Chapter 37

“As expected, forgetting friends for a girl,” Zhou Qingyan muttered to herself. It was she who had introduced the little underclassman to you in the first place.

Sang Wan gave her a half-smile as she stared her down, then casually released Yue Bai. “Keep acting so improper, and I’ll tell Wen Mo to keep a closer eye on you.”

Zhou Qingyan let out a cold laugh. “I really wasted my efforts helping you.” With that, she glanced at her watch and urged, “The opening ceremony’s about to start. Let’s get going.”

“The emcee hasn’t even arrived yet. What’s the rush?” Sang Wan calmly tied up her hair, casting a playful glance at Zhou Qingyan before taking Yue Bai’s hand and heading out the door.

They went downstairs and reached the charging station, where two electric scooters were plugged in. Sang Wan unplugged both chargers without a second thought. With a long stride, she swung her leg over one of them, drove it onto the road, and nodded at Yue Bai. “Hop on.”

“Senior Sister, has Senior Sister Wen already gone ahead?” Yue Bai asked in confusion after climbing aboard. She hadn’t seen Wen Mo since getting back from class that afternoon.

The Sports Meet meant a school-wide holiday. It lasted two days, plus the weekend, for a total of four days off.

“She’s one of the emcees, and she’s also the Student Union President, so she headed over early to help out,” Sang Wan explained.

Yue Bai nodded in understanding, then thought of something else. “Huh, isn’t the Student Union President usually a junior? Senior Sister Wen’s only a sophomore.”

“There were some issues with the previous Student Union, so they started looking for successors from the sophomores,” Sang Wan said. A few seconds later, she added, “The last president and some key members abused their positions to bully students and misappropriated Student Union funds. It got exposed, caused a huge scandal, and the school had to step in for the investigation. It was an embarrassment for the school, so they did a massive overhaul of the Student Union, and the whole thing got swept under the rug.”

Yue Bai nodded, half-getting it. “Sounds like Senior Sister Wen has it pretty rough.”

Sang Wan smiled faintly without replying.

The scooter pulled up next to a fence with a small locked gate on one side.

Sang Wan got off, fished a key from her pocket, and unlocked it. She led Yue Bai straight through, then moved to relock it.

Zhou Qingyan stuck a hand through from outside. “Wait until I’m in.”

Sang Wan stepped aside to make room. Once Zhou Qingyan was through, she locked the gate again.

“The opening ceremony officially kicks off at six-thirty,” Sang Wan said flatly. “You’d better hurry. We’re cutting it close.”

“No worries,” Zhou Qingyan replied casually. “They still have all the college formations marching in at the start. It won’t get to the performances until after seven.”

Yue Bai listened to their exchange in a daze, sticking close to Sang Wan’s side while sneaking a glance at her.

She had no idea what program Senior Sister Sang was performing tonight. And she hadn’t changed clothes either.

Sang Wan wore her usual shirt paired with loose black pants. If there was any difference, it was that the shirt had a bit more flair, with a long ribbon dangling from one side.

Only the rear light on the central stage was on. Yue Bai peered toward the stands, which were shrouded in darkness, shadowy outlines of crowds blurring together.

Once they reached backstage, Yue Bai spotted Wen Mo right away, phone in hand as she talked with someone.

Seeing them arrive, Wen Mo seemed to smile briefly before lowering her head to give serious instructions.

“Sang Wan, you’re up first. There are seats over there—you can rest for a bit,” Wen Mo said when they drew near, squeezing it in between her tasks. “Yan Yan, let the formations know the first college starts marching at six-thirty.”

“Got it.” Zhou Qingyan acknowledged and stepped aside to make a call.

A group of performers sat backstage.

As Sang Wan approached, a few greeted her warmly, and she responded to each one.

“Little Bai, take a seat.” Sang Wan pointed to one of the few empty chairs. They’d arrived so late that most spots were taken by those who’d come early.

“No, no, Senior Sister—you sit. You’re performing soon,” Yue Bai said quickly, waving her off. She was only backstage thanks to Sang Wan; she couldn’t very well take her seat too.

“It’s fine. Just sit. I’ll grab another chair from over there.” Sang Wan pressed Yue Bai down onto the seat.

Yue Bai’s gaze followed in the direction Sang Wan had indicated. Two stacked plastic stools sat in the corner.

She watched as Sang Wan strode over, pulled out the top red plastic stool, and started heading back—only to be stopped by someone.

Yue Bai recognized the person; they were somewhat familiar.

Li Ci was dressed in a black suit. He politely took the stool from Sang Wan, said something Yue Bai couldn’t hear, and she saw Sang Wan shake her head, her lips moving in response.

Then Sang Wan walked around him and returned to her side.

“Senior Sister, is Senior Li Ci one of the emcees?” Yue Bai asked, her feet kicking idly against the plastic bar under the stool.

“Yeah, he is. They’re the ones handling all the big events,” Sang Wan replied, settling in beside her.

“So you two must interact a lot, huh?” Yue Bai whispered.

For some reason, Sang Wan caught a fleeting dip in her mood.

Jealous?

“Yeah, and we’re both in the Student Union, so we see each other pretty often,” Sang Wan said deliberately.

“Oh.” Yue Bai’s tone sank further, laced with unwitting hostility. “He’s still pursuing you, right, Senior Sister?”

Sang Wan chuckled softly. Hadn’t she answered this question several times already?

“Mm-hm.” Sang Wan nodded.

“But you don’t like him, right, Senior Sister?” Yue Bai pressed.

“Nope.” Sang Wan smiled faintly.

I only like you, she added silently to herself.

“Good.” Yue Bai felt inexplicably relieved, her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth. “So what’s Senior Sister’s performance?”

Sang Wan blinked. “It’s a secret for now.”

Yue Bai blinked back, staring into those lively, sparkling eyes—eyes brimming with endless allure. For a moment, she was at a loss for words.

An awkward silence stretched for a few seconds.

Just then, Yue Bai’s phone rang. She glanced down: an incoming WeChat call from Xu Nuo.

She hit the green accept button. As soon as the connection went through, Xu Nuo’s loud voice boomed out. “Little Bai, how’s your foot?”

“Getting better,” Yue Bai said, flexing her ankle.

“That’s good. Did you make it to the opening ceremony tonight?”

“Yeah. You guys?”

“We’re in the stands—got here early, front row. We saved you a spot. Coming over?”

“No need. It’s starting any minute.” Yue Bai’s gaze darted everywhere, avoiding Sang Wan.

“Alright then.”

The call ended, cutting their conversation short. Neither brought it up again.

With that, the backstage area gradually quieted down.

Suddenly, all the lights blazed on, then snapped off, repeating the cycle a few times.

The screens mounted on two stone pillars flickered to life, their black surfaces glowing with cool tones. The silent field erupted in massive cheers.

The next moment, the screens began a countdown.

Flame-bordered numbers dropped with booming sounds, unwittingly syncing the entire field into the countdown.

From her spot, Yue Bai had a clear view of the side screen hanging in midair. She counted silently along with it.

Under everyone’s gaze, the numbers hit zero.

The field’s lights flared bright once more, then extinguished after three seconds.

At the same time, the first college formation marched out slowly, its leader hoisting a banner with the college’s name, striding proudly.

Sometime unbeknownst to her, dozens of rows of people in black had filled the field. As the formations moved, the lights strapped to them lit up, turning them into glowing figures that sparked a fresh wave of cheers.

“That’s pretty cool,” Yue Bai said, delighted.

Sang Wan’s lips curved up, her gaze soft on Yue Bai. These performances—she’d seen them in rehearsal three times over—held no appeal anymore.

Compared to them, she’d rather watch Yue Bai.

Ten-odd minutes later, all the college formations had passed. Just as Yue Bai thought Sang Wan’s turn was next, more groups followed from the rear, carrying various balls.

“Those are the school team members,” Sang Wan explained, seeing Yue Bai’s confusion. “The team walks separately. That’s the basketball team right now.”

“Sang Wan, get ready,” Wen Mo called from two meters away, microphone dangling at her side.

“Got it.” Sang Wan rose from the red plastic stool. She flashed Yue Bai a small smile. “Senior Sister’s up soon.”

“I’ll cheer for you, Senior Sister!” Yue Bai made a fist-pump gesture.

“Good.” Sang Wan’s response was tender as she headed for the stairs at the stage’s edge. She straightened her clothes, then turned back for a quick peace sign at Yue Bai.

“Senior Sister.” Yue Bai let out a soft laugh.

“Stop grinning like an idiot and come over here. You can’t see a thing from there,” Zhou Qingyan said helplessly to the girl whose smile hadn’t faded, teeth still on full display.

Yue Bai’s seat was directly behind the stage, her view blocked by the central screen and a metal framework.

“You’ll have a better view from here,” Wen Mo added, beckoning from beside Zhou Qingyan.

Yue Bai hurriedly stood up and ran over to a spot less than three meters from the stage. The surrounding lights were all dim, with only the stage brightly lit, so she wouldn’t be spotted there.

“Senior Sister, I’m here,” Yue Bai said as she jogged up.

“You have to watch closely, now—this is another side of your Senior Sister Sang,” Zhou Qingyan said mysteriously.

“Another side?” Yue Bai’s curiosity was piqued.

“Little Bai.” Sang Wan caught sight of Zhou Qingyan and Wen Mo approaching out of the corner of her eye. She heard them calling Yue Bai’s name and followed along.

“Senior Sister, why’d you come over?” Yue Bai spotted the last school team formation marching past in the distance. Worried that Sang Wan might miss her cue, she added, “Isn’t it almost your turn?”

“No rush—the two hosts haven’t even taken the stage yet. Why should I hurry?” Sang Wan gently pinched Yue Bai’s cheek.

“Can’t bear to watch.” Zhou Qingyan grumbled. She pulled Wen Mo toward the stage and tossed over her shoulder, “Little Bai, don’t let your Senior Sister Sang’s looks fool you.”

Yue Bai nodded on instinct. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Sang Wan tilted her head, repeating the word.

“No, I mean—” Yue Bai caught herself and hurried to correct it. “Senior Sister’s so wonderful—how could she ever fool anyone?”

“Smart girl.” In high spirits, Sang Wan pinched her cheek again. “Alright, your Senior Sister’s about to head onstage.”

Up on the stage, the opening remarks were already more than halfway through.

Yue Bai rubbed her cheek. Senior Sister Sang not only loved ruffling her hair these days—she’d taken to pinching her cheeks, too.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to Music College sophomore Sang Wan, who will grace us with the opening ceremony’s first performance,” the host announced. His voice, rich with amusement, carried across the entire field.