Jin Zhao turned her head and was about to go cancel the registration.

Meng Yanxi grabbed her wrist with one hand. “It’s already been more than two minutes. You can’t withdraw it anymore.”

The boy’s palm was broad, pressed against her skin. The warmth traveled into her body, and it was as if the tip of her heart had been scalded.

Jin Zhao flushed red, quietly protesting, “This isn’t even WeChat.”

“Alright, we’re blocking other people’s way. Let’s go back first.” Meng Yanxi couldn’t help laughing, and pulled her back to their seats.

The moment Meng Yanxi smiled, Jin Zhao felt like she’d been put under a spell.

They’d been classmates for almost a year, and she had never seen Meng Yanxi smile. He always seemed cold, just like the aura around him—cold mountain pines and mist, far away in the clouds.

So he could smile too—and smile this badly.

“Who does something like that?” Jin Zhao sat back down. The spell wore off, she came back to her senses, and felt a bit annoyed with him.

Wasn’t this just tricking her into signing up?

Meng Yanxi waited for her to sit down first, then took the seat beside her. “You’ve never seen me dance. How do you know I dance badly?”

Jin Zhao was shocked. She stared at him with eyes wide open. “You don’t even know how to dance!”

Meng Yanxi looked completely justified. “I’m using the future tense.”

Jin Zhao: “……” A logical genius.

They looked at each other. Jin Zhao was speechless for a long while, then had to remind him, “There’s only one week left. You’re zero foundation.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” A look of recollection appeared on the face of the seventeen-year-old boy.

Jin Zhao felt as if she’d seen a glimmer of hope. “You can dance? What style?”

Meng Yanxi thought for a moment, then said with great certainty, “I know a bit, but I don’t know exactly what style.”

Although he was handsome, his temperament was extremely cold and rigid. Jin Zhao didn’t think he looked like someone who could dance classical or ballet, so she asked, “Jazz? Street dance?”

These two styles were both relatively popular with boys.

Meng Yanxi said, “Probably not.”

Jin Zhao coaxed him patiently. “Then when did you dance? Do you have any videos?”

“No videos.” Meng Yanxi propped his head with one hand and looked at her.

Jin Zhao also looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

Meng Yanxi said, “Forget it. You should just take it as if I’ve never danced.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

If he were acting in a drama, she would absolutely curse him out as a green tea schemer.

Jin Zhao said, “You’d better just say it.”

Meng Yanxi said, “If I say it, don’t get mad.”

Jin Zhao: “Then you’d better not say it. Let’s go withdraw it.”

Meng Yanxi: “……”

The two went back and forth like that. Luo Heng and Si Tian came back after registering. From far away, Luo Heng’s booming voice cut in: “Yan-ge! Yan-ge! You signed up to dance?”

Si Tian was also very surprised. She squeezed into the row of seats, turned to face him, and asked curiously, “You can dance?”

Meng Yanxi nodded coolly. “A little.”

“Holy shit!” Luo Heng slapped his thigh. “Yan-ge, you’ve been hiding it deep enough! You can even dance—what is there in this world that you can’t do?”

Lu Jingyue in the back row heard their conversation and looked toward Meng Yanxi.

One had to say, be careful with what you say indeed—no one in this world knew Meng Yanxi’s background better than Lu Jingyue. He interjected, “When did you learn?”

Lu Jingyue’s rebuttal at this crucial moment was too powerful. Everyone turned their gaze toward Meng Yanxi in unison.

Meng Yanxi turned his head to glance at Jin Zhao. “I’ve known how since I was little.”

Jin Zhao: “Since you were little?”

“Yeah,” Meng Yanxi nodded, completely unashamed. “Kindergarten. Children’s Day on June First. I went on stage to perform and even won an award.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Everyone was speechless.

He even emphasized that he’d won an award? Was that really something worth bragging about?

Jin Zhao couldn’t help reminding him, “That award should’ve been all-inclusive. As long as you performed, every kid got one.”

Meng Yanxi: “Is that so?”

Jin Zhao: “Yes.”

Meng Yanxi looked a little disappointed. “I see. I thought I was the only one.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

She had seen Meng Yanxi in so many cold, sharp-tongued states before. When he suddenly revealed a bit of chūnibyō energy, the impact was rather intense.

Meng Yanxi could say that the national mathematics competition first prize belonged only to him, could say that peerless good looks belonged only to him, could say that his insane money-making ability belonged only to him… but he actually dared to assert with certainty that the kindergarten award belonged only to him. What kind of outrageous confidence was this?

Aren’t kindergarten certificates all mass-produced by the box?

But after this little episode, the distance between Jin Zhao and Meng Yanxi inexplicably shortened quite a bit.

Because Meng Yanxi had tricked her into signing up for a duet, and he had zero foundation, Jin Zhao had no choice but to take on the task of teaching him to dance. But there was only one week. Jin Zhao calculated it—altogether, the time they could rehearse was just the one and a half hours each afternoon between school dismissal and evening self-study, plus one Sunday in between.

The Affiliated High School had several activity rooms. Meng Yanxi’s execution ability was just as frightening as his confidence—he borrowed one of them that very day.

A classroom that was neither big nor small, off-white curtains, a whole wall of mirrors at the front. In the corner sat a dust-covered piano, with several old performance costumes and props piled on top of the lid.

The task for the first day was to decide on the dance style and the music.

Jin Zhao asked Meng Yanxi, “What kind of dance do you want to do?”

Meng Yanxi said, “Anything’s fine,” then turned around to open all the windows.

Outside the dance studio were two silk trees. It was almost June, the season when the silk flowers bloomed—pink, puffball-like clusters poked out, like small fans, swaying in the wind.

Perhaps it was the crown prince’s self-assured manner that provoked her. Jin Zhao’s mouth moved faster than her brain, and the words slipped out: “Then let’s do a kindergarten dance. You’re good at that.”

Meng Yanxi: “……”

Jin Zhao couldn’t help smiling faintly herself, then pretended to lower her head to cover it up.

Meng Yanxi lowered his gaze and looked at her.

He stood by the window. Outside was a brilliant evening glow; the wind blew in through the wide-open windows, the curtains rustling and fluttering.

Jin Zhao looked at him too.

A seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy, tall with long legs, clear and handsome brows and eyes half lit by the rosy clouds, half hidden by tousled hair. His cold, hard contours seemed, in this moment, to be softened by the evening breeze, making her think of that boy who had stepped forward without hesitation in the dark alley that night.

Meng Yanxi was like a young man from ancient times, dressed in bright clothes and riding a spirited horse—beneath his stern exterior, uncooled hot blood burned in his bones.

Jin Zhao’s heart stirred. She asked softly, “How about sword dance?”

Meng Yanxi froze. “What?”

“Sword dance.” Jin Zhao repeated it.

A young man in bright clothes and galloping youth, a long sword in hand—when he raised it, sharpness carried force; when he turned, his robes fluttered. His cold, rigid temperament fused into the fierce sword forms, righteous energy and hot blood flowing along the blade.

Meng Yanxi didn’t know if he hadn’t understood. He looked at her quietly for a few seconds, then suddenly asked, “What kind?”

Jin Zhao had no way to describe it to him. She asked, “Did you bring your phone? I’ll find you a video.”

Meng Yanxi had his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t bring it.”

Jin Zhao felt a bit stuck.

Meng Yanxi said, “Can you do it? Dance it for me to see.”

Jin Zhao looked around. “But there’s no sword here.”

Meng Yanxi’s gaze swept over the simple classroom. He strode out, leaving behind a single sentence: “Wait a bit.”

Jin Zhao suspected he was going out to buy a sword. She thought about it—there weren’t any shops near the affiliated high school that sold dance props—but he went downstairs quickly, and she didn’t have time to stop him.

The neighboring classroom had also been borrowed. Arts committee member Zhao Yu and six other girls were rehearsing a group dance, Luo Shen. It was an extremely professional dance piece, one that required long years of real skill. The current Jin Zhao could no longer dance it.

Jin Zhao returned to the classroom and gestured in front of the mirror.

Although she didn’t dance often now, the muscle memory was still there. She hummed a tune casually under her breath, her hands naturally flowing through a series of smooth, continuous movements.

Meng Yanxi came back quickly, holding two broken tree branches.

“We’ll buy a sword tomorrow. Use this for now.” He handed one of the branches to Jin Zhao.

“That works too.”

Jin Zhao held it and tested it with a couple of motions. A length of sixty to seventy centimeters—just right.

“Do you have a piece you like?” she asked Meng Yanxi, then quickly shook her head. “But you didn’t bring your phone, so you can’t really choose.”