Song Qingtang arrived at the Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe the next morning.
The moment she stepped inside, she sensed something was off.
People still smiled and greeted her as usual, but their smiles carried a hint of awkwardness and a trace of pity buried deep within.
She furrowed her brow and walked into her office.
She had her own private office, furnished entirely according to her preferences.
The overall color scheme leaned warm, with potted plants by the window and pale blue curtains.
A diffuser filled the room, and the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air.
She turned on the computer on her desk.
A message from Lin Jiaying appeared on her phone.
[Lin Jiaying: Qingqing, come to my office.]
[Lin Jiaying: I need to discuss something with you.]
Song Qingtang tidied up her things and headed to Lin Jiaying’s office.
Lin Jiaying seemed to be on a phone call, standing by the window with the curtains drawn open, light streaming in from outside.
She held her phone, frowning slightly, her gaze fixed on the view outside without speaking.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Song Qingtang enter and gestured for her to sit down.
After saying a few more words into the phone, Lin Jiaying hung up and sat down at her desk.
She looked at Song Qingtang with a hint of a smile in her eyes.
“Here’s the thing—our troupe is going to have a new member.”
Lin Jiaying said, “The higher-ups are very invested in this. They insist on making her the choreographer.”
Song Qingtang froze.
She looked at Lin Jiaying with confusion. “Sister Jiaying, but…”
She had always been the troupe’s choreographer.
She understood what Lin Jiaying meant. The Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe was under Star Brilliance Entertainment.
For years, the troupe had maintained its unshakable position in Nanyuan, wielding immense influence—so much so that countless people would do anything to get in. This was inextricably tied to that fact.
If the company wanted to promote someone, no one could object.
“Qingqing, I know everything you’re thinking.” Lin Jiaying reached out and took Song Qingtang’s hand.
She patted the back of it gently, as if to comfort her.
“I’ve raised this with the higher-ups. For now, the decision is that you’ll each lead your own team, and we’ll see how it goes.”
Song Qingtang pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“I know this is unfair to you, but we can’t change it.” Lin Jiaying said.
She had worked so hard to reach the position of choreographer, and only she knew how much she had sacrificed along the way.
Yet someone else could simply waltz in and take it—without even needing many words.
Song Qingtang lowered her eyes. After a long pause, she finally said, “I understand. Thank you, Sister Jiaying.”
Lin Jiaying nodded.
Song Qingtang rose from her chair and walked out.
Her back was slender, and because she was a dancer, she always held herself straight.
Most of the time, Lin Jiaying saw Song Qingtang as someone resilient.
Soft as water, yet impossible to crush.
But in this moment, Lin Jiaying felt that her figure looked somewhat fragile.
She frowned and let out a soft “tsk.”
Lowering her head, she rubbed her eyes.
The Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe had a large rehearsal studio.
Usually, afternoons were reserved for rehearsal time.
Next month, there would be a major performance in Nanyuan at the Nanyuan International Cultural Arts Center Grand Theater.
The entire troupe placed great importance on this performance.
Song Qingtang knew every member inside and out. She had spent a great deal of time choreographing, bringing out the best in each person’s strengths.
She made sure the emotions and artistry conveyed through the dance could be easily grasped by the audience.
Song Qingtang walked toward the rehearsal studio.
But she saw that the people inside seemed to have been split into two groups.
Standing in the middle was a woman in a wine-red long dress, her makeup bold and exquisite, the hem of her skirt swaying.
Yet the arrogance in her expression was impossible to ignore, a stark contrast to the style of the other trainees.
Seeing Song Qingtang walk in, Su Yiyun curled her lips and strode toward her.
“You must be Song Qingtang.” Su Yiyun said with a smile. “I’m sure you already know why I’m here.”
Su Yiyun’s tone carried a lilting quality, but it was always laced with a condescending air.
“I need the trainees with the best credentials.”
Su Yiyun said. The corners of her eyes were tinged with red, her lips full and rosy, and the expression between her brows was nothing short of overbearing.
Song Qingtang looked at her, then slowly swept her gaze over the trainees standing in two lines.
Indeed, the more experienced ones had been grouped to one side.
“I don’t agree.” Song Qingtang said.
Her expression was calm, her face free of makeup, yet she was still striking.
Her aura was understated—not the kind of beauty that hit you like a rose’s thorns.
Rather, she gave one a slow, gentle feeling, like spring water trickling through the heart.
Even her voice was soft when she spoke.
Su Yiyun laughed, her tone dismissive. “Whether you agree doesn’t matter.”
“All that matters is that I agree.”
As she spoke, Su Yiyun raised a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
The pale jade bracelet on her wrist caught the light, impossible to miss.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Su Yiyun said. “This rehearsal studio is mine from now on. You can use the one next door.”
This rehearsal room was the largest one; the one next to it was only half its size.
Song Qingtang looked at her, her gaze calm. “Isn’t this going too far?”
“Too far?” Su Yiyun looked at Song Qingtang in disbelief.
“Having a chance to compete on the same stage as me is already no small feat,” Su Yiyun said. “Don’t be ungrateful.”
“That’s all I have to say.” Su Yiyun gave her one last look.
Then she turned, lifting her chin slightly. “Those of you I didn’t select, follow Song Qingtang to the other room. Those I selected, stay here and continue rehearsing.”
“From today on, you must forget everything from before. Everything must be done the way I teach.”
The trainees standing nearby walked toward Song Qingtang, looking uneasy and embarrassed.
They were like goods placed on a shelf—picked through, rejected, and finally cast aside.
Song Qingtang watched them, and a sourness and irritation rose in her chest.
She glanced at Su Yiyun, then looked away, speaking softly to the group beside her. “Come with me.”
Her voice was always gentle, like a soothing comfort.
The group nodded and followed Song Qingtang toward the adjacent rehearsal room.
That rehearsal room had not been used in a long time. It was somewhat small, and the air inside was stuffy, making it feel oppressive.
Song Qingtang flicked on the lights and pulled open the curtains, brightening the room.
Those who chose classical dance did so purely out of love. Everyone who had made it into the Moon-Chasing Dance Troupe had once stood on a stage bathed in spotlights.
They had all weathered the cheers of thousands.
And now, they were being cast aside like this.
One girl’s emotions seemed to give way, and tears spilled from her eyes.
“Why did she say those things about us…” Her voice trembled.
When the tears fell, she felt a little embarrassed and wiped them away.
But her eyes were still red, and she looked utterly wronged.
The others around her said nothing, but what they felt went without saying.
They were all hurt.
Song Qingtang watched them, and the faint anger in her heart slowly subsided.
Until it was smoothed away.
Anger was useless. Emotions should be spent on people worth them.
The look in her eyes was clear and clean, yet gentle, carrying strength.
“If you feel wronged, then cry,” Song Qingtang said. “When you’re done crying, that’s when we’ll start practicing.”