When someone is in a foul mood, everything gets on their nerves.
Zhao Nige returned to the Art Troupe thoroughly irritated, only for Zhao Lanxin to walk right into the line of fire.
Flanked by one of her fawning lackeys, Zhao Lanxin flaunted her way over to Zhao Nige.
“Sister, the program for next week’s National Day performance is set. My ballet is the grand finale. Mom and Dad will be there to watch, so make sure you do your best in the group dance too!”
Zhao Nige decided she had indulged Zhao Lanxin for far too long. Previously, she had ignored the girl’s passive-aggressive provocations only because all her energy was focused on winning over the male lead.
After today’s setback, however, she fully intended to recoup her losses on another battlefield.
“With those stubby limbs of yours, you actually have the nerve to dance ballet? A hopping frog would put on a better show. Don’t think stealing someone else’s identity makes you a phoenix. A pheasant is still a pheasant. Even if you stick a few feathers in your rear, it won’t hide your true nature—you can’t change the blood in your veins.”
“Just because I haven’t bothered with you doesn’t mean I can’t touch you. If you keep showing your face around me, you won’t be staying in the Zhao family much longer. You can pack up and crawl right back to wherever you came from!”
Crossing her arms with a disdainful sneer, Zhao Nige finished her tirade and turned on her heel, leaving Zhao Lanxin and her lackey behind without a second glance.
Zhao Lanxin’s face flushed through a kaleidoscope of colors—green, pale, red, and purple, each more vivid than the last. Beside her, her best friend stood slack-jawed, mouth gaping wide enough to fit an egg.
“Lanxin… what did she mean by that?”
Zhao Lanxin clenched her fists so hard her fingernails dug deep into her palms, glaring venomously at Zhao Nige’s retreating figure.
Zhao Nige.
Just you wait. We’ll see who drives whom out of the Zhao family first!
***
That afternoon, the Art Troupe held a dress rehearsal for their folk dance to choose the dancer who would take center stage for the final pose.
The choice ultimately came down to Zhao Nige and one other dancer.
Zhao Nige was a newcomer, but her striking looks, poise, and posture made it impossible not to notice her in a crowd. Since she drew the eye so effortlessly, placing her front and center seemed like a natural way to give the grand finale extra flair.
Her rival, however, was an experienced dancer capable of executing demanding choreography. If Zhao Nige grew nervous and made a mistake on such a major military stage, the cost would be too high.
Weighing the options, the rehearsal instructor hesitated.
“Instructor, I’d like a dance-off with Zhao Nige. Pick whoever dances better!”
Stepping forward, the dancer threw down the gauntlet.
Her name was Li Ting, and she was one of Zhao Lanxin’s close friends. She had heard from Zhao Lanxin that Zhao Nige grew up in the countryside with no real dance training, having slipped into the troupe on family connections and a pretty face alone.
Zhao Lanxin might have seen Zhao Nige as a convenient foil, but to Li Ting, she was a direct threat to her own spot.
Folk dance was inherently a large group affair featuring dozens of performers. With only one or two center positions offering a rare chance in the spotlight, she had no intention of handing the role to Zhao Nige.
A public contest would prove to everyone, including the instructor, who truly deserved it.
Lifting her chin defiantly, Li Ting fixed her gaze on Zhao Nige. “Zhao Nige, do you dare compete with me?”
Zhao Nige hesitated.
She genuinely had no interest in fighting for the center spot—mostly because she found the routine’s ending pose hideous.
As the dance concluded, the ensemble was supposed to fan out and cluster toward the center of the stage. The lead dancer would then execute a standing split on one leg, hoisting the other over her shoulder in a “golden rooster” stance and holding it for five seconds.
Having trained in Chinese classical dance in her previous life, Zhao Nige had mastered splits, backbends, and high kicks with ease. But she had never struck a finishing pose that looked so absurd.
They were dancers, not the Eighteen Bronze Men of Shaolin. Dance was supposed to be aesthetic and artistic.
Mistaking Zhao Nige’s reluctance for stage fright, Li Ting pressed her advantage. “If you’re too scared to compete, it just proves you don’t have what it takes to lead.”
“Um…” Zhao Nige hesitated before finally speaking up. “Li Ting, was it? Just a moment.”
Turning to the instructor, Zhao Nige said, “Instructor, I have a suggestion. Why don’t we change the ending pose to a flying backbend instead? It would look far more stunning and impactful.”
The instructor blinked in surprise.
Compared to a flying backbend, the Golden Rooster pose was indeed underwhelming. But folk dance had always been a mixed bag here, and these dancers were mostly those left over from other productions. Li Ting was the only one among them capable of carrying a lead role.
Even so, pulling off a flying backbend was still asking too much of Li Ting’s skill level. Settling for a single-leg split finish had been the only viable compromise. It lacked visual appeal, but lasting only four or five seconds, hardly anyone would pay it much mind anyway.
“Can you do a flying backbend?” the instructor asked skeptically.
“Of course.” It wasn’t difficult.
Without a second thought, Zhao Nige arched backward, arms opening wide as her core engaged. Her arms rippled gracefully like willows swaying by a riverbank.
The back of her head dipped almost level with her calves, yet she remained rock-steady, without the slightest wobble.
She was not done yet. Pushing her backbend to the absolute limit, she tilted her other leg upward with pointed toes and an arched foot, striking the pose of a sideways soaring apsara.
The demanding movement was both breathtaking and mesmerizing.
Knowing this was a folk dance, she did not simply lift the move from Chinese classical dance. Instead, she adjusted her hands and arms so her final pose blended seamlessly with the rest of the ensemble.
The instructor and dancers stood in stunned silence.
“Brilliant! Wonderful!”
Snapping out of her daze, the instructor’s eyes lit up as if she had just unearthed a prodigy. She smacked a fist into her palm with sheer excitement. “We’re using this pose! Keep this up, and we’ll blow everyone away at next week’s National Day Celebration!”
Seeing the decision practically finalized, Li Ting flushed with panic. “Instructor Liu, that’s not fair!”
“Oh, right, you haven’t gone yet,” the instructor replied. “Show me the same move, then. I’ll pick whoever does it best.”
Li Ting was left speechless.
She could not pull off such a difficult move to begin with.
That wretched Zhao Lanxin had lied, claiming Zhao Nige had never taken a single dance lesson.
She was utterly furious.
***
When Zhao Nige returned home that evening, Zhao Lanxin came looking for trouble again.
The evening news played on the living room television, the anchor’s crisp, measured voice filling the air while Zhao Guanghui sat reading the newspaper on the sofa. In the kitchen, Tao Rong and the nanny were preparing dinner.
With a little time left before the meal was ready, Zhao Nige headed straight upstairs to wash her face. She had spent the day in full-dress rehearsals at the Art Troupe, and her heavy stage makeup needed to come off.
When she emerged from the bathroom with a sheet mask on, she found Zhao Lanxin lingering in her doorway.
“I heard you went up against Li Ting today and snagged an ending pose?”
Secrets didn’t last in the Art Troupe; any bit of news made the rounds within half an hour. Besides, Li Ting was part of Zhao Lanxin’s circle.
Zhao Nige wasn’t in the least surprised that she already knew.
Tilting her head back, she lightly patted her face to help the serum absorb, not sparing Zhao Lanxin a single glance. She walked over to the armchair by the window, sinking in to enjoy a moment of relaxation.
Zhao Lanxin didn’t leave despite the cold shoulder. What had happened earlier that day had sparked a creeping sense of unease.
Word had spread about what went down in the Folk Dance Rehearsal Hall. Everyone who recounted the scene spoke in awe, claiming Zhao Nige had pulled off an extraordinarily difficult move—one so flawless that Li Ting hadn’t even found the chance to challenge it before admitting defeat.
Zhao Lanxin had no idea what kind of difficult move Zhao Nige had pulled off, but it made her suspicious.
Had Zhao Nige really spent the last twenty years in the countryside, never once practicing dance?
She refused to believe that someone without any foundation could suddenly master the art on her own, dancing even better than Li Ting, who had a decade of training under her belt.
Zhao Lanxin thought back to the peasant couple. According to the background check Zhao Guanghui and Tao Rong had run, the father had died years ago, leaving Zhao Nige alone with a widowed mother. Where would they have found the money for dance lessons?
Or could it be…
Was this Zhao Nige an impostor?
A calculating look entered Zhao Lanxin’s eyes. Probing, she asked, “Did you take dance classes before? Did your mother send you to the Youth Palace?”
Zhao Nige slowly peeled off her sheet mask, looking Zhao Lanxin up and down.
“That was your mother,” Zhao Nige replied with a faint, mocking smile. “How ridiculous. Get one thing straight: you’re just an adopted daughter in this house. The woman you look down on is your biological mother.”
Zhao Lanxin’s expression tightened.
Taking in the sour look on her face, Zhao Nige added, “Come to think of it, when your birth mother died, you didn’t even go back to pay your respects, let alone shed a tear. Are you really that eager to cut all ties?”
“You’re lecturing me?” Zhao Lanxin sneered. “I don’t see you in mourning clothes either. The second you got back to the Zhao family, you started doing your makeup. Dressing up like that every single day—what, are you trying to seduce some man?”
Zhao Nige leisurely massaged her face, her fingers delicately curled. “What if I am? We’re both single. Seducing him isn’t a crime. Unlike you, shameless enough to fawn over someone else’s parents and steal them for yourself. How does that make you any different from a homewrecking mistress?”
“You!” Zhao Lanxin gritted her teeth. “Zhao Nige, don’t push it!”
“You’re the one who asked for it. What else was I supposed to do?” Zhao Nige closed her eyes with a soft hum.
Zhao Lanxin stormed off, thoroughly humiliated. Zhao Nige possessed a sharp, venomous tongue; trading barbs with her was nothing short of asking for trouble.
Her face was pale with rage as she went downstairs.
Trying to compose herself to get back into Zhao Guanghui’s good graces, she suddenly noticed him and Tao Rong conversing in hushed tones out on the balcony, away from the others.
Zhao Lanxin crept over, slipping behind the floor-length curtains. Catching phrases like “paternity test” and “medical results,” her heart pounded with excitement.
It was perfect.
She wasn’t the only one—Tao Rong and Zhao Guanghui doubted Zhao Nige’s parentage too.