Chapter 43: Preparation for the Second Performance (6)
Zhao Mingwei, still hesitating and afraid to speak, instinctively looked up when he heard Shen Xiu’s cold voice—only to meet Shen Xiu’s icy gaze.
Just one light “Something wrong?” from Shen Xiu was enough to carry an overwhelming pressure. Zhao Mingwei’s hand, holding the sheet of paper, trembled slightly.
“I-I…” Zhao Mingwei’s throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
Seeing how stressed Zhao Mingwei was, Xia Wenhao gave him a pat on the shoulder. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. We’re a team—there’s nothing you can’t talk to the leader about.”
Shen Xiu gave Xia Wenhao a grateful look—as if to say, ‘Exactly! That’s the spirit!’
Xia Wenhao: “…”
Why did Shen Xiu suddenly give him such a cold look?
Ke Zi’an shot Xia Wenhao a glare. As childhood friends, the two of them exchanged a silent, knowing look: ‘You dummy! Big shots don’t like having their decisions questioned!’
After Xia Wenhao tried to reassure Zhao Mingwei, Shen Xiu waited a few more seconds. Zhao Mingwei was still staring down at the paper in his hands, saying nothing, and Shen Xiu grew increasingly anxious.
Especially after Xia Wenhao spoke, the practice room had gone so quiet that only everyone’s breathing could be heard. Shen Xiu was so nervous he felt like his heart was beating out of rhythm.
To avoid anyone noticing the awkward thumping of his heart, Shen Xiu braced himself and spoke again: “Go on.”
Zhao Mingwei was a mess inside. Shen Xiu’s cold and firm tone hit him like a jolt, and his mouth began moving faster than his brain could keep up: “I think the way my part is divided isn’t quite right.”
“Could we maybe change the formation for the dance when it’s my turn?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the practice room sank into an even eerier silence.
The other members cautiously glanced at Shen Xiu’s expression. He was still completely expressionless, giving nothing away, so everyone could only shift their gaze to Zhao Mingwei.
There was only one thought in everyone’s mind: ‘Zhao Mingwei is bold. So bold!’
It was the first time they had ever seen someone dare to question Shen Xiu’s decision to his face. Would Shen Xiu… get angry?
Having been startled by Shen Xiu and blurting out everything in his heart, Zhao Mingwei now felt even more panicked. He lowered his head further, trying to disappear.
On the paper each person had received, it not only listed everyone’s parts in the song but also included small round-headed stick figures marking each person’s position on stage at each moment.
Inside the round heads were names, and Zhao Mingwei immediately saw what his own stage position looked like during his part.
To be fair, there was nothing wrong with the formation—it was consistent with the placements of other members.
But… he was shorter than the others!
With the position Shen Xiu had drawn out, any of the other team members could’ve stood there and easily become the center of attention at that moment.
But he standing in that spot? He’d be surrounded by taller members, making him look short in the middle… No, worse—Yuan Jiafei, who would be standing directly in front of him at that moment, could block him completely from the audience’s view.
Would he even exist on stage anymore?
Zhao Mingwei was always timid around Shen Xiu. One look at Shen Xiu’s icy expression made him instinctively want to flee—but what scared him even more was the thought that this might be his last performance.
For the sake of his future in this talent show, even if it meant going up against Shen Xiu, he had to take the risk.
The formation had been something Shen Xiu simulated until two in the morning the previous night—it was the best staging possible, designed to fully highlight the performance of the song. It was a seamless flow, and changing even one piece would throw off the entire structure.
It absolutely couldn’t be changed.
Shen Xiu said it plainly: “No.”
Zhao Mingwei’s face went pale. “Why not?”
He was trembling all over. “I don’t understand.”
Explaining it would mean going into the dance’s visual dynamics and how it tied in with the musical arrangement—there would be a lot to unpack.
Talking too much meant risking stammering in front of everyone.
Just the thought of it made Shen Xiu’s throat rebel.
So after a few seconds of silence, Shen Xiu said, “You all have one hour to familiarize yourselves with your parts. In one hour, everyone will dance with mics on.”
Once they finished that run-through, Zhao Mingwei would understand exactly why Shen Xiu had assigned that dance segment to him.
When Shen Xiu divided up the parts, he didn’t just consider fairness on stage—he also took into account each member’s appearance and how well it matched the vibe and setting of the song during each part.
Based on Zhao Mingwei’s looks and his past stage performances, that segment couldn’t go to anyone else.
Zhao Mingwei still looked like he wanted to say more, but Yuan Jiafei tugged at his arm, stopping the words before they left his mouth.
The tension in the room was thick, so Xia Wenhao stepped in to ease it.
“We’ve only got an hour before official practice starts. What are you all standing around for? Get familiar with your parts already!”
Ke Zi’an chimed in to back up his childhood friend: “Yeah, I’m getting started!”
“Ah, then I’m off too,” someone echoed.
Zhao Mingwei was pulled away by Gao Yongshi.
Ever since Lin Jiashi had left and they’d all experienced just how strict and cold Shen Xiu could be, no one dared slack off in front of him—they were all afraid of being on the receiving end of his sharp tongue.
Even Zhao Mingwei, after being told they’d start practice in an hour, quickly pulled himself together and threw himself into rehearsals.
Watching his teammates diligently practicing in front of the mirror, Shen Xiu let out a quiet sigh of relief and went to rehearse his own part.
Since they had to sing while dancing, and to avoid distracting or being distracted by others, everyone put on headphones to block out outside noise.
As for how well they sang—well, after all their training, each of them had a pretty good idea of their own level.
—
With the sound cut off and a screen full of cat-faced avatars, the audience was left completely bewildered.
[Can someone please tell me what that tense showdown was even about just now?]
[Same old formula, same old flavor—this production team never fails to make people want to fight them.]
[I’ve watched so many talent shows, but this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to fast-forward straight to the end of the second performance, just to find out what the heck happened during training!]
An hour passed quickly.
The team members caught sight of Shen Xiu removing his headphones in the large mirror in front of them, and one by one, they took theirs off as well.
During that full hour of practice, no one had dared take a break—not after noticing that Shen Xiu hadn’t paused even once.
Now, drenched in sweat, they looked at Shen Xiu’s calm and unbothered expression, his breathing steady as ever, and felt a mix of admiration and envy.
When would they ever reach Shen Xiu’s level of stamina?
Seeing how sweaty and overheated everyone looked, Shen Xiu said, “Ten-minute break. Go wash your faces.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the team members headed in small groups to the restroom attached to the practice room.
—
In the restroom.
Zhao Mingwei stared at his reflection, his face covered in water droplets, looking utterly dejected. He clearly wasn’t in a good mood.
With his naturally somber features, Zhao Mingwei already looked a bit gloomy—and now, with his spirits down, it was like a dark cloud was hanging over his head.
Xia Wenhao came up behind him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Trust Shen Xiu—he must have his reasons.”
Gao Yongshi added, “Let’s see how it turns out during practice. If it really doesn’t work, I’ll help speak up for you.”
Zhou Tong, having just washed his face, squinted through the water in his eyes and said while rubbing them, “If the stage looks balanced overall, then it’s not bad for any of us. That goes for me too.”
Ke Zi’an was rubbing the center of his palm nervously and murmured, “If the effect doesn’t turn out well, it’ll affect the whole performance. I’ll also ask Captain Xiu to reconsider. But if the stage works, then his decision was right.”
The restroom was crowded, and Shen Xiu—who disliked crowds and hadn’t even broken a sweat—didn’t go in. Instead, he walked over to the black bag he’d placed earlier on a table by the wall.
He rummaged through the bag for a few seconds and pulled out a matte black shopping bag.
Ten minutes later, everyone slowly returned from the restroom.
When Zhao Mingwei, the last one out, appeared, Shen Xiu held out the bag to him. “Put this on.”
Staring at the black shopping bag in front of him, Zhao Mingwei looked completely lost. “Huh?”
Except for Shen Xiu, everyone in the room wore the same confused expression as Zhao Mingwei, their curious eyes fixed on the bag.
The bag was pitch black with no visible logo or markings—it gave no hint as to what might be inside.
Though baffled, Zhao Mingwei obediently took the bag. Still full of doubt, he reached in and pulled out a box.
Under everyone’s curious gaze, he opened it—inside was a pair of sleek, stylish Martin boots.
What stood out was the obvious thickness of the soles.
Afraid the others would misunderstand and think he was calling Zhao Mingwei short, Shen Xiu quickly explained: “Wearing these will make the stage effect better.”
This way, when it was Zhao Mingwei’s time to shine in his little center moment, he wouldn’t get drowned out by the people around him, and the audience would be able to clearly see him.
Zhao Mingwei: “!”
He hadn’t expected that when Shen Xiu gave him that part, he’d already taken his height into consideration.
No—thinking back carefully now, that bag had been brought in earlier with Shen Xiu along with the noise-canceling headphones!
Since it was something Shen Xiu had brought in, everyone assumed it was his personal belonging. No one dared to poke around, though they had glimpsed a corner of that black shopping bag sticking out from the unzipped opening.
Shen Xiu had planned this all the way back then…
At this moment, Zhao Mingwei looked at Shen Xiu with not just gratitude, but deep admiration.
Shen Xiu… was incredible.
No wonder he had flat-out rejected the request to change parts earlier—it turned out he had already taken care of everything behind the scenes.
“Captain Xiu, thank you!” Zhao Mingwei clutched the shoebox tightly, his emotions swirling so intensely that even his voice trembled from excitement.
Shen Xiu finally relaxed and replied calmly, “It’s what I should do.”
As the team leader, it was his responsibility to consider each member’s individual situation and make the most strategic and thoughtful arrangements.
Fortunately, Zhao Mingwei hadn’t taken offense.
Zhao Mingwei wasn’t exactly short—but with the rest of the team all averaging over 182 cm, and with everyone set to wear shoes that would slightly boost their height on stage, he naturally ended up visually “sinking” in group formations.
That made him especially vulnerable during his small center moments—he’d easily be overshadowed.
So when Shen Xiu went to get items from the production team, he also picked up a few pairs of height-boosting shoes specifically for Zhao Mingwei. These shoes had balanced soles—raised evenly at the front and back—so they wouldn’t hurt to wear.
Shen Xiu hoped Zhao Mingwei would wear these shoes throughout the practice period, so that by the time they hit the stage, he’d already be fully adjusted and less likely to make mistakes.
Filled with emotion, Zhao Mingwei sat on a chair in the corner and changed into the boots.
They fit perfectly. Not the slightest discomfort.
The entire scene had only lasted about five minutes from start to finish. Yuan Jiafei, stunned, pushed his jaw shut.
Too cool. All he could say was—Shen Xiu was just too damn cool.
The man was a true boss. Totally unreadable—impossible to predict.
Yuan Jiafei secretly glanced at his teammates’ expressions and, seeing that they looked just as bewildered as he had, felt satisfied.
Looks like he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t very quick on the uptake—they were all in the same boat.
From the moment Zhao Mingwei pulled the shoes out of the box, Shen Xiu could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze.
‘As expected… handing someone a pair of height-increasing shoes is a weird move no matter the context. They’re not going to think I’m a weirdo, right?’
‘Ah, whatever. All for the stage. If they think I’m a weirdo, so be it.’
With a hint of resignation, Shen Xiu walked up to the stage and set the playback timing on the multimedia equipment.
Once the settings were in place, he moved to his own spot—Shen Xiu was the center.
Everyone else quickly aligned themselves according to his position, struck their poses…
Three and a half minutes later, the first stage run-through in the practice room was over.
And as it turned out, Shen Xiu had been absolutely right to insist.
From the moment Zhao Mingwei received the shoes, he realized he had wrongly blamed Shen Xiu. The part assigned to him was, in fact, perfectly suited for him.
His energy was high during this first run-through, and his performance was intensely focused.
After the practice ended, the others looked at the newly energized Zhao Mingwei—a completely different person from before—and had only one thought:
Clearly, they still didn’t understand Shen Xiu well enough.
A true powerhouse wouldn’t lose their temper over a few doubts or complaints.
Shen Xiu not only kept his emotions under tight control, but also had complete confidence in his decisions.
When faced with any kind of pushback, he wouldn’t just brush it off—he’d calmly back it up with solid reasoning and a flawless plan.
Shen Xiu was the real deal—a true leader.
And seriously… who else would think to grab height-enhancing shoes before the song had even been announced?
So basically, Boss Shen had already figured out the entire stage formation before the track was even chosen.
This was what they meant by “strategic genius,” a true master of planning.
…
After it ended, Zhao Mingwei was like a kid with a brand-new pair of shoes—he kept glancing excitedly down at his feet.
As he looked, his mind replayed their stage performance just now, and the more he thought about it, the more hyped he became.
If he wasn’t worried that Shen Xiu would think he was a crybaby, he might have actually teared up on the spot. His gaze toward Shen Xiu burned even brighter as he repeated, full of gratitude, “Captain Xiu, thank you again!”
Everyone else: “……”
So sour! Someone grab this peacock showing off and calm him down!
Didn’t he already say thank you earlier? Why is he saying it again?
Shen Xiu: “…No need.”
Honestly, he didn’t quite understand either Zhao Mingwei’s emotions or the way everyone else was looking at him.
As much as Shen Xiu hated to admit it, today was yet another day where he just couldn’t get on the same wavelength as his team…
Shen “helpless sigh” Xiu.jpg
[If there were an exam for guessing the story from just the visuals, I’d be dead last. I don’t get it. At all.]
[Heh (cold laugh) (lights a cigar) (takes a puff and exhales a perfect smoke ring)… I, a mature viewer, have already learned to draw cursed circles to hex the production team.]
[Heh (cold laugh while drawing a blade)… I, a mature viewer, have moved on to throwing knives.]
[(Frowning, concerned) Everyone… are we all mentally okay? (rummages around) Ah, found it! (loads bullet into sniper rifle) Sisters, just wait. I’m a direct disciple of Assassin Xiu himself. (one shot, one kill—headshot to the show’s director!) Aaaaand target down! Sisters, the new director promises we’ll get sound next time!]
…
Now in a great mood, Zhao Mingwei became chattier and bolder. He happily asked Shen Xiu: “Captain Xiu, how was our first practice just now?”
How was it?
At that moment, Shen Xiu recalled what he saw in the mirror during practice, and one word filled his mind—‘cringey’.
No one understood better than Shen Xiu just how many “cool” moves were crammed into the finished choreography for Madness. From the dance clips everyone had submitted, Shen Xiu could clearly tell they were all really trying hard… to look cool.
And to blend all those favorite moves into Madness in a way that felt cohesive, Shen Xiu had put in a lot of work—he’d revised the choreography countless times.
That’s exactly why he knew with absolute clarity: Madness was the kind of piece that, if not executed well or without enough stage presence, could easily come off as ridiculously cringey.
But what Shen Xiu never expected… was that after watching everyone’s first run-through, he’d be struck speechless by just how many different flavors of cringe they managed to serve up.
What he wanted was the desperate struggle of someone on the brink of death; the silent clarity that follows when the clouds finally part; the soaring stillness of a young bird rediscovering its wings and rising into the endless sky.
What he got was a flock of peacocks fighting to out-fan their feathers in a gaudy, over-the-top performance.
If they put that version on stage, not only would they be ruthlessly mocked and publicly humiliated, they’d probably lose the second round of group battles for sure.
