Chapter 32: First Performance (7)
Lin Jiashi: “……”
If earlier he was just mentally collapsing, now Lin Jiashi had fast-forwarded straight to a full-blown mental breakdown.
He had been trying so hard to make his presence felt in front of Shen Xiu, hoping that whenever the audience thought of Shen Xiu, they’d immediately think of him too.
But now, Shen Xiu actually… actually said he had no impression of him?
No impression!!!
Damn it!
Zhuang Yi was the first to spot Lin Jiashi and let out a few warning coughs: “Ahem, ahem…”
They had just been talking behind someone’s back, and now the person in question had caught them—this was beyond awkward!
Song Chengwang: “You have a cold?”
Shang Yu followed Zhuang Yi’s gaze and also saw Lin Jiashi.
Shang Yu: “……”
Anyone who saw this scene would think the same thing: a literal Shura Field.
That single phrase—“no impression”—was not only the biggest blow to Lin Jiashi, but also the most savage form of mockery.
Because Shang Yu’s gaze was so obvious, everyone instinctively turned to look in the same direction, and their eyes met Lin Jiashi’s.
Yu Xiangwan: “……”
The trainees: “……”
The collective silence was deafening.
As the two main characters in this “battlefield,” everyone’s eyes naturally fell on Shen Xiu and Lin Jiashi, watching them silently exchange glances.
Zhuang Yi: …This is the closest I’ve ever been to the front lines of drama.
Song Chengwang: Who isn’t?
At that moment, everyone couldn’t help but recall Shen Xiu’s earlier comment—“no impression.”
And the same thought crossed all their minds:
No wonder he’s known as Demon King Shen among the other trainees—just one simple sentence, and he doesn’t just strike the heart, he crushes it. One line, pure arrogance.
[66666 No wonder he’s the cold and ruthless Demon King Shen—so savage even right in front of the person himself. Doesn’t even bother faking friendliness.]
[Even a screenwriter couldn’t come up with this level of drama.]
[Lin Jiashi: I heard that!
Ruthless Shen (calmly): Oh? And?]
[Lin Jiashi, just tell us—are you embarrassed or embarrassed?]
Shen Xiu hadn’t expected that just as the words left his mouth, he’d turn around and come face-to-face with Lin Jiashi. The moment he saw him, his mind went completely blank—he genuinely had no idea what to say.
Feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him and Lin Jiashi, Shen Xiu didn’t know if Lin Jiashi felt awkward, but he definitely did.
Lin Jiashi stayed silent, clearly waiting for Shen Xiu to apologize.
Shen Xiu also stayed silent—because he honestly didn’t know what to say.
And so the two of them just stood there, staring at each other in complete silence.
To the bystanders, the scene looked like this: Shen Xiu, eyes cold and sharp, gazing at Lin Jiashi with a hint of challenge.
Lin Jiashi, biting his lower lip, glaring at Shen Xiu, eyes filled with anger.
The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Battle imminent.
Lin Jiashi’s eyes turned red—he really thought Shen Xiu would apologize.
But five seconds passed. Then thirty. Then a full minute.
Shen Xiu just kept staring, icy and expressionless, not saying a single word. That gaze—so cold Lin Jiashi couldn’t take it.
That kind of arrogant, indifferent attitude was even more unbearable than being ignored.
So Shen Xiu really was that arrogant, huh?
He truly never took him seriously?
Rage surged in Lin Jiashi’s chest.
And yet… when faced with Shen Xiu’s glacier-like stare, Lin Jiashi didn’t dare say a word.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, even though Shen Xiu was treating him like this—whether it was Shen Xiu’s icy personality or his towering presence—Lin Jiashi really didn’t have the guts to confront him head-on.
All he could do was scoff coldly, grit his teeth, and turn away.
He’d rather go back and listen to the other trainees praise Shen Xiu to the heavens than stay here and be completely, utterly ignored by him.
The crowd: Enlightened. This round, Lin Jiashi fled the scene in defeat—Shen Xiu wins!
Watching Lin Jiashi’s back disappear from view, Shen Xiu quietly let out a sigh of relief.
Thank god, he thought. Looks like Lin Jiashi felt awkward too and bailed first from this suffocating atmosphere.
Exactly as he expected—two people who barely knew each other, being forcefully thrown into a situation like this—of course it’d be uncomfortable for both.
[I can rest easy now. I knew giving my heart to Shen Xiu wasn’t a mistake—he’s so worth it! He literally just confirmed again that he has no memory of Lin Jiashi. Next time, certain Lin fans need to back off, OK?]
[Wait… why does this feel a tiny bit like the start of a dramatic enemies-to-lovers arc? Today you ignore me, tomorrow… I’m not worthy of you?]
[Is it really appropriate to say something like that about another trainee in public? That’s seriously low EQ. And this is supposed to be someone worthy of being called a ‘top dog’? Even as a neutral viewer, I’m cringing.]
[Wow, are Lin stans really this shameless? The moment someone says “don’t cling,” they immediately show up clinging like their life depends on it. Sick in the head much? Take your meds before coming out here to act deranged. “Neutral viewer”? More like ghostly fan from the underworld.]
“Ahem…” Yu Xiangwan gave a very awkward cough, then looked at Shen Xiu. “So… shall we move on to the next question?”
Shen Xiu: “Mm.”
The sooner they finished, the sooner he could sneak back to the dorm!
Yu Xiangwan: “……”
Meanwhile, Lin Jiashi was practically about to explode from rage, while Shen Xiu remained calm and detached, as if absolutely nothing had happened.
As expected, Yu Xiangwan had guessed right: Lin Jiashi’s sudden appearance hadn’t affected Shen Xiu one bit. From beginning to end, Shen Xiu had never taken him seriously.
That level of blatant arrogance—who wouldn’t be impressed?
Shen Xiu didn’t care in the slightest, so as a professional bystander, Yu Xiangwan quickly recovered and continued the Q&A:
“Shen Xiu, out of all the trainees, who left the strongest impression on you?”
The moment she asked, the name Xiang Yueting flashed through Shen Xiu’s mind.
He answered without the slightest hesitation:
“Xiang Yueting.”
Always jumping around in his danger zone, the guy had maxed out Shen Xiu’s imaginary “assassination attempts” counter. It was practically impossible to forget him.
Song Chengwang clicked his tongue: “If he heard that, his tail would be wagging straight up to the sky.”
Shang Yu waved a hand in front of his face: “Wow. Jealous much?”
Shen Xiu: “?”
Shen Xiu genuinely didn’t understand what Shang Yu and Song Chengwang were talking about.
Why would Xiang Yueting be happy about being mentally ‘assassinated’ by him?
Unless… did Xiang Yueting have some weird kind of kink?
That thought gave Shen Xiu a full-body shiver.
[LOL Song Chengwang is dripping with jealousy.]
[Xiang Yueting is really so lively, I’m getting husky dog vibes.]
[Got it, you’re calling him a dog—I’ll tell him that tomorrow!]
[Someone up there clearly speaks in “ellipsis.”]
Yu Xiangwan moved to the next question: “Among all the trainees, who do you think is the most skilled?”
All the other trainees watching thought, Isn’t that obvious? Gotta be Shen Xiu himself.
But Shen Xiu once again didn’t hesitate at all:
“They’re all skilled.”
Even the groupmates he chose—the ones who, like him, seemed quiet—turned out to be super chatty within the group. So impressive! Unlike him, who never knew what to talk about even if he wanted to.
And don’t even get started on the rest of the trainees—maybe not as wild as Xiang Yueting, but each one at least half as chaotic.
Total social maniacs.
Every single one of them has the power to absolutely overwhelm him.
But… even though he was often intimidated by them, whenever Shen Xiu thought of the other trainees, he couldn’t help but feel genuinely happy watching them be so lively.
As long as they were being lively over there, and he could quietly watch from a corner—
That was enough.
At first, Yu Xiangwan had assumed, given Shen Xiu’s usual arrogant vibe, he’d respond to the earlier question with something like, “Is that even a question? Obviously the most skilled person is me.”
But the answer Shen Xiu gave not only surprised everyone present—it also caught the audience off guard.
Yu Xiangwan froze for a second, then quickly understood.
She thought: Yep, that makes sense.
Shen Xiu might be cocky, but a guy this capable couldn’t possibly lack emotional intelligence. Whether or not he uses that emotional intelligence is another matter.
Clearly, when it came to Lin Jiashi, the guy just didn’t cut it. Shen Xiu, being the kind of overachiever who pushes himself hard, naturally held others to high standards too. Someone like Lin Jiashi—lazy, underperforming, dragging down his team—wasn’t worth the courtesy.
So Shen Xiu didn’t bother being polite.
Totally logical.
But when it came to the other trainees, Shen Xiu’s attitude was clearly different.
[Anyone else notice how Shen Xiu never said he was the most skilled? Just said everyone was skilled. That’s like top-tier humble flex. Quiet, reserved, but when he speaks—bam, he stuns.]
[It’s not that Shen Xiu doesn’t understand social cues. Look at how perfectly he answered that last question. With Lin Jiashi, though—come on, he’s the type who doesn’t work hard and plays petty games. No wonder Shen Xiu couldn’t be bothered.]
[Clear lines between love and hate—that’s our Iceberg Shen. And who was it earlier who called him low-EQ? LOL. Demon King Shen only acts cold to people he doesn’t respect. Maybe your guy should reflect on that?]
Yu Xiangwan smiled, leaning forward with the final question:
“Last one—Shen Xiu, since coming to the training camp, out of everyone you’ve met… who do you think is the most adorable?”
The moment he heard the question, Shen Xiu instantly recalled all the enthusiastic, smiling faces he saw while standing on stage.
He answered with firm conviction: “The audience.”
Yu Xiangwan: “!”
The trainees: “!”
What a response.
Why didn’t they think of that?!
The audience: [!!!]
From the very start of this interview, every single one of Shen Xiu’s answers had taken everyone by surprise.
People found themselves looking at him with renewed admiration.
It was clear now—Shen Xiu only revealed his emotional intelligence when he wanted to.
[AAAAHH I’M SO SATISFIED!!!]
[I didn’t choose this life… but Shen Xiu just said I’m the most adorable person!!]
[I KNEW IT. This love between us and Shen Xiu is mutual, okay? Don’t try to get between us! Front row confession: I love you, Shen Xiu! (cue rose-in-mouth smirk emoji + doge face)]
[Hehe… it’s only Lin Jiashi and his fans taking the L today lmao]
The interview with Shen Xiu officially wrapped up, and no one even needed to think twice—they knew once this aired, Shen Xiu would win over another wave of fans.
Seriously. A king moves like a king.
Aside from his blunt takedown of Lin Jiashi, the rest of Shen Xiu’s answers were masterclasses in high EQ.
Short and simple, yes—but every word hit home.
Unadorned yet powerful, quiet yet unforgettable.
Who wouldn’t be impressed?
While Song Chengwang was answering his own questions, Shen Xiu quietly slipped away.
Or so he thought.
Unbeknownst to him, this walking spotlight of a person—who believed he was being sneaky—was absolutely noticed by everyone as he left.
Zhuang Yi: “Shen Xiu really doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He just does his own thing.”
Shang Yu: “That’s what happens when you’re strong enough—confidence comes naturally. Worrying too much only slows him down on his path to greatness… I mean, leveling up.”
Ning Sinian said, “But based on his answers just now, I really can’t bring myself to dislike him.”
Mu Zhenchu: “Who could dislike someone who’s clearly strong, but still praises others as long as he sees they’ve worked hard?”
Wen Yinglang: “Thank you, my vanity has just been thoroughly fed by Shen Xiu!”
Yu Xiangwan: “…”
She had hosted interviews for all kinds of survival shows, but this was the first time she’d seen a group of top-tier debut hopefuls express their admiration for one person—so openly, and so unanimously.
Maybe… this was just the charm of a true powerhouse.
…
2:00 p.m.
All 100 trainees arrived at Practice Room 10 right on time.
Whether they were still in the safe zone or had already been eliminated, everyone showed up brimming with curiosity—they wanted to see how others trained, wanted to understand exactly why they’d lost. As a result, everyone instinctively aimed for the seats closer to the front.
“!”
Shen Xiu walked into the room, saw that the last few rows were completely empty, and headed straight for the back left corner with a rare flicker of emotion—pure relief.
The last row.
No one around.
No eyes on him.
Perfect.
As the undisputed top-ranked trainee, every move Shen Xiu made was naturally under a spotlight.
So when he entered the practice room with that unmistakable deadpan face and made a beeline for the furthest seat from the crowd, everyone noticed. Every single one of them.
“Shen Xiu’s sitting behind me. What do I do, I’m so nervous.”
“This is giving me PTSD from high school when the principal would show up to sit at the back of class during open lectures—who gets this level of pressure?!”
“I literally don’t dare to turn around. What if I lock eyes with Shen Xiu’s icy gaze? My poor heart can’t take it.”
“Mu Zhenchu said Shen Xiu mentioned during his solo interview yesterday that we’re all amazing, so… is he here today to judge whether we actually trained seriously or not?”
“Damn, as expected of Demon King Xiu!”
“Never slacking off again. If you slack, the Grind King himself will see it!”
[I get it, I get it! The real boss types always work behind the scenes—strategizing and controlling everything from the shadows!]
[Full marks for Shen Xiu’s scholar vibes!]
[It has to be that! No one understands Boss Xiu better than we do!]
Sitting in the back row, Shen Xiu saw everyone whispering to each other, casting glances full of admiration.
See? He knew it—every trainee besides him was seriously amazing!
He Ting walked in shortly after and, while turning on the multimedia system, said, “We’ll start with Shen Xiu’s team.”
Shen Xiu: “…”
Thank god he was sitting in the last row—less awkward that way, since even if people turned around to look at him, it wasn’t that easy to do!
Looking up at his teammates sitting in the front, Shen Xiu once again felt deeply moved.
What a bunch of impressive people.
“They’re finally starting! That stage performance was so incredible—I really want to see how it came to be!”
“Don’t get your hopes too high. Behind the scenes, practice is usually the same—boring and repetitive. Nothing special. Plus, it’s kind of unfair to give all the credit to Shen Xiu alone. Everyone worked hard.”
“Yeah, we’ve all been through behind-the-scenes training. It’s just repeating songs and choreography, then dividing parts. And if someone tries to hog the spotlight, it turns into a battle—and if that fails, passive-aggressive drama.”
“Shh! Enough. The host is starting the video. I need to see how someone as cold and distant as Shen Xiu handles being a team leader.”
Under everyone’s eager attention, the edited footage of Shen Xiu’s team in the practice room began to play.
In the video…
In the silent practice room, Shen Xiu first led his entire team to watch the original MV of Blood Romance—a full eight times.
Then, Shen Xiu handed Zhou Tong and the team a long checklist and asked them to gather everything listed and bring it back to the practice room.
While the others were out gathering supplies, Shen Xiu put on his headphones and rewatched the MV over and over again. At the same time, he was scribbling and sketching on paper.
Hours later, Shen Xiu had single-handedly completed a long scroll of illustrations. When the camera zoomed in, it revealed that he had drawn every character from the MV in detail.
His drawing skills were sharp and practiced—though the lines were simple, each figure vividly captured the essence of their character in the MV. He had even broken down and sketched out every single prop that would be used on stage.
The looks of shock on his teammates’ faces when they saw the scroll were mirrored by the stunned expressions of the other trainees watching the edited footage live, as well as those watching the livestream.
The screen then split into two halves.
On one side, the teammates began building the props, using Shen Xiu’s breakdown sketches as blueprints.
On the other side, Shen Xiu was seen surveying the open-air performance stage, mapping out the lighting and layout, sketching every detail onto paper.
In the afternoon, while the others left to eat, Shen Xiu stayed behind in the classroom. He arranged the props they had built earlier, then used his reference sketches from the real stage to recreate it almost exactly in the practice room—even the lighting placements were carefully marked on the floor with chalk.
The scene transitioned again—now it was nighttime. Shen Xiu sat alone in the brightly lit practice room, working at the multimedia station with two programs open: one showing the original MV, the other a PowerPoint.
He wore headphones as he continued watching the MV, all the while building the PowerPoint presentation—occasionally jotting things down on paper and scanning his drawings to include them in the slides.
From the 24/7 livestream cameras in the practice room, it was clear that Shen Xiu had stayed busy until late into the night. In fact, he ended up falling asleep right there in the practice room. The next morning, he returned to the dorms just to shower and eat breakfast before heading straight back to continue working.
Once his teammates arrived, he handed out sheets detailing their individual parts. As the camera zoomed in, it revealed that each teammate’s sheet included not just their assigned lyrics, but also a clearly drawn map of their stage movements. Every second was accounted for—who needed to sing when, walk to which spot, and what exact moves to perform at each cue.
Just when the trainees watching thought they couldn’t be more shocked, the footage transitioned again—this time to the PowerPoint presentation Shen Xiu had pulled an all-nighter to finish.
In the practice room, Shen Xiu played the presentation while giving a detailed explanation. The slides outlined the entire revised stage version of Blood Romance, including lighting cues timed down to the exact second. Costumes and props aside, every tiny detail had been meticulously planned out.
And the most unbelievable part? Shen Xiu had completed all this in less than two days.
In the footage that followed, over the next few days, Shen Xiu’s team could be seen wearing costumes modified from Shen Xiu’s character sketches, complete with their performance makeup, as they repeatedly rehearsed the full routine.
To avoid wasting time during lunch, the team had even asked the production staff to deliver their meals directly to the practice room.
Even the most exciting performance can become dull when rehearsed over and over again, but under Shen Xiu’s intense gaze—under the pressure of his dominating presence—not a single teammate dared to slack off.
Every practice session, they gave it their all, terrified of receiving one of Shen Xiu’s signature “death stares.”
From 8 AM to 12 AM, not a single day dared to slack off.
At first, their movements were stiff and awkward, but under Shen Xiu’s supervision and the high-intensity, repetitive practice, they became increasingly smooth.
By the end, when the members entered the practice room and changed into their performance costumes, each of them carried themselves differently.
With every gesture, it was as though they had become the dark, eerie figures from the new version of Blood Romance, the killers reborn on that fateful night, whether graceful or madly frantic.
One could say, Shen Xiu had calculated every single thing that would happen on stage and presented it clearly to his team.
Feeding them meals was nothing compared to Shen Xiu’s meticulousness as a leader.
The final edited video wasn’t long, and less than an hour had passed by the time it ended.
But every step Shen Xiu took in the video was so detailed and unexpected that it left everyone staring, astonished.
When it ended, everyone was still in a daze, wanting to see more.
After a few seconds of silence, the trainees looked at He Ting with lingering excitement: “Is… is that it?”
