The finals of Ning City’s Luosang Ballet Competition were scheduled for mid-April.
The preliminaries and semifinals had both been held online.
As a contestant in the youth group, Jiang Wan had claimed first place in both rounds.
The judges for the Luosang Ballet Competition might not have been A-list celebrities, but they were still well-known figures in their field—a testament to the event’s prestige.
For this competition, Jiang Wan had prepared meticulously for a long time.
Unfortunately, Mother Jiang couldn’t attend in person to watch.
Her mother’s cousin and the cousin’s husband had a nasty falling out. They argued nonstop at home, and in her despair, the cousin had even tried to drown herself. Fortunately, she was rescued in time.
Mother Jiang had always been close to her cousin, who had looked after her a great deal during her childhood. On top of that, the cousin was ignored by her husband’s family and had no one from her own side to lean on. With no other choice, Mother Jiang headed to the hospital to care for her and offer some much-needed encouragement.
It just meant her daughter had to go without her support.
Jiang Wan took it in stride, even turning the tables to comfort her mother instead.
“It’s fine, Mom. You just can’t be there in person—that’s all. Watching the replay will be the same. Go with peace of mind, and give my best to Cousin Auntie for me.”
On the day of the finals, Guanguan was the first to arrive.
She slipped backstage and plopped down beside Jiang Wan as if it were the most natural thing in the world, flashing her a big grin. “Wanwan, aren’t I the best? I ditched my tutoring session to come.”
“Aren’t you scared Aunt Guan will find out?” Jiang Wan shot her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arched.
“If she finds out… well, she finds out. Your performance is worth a scolding!”
Guanguan thumped her chest with exaggerated bravado—or it would have been, if not for the martyred look on her face.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already cleared it with Aunt Guan ahead of time.” Jiang Wan smiled and shook her head.
She had known Guanguan would sneak out without telling her mother just to watch the competition. A little extra talking on her part could spare Guanguan a punishment when the truth came out, so it was no trouble at all.
“Woo woo, I knew you wouldn’t let me get in trouble, Wanwan. The bruise might be on my body, but the pain’s in your heart~” Guanguan blinked back emotional tears, trotting out cheesy lines without missing a beat.
Jiang Wan grimaced in disgust, tempted to shoo her right out.
“Right, is Little Bei coming?” Guanguan stuck out her tongue and sobered up.
Jiang Wan paused, her gaze dropping slightly as her voice softened. “She’s got the physics competition today. She probably won’t make it.”
She had known their schedules would clash from the start, but that didn’t stop a pang of disappointment from hitting her when Bei Huai didn’t show.
Oblivious as ever, Guanguan didn’t pick up on her friend’s mood and let out an admiring tsk-tsk. “Who would’ve thought? She laid low for two whole years, then bam—she’s off to the races. In just two months, she went from dead last to top of the class. If that’s not a dark horse, I don’t know what is.”
“Our homeroom keeps trotting her out as the ultimate inspirational tale these days. We’re all callus-eared from it.” She pouted, clearly nursing a grudge.
Jiang Wan couldn’t help but chuckle at the griping, even as quiet relief bloomed in her chest.
This was the life Little Bei deserved.
Bright and brilliant. Praised, admired, adored.
“Oh, right—how are things going with you and Senior Cen?” As if struck by a sudden thought, Jiang Wan turned to Guanguan, who was taking a sip of water.
A little while back, Guanguan had been in a real funk—moping around, thoroughly down in the dumps. No matter how Jiang Wan prodded, she wouldn’t spill what was wrong, but Jiang Wan suspected it had something to do with Cen Jin.
Then, a few days later, Guanguan bounced back to her usual sunny, boisterous self, acting like nothing had happened.
At the time, Jiang Wan had been swamped with dance rehearsals and keeping up with her studies, so the whole thing had slipped her mind.
Now that it crossed her thoughts again—and seeing no trace of gloom on Guanguan’s face—she felt safe asking outright.
Guanguan clearly hadn’t seen it coming. She choked on her water, coughing furiously.
“Cough cough cough! What could possibly be going on between us?” She set down her cup and waved her hands frantically, though her tone had lost its earlier cheer.
“Cen Jin’s Gaokao is coming up. Of course I can’t keep dropping by and distracting her.”
She shrugged with forced nonchalance. “I’ve made up my mind. After her exam’s over, I’ll confess. Whether she says yes or no, at least I won’t have wasted all this time crushing on her from afar. Bottling it up isn’t Guan Shaorong’s style!”
She knew there was a ninety percent chance of rejection.
Maybe her poker face was just that bad—every joy and sorrow plastered right there on her features for Cen Jin to see plain as day.
Cen Jin really was gentle, wasn’t she? Even her indirect brush-off had been so kind.
Gentle, but utterly final. No room left for fooling herself.
“Guanguan…” Perceptive as ever, Jiang Wan could easily spot the hurt lurking in her friend’s eyes.
Guanguan could barely force a smile anymore. “Um, the heating inside is too strong. I’ll step out for some fresh air. When you go on stage later, I’ll cheer for you from below!”
After she finished speaking, she turned and walked away.
Jiang Wan watched her back with some worry and sighed inwardly.
Suddenly, two girls walked in from outside the door.
One had her arms crossed with an arrogant posture, while the other kept her head lowered meekly, wearing a smile that seemed rather fake.
Coincidentally, Jiang Wan knew both of them.
They had all participated in a small competition held previously in Ning City, where some friction had occurred.
Jiang Wan was too lazy to deal with them, but she had no idea why these two always fixated on her. Whenever they saw her, the passive-aggressive jabs were inevitable.
As expected, the taller girl rolled her eyes almost to the sky the moment she spotted Jiang Wan.
“What kind of place is this? How can any stray cat or dog get in here?”
Her voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for everyone around to hear. People all turned their gazes over, scrutinizing the scene.
She hadn’t named anyone specifically, but it was obvious to everyone that she was targeting Jiang Wan.
This indirect finger-pointing made Jiang Wan want to laugh a little.
She had no interest in letting people treat her like a monkey on display. She slowly stood up and walked straight toward the girl.
“Good dogs don’t block the way.” She stopped in front of her, smiling softly with clear, watery eyes and a gentle tone.
If everyone’s ears hadn’t been working fine, they might have thought she was apologizing.
The girl had a explosive temper and was spoiled rotten—she could insult others, but no one could insult her.
She immediately started cursing. “Say that again if you have the guts!”
The meek-looking girl beside her hurriedly tried to mediate. “Sister Ran, don’t get angry. I think she didn’t mean it. Let’s just make way for her. Maybe we really did block Jiang Wan.”
This seemingly reasonable remark only made “Sister Ran” even more furious. “Why should we? Who does she think she is? Why should I have to make way for her?”
The meek girl shuddered, as if frightened, shrinking her neck and not daring to make a sound.
This made the people around direct a hint of disgust toward “Sister Ran” in their gazes.
Jiang Wan didn’t react, merely glancing thoughtfully at the pitiful, aggrieved-looking meek girl.
She didn’t know if it was because the room felt too stuffy or something else, but an indescribable unease stirred in her heart, leaving her restless and eager to do something.
Too lazy to engage in more pointless bickering with them, Jiang Wan circled around to the barre at the back.
She was number twenty-five, and her turn on stage wasn’t far off. It was better to warm up and do some stretches than waste time trading barbs with them.
Seeing Jiang Wan completely ignore her, the girl fumed and followed along, muttering passive-aggressively for a good while. But Jiang Wan paid her no mind, focusing intently on pressing her legs.
“Sister Ran, maybe we shouldn’t disturb her anymore. What if… what if we make Jiang Wan angry again?” The meek girl spoke up weakly at just the right moment.
The girl laughed in fury instead. “Am I scared of making her angry?”
As she spoke, she couldn’t suppress the nameless rage burning in her chest and directly shoved Jiang Wan.
“Hey, are you mute? I’m talking to you!”
Jiang Wan knew the girl was stupid, but she hadn’t expected her to be this stupid—actually laying hands on her.
Logically, the shove wasn’t that hard; as long as she kept her balance, it should have been fine.
But in that instant, Jiang Wan knew she was done for.
Right at the moment the girl pushed her, her foot slipped beneath her.
“Ah——!!”
“Wanwan!!”
As her body lost balance and she fell backward, a terrified scream rang in her ears.
She seemed to have hallucinated…
She actually heard Little Bei’s voice. But how could Little Bei be here?
The next second, she felt a sharp pain at the back of her head, but a pair of hands cushioned her waist—it didn’t hurt much, though it was awfully uncomfortable.
Immediately after, her entire body was pulled into a slightly cool embrace.
A dizzying whirl of colors blurred her vision.
“Wanwan, are you okay? Wanwan!” The black-haired girl’s eyes brimmed with panic. She knelt on the ground without a care for her image, carefully cradling Jiang Wan’s neck, afraid to touch her recklessly. Her voice trembled, and so did her fingers.
The backstage area had already descended into chaos—some people rushed off to find the person in charge, while others were already calling the hospital.
The culprit responsible for all this stood frozen in place with a deathly pale face, her eyes glazed over as she kept mumbling to herself, “It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. She just didn’t stand steady herself.”
Jiang Wan leaned into Bei Huai’s arms, her head throbbing unbearably. She squeezed her eyes shut, her expression twisted in pain.
Her head felt like it was about to explode, with countless images flashing by like a montage.
The massive influx of information and the huge emotional whiplash nearly overwhelmed her.
Finally, the last image froze on a car accident, then shattered into fragments, scattering into pieces.
She jerked her eyes open, gulping down air in desperate gasps, like a drowning swimmer finally hauled to shore.
“Wanwan, how are you feeling now? Are you still with us?” An urgent, anxious voice sounded in her ear, threaded with a trace of regret.
Jiang Wan froze for a moment. She scanned her surroundings like a stranger in an unfamiliar place, then slowly shifted her gaze to the person cradling her.
A face that was both familiar and strangely distant filled her vision.
It hit her like a bolt from the blue.
Her pupils dilated bit by bit as she stared at Bei Huai without blinking.
Her eyes suddenly reddened.
She reached out a hand and gently caressed Bei Huai’s cheek, handling her with the delicate care one might reserve for a priceless, fragile treasure.
“Little… Bei…” Her voice came out hoarse, her expression a bizarre blend of sorrow and joy.
This was her Little Bei.
Was it a dream?
If it was, she prayed she would never wake from it.
She had waited so very long—so long that even her fairy ball cactus had withered away.
