Superstar Ch.174

Chapter 174: TP Group Variety Show (2) (Extra 8)

Of course, Xie Xizhao also taught Yun Pan how to manage relationships within the team—how to maintain at least a surface-level stability without compromising himself. Yun Pan was pretty smart and picked it up quickly.

Half a year later, he had already become a mature, calm, and outstanding team captain.

“Fang Qingyi’s not bad,” Xie Xizhao said.

He could finally drink yogurt without being silently judged by the team’s youngest member, which made him feel much more content. Yun Pan felt like his brother was becoming more childish as he got older. He was a bit surprised by the comment but replied, “Qingyi overthinks sometimes, but he’s a good person.”

Then he remembered something and added, “He’s your fan.”

Xie Xizhao instantly understood. “Wants to act, huh.”

Yun Pan nodded.

He wanted to act but didn’t try to approach either Xie Xizhao or Yun Pan privately about it—meaning he wasn’t scheming. Xie Xizhao recalled how, during the day, Fang Qingyi often looked at them with a kind of admiration, like he wanted to get closer but didn’t dare.

He felt a little sorry for the kid and said, “If you think he’s up to it, tell him to come find me.”

He paused, recalling what Yu Qingjun had said earlier that day, and added, “Of course, if you want to come too, you’re always welcome.”

Yun Pan laughed. “Alright, thanks, brother.”

He was no longer the kid who would run to Xie Xizhao at the first sign of trouble. Xie Xizhao knew this too. He was just leaving a path open for him. He left one like that for everyone close to him.

In case they ever needed it.

The two stood there for a while longer before going back to their rooms. The conversation seemed to dissolve into the air, unnoticed by anyone.

…

The first morning’s itinerary was a trip to the market, so everyone got up early. The breakfast draw was lucky—it landed on both Xie Xizhao and Fu Wenze. The two made a fragrant, delicious breakfast and were granted immunity from making lunch.

So that afternoon, the kitchen descended into chaos.

As teammates, they were all well aware of each other’s cooking skills. When Ai Qingyuan and Yun Pan teamed up and nearly blew up the kitchen, the production crew was stunned. Only the remaining three members of TP remained unbothered.

Fu Wenze glanced at Xie Xizhao. “Should we go help?”

Xie Xizhao, casually snacking on sunflower seeds, graciously said, “You go, you go.”

Zou Yi: “……”

So the captain went.

To be fair, Yu Qingjun and Fang Qingyi had already reached their limit watching the mess unfold. Dou Fei, also hopeless in the kitchen, felt a secondhand sense of shame. His object of empathy, however, seemed pretty calm. Together with Zou Yi, they managed to clean up the kitchen a bit, and by lunchtime, they had at least managed to get a few dishes on the table.

Some overly salty scrambled eggs with tomato, nearly burnt fried ribs, and a bowl of plain boiled soup.

Xie Xizhao and Fu Wenze might’ve enjoyed the show, but when it came time to eat, they didn’t bat an eye. Yun Pan and Ai Qingyuan had been nervous at first, but seeing the others eat so normally, they even started to get the illusion that maybe they’d done a decent job.

After the meal, Dou Fei said to Xie Xizhao, “I think I finally understand why those two can’t cook.”

Xie Xizhao humbly asked for insight.

“They’ve been spoiled,” Dou Fei replied.

Letting them do whatever they wanted without consequences was just another form of indulgence. If you always have someone to catch you when the sky falls, even the most obedient kid will eventually become reckless.

Dou Fei’s words hit the nail on the head—no one could argue.

Xie Xizhao quietly walked off, feeling a little guilty.

Fu Wenze remained completely unfazed. He turned to Dou Fei and asked, “Want to go for a walk to digest?”

Dou Fei was caught off guard by the invitation.

The two of them walked out to the fields together. It was harvest season, and in the distance, the sky was hazy, while large stretches of crops swayed gently in the breeze. Walking along the ridges between the fields, Dou Fei and Fu Wenze noticed a parked vehicle not far away, and a cordoned-off area.

Behind the caution tape was a crowd of fans and fan site photographers.

To be honest, the fact that they were only discovered on the first day spoke to how well the production team had handled secrecy.

But now that it was exposed, it didn’t matter. They just had one more segment to shoot that afternoon, and then filming would be officially over.

After that, everyone would go their separate ways again.

Suddenly, Dou Fei said, “Honestly, I thought this episode would go for a sentimental angle.”

At that point, it was clear this wasn’t the kind of conversation that would ever make it into the broadcast.

That’s just how variety shows worked. So many of their real interactions during shoots would end up on the cutting room floor. Variety was for public entertainment—it needed laughs, twists, emotional beats, and pacing.

Those simple, ordinary conversations… those slow, steady moments… the rare instances of zoning out after making eye contact… were destined to stay behind the camera, with only the tiniest glimpse revealed through editing.

The production team was tactful and said, “Teacher Dou, we’ll go film another group for now.”

Dou Fei smiled and replied, “Thanks for your hard work,” watching them walk away.

He picked up his phone and took a photo of the sky. He thought, Xie Xizhao was right.

Taking pictures of beautiful scenery really was healing.

Dou Fei meant that purely as a personal feeling. As a regular cast member, he of course knew what kind of move the production team was making by getting TP to reunite. But by this point in filming, it was obvious—those plans had fallen through.

The five members of TP were close. But none of them had any intention of putting on a dramatic “reunion after years of being broken apart” act. For them, recording the show was just that—recording a show. They used the opportunity to hang out, chat about this and that, just like old times.

“What’s there to get sentimental about?” Fu Wenze said. “We’re all still in the industry.”

He genuinely didn’t get the fuss.

After the past two days, Dou Fei had started to understand how these people thought.

Being together didn’t feel like a big deal—because they knew they’d cross paths again. So parting ways wasn’t some life-or-death affair either.

He said, “Very free-spirited.”

“You, Xie Xizhao. TP.” He looked at Fu Wenze seriously. “You’re all really free-spirited.”

Their ease didn’t come from not caring—it came from the rare kind of friendship that stayed pure in an industry like this.

He felt a bit envious. Since his debut, he’d always been on his own. Coming from a prominent background had given him connections—but also distance.

But Fu Wenze said, “He genuinely sees you as a friend too.”

Dou Fei froze for a second.

Then he smiled. “You’re right.”

He couldn’t help but add, “Teacher Fu, you’re really…”

Straightforward.

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he said, “Let’s add each other on WeChat.”

He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. Fu Wenze scanned his code. It felt a little weird to be doing this out in the open like that, under the vast sky, but they exchanged contact info anyway. Then Dou Fei spaced out for a bit.

“But,” he said thoughtfully, “even though it didn’t go the way I imagined, I have a feeling this episode’s going to get really good ratings.”

And he was right—it wasn’t just good.

Ever since the news broke that TP would be reuniting for a variety show, both hardcore fans and casual viewers alike had fallen into a daze.

As one superfan put it: “Someone pinch me—what year is it, seriously?!”

It wasn’t really that long ago—TP’s disbandment had only been a few years back. But near the end, their group activities had become rare, and by the time they officially disbanded, it was already a case of name-only existence.

No one had ever expected them to reunite. Everyone had silently accepted that after disbandment, they’d all go their separate ways—especially because one of them was Xie Xizhao.

Some new, younger fans who had just started liking Xie Xizhao naïvely asked in the fan forums, “What’s TP? Does it have something to do with Zhaozhao?”

Xie Xizhao’s longtime fans nearly choked on blood.

What to do?

They all knew their idol’s personality. If the production team said he’d been invited, then he was definitely going.

This schedule was set in stone. That bloodsucking former teammate appearance was locked in.

What could they do? Grit their teeth and spoil him anyway.

While managing comments and controlling the narrative, they coached each other in the fan forums: Focus on our boy. Don’t even glance at the others. Praise only our own. It’s just two days. And whatever you do, stay away from the CP fans. Anyone shipping him using full names? Report them all.

In the middle of the chaos, a fan of Ai Qingyuan passed by and sneered:

[It’s been eight hundred years since TP disbanded and people are still trying to push CPs to build personas? I swear, you solo fans haven’t changed a bit—still narcissistic and full of persecution complexes.]

And just like that—

Boom.

The world exploded.

From that comment onward, it was darkness and mayhem. Day blurred into night. This wasn’t just CP fans fighting anymore; random bystanders from every corner of fandom started trembling as they witnessed what real in-fighting between top-tier idol group fandoms looked like.

They fought for half a month—and the battle spilled right into the show’s comment sections.

But no matter how fierce the fighting, people still watched the show. The moment Xie Xizhao appeared at the beginning, the “random number fans” lit up.

[Ahhh, Candy Corn the little princess is so cute!]

[Zhaozhao, mwah mwah, it’s been so long, I missed you 555 [crying emojis]]

[I swear, XXZ, don’t be too lovable—your fans are crying out of frustration over your romance-brain energy]

[2 fans, scram. You’ve been warned. Stop making a mess in the solo sections. Reported, you’re welcome.]

The scene shifted—Fu Wenze was in a similar-looking house, saying goodbye to his younger brother. When he stepped outside and ran into Xie Xizhao, the comment section went completely silent.

[Uhh]

[Okay, if 21 is off-limits, is 31 okay?]

[Like… they live right across from each other]

Once everyone had arrived, the screen briefly went blank, then a single comment floated by:

Ah…

How long had it been since they’d seen this scene?

Five people.

It was the dorm they were all so familiar with—both the members themselves and the fans.

Someone watching a drama.

Someone playing a game.

The livestream camera always swaying, held in one hand one moment, suddenly aimed at someone else the next.

“Smile for me, Teacher Zou! Random interview—what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Ahh brother, not veggies again, we’ve had them three days in a row!”

It was the stage filled with colorful streamers.

All five of them bowing in unison to the audience, wearing costumes with different cuts but matching colors.

Under the stage lights, their foreheads were damp with sweat, their ears filled with heavy breaths and pounding heartbeats.

Every time they said, “Hello everyone, we are The Phoenix.”

It was always in sync.

And they were always smiling.

After the stage, in the practice room, they sat shoulder to shoulder.

A baseball cap pushed down low, trying to hide a flustered and annoyed mutter: “Xie Xizhao…”

And outside the door, a night sky that was similar, yet somehow different.

It was… disbandment.

Ai Qingyuan had said, “All good things must come to an end.”

Zou Yi had said, “I’ll always be TP’s leader.”

Fu Wenze had said, “Don’t cry. We’ll meet again.”

Yun Pan turned away, his shoulders trembling as he cried, unable to speak. Xie Xizhao pulled him into a hug, took his mic, and spoke earnestly to the audience and the livestream camera: “TP will always be here.”

‘TP will always be here.’

Countless people took it as a vague promise.

Coming from Xie Xizhao, it felt even more like a fairytale.

And yet, at this very moment, as they stood once more in a small courtyard—

Everything had changed, and yet somehow, nothing had changed at all.

TP really had always been here.

At some point, the arguments in the comment section began to fade.

When Xie Xizhao and Dou Fei were chatting, a string of comments drifted by:

[Only one person in TP is that picky with their mouth, huh? Zhaozhao basically dropped his ID on the table.]

[What do you mean we’re not allowed to say anything, huh? And what’s this about ‘badmouthing outside’? Ai Qingyuan, can you explain what’s ‘outside’ and what’s ‘inside’? And what’s so sacred that our noble fans aren’t allowed to hear, hmm?]

[Panpan has really matured, but the way he and the captain move in perfect sync—don’t tell me you didn’t rehearse that a hundred times. I knew 2 was the group’s b*lly, I’m dead 😂]

Zou Yi started taking pictures of Xie Xizhao, and the comment section exploded with joy:

[Teacher Zou giving us content again!! More pics please!!]

[All Zhao’s god-tier pics come from his teammates. Brother Fu, we know you’re sitting on a goldmine, neighbor. Let some out, come on!]

[Xiao Qingyi looks… not very smart right now 😂 His eyes have that low-key panic in them. Kinda dazed.]

And when they were all out sunbathing in the afternoon?

The comments went feral:

[Okay, got my 24 crumbs—WAIT, 1 is playing too? Whose meal is this actually?!]

Didn’t matter.

People just dug in.

[31 flirting again on the low—TP, I swear y’all…]

[I’m talking to you TP stans—weren’t y’all the ones frame-by-frame analyzing every move like it’s Boy Band Studies 101? Where are you now? Don’t tell me you’ve all switched to alt accounts to lurk in the CP fan threads. 🙄]

They weren’t in the CP threads.

They just suddenly couldn’t bring themselves to type the kinds of things they usually fired off without a second thought.

Like:

[They’re just colleagues, there’s no real feelings.]

Or:

[If TP disbands I’m setting off fireworks.]

It felt like stepping into a dream with an expiration date.

Everyone knew that once morning came, they’d all go back to their own separate tracks.

The name “TP” was already a thing of the past,

The fans would go back to side-eying each other.

But for now, in this moment, everyone silently thought:

Forget it.

It’s just a few hours.

Might as well… let them have this.

But who were “they”?

“They” could be anyone.

They could be all of them.

Two episodes, a total of six hours.

No clear narrative, no dramatic plotlines—

And yet the view count skyrocketed to an unprecedented level.

After so many years, the interactions between the TP members were once again shown to the public.

There was no awkwardness, no distance.

They acted like they’d never been apart, just being themselves naturally.

Their reunion wasn’t dramatic, and their goodbye wasn’t tearful.

Time holds on to a lot of things.

The people you force into your life will disappear after a goodbye.

But the ones you truly want to see—you’ll find them again, even across oceans of people.

And with that,

TP’s fans and those who once loved TP had no more regrets.

Because they knew—whether in the public eye or not,

The ones they love are out there somewhere, living well.

And also…

“Reluctant to part? What’s there to be reluctant about?” In the final segment, Ai Qingyuan let out a cold laugh. “Just look at those two—I’m talking about you, Xie Xizhao and Fu Wenze—what are you hiding for? Once we’re back, they’ll be living across the hall from each other. They’ll probably have dinner together tonight. Are you ever reluctant to say goodbye to your neighbor?”

[…Yeah, that resentment is coming in loud and clear.]

[Oh, Xiao Ai… 😔]

Xie Xizhao looked up at the sky. Fu Wenze lowered his eyes to the ground.

They both pretended not to hear it.

After a moment, Xie Xizhao coughed lightly and said tentatively, “Well, if no one’s got plans… how about coming over to my place for dinner later?”

“…My place works too,” Fu Wenze said.

Didn’t matter—they’d be together either way.

Ai Qingyuan gave a sharp “hmph” and said no more.

The final clapboard closed filming.

They all began walking back, their silhouettes slowly fading from the frame,

The sunset casting a glorious golden light over the fields.

It looked like a farewell—each going their separate ways.

But at the end of the path,

was just another reunion.

And everyone knew—

this wasn’t the last time they’d see each other.

Because—

“Look at you all. No faith at all.”

In the final shot, Xie Xizhao turned to the camera, smiling as he said:

“Didn’t I tell you? TP will always be here.”

<< _ >>