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Once the staff members have finished combing through the rest of the baggage, they leave the room to continue their mission of confiscating the trainees’ belongings. Xukun stares down at his own still-locked luggage and wonders if he ought to request a phone call to his parents, to commit himself fully to the bit, though he knows everyone else knows he was lying about forgetting the combination—he didn’t put much effort into the act, too irrationally annoyed by the staff’s sudden intrusion, then drained by his own lie, to manage more than a sulky, walled-off shrug that repudiated any further questioning.
The staff had taken it in stride, nodding tolerantly as they might with a fussy cat. His roommates had played along, cracking jokes for the cameras. Now that the staff are gone, the atmosphere is a bit strange and Xukun’s stubbornly unopened luggage draws glances from the other boys more than once. He knows that if it’d been one of the others bringing this excuse, things might not have been as straightforward. Since Xukun’s placement in the final group is a near guarantee, the producers like him and the other trainees are reluctant to fault him for anything, at least to his face. Though his roommates are all easygoing enough, he can sense their desire to remain on his good side.
It would be nice to have plausible deniability, he decides. Even if the lie was obvious, it doesn’t mean he actually has to admit to it. He’ll give it some time to cool off—at least until after their evening activities, when he can find a moment to pull one of the producers aside. Then he’ll confess, sheepishly, that he can’t get into his own luggage, and request to call his mom for the lock combination.
An extra call back home, and he can unpack in peace. Not in privacy, because the cameras in their rooms are always rolling, but at least when they aren’t actively making variety content for the show.
It’ll have to be enough.
The contents of Xukun’s luggage are as follows:
- Clothes, toiletries, contacts.
- Noise-cancelling headphones.
- Medication for allergies. Lots of medication. A pack of disposable gloves, for the same purpose.
- Two spiral-bound notebooks with a year’s worth of meticulously organized notes on the format and popular storylines of the two South Korean Produce series, the backgrounds of his fellow trainees, and his own speculation on the roles they all might play (as though he himself were part of the audience for this show that didn’t exist yet, the first of its kind, a show that he knew when he joined would rock the Chinese entertainment industry for years to come, the same way the Produce girls and boys became icons in Korea; the show in which Xukun is currently the frontrunner, bearing the invisible eyes of a nation).
At worst, the staff likely would’ve confiscated the headphones (rendered useless, without a phone, for anything but noise cancelling), but the medication and notebooks are what Xukun didn’t want to show off. The bottles of pills would have made him look like an invalid; the notebooks would naturally draw questions and might make him seem calculating, neurotic, especially for one whose success is already so assured. He imagines the staff asking him to read it aloud, show them a page for the fans. He’s sure there are ways he could have spun it even then, but he wasn’t prepared, that’s all.
No use worrying about it now. The deed’s been done, and he has a plan of action moving forward. If it puts him on thin ice with the staff, he will simply have to accept the consequences and act more carefully in the future.
For now, he has a bigger problem he’s been trying to puzzle through: his lack of relationships with the other trainees. Xukun’s final rank may be unassailable, but his public image is another matter. For many aspiring idols, their appearances on survival shows have represented the peak of their public attention. Though Xukun doesn’t want it to be the case, it’s possible that for the rest of his career, the public will see him as the contestant from Idol Producer, dancing in a school uniform to an upbeat theme song. So he must work as hard as anyone else to prove his character in the eyes of their audience. Xukun’s a fairly competent leader in a group setting, but he’s aware that joining as an independent trainee, along with his natural reticence, could make him come off like too much of a lone wolf.
So far he’s struck up a rapport with Wang Ziyi, the down-to-earth A-rank who sat by him during initial evaluations, a guy Xukun genuinely likes. He wants to become friends with Ziyi, drawn to his steady demeanor and easy voice; he’s always liked being around dependable people, feeling an anxious part of himself quiet down, feeling himself open up in turn. He hopes Ziyi goes far. But in terms of people who could make the final group, Ziyi isn’t a safe bet, not at all.
So: Yuehua.
The Yuehua boys, Xukun’s main competitors if there ever were any, roaming the halls together like a pack of sleek, intimidating wolves. At least one or two of them, Xukun guesses, will end up in the group, barring any unforeseen twists during the show. He should get to know them—particularly the triumvirate at the center.
Justin, Zhengting, Chengcheng. Two former Produce contestants, and the younger brother of Fan Bingbing. Those three are what have made the Yuehua boys a powerhouse of popularity among the trainees, regardless of label prestige.
For the most part, it’s easy to imagine how their stories will play out. Justin, the eternal maknae, will be doted upon by all, every mistake forgiven in his youth; Chengcheng, who screwed up his lyrics in the initial evaluation, will find himself—if he can successfully take advantage of his position—at the beginning of a heartwarming redemption arc, in which he overcomes his own insecurities (and the accusations of nepotism) through the power of hard work and determination. Xukun is less certain about Zhengting, the bright-eyed and upright leader of the group. He’s only now realizing that he’d been subconsciously avoiding thinking about Zhengting at all, in the same way he’d found himself grounding himself in Ziyi’s presence like a flower in rich soil.
If Ziyi is stable, Zhengting is the opposite. Neurotic, maybe; though Xukun, self-aware enough to understand his own neuroticism, can hardly criticize anyone else for it. Honestly, the issue is that Zhengting is emotional. Bubbling behind the veneer of earnest, eloquent leadership is an overflowing tempest of feeling that anyone can see. A group is defined by its leader, and the Yuehua boys seem subsumed into Zhengting’s orbit, led around by his moods and whims.
But now that Xukun is applying himself to the problem of his relationships, it seems obvious that Zhengting, among the Yuehua boys, would be his counterpart. His rival.
Yuehua Entertainment: Zhu Zhengting. Independent trainee: Cai Xukun. Two parallel histories between them, two survival show veterans with existing popularity. One surrounded by his inner circle, and one who had joined alone. Certainly, Xukun thinks, it would make for a good story. It would be interesting.
Zhengting is probably thinking the same.
Xukun wants to reread his notes on the boy. Maybe add a reminder for himself—to pay better attention, to find his window of opportunity for an interaction. But he knows he can’t open his luggage yet, not until after evening activities, when he’s allowed to make the call.