Only when they reached their destination did the driver stop the car.
Song Qingtang thanked the driver, paid the fare, and stepped out of the vehicle.
She looked up and surveyed the building before her.
Calling it resplendent and magnificent would not be an overstatement.
This area exuded extravagance and refinement, saturated with the scent of money.
She walked to the entrance, where two men in black blocked her path.
“Please present your identification,” one of them said.
Song Qingtang frowned slightly before speaking. “I’m Song Qingtang, from the Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe.”
The two men paused, exchanged a glance, said something into their walkie-talkie, and then let her through.
Someone was already waiting for her inside. Seeing her arrive, the person led her further in.
It was a long corridor with multicolored lights. Red tiles stretched all the way through, while explicit and lingering music drifted throughout the hall.
By the time it reached the corridor, the sound had become somewhat muffled.
The guide seemed to be taking her to the backstage area.
The lighting there was bright, almost blindingly so.
Several young women stood inside, with impeccable figures and scantily clad attire.
A few strips of fabric barely covered their vital parts.
Their makeup was exquisite and seductive.
Song Qingtang froze entirely, unconsciously stopping in her tracks.
The guide ahead noticed her pause, frowned, and looked at her with displeasure.
“What are you standing there like an idiot for? Keep up.”
Song Qingtang didn’t move.
A thin layer of sweat formed on her palms. She only looked at the guide and asked, “Where is this?”
The woman leading her showed impatience and let out a soft “tsk.” “Why do you have so many questions? If you still want to keep working at Star English Entertainment, follow me.”
Song Qingtang pressed her lips together and said nothing.
She only raised her head and took another look at the surroundings inside.
This was not a normal performance at all.
This was entertainment—a way to cater to those in power.
She unconsciously took a step back.
The woman sensed her intention to flee and narrowed her eyes.
In a forceful, lightning-fast motion, she grabbed Song Qingtang’s wrist and flung her directly into the room.
Then she locked the door behind her.
Song Qingtang was thrown in without the slightest warning.
Her foot caught on something, and she fell to the ground.
Her clothes were somewhat thin, and her knees hit the floor with a sharp pain.
Her palms scraped against the rough ground, slightly abraded.
Tiny beads of blood welled up.
Against her fair skin, the wounds looked alarming.
The other women in the room heard the commotion but only cast a dismissive glance at Song Qingtang before returning to their own grooming.
As numb as dolls.
Song Qingtang pushed herself up from the floor, turned to try the door, and found it futile.
She walked to a corner, took out her phone, and with a frown, called Lin Jiaying.
The phone rang for a while before it was answered.
“Sister Jiaying, what’s going on?”
Song Qingtang clutched her phone, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke.
Lin Jiaying was silent for a long moment before saying, “I didn’t know it was this kind of dance beforehand either. By the time I found out, it was already too late.”
Song Qingtang took a deep breath. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Qingqing, I had no choice.” Lin Jiaying sighed, her voice carrying a note of weakness and appeasement. “This job is really important to me…”
“And besides, the higher-ups specifically requested you. I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s just a dance—once it’s over, everything will be fine.”
“Qingqing, I hope you can understand me. I really can’t afford to lose this job…”
Song Qingtang understood what Lin Jiaying meant.
She blinked, feeling both angry and incredulous.
Like a balloon filled with air, its opening sealed shut, the expanding gas had nowhere to escape.
It only made her feel unbearably stifled.
Lin Jiaying had worked alongside her for nearly two years.
Logically speaking, it seemed normal for Lin Jiaying to act this way—anyone would.
Emotionally speaking, Song Qingtang couldn’t accept it.
Song Qingtang clutched her phone, saying nothing.
For a brief moment, there was silence and ringing in her ears before things returned to normal.
It was too hard to accept—she didn’t even know what emotion to face it with.
Only a blank void remained.
She felt like she had so much to say, even wanted to demand answers, but when the words reached her lips, they felt hollow.
Song Qingtang moved her lips, her throat dry and hoarse, and finally spoke. “So what then? Your job matters, so I can be used however you please?”
With that, she hung up without waiting for a reply.
She blinked, then quickly dialed Lin Qiaoshi’s number.
Lin Qiaoshi picked up on the first ring. “Qingqing, what’s wrong?”
Song Qingtang pressed her lips together, staring blankly at the wounds on her hands and the unfamiliar surroundings, the fear of the unknown.
The moment she heard Lin Qiaoshi’s voice, she nearly burst into tears.
“I don’t know where I am right now. I’m a little scared.” Song Qingtang’s voice choked up.
There was a one-second pause on Lin Qiaoshi’s end, followed by the sound of her scrambling up from a chair.
“Qingqing, don’t cry, okay? First, tell me what notable landmarks are around you, who’s there, and what they’re doing.”
Lin Qiaoshi spoke a bit quickly.
The sound of footsteps came through the phone.
Song Qingtang gradually calmed down as she listened to Lin Qiaoshi’s words, describing in detail the notable landmarks she had seen along the way, the appearance of the club, and the scene after she had entered.
Lin Qiaoshi nodded. “Qingqing, think again—is there anything else?”
Song Qingtang held the phone, her mind racing, but before she could think of anything—
The curtain beside her was pulled open, and a man walked in.
The man was very tall and burly, with a scar across his face, looking fierce and menacing.
Song Qingtang’s grip on the phone tightened.
The man’s gaze swept over the girls in the room, his expression satisfied.
Until he spotted Song Qingtang crouched in the corner—not only had she not changed her clothes, but she was even holding a phone.
His entire face fell.
“Who told you you could bring a phone in here?” The man’s voice was cold, almost cruel. “Don’t you know the rules?”
With that, he walked over, snatched the phone straight from Song Qingtang’s hand, and threw it to the ground.
A dull thud.
The phone was flung to the side, the call cut off.
It was as if the whole world had frozen for a moment.
“Don’t you know to change your clothes?”
The man frowned and said, “If you’re not changed in three minutes, you’ll be sorry.”
With that, he pulled the curtain aside and left.
Song Qingtang’s hand hurt terribly. She pressed her lips together, staring at the phone on the ground.
A string in her mind snapped.
The girls around her looked down at her.
Their gazes were pitying, or mocking—some seemed to look down on her, even with contemptuous scrutiny.
Those looks made Song Qingtang extremely uncomfortable.
Even a little afraid.
She had always feared the unknown.
Time seemed to pass especially slowly, and especially painfully.
After who knew how long, the curtain was pulled open again.
This time, it wasn’t that man.
It was someone else.
The Second Young Master of the Chen family.
Chen Wenxiu.
In his arms, he held a woman—Su Yiyun.
Su Yiyun looked at her, the corner of her eye lifting slightly, as if she particularly enjoyed her disheveled state.
Chen Wenxiu didn’t step inside. He just leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, his expression casual and indifferent.
A cigarette dangled between his fingers as he let Su Yiyun do as she pleased.
Su Yiyun walked over to Song Qingtang with a light laugh, looking down at her from above.
The corner of her eye lifted gently, carrying a hint of disdain and arrogance.
“Ah.” A sound escaped from Su Yiyun’s throat.
“Isn’t this Song Qingtang, the choreographer of the Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe? How come you’ve become such a mess now?”