“We can choose.” Meng Yanxi walked toward the piano in the corner.

He cleared away the discarded clothes and props covering it, lifted the piano lid, and casually tested two notes with his fingers—both in tune. He then pulled out the piano bench and found a piece of paper to wipe it briefly.

“You can play the piano?” Jin Zhao walked over to his side in surprise.

Meng Yanxi was rare in his modesty, letting out a low laugh. “Same as dancing. Performed in kindergarten, won an award.”

Jin Zhao burst out laughing.

She suddenly felt that what Si Tian had said was right—Meng Yanxi really was quite easy to get along with.

The boy’s fingers fell on the black and white keys, and the clear, ringing sound of the piano flowed out.

It was the melody of Lanting Xu. When he came in, he had heard her humming it. Now it spilled from between his fingers, like pale ink spreading across rice paper—gentle and lingering, wrapped in the classroom’s particular stillness mixed with the scent of old books and dust.

Jin Zhao had never learned the piano. She didn’t know how to judge Meng Yanxi’s level, but it was certainly not just kindergarten-award level. She stood in front of him, lightly leaning against the piano, as if she’d been drawn into it.

Meng Yanxi’s fingertips moved like drifting clouds and flowing water, his pitch-black eyes occasionally settling on her.

The mottled evening sunlight slanted into the classroom, falling on the piano’s lacquered surface dusted with a thin layer of gray. Beside the piano, a boy sat and a girl stood; fine dust floated around them in the light.

Jin Zhao didn’t know how long she stood there listening. Then, in one instant, it was as if the sound of the strings suddenly gave a soft thump, lightly flicking the tip of her heart. She snapped back to herself, turned around as if nothing had happened, faced the mirror in the classroom, and began to move with the tree branch in her hand.

Meng Yanxi had seen her dance twice before—first in Huijue Town, an unnamed dance without music, and later Wang Qian Nian. This was the third. Each dance carried a completely different spirit: the tranquil compassion of Huijue Town, the eternity within a single glance of Wang Qian Nian, and the balance of hardness and softness in Lanting Xu.

The rough tree branch in her hand seemed to give birth to a green blade. The Lanting melody flowed slowly like winding streams; the girl lifted her sword and stepped through shattered light and shadow. The branch traced brilliant sword flowers, as if sharpness flowed along her wrist—keen yet resilient.

Meng Yanxi couldn’t look away.

In the days that followed, the two of them went to the activity room every afternoon after school, squeezing out an hour of rehearsal time before evening self-study.

Jin Zhao was pleasantly surprised to discover that although Meng Yanxi had no dance foundation, his physical strength and core power far surpassed even professional dance students. He also had a certain degree of flexibility—though not as soft as dancers, it was still above amateur level. Add to that a brain that could make money, win competitions, and sit firmly at the top of the grade year after year, and Meng Yanxi learned as easily as reaching into a bag. Movements Jin Zhao only needed to demonstrate once, he could reproduce perfectly. As for leaps, turns, and sword-flower movements that required sharp explosive power, he performed them even better than Jin Zhao.

Jin Zhao began to suspect that, just like his piano playing, his kindergarten dance “award” had merely been a modest turn of phrase.

Meng Yanxi said, “Want to hear the truth? I didn’t even dance in kindergarten.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Meng Yanxi added, “But I learned martial arts and karate.”

Jin Zhao: “Martial arts?”

Meng Yanxi: “Mm. When I was little, I was almost kidnapped. After that, I always had a dedicated instructor.”

Jin Zhao didn’t know what to say. So even being rich came with rich people’s troubles. But then again, no wonder he was better at fighting than everyone else—turns out even fighting had been professionally taught.

Over the past two days, each class had already submitted their performance lists. The Affiliated High School’s forum kept right up with current events and quickly launched a “Most Anticipated Program” vote. The administrator—no one knew whether they were a student or not—went so far as to fan the flames by pinning the poll to the top.

Thanks to Meng Yanxi, their duet Lanting Xu shot straight to the top of the rankings—first place by a landslide.

Jin Zhao felt that if Meng Yanxi ever entered the entertainment industry, he would definitely have top-star constitution. With just the slightest movement, at least seven layers of comments below would revolve entirely around him.

—Holy shit! Am I seeing things or was this filled in wrong? Meng Yanxi can dance too?

—That’s what I’m saying. If you said Meng Yanxi can fight, I’d believe it. Dance… it’s really hard to imagine what Meng Yanxi dancing would look like.

—What’s so strange about that? Boys can dance too.

—Boys can dance, sure—but is Meng Yanxi an ordinary boy? Look at that face of his, like an ice block. I’ve been in high school for two years and I’ve never seen him smile once. Can you imagine a high-and-mighty flower of the peaks giving it his all on stage just to make you smile?

—Ahhhhhh no, just thinking about it I already can’t take it! Meng Yanxi! All my votes go to you, all of them!

—Stop dreaming. Make you smile? Meng Yanxi: Who are you?

—No, but I heard this time there’s on-site voting. After each performance, there’s actually a live vote-pulling segment.

—Meng Yanxi: Vote if you want, don’t if you don’t.

—Hahahahaha honestly, you might be right. I really think Meng Yanxi would voluntarily withdraw from the vote-pulling segment!

……

Whether Meng Yanxi would withdraw from the vote-pulling segment or not, Jin Zhao didn’t know. She only knew that she already wanted to voluntarily withdraw from the arts festival.

She had always been somewhat detached in temperament. If others didn’t see her, she didn’t care; if she didn’t see others, that was fine too. She and the world were like well water and river water, never encroaching on each other. When she signed up, she hadn’t expected to make such a splash along with Meng Yanxi.

By Friday evening, Meng Yanxi was already able to smoothly dance through the entire Lanting Xu on his own. Jin Zhao felt that with a bit more practice afterward, he would dance it even better than she did. What she had casually said that day—she would be his accompaniment—had unexpectedly become a prophecy.

To be fair, she did have to admit it: “I’m doing sword dance. You’re dancing the sword.”

Meng Yanxi asked, “What’s the difference?”

Jin Zhao thought about it, then said honestly, “The difference between flowery, superficial moves and a young man in bright clothes riding at full gallop.”

Meng Yanxi looked at her thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he pierced through her little scheme with pinpoint accuracy: “You don’t want to dance anymore?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Meng Yanxi nodded very magnanimously. “If you think the styles don’t match, then I’ll withdraw.”

Get lost!

Even good-tempered Jin Zhao wanted to curse. So this was the moment the dagger finally showed, huh?

He tricked her into signing up, and now he wanted to make a clean getaway himself? Meng Yanxi truly lived up to the brain that could earn five million at seventeen—how could he make the abacus click so loudly?

Jin Zhao asked bluntly, “If I say no, will you fall and injure your leg again and take a week off?”

Meng Yanxi raised his brows slightly and countered, “Is that the kind of person I am in your eyes?”

You absolutely are! Jin Zhao muttered inwardly.

But she didn’t dare provoke him. By now, she had figured out Meng Yanxi’s temperament—this person had very little moral bottom line. If she really pushed him, he might very well lie down on the spot and say she’d bumped into him, pulling a long-distance Peng Ci¹Peng Ci: A Chinese slang term meaning to deliberately fake an accident or injury and then accuse another person in order to gain compensation or advantage; by extension, to falsely claim harm and play the victim to manipulate the situation..

“Don’t do this,” Jin Zhao stated seriously. “If you get ‘injured,’ then I—I’ll…”

But she had never threatened anyone before. She couldn’t think of anything sufficiently intimidating on the spot. She stalled twice and got stuck.

The boy looked at her with a smile. Brilliant sunset light streamed in through the window, reflecting the amusement in his eyes. The coldness faded from his pitch-black peach blossom eyes, replaced with a few traces of frivolous, roguish charm.

Meng Yanxi: “Love suicide?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Jin Zhao’s face flushed hot all at once, turning a thin pink—she didn’t know whether it was from embarrassment or anger.

Who uses words like that so casually?!

“Aren’t you first in the grade?” Jin Zhao snapped at him with a red face. “After class, did you go ask the P.E. teacher to tutor your Chinese?”

The boy leaned back against the wall, one long leg slightly bent, both hands in his pockets. Whether he was doing it on purpose to tease her or not, he smiled with a roguish edge. “Since you know I’m first in the grade, then you should also know—my Chinese is very good.”

Jin Zhao wanted nothing more than to punch him. Just then—

“Bang!”

“Ah!”

A heavy thud suddenly came from the neighboring classroom, like something crashing to the ground. Jin Zhao only felt the floor beneath her feet tremble. At the same time, a cry of pain pierced through the wall, stabbing at her eardrums.

Footnotes

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  Peng Ci: A Chinese slang term meaning to deliberately fake an accident or injury and then accuse another person in order to gain compensation or advantage; by extension, to falsely claim harm and play the victim to manipulate the situation.