Chapter 55: Pavlov’s Reflex Part 2

Ten minutes passed in a flash. Sun Xihan had been timing her with a stopwatch. The moment the time was up, Sun Xihan hit the speakers, and the prelude began.

There was a thirty-second preparation window.

Ming Li was stunned. This was a method their old dance teachers used to use—training them to be able to dance anywhere, anytime, and pushing them to master choreography instantly. She hadn’t expected to be subjected to this kind of “hell training” years after graduation.

Yet the moment she heard the music, she reacted like Pavlov’s dog. She moved to the front of the mirror and hit the first mark precisely as the main melody began.

Every arm swing, every leg lift—it was as if she were moving according to a ruler. She was practically a one-to-one recreation of Sun Xihan’s earlier performance.

Zhu Hanxing, who had been lazily going through her own motions, froze. After twenty seconds, she simply crossed her arms and stared.

The dance outfit seemed tailored specifically for Ming Li, the color perfectly complementing her skin tone. Halfway through, Ming Li’s face began to flush; her current stamina was nowhere near enough to finish the entire piece. Yet she slowly adjusted her breathing, keeping her expression serene throughout the shift.

Zhu Hanxing wandered over to Mingyue, who was watching intently from the back. She signed to her: Isn’t she beautiful?

Mingyue nodded.

She was even more beautiful back then, Zhu Hanxing added.

Mingyue ignored her sentimentality, annoyed that she was distracting her from the performance. It was a visual and spiritual cleansing; every frame was worth capturing.

The moment the music stopped, Ming Li felt her legs go weak. She forced herself to complete the final bow before collapsing onto the floor, gasping for air.

Zhu Hanxing clapped enthusiastically. “As expected of you, Ming Li!”

Those few moves were enough to keep Zhu Hanxing studying for lifetimes. She felt she’d never memorize those sequences in her life, yet for Ming Li, it seemed effortless.

Sun Xihan glanced at her. “Still think I’m bullying her?”

Zhu Hanxing let out a low huff, refusing to admit she was wrong.

Sun Xihan let Ming Li rest, handing her a towel and water before going back to coach Zhu Hanxing. Zhu Hanxing’s foundation was so poor that Sun Xihan had to simplify several movements to make them look passable.

Even so, it was a struggle for Zhu Hanxing. However, Sun Xihan appreciated one thing about her: though she complained and cursed incessantly when not dancing, she never cried or acted lazy once practice actually began. If she could do a move, she did it; if she couldn’t, she gritted her teeth and forced it.

It made Sun Xihan respect her a little more. If only she’d stop stealing glances at Ming Li during practice.

…

Zhu Hanxing didn’t care what Sun Xihan thought. She was simply drawn to Ming Li’s silhouette. Ming Li hadn’t danced in years, but the moment she did, she was the most radiant person in the room.

Seeing Ming Li dance again filled Zhu Hanxing with a surge of emotion. She didn’t even get angry at Sun Xihan’s criticisms. In fact, she found it hilarious when she managed to annoy Sun Xihan, laughing like a mischievous grade-schooler.

After correcting a few movements, Sun Xihan left Zhu Hanxing to practice on her own, even enlisting Mingyue as a “supervisor.” Mingyue was even stricter than Sun Xihan; the moment Zhu Hanxing tried to slack off, Mingyue would tug on her clothes and stare her down with a look of utter disappointment. Eventually, Zhu Hanxing gave up and focused entirely on her work.

From start to finish, Ming Li was focused only on her own dance. When she danced, she blocked everyone else out. Her mind held nothing but the movements and the character’s emotions. The underlying tone of this choreography was tragic and complex; she felt she wasn’t expressing it well enough yet.

Moreover, as Sun Xihan had noted, her stamina was far below the standard for a performance, let alone a tour. Improving her physical condition in just one week was a monumental task.

After the first day of practice, Ming Li and Sun Xihan sat down to draft a one-week training and fitness plan. To build muscle, she needed a high nutritional intake. Ming Li’s current appetite was too small—she barely ate any meat. How could she build muscle with that?

Sun Xihan set a strict dietary plan for her. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all had nutritional requirements that had to be met or exceeded.

In an instant, Ming Li felt like she was back in school. Back then, everyone struggled with dieting, but Ming Li never had that problem; she ate everything, just in small portions, and her family had a specialist to handle her meals. She hadn’t expected to begin a grueling “rehabilitation” journey after graduation.

Ming Li practiced until eleven o’clock that night. After a quick bite with the others, she finally headed home.

Her body was exhausted, her mind wishing for a bed to appear so she could sleep for an eternity. Yet her heart felt lighter than ever. Just the thought of standing on the stage of the Jing’an Grand Theater in a week made her feel that there was hope for everything.

***

By the time Ming Li returned to the room, it was nearly midnight. Gu Qingshuang was still awake.

When the door opened, Ming Li saw Gu Qingshuang sitting on the sofa, clutching a book. Ming Li gave her a brief greeting.

Gu Qingshuang closed the book and asked, “Is the company that busy lately?”

“It’s alright.” Ming Li’s coordination with Assistant Lin was improving, and they had already mapped out the new company’s direction. Now it was just a matter of systematic restructuring. They had hired a large group of experts in the field, which meant that while Ming Li still had much to do, it was far more streamlined.

Ming Li knew her own limitations in this sector; her solution was to hire talent. Clearly, it was working. By leaving professional matters to professionals, she saved herself a lot of stress while creating more value for the company.

Gu Xueqiang had once taught her: not knowing something isn’t scary. What’s scary is pretending to know, trying to lead experts as an amateur out of pride, and ultimately ending up in bankruptcy.

The tragedy of Xingwan had been caused by exactly that. Ming Li would never let Xingwan repeat those mistakes.

However, Ming Li didn’t share these details with Gu Qingshuang. It wouldn’t help anyway; she had never expected Gu Qingshuang to be of any assistance. She could handle it herself.

“Then tonight…” Gu Qingshuang asked hesitantly, “Were you on a date?”

Ming Li blinked. “Huh?” Where did that come from?

“No,” Ming Li denied. “Why would you think that?”

“You showered before coming back.” Gu Qingshuang’s nose twitched. “You used a different brand of body wash.”

She really did have the nose of a bloodhound.

Ming Li had indeed worked up a sweat during practice and showered at the studio. There was no reason to hide it. “A college classmate of mine is performing at the Jing’an Grand Theater. She asked me to be a B-role understudy, and I agreed yesterday. I was practicing with her today and showered afterward.”

After Ming Li finished her explanation, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy. The good mood she’d brought home began to chill in the silence.

After a moment, Ming Li asked, “Is there a problem?”

Gu Qingshuang shook her head and opened her book again, her voice flat. “No problem.”

She just felt… uncomfortable. She had thought Ming Li wanted to dance as a cameo in Siwang’s movie, but she hadn’t expected this. Most importantly, Ming Li hadn’t bothered to consult her beforehand.