The night was pitch-black as a black SUV sped along a winding suburban road.
The cold wind whipped through the open window, chilling the man’s stern features. Lu Yanling lifted the hand resting on the door and unbuttoned two of his collar buttons, yet a dull ache still throbbed between his brows.
The woman’s lingering scent refused to fade, still clinging to the air.
Lu Yanling rolled down the passenger-side window. The icy wind rushed in mercilessly, finally sweeping away the last traces of her delicate perfume.
Half an hour later, the SUV arrived at the Special Operations Brigade training base.
The vehicle swung into a designated parking space by the barracks with a sharp, precise maneuver.
Lu Yanling killed the engine and stepped out.
After a few paces, he remembered a document he’d forgotten. He turned back, opened the passenger door, and leaned in to retrieve the folder.
As he straightened up, a glint of light caught his eye beneath the seat.
He reached down and picked up a tube of lipstick.
Lu Yanling’s expression shifted. He stared at the lipstick, his gaze unreadable, before a soft, mocking scoff escaped his nose.
A clumsy trick.
He was considering throwing it away when a booming voice echoed from nearby. “Brigade Commander, you’re back!”
Lu Yanling lowered his eyelids, casually slipping the lipstick into his pocket before turning to face the newcomer.
A buzz-cut young man in camouflage fatigues jogged up to him, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Brigade Commander, the new recruits’ training wraps up in a few days. About… Lu Shaoyu… what are the arrangements for him?”
“What arrangements?” Lu Yanling’s face remained impassive. Back at the base, he stopped suppressing the cold, imposing aura that naturally commanded authority. “Wherever the other recruits go, he goes.”
Sensing the Brigade Commander’s displeasure, the young man shivered. He snapped his legs together and replied respectfully, “Yes, sir!”
***
Meanwhile, Lu Shaoyu was hiding in the new recruits’ dormitory restroom, taking a secret call.
“God, I get it! Can you stop talking about it? I’m sick to death of this! Training is exhausting, and you know what my Youngest Uncle is like—he’s a living demon! He has people watching me every second, and if I mess up even a little, he piles on the extra training…”
“Where’s the phone? I hid it in the toilet!”
“I’m not happy with it! What kind of bullshit is ‘principal dancer’? She looks like a damn market vendor!”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be back this weekend. Gotta go.”
Lu Shaoyu’s voice was a harsh, suppressed roar. After hanging up, he quickly stuffed the phone into a waterproof bag, hid it in the toilet tank, and flushed the toilet before slipping out like a thief.
Yeah, nobody noticed.
In the eight-person dorm, everyone was already in their bunks.
Lu Shaoyu, convinced he’d played it cool, returned to his bed and lay down, his expression a mask of normalcy.
In reality, he had no idea that from the very first day he joined the Special Training New Recruit Company, everyone knew he was Brigade Commander Lu’s grandnephew.
Lu Shaoyu, however, was under the impression that he was just naturally popular and well-liked. After all, before joining the army, he had been a big shot in Beijing’s elite circles.
The three months of training had been a grueling, tedious slog. If he hadn’t made a solemn vow to his grandfather, he would have quit long ago.
Staring at the ceiling, Lu Shaoyu wondered: I’m already at my breaking point, and this is just the new recruit phase. How the hell did Lu Yanling survive eight years of this?
All these years, Lu Shaoyu had never seen his youngest uncle so much as date a girl.
Is he some kind of human robot, born cold-blooded and indifferent to the mortal world?
Technically, Lu Shaoyu was only seven years younger than his Youngest Uncle. But in terms of family hierarchy, he was completely overshadowed.
And in terms of reputation, he was utterly crushed.
Because their ages were so close, Lu Shaoyu had grown up hearing every elder praise Lu Yanling to the skies—how he was an exceptional talent, how he had surpassed his teachers. Meanwhile, the best Lu Shaoyu ever got was a passing comment like, “The kid looks sturdy enough.”
If Lu Yanling hadn’t joined the military academy at twenty and disappeared into the army, Lu Shaoyu feared he would have spent his entire life living in that living demon’s shadow.
Fortunately, that gave him a few years of freedom.
But the good times didn’t last. The moment he turned twenty, his grandfather started looking at him with disdain, calling him a worthless playboy who was neither a scholar nor a soldier. The old man’s words were so harsh that Lu Shaoyu’s parents immediately pressured him to get his act together.
First, they arranged for him to join the army. Then, they threw a flurry of blind dates at him, trying to force him to marry and settle down. The combined onslaught left Lu Shaoyu on the verge of a mental breakdown.
If he hadn’t been so desperate to finally beat his Youngest Uncle at something, he never would have arrogantly made that solemn vow to his grandfather…
Now, he was drowning in regret.
Aaaah! I want to go clubbing! I want to go street racing! I want to play pool! Aaaaah!
***
After moving to a sunnier room, Zhao Nige finally slept through the night.
She woke up feeling completely restored. Today, she had to head to the Art Troupe. She pulled open her wardrobe and grabbed a few random pieces of clothing.
Though Tao Rong was blatantly biased, she at least maintained a facade of fairness toward her “biological daughter,” providing Zhao Nige with the same clothes, food, and allowance as Zhao Lanxin.
The wardrobe contained several sets of newly bought clothes. Zhao Nige preferred dresses and rarely wore pants, but she wanted to avoid attracting too much male attention at the Art Troupe. She decided to dress down.
A striped T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers.
Standing before the mirror, Zhao Nige felt she looked like a frumpy college student. Satisfied, she headed downstairs.
In the living room, Tao Rong had just finished making breakfast, and Zhao Lanxin was already helping set the table.
The sight of Zhao Nige, dressed like an innocent college girl, gave them both pause. A flicker of jealousy even crossed Zhao Lanxin’s face.
What’s your problem, big sister? Zhao Nige thought. If your eyes are bothering you, go get them checked instead of glaring at me.
As they ate, Tao Rong announced, “Your father is coming back from his business trip today. Come home early after work.”
Zhao Lanxin beamed. “That’s wonderful! I’ve missed him so much while he’s been away!”
Zhao Nige listened, her appetite vanishing instantly.
Tao Rong’s husband, Zhao Guanghui, was the editor-in-chief of a military newspaper. He was a second-generation military scion, though the Zhao family’s grandfather had died early, leaving them unable to compare to the Lu family’s wealth.
Tao Rong held a low-profile position at the Art Troupe; both she and her husband were intellectuals.
Twenty years ago, during the Down to the Countryside Movement, their baby had been swapped in a township hospital with the child of a peasant woman who had given birth on the same day.
The couple had brought the wrong daughter back to the city the following year and raised her until she was twenty. It was only then, while applying for her birth certificate, that they discovered their biological daughter had been switched at birth.
The couple scrambled for clues to find her. When they learned she was still alive, they contacted the peasant woman to bring her back to the city. The woman agreed, wanting a better life for her child.
But before the biological daughter could return, the peasant woman died in an accident.
Immediately afterward, the original female supporting character—Zhao Nige’s predecessor—died in a car crash on her way back to the city. The car had plunged from a bridge into a river, and she had drowned.
And then there was Zhao Lanxin.
The imposter daughter who had usurped her place.
She had stepped on the original female supporting character’s destiny to soar high, eventually marrying into the Lu family as the young mistress. She had ascended the social ladder to become a phoenix.
Now, watching Zhao Lanxin fawn over Tao Rong and her husband, Zhao Nige couldn’t shake the feeling that the deaths of the original supporting character and the peasant woman were too suspicious.
***
Before they even reached the Art Troupe’s gates, Gao Xiang approached them again, just as he had the day before.
His gaze was fixed on Zhao Nige, his expression full of awe. He barely acknowledged Zhao Lanxin, his greeting to her perfunctory as he walked straight toward Zhao Nige.
“Zhao Nige, I brought you breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten,”
Zhao Nige replied without so much as a glance in his direction. She kept walking, passing through the gates without stopping.
Zhao Lanxin’s face darkened. Completely ignored, she watched Gao Xiang’s disappointed, longing gaze follow Zhao Nige’s retreating figure.
Her mood soured to the extreme.
Gao Xiang was the Art Troupe director’s nephew and the ballet’s principal dancer.
He had pursued Zhao Lanxin when she was first cast as the lead. But knowing Tao Rong was scouting blind date prospects for her—likely the young master of the Lu family—Zhao Lanxin had kept him on a short leash without ever agreeing to date him.
Now, less than two months after Zhao Nige’s appearance, he had already turned his attentions to her.
First, her blind date with the Lu family’s young master had been snatched away. Now, even a suitor she had once dismissed with disdain had been stolen by Zhao Nige. How was she supposed to stomach this insult?
“Zhao Lanxin, does your sister already have a boyfriend?” Gao Xiang asked, turning to her.
Zhao Lanxin sneered. “She’s already with the young master of the Lu family. How could she possibly be interested in you?”
“The Lu family? Which one?” Gao Xiang asked, bewildered.
“Who else could it be?” Zhao Lanxin’s gaze fixed on Zhao Nige’s back, her eyes burning with jealousy. “Lu Shaoyu, of course.”
***
While Zhao Nige was changing into her dance attire in the locker room, a young woman approached her hesitantly.
“Are you new here? So am I,” the girl said, a dimple appearing as she smiled. “I’m Yu Qian.”
Zhao Nige stuffed her clothes into her locker and glanced at the girl. She seemed kind enough, so Zhao Nige returned the smile. “Hi there.”
“We’ve been assigned to the same group. Want to go to practice together?”
“Sure.”
The Art Troupe had a strict hierarchy. The corps de ballet shared a single rehearsal hall, while only the lead and principal dancers were granted their own private studios.
When Zhao Nige and Yu Qian entered the dance studio, a group of female dancers were already stretching. A dozen pairs of eyes swept over them as they walked in.
Yu Qian immediately tensed, her head dropping as she avoided the scrutinizing glares. Zhao Nige, however, remained unfazed. She found an empty spot at the barre, lifted her leg, and began to stretch.
Soon, the rehearsal instructor arrived to start the choreography.
Because of Zhao Nige’s stunning figure and the fact that she was the sister of the newly promoted lead dancer, Zhao Lanxin, the instructor took an immediate liking to her. He placed her directly in the center of the front row.
The other dozen or so female dancers immediately braced themselves as if facing a formidable new rival.
But after a few repetitions, it became clear that Zhao Nige was either unable to fully execute the movements or was consistently off-beat.
Her long legs and supple arms were stunning from every angle, a picture of grace even when she missed a step. Yet her technique was lacking; her arms wouldn’t fully straighten, her movements lacked power—as if she had no bones in her body—and while others soared sixty centimeters in their leaps, she barely managed fifty.
The rehearsal instructor frowned, watching her for a moment before waving a hand in resignation. “Forget it. You can go to the back row.”
The female dancers who had been glaring at Zhao Nige finally let out a collective breath of relief.
Good, they thought. This new girl, Zhao Nige, is just a pretty face. She looks the part, but she’s got no talent.
Zhao Nige shrugged, unfazed. She moved to the back row and took her place next to Yu Qian.
Yu Qian glanced at her and whispered, “Zhao Nige, are you doing this on purpose?”
The others might not have noticed, but Yu Qian suspected Zhao Nige was deliberately slacking. She had executed those same steps perfectly herself—how could someone like Zhao Nige not know how to do them?
Zhao Nige smiled, her lips curving gently. “No, I’m just a terrible dancer.”