By the time Song Chutong arrived at the dance studio, rehearsals were already in full swing. The music echoed off the walls, bodies moving in practiced rhythm—until Director Liu spotted her at the door.
He shot her a sharp glare. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Song. Late again? What is it this time—sick?”
Song Chutong didn’t even spare him a glance. “Mm. Since I’m ‘sick,’ Director Liu, please write me a leave slip later. I’ll be heading out tonight for treatment.”
“You—!” His voice shot up instantly. “Don’t push your luck! Everyone’s been waiting for you, and you stroll in like you’ve got all the time in the world? You’re not wasting just my time—you’re holding up the entire group!”
Song Chutong’s eyes suddenly lit up as she turned toward him. “Oh? You’ve arranged a performance position for me, Director Liu?”
He froze. “What?”
A soft, mocking laugh slipped from her lips, her tone turning cold. “You haven’t, have you? Then who exactly am I delaying? Everyone’s rehearsing just fine without me.”
She hadn’t worn her watch today, but she was certain she wasn’t late. This was a joint rehearsal with the singing team—someone else had arrived even later than she did.
Director Liu, now red with anger, jabbed a finger at her. “So that gives you the right to be late?”
Her expression remained calm, almost indifferent. “And that gives you the right to accuse me of wasting everyone’s time?”
“You—you…!” He was so furious he nearly stomped his foot. Clutching his chest, he snapped, “I can’t control you anymore, is that it? Or are you planning to run wild in the dance troupe?”
By now, the commotion had drawn everyone’s attention. Curious gazes turned toward them, many filled with barely concealed amusement. Bai Jieyi even nudged Song Weiran with her elbow, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Song Weiran glanced over—and just happened to meet Director Liu’s “accidental” gaze. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. She caught the unmistakable hint of flattery in his, and after offering a faint look of gratitude, she quickly looked away.
She knew very well what lay behind his interest.
Though she had never agreed to anything outright, neither had she firmly rejected him. Men—especially those who had already fallen under her charm—were resources to be used.
Director Liu might not hold great power, but it was enough. Enough to grant her small advantages. Enough to make things difficult for Song Chutong.
Once that thought settled in her mind, certain details became impossible to ignore.
Song Chutong’s gaze dropped to Director Liu’s face, her stomach turning at the sight of his pockmarked, aging features. He looked even older than Song Weiqiang—and yet Song Weiran could exchange such meaningful glances with him? Didn’t it disgust her?
His appearance was secondary. What mattered was this: he was a married man. Not long ago, he had even been celebrating his wife’s pregnancy.
And yet—Song Weiran felt no shame?
In the novel, she never verbally encouraged him. But knowing full well his improper intentions, she quietly accepted his favors, even used him for her own benefit. She sewed for him, cooked for him—small, intimate gestures that could easily be mistaken for something more.
Wasn’t that, in itself, a kind of promise?
Written into a story, such behavior became something else entirely—“clever use of feminine charm,” a desperate girl making the most of limited resources to survive. Readers would applaud her, even pity her for having to appease an older man.
But when the truth came to light—when Song Chutong exposed it—it was she who bore the blame. Director Liu’s wife miscarried from the shock, and all the accusations fell on the one who revealed the secret.
As for Song Weiran and Director Liu? Their closeness was reduced to nothing more than a “teacher-student bond.” And Song Chutong? Merely a jealous troublemaker spreading malicious rumors.
Song Chutong’s lips pressed into a thin line.
There were countless ways for a person to rise in this world. Using men for personal gain—she wouldn’t comment on that. But this man had a wife. And that wife, Teacher Zhang, had treated Song Weiran with kindness.
No matter how one looked at it, this was wrong.
Song Chutong wouldn’t make the same mistake again—she wouldn’t recklessly expose them without evidence. But she also wouldn’t stand by and let their filth harm Teacher Zhang.
Teacher Zhang was gentle, kind—the only person in the entire troupe who had ever shown her warmth.
“If Director Liu keeps nitpicking over me,” Song Chutong said coolly, “that’s what’s truly wasting everyone’s time.”
Her gaze slid downward—and landed on the stitching of his chest pocket.
Her expression shifted into exaggerated surprise. “Oh! Teacher Zhang’s needlework is really impressive. It’s almost as good as my little sister’s.”
Director Liu’s hand trembled. The words he had been about to spit out died in his throat.
Behind him, Song Weiran lowered her gaze abruptly, panic flashing across her face.
Bai Jieyi chuckled beside her, whispering, “Song Chutong must be crazy. Director Liu always complains that Teacher Zhang can’t even sew properly, and now she’s comparing her work to yours? She’s just trying to stir trouble and step on you. Everyone knows your sewing is the best in the troupe.”
But the more she spoke, the paler Song Weiran became.
She had never imagined that Song Chutong—usually so oblivious—would notice.
That pocket had been sewn by her own hands. She had been careful, matching the thread color perfectly. Even Teacher Zhang herself shouldn’t have noticed.
So how did Song Chutong see it?
And worse—say it out loud in front of everyone?
What if others started to notice?
Song Weiran didn’t dare think further.
No… she had to find Director Liu and have that pocket removed.
Forcing a stern expression, Director Liu barked, “I had that sewn by a professional tailor outside! Instead of focusing on your own skills, you’re busy staring at nonsense all day. Is that the attitude of a dance troupe member?”
“Go stand outside as punishment. Don’t move unless I say so!”
Song Chutong merely shrugged and turned on her heel.
Standing inside felt no different from being punished anyway—she might as well enjoy some fresh air.
As she walked away, her gaze swept past Song Weiran—just in time to catch the latter hastily averting her eyes in disarray.
A faint smile curved Song Chutong’s lips. She hummed a light tune as she left.
So… you’re scared already?