously to Fang Qingqing: “When I arrange things like this myself, I feel more secure. Otherwise, I feel really ungrounded.”
He paused. “It’s not just with you guys — even if my parents arranged it for me, I’d feel the same. It’s just a personality thing. Nothing to do with any of you.”
He made himself very clear.
Fang Qingqing felt a mix of emotions — part appreciation for his honesty, part unease because of it. But Xie Xizhao’s tone was calm, and his thoughts were clear as he spoke. That gave her some reassurance.
After a brief silence, she made a decision.
She reached out and gently gave Xie Xizhao a light hug.
“These days…” she thought for a moment, “the more important endorsements and shoots are all done. Super Rookie is almost finished too — it’s just a matter of whether you join a new production or not. So don’t feel too pressured.”
“If you ever want to talk, just reach out. I’m always here,” she said.
Xie Xizhao smiled.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Sister Qing.”
Fang Qingqing left. Xie Xizhao stayed in the room.
It was as if the deafening cheers and screams were still echoing in his ears. He stayed lying there in that position for quite a while, then got up and continued with the day’s shoot.
—
He said he was resting, but in reality, the only ones who truly knew the situation were the people in Xie Xizhao’s own studio. Because for the time being, he was still actively working.
Super Rookie 4 continued filming as scheduled. Several of the performances in Round 3 got great responses, especially the one Xie Xizhao did with Liang Yi — it caused quite a stir.
The momentum from Round 3 carried over to the finals. Out of the five members in that group, three debuted: C-position Liang Yi, third-place Yin Li, and one more guy who made a surprise leap right at the end.
TP also showed up for the finale. As a gesture of support, they performed a new song live — and promptly stole a chunk of fans from the show’s floaty fanbase.
At the celebration party, Ai Qingyuan got a bit cocky and said something like, “If you want to replace me, come back in a hundred years.”
Halfway through his trash talk, someone next to him nudged him: “Hey, move your hand.”
So the whole table of trainees silently watched as the young master, who had just been so smug, obediently moved his flailing arm — letting their respected mentor take the last piece of beef from the hotpot. The senior members nearby were unfazed — Fu Wenze even took advantage of his seat to ladle Ai Qingyuan a bowl of soup.
It might take a hundred years to claim the top spot, but the food chain of the two most popular boy groups in the industry was already perfectly clear.
After dinner, Xie Xizhao left with TP to head back to the dorms. In the car, Zou Yi asked him:
“When are you joining the new production?”
They had a little over a year left before disbandment, and group activities had already become rare. The issue now was just coordinating schedules.
Xie Xizhao paused for a moment. Not wanting Zou Yi to worry, he said, “Still reviewing scripts.”
Zou Yi didn’t really understand the ins and outs of this stuff, so he nodded vaguely, pretending he got it. When the car arrived, Xie Xizhao didn’t get out. Zou Yi looked back at him — the young man’s face was hidden in shadow.
“I’m going home for a bit,” he said.
—
Home. No one was there.
Since becoming an idol, Xie Xizhao rarely had time to visit home. Most of the time, his parents stayed at a teacher’s apartment near the school where they worked.
He didn’t message them beforehand either. Just grabbed some leftovers from the fridge and made himself a bowl of noodles.
After eating, he left the living room TV on and sat out on the balcony, stargazing.
Halfway through, he called the property management. Five minutes later, the head of security came rushing over, and a few girls in the bushes sheepishly lowered their cameras.
Xie Xizhao said, “Don’t come to my parents’ place again. Next time, I’ll call the police.”
One of the girls giggled. “Then can we go to your dorm next time?”
Xie Xizhao smiled slightly. “You can try.”
The girl pouted.
“You scolding us just makes it worse, you know,” she said. “The more you lecture, the more obsessed we get, brother.”
People who acted like sasaengs were rarely the shy type — there wasn’t much use in reasoning with them.
The security chief kept apologizing as he led them away. Xie Xizhao gave up on counting stars. He picked up the watering can and went around watering every single flower in the garden.
In the night air, the cold made his senses feel unusually sharp.
As he watered the plants, Xie Xizhao suddenly thought of a world he had once experienced.
In that world, he had also been a boy group member — but he was the leader.
Because of his personality and assigned persona, he had been the least popular in the group.
Maybe that was what shaped his people-pleasing tendencies. Even sasaeng fans had dared to push his boundaries. But in the end, even they lost interest. After the group disbanded, he faded into obscurity — just another nobody.
Which task was that again?
Xie Xizhao couldn’t remember anymore.
He used to remember everything clearly. Partly because the system required him to fill out mission reports, and partly because he knew what milestones he had to hit in order to escape the system. Each task he completed brought him one step closer to going home.
But in reality, very few people in the system ever made it back.
The margin for error was too small. The success rate required was too high.
Completing a mission meant living someone else’s life. And people — real people — couldn’t be broken down into neat rows of data. Accidents happened more often than the system predicted, and many times, he was left in a mess.
Other people’s messes were real messes. His, on the other hand, were meticulously tailored to fit protocol — even his downfall had to be regulation-approved.
The most relaxed he ever felt was near mission completion, when the red life countdown bar didn’t even scare him anymore. Because it meant he’d almost succeeded — at least briefly.
Many of the system’s agents chose to never leave. They said this was immortality. The system provided everything, lacked nothing. But to Xie Xizhao, it was just a virtual world made of numbers.
He was always just a code name.
The “family” didn’t truly love him. The “fans” didn’t truly like him. But the rejection — that, at least, always felt real. People only ever noticed the things that hurt them.
Unlike now.
In the stillness of the night, Xie Xizhao quietly looked at his reflection in the pond.
So what about now?
Xie Xizhao.
You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now, to reach this position — but what was it all for?
It was a strange feeling.
Xie Xizhao told Fang Qingqing he was looking for a therapist, but in truth, he didn’t have that option.
Given his past, the only therapist he could ever have… was himself.
But over the past few days, he felt less like a therapist, and more like a forensic pathologist.
Calmly, he dissected his own mind — and beneath the still-beating heart, he found wounds, dark and raw.
One thing Xie Xizhao understood clearly was that when he first entered the entertainment industry, it was indeed out of defiance.
That defiance was born from something that had developed over countless system missions — a deep love for the stage, and for music.
He was someone who focused deeply. Who strove to be the best at anything he cared about. Especially the things he loved. But the system had always held him back.
Through years of “failure,” he had often wondered — if he could return, as Xie Xizhao, with no restrictions, no shackles, and stand freely on stage — how far could he go?
Time gave him the answer.
He was loved by many. And he got to do what he loved.
He should feel content. At peace.
But why, when Fang Qingqing told him that his future would be smooth sailing, did he feel like a person who’d suddenly stepped into empty air — overwhelmed by a vast, terrifying emptiness?
Xie Xizhao didn’t know.
But he did know that this version of him was no longer suited to keep moving forward.
He needed quiet. Time. Solitude.
He needed to empty himself out — and take a true, thorough rest.
—
Xie Xizhao left. Quietly, without a sound.
One moment, fans were furiously condemning sasaengs — the next, they saw scalper accounts on social media posting his flight details.
The post really came a bit too late — though that was partly because Xie Xizhao had bought his ticket in the middle of the night and boarded the plane early in the morning.
In short, no one managed to catch him.
It wasn’t his first time traveling. Fans were used to it by now, but this time they still ran to his Weibo comments crying:
[Baby, why did you run off like someone was chasing you? Don’t forget to take pics, okay? You know the 18-photo grid, right!]
Fang Qingqing was watching these clueless, cheerful fans and practically dying of stress. But she didn’t dare message Xie Xizhao. All she could do was watch his IP address bounce around the map.
Miao Haicheng also reached out, curiously asking, “Xizhao crossed half a hemisphere in two days — is this really just a vacation?”
Fang Qingqing replied, “You’re asking me about my boss’s personal life?”
Miao Haicheng: “……”
End of that conversation. Miao Haicheng left.
Next came someone else.
Ai Qingyuan messaged her: [Holy crap, Sister Qing, why is Xizhao in Australia looking at kangaroos?? Can he even take one in a fight?? Wait—why did he run off again? He’s not replying to my messages. So rude, right?]
Fang Qingqing felt like her brain was now completely filled with kangaroos.
She replied: [Life’s too boring, he wanted a little excitement. Also, Young Master Ai, this is after work hours — stop harassing your coworkers.]
Coworker Ai Qingyuan took critical emotional damage.
But five minutes later, Xie Xizhao finally messaged him back.
– Xizhao, are you out traveling? That was so sudden. When are you coming back?
– [Cat zoning out.jpg] [Cat enjoying the view.jpg] [Cat surprised.gif] These kangaroos are huge. Here, look. [photo]
Ai Qingyuan: “……”
Unbelievable.
How does this guy get away with everything just by being cute?
And he wasn’t the only one being distracted by the cuteness. Xie Xizhao also sent a whole set of sunrise photos to Ji Yan to brush him off — but never once answered any question that had the word “when” in it.
It was like he had completely let himself go.
For two whole months, Xie Xizhao traveled across many places around the world. Once upon a time, this was his graduation trip plan. That plan now stood on the other side of what felt like a lifetime — a grand, almost otherworldly death.
But time, it seemed, wasn’t too late after all. He still had time to truly see the most beautiful sights this world — the world he lived in — had to offer.
He met many people, some who recognized him, and many who didn’t. A lot happened — things he’d planned for, and things that took him by surprise.
Two months passed. He hadn’t yet found the answer to his questions, but he had relaxed — a lot.
Just as he was beginning to think: “Some questions in this world really don’t have answers” and “Once your hobby becomes your job, it’s really not as fun as slacking off used to be” — all these messy little thoughts — his calm, quiet life was finally interrupted by the unexpected.
That afternoon, his plane landed in a southwestern border town of the country. A return to an old place. He signed autographs for a few fans he ran into at the airport. But just before heading to his accommodation, his phone suddenly rang.
There weren’t many people who knew this private number. He answered immediately:
“Hello?”
A soft voice came from the other end: “Xizhao…”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
He pulled the phone away to check the caller ID — a little surprised.
“Director Xuan?”
