The rehearsal building of the art troupe housed more than just dancers. Different disciplines trained under the same roof—music, vocals, instruments of every kind.
As Song Chutong wandered out, a thought stirred in her mind. Maybe… she should take a look around.
Dance required years of foundation—discipline carved into muscle and bone. She had none of that. The only reason she had ever joined the dance team was because of Jiang Zhixing’s casual “I like it.”
And she? She had never truly liked it at all.
Once inside, the constant setbacks and quiet exclusion had only chipped away at her confidence. Now that she understood the reasons behind those cold looks and whispered judgments, it didn’t change one simple truth—
She still had no interest in dancing.
Before, she had planned to endure it. A few years of going through the motions, then rely on her uncles or grandfather to transfer her somewhere else.
But now… she didn’t want to waste her life like that anymore.
Everything she had done before—every choice, every compromise—had revolved around Jiang Zhixing. Even her placement in the troupe had been carefully arranged to match his status as a regiment commander. It didn’t matter that she held no real power; on paper, they were equals.
But now, those three words—Jiang Zhixing—had been completely erased from her future.
It was time to figure out what she actually wanted. What suited her. What she truly enjoyed.
For the first time, she felt relieved—relieved that she had woken up. And when she looked back at the version of herself who had once made a man her entire goal… it felt almost laughably foolish.
Still, confidence wasn’t something that came easily everywhere.
In this building—filled with professionals honing their craft—Song Chutong found herself shrinking back a little.
The capital’s arts scene was flourishing. Every room held something different: instruments, vocal training, specialized practice.
She didn’t dare go inside. Instead, she lingered outside doorways, sneaking glances in.
Her reputation in the troupe was already terrible. If she was caught wandering during training hours, it would only give people more to gossip about.
She didn’t mind facing it—but her relatives were everywhere in the military system. Especially her two rigid, old-fashioned uncles.
She was still planning to visit her grandfather during the holidays, after all—her younger uncle had even promised her fresh crabs.
After dreaming of scraping by on coarse food and hunger, Song Chutong now only wanted to eat well and live better.
“Didn’t I say you’re not allowed in? You’re already late, and now you want to break the rules too?”
“Jiang Shuyi, don’t push your luck. So what if you got the lead vocal? There are rules for practice time—you think you can come and go whenever you please?”
“Exactly. What, do you think this troupe belongs to you?”
Song Chutong had been planning to stay out of trouble, tucked quietly in a corner—but that last sentence made her bite back a laugh.
What was with these people?
Did they all graduate from the same bullying academy? Why was it always “Is this place yours?” every time?
If it really were hers, she’d fire this whole bunch of idiots on the spot. Then she’d sit back like a queen and kick out anyone she didn’t like.
With a soft scoff, she stepped forward.
“Oh? Then can I assume you second-rate singers are blocking the lead vocalist out of jealousy?” Her tone dripped with mockery. “Seems like you’ve got it backwards. This troupe belongs to you, doesn’t it? You say someone can’t enter, and suddenly they can’t? Three of you guarding the door—does standing here during practice hours follow the rules?”
She finished with a sharp laugh and walked closer—only to freeze mid-step.
Wait… wasn’t this the short-haired girl from downstairs? The one who had called her a useless pretty face?
Jiang Shuyi, on the other hand, was struggling not to laugh. This girl—Song Chutong—had a sharp tongue. The three troublemakers looked like they’d swallowed poison, their faces turning green.
To be honest, Jiang Shuyi hadn’t even wanted to practice today. She had deliberately provoked these girls, hoping to get “kicked out” with a legitimate excuse.
And yet—out of nowhere—this unexpected savior had appeared.
And what a savior she was.
That delicate, beautiful face, now scrunched up in fierce indignation, reminded Jiang Shuyi of an angry little cat with its fur standing on end.
One of the girls finally spoke, her tone sharp. “You’re Song Chutong? The one who stole our singing team’s performance before?”
Song Chutong raised a brow, her light brown eyes flashing with open provocation. “That’s right. But didn’t I return it? What—don’t want it anymore?”
She tilted her head slightly, voice sweet but cutting. “Go on then, comrade—what’s your name? If you don’t want your team to keep the performance, just tell me. I’d be happy to take it back.”
She had learned something useful from Song Weiran—turn small matters into big ones. Drag everyone into it. Make it about public interest.
As long as she stayed calm…
Someone else would lose their nerve.
And sure enough—someone already had.
The girl in the middle—the one who had shouted “Is this troupe yours?”—looked visibly shaken. She tugged at her companion. “Enough. Don’t argue with her. She’s ruthless even to her own sister—what do you think she’d do to you?”
“She’s not my sister.”
Song Chutong’s voice dropped instantly, cold as ice.
But instead of backing down, the girl seemed emboldened, as if she had found leverage. She let out a light, mocking laugh.
“How is she not? Song Weiran is your father’s new wife’s daughter. She’s younger than you—if she’s not your sister, what is she?”
“You can’t beat Song Weiran in the dance team, so you take it out on her—that’s your business,” Wen Ya sneered coldly. “But this is the singing team. This isn’t a place where you get to act like a tyrant.”
“Wen Ya. Have you said enough?”
Jiang Shuyi stepped forward before Song Chutong could respond. Calm, unhurried—but deliberate. She positioned herself squarely in front of Song Chutong, taller by half a head, shielding her completely.
Her gaze swept over Wen Ya from head to toe, light but cutting. “I won’t pursue what you’ve done before. But from now on… behave yourself.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned, lips curving slightly. Two small, sharp canine teeth peeked out as she smirked. “Let’s go, Miss Song. There’s nothing worth staying for here.”
Song Chutong pressed her lips together. She knew she shouldn’t stir up more trouble, so she followed.
But after a few steps, the dissatisfaction in her chest refused to settle.
She stopped.
Turned back.
“I’ll remember your faces,” she said, her tone cool and steady. “Next time I see you bullying someone, don’t blame me for stepping in.”
A small smile bloomed on her lips—bright, but dangerous.
“And… try not to provoke me.”
That did it.
The irritation that had been lodged in her chest vanished instantly. Feeling refreshed, she waved ahead at Jiang Shuyi. “Alright, let’s go!”
Behind them, the three girls stood rooted in place, their expressions sour.
Wen Ya forced a laugh, though it came out strained. “Who’s bullying who? Wasn’t Jiang Shuyi treating us the same way before?”
“Exactly. We’re just getting even—what’s wrong with that?”
“And that Song Chutong… no wonder people say she’s stupid. Doesn’t she know everyone in the team is afraid of Jiang Shuyi? We finally got a chance to deal with her, and suddenly we’re the bullies?”
Their voices faded as the two walked away.
Outside the rehearsal building, a guard stood by the entrance.
Hearing footsteps, he perked up—thinking he’d finally have someone to report for skipping training.
But the moment he saw who it was, he immediately turned his head, pretending not to notice a thing.
Song Chutong… and a member of the Jiang family?
He frowned slightly, puzzled—but quickly dismissed the thought.
Not worth the trouble. Neither of them is someone I can afford to offend.
Meanwhile, Song Chutong was practically glowing with relief. She grabbed Jiang Shuyi’s hand and broke into a small run, only slowing down once they were a good distance away.
She bent slightly, catching her breath, cheeks flushed pink with excitement—the thrill of getting away with something.
“Good thing he didn’t see us,” she said between breaths, grinning. “Otherwise we’d definitely get scolded again.”
Jiang Shuyi looked at her, amused.
He didn’t dare see you, she thought silently.
And yet here you are, thinking you escaped by luck.
Had she never done something like this before?
“By the way,” Song Chutong suddenly asked, “were you really late?”
“Mm. So what?” Jiang Shuyi replied casually, completely unconcerned.
“Oh.” Song Chutong nodded.
So Director Liu hadn’t been wrong—at least not about that.
“Well, anyway,” Song Chutong said, brushing it off, “no need to thank me for today. Just… try not to stand there like a fool and let people bully you next time.”
She turned, ready to leave—but paused.
Looking at Jiang Shuyi’s sharp, striking features, she felt like she had forgotten something important.
After a moment’s thought, she asked, “By the way… what’s your name again?”
Someone had mentioned it earlier—but she hadn’t paid attention.
The answer came without hesitation.
“Jiang Shuyi.”