Sun Zhen froze for a moment.
That effortless expression vanished from his face, replaced by a blank look. His round, dark eyes widened slightly as he stared at her.
“…?”
Zhou Meng looked back at him, a little confused. “Sun Zhen?”
“That just now—”
The words came out, and only then did the young man seem to snap back to himself, realizing something. His speech quickened slightly: “No, it’s nothing.” He resumed his smiling face. “I don’t drink, so can we go for a drive instead?”
Doesn’t drink… right, he has to drive.
Sun Zhen was very dedicated to his role.
Zhou Meng took off her protective suit and tossed the disposable items into a trash bag.
“Is your mood always this good?”
“Not always. I have my worries too.” Sun Zhen fished a disinfectant wipe from his pocket and held it out to her between two fingers.
“When I’m in a low-pressure mood, I might get a little… rough with my work?”
Beneath his black hair, a handsome face with harmless dark eyes curved into a smile. His casual, carefree demeanor was somehow a little unsettling.
A little “rough”…
Zhou Meng’s gaze lingered on Sun Zhen’s jacket—the same style he always wore, which probably had inner pockets… And his gloves, perhaps worn to avoid leaving fingerprints…?
She imagined Sun Zhen toying with a weapon in his hands.
…This man’s hands were a little sexy.
Zhou Meng reached out, pinching the wipe between the side of her index finger and the pad of her thumb. With a slight tug, she pulled the thin sheet from between his fingers.
She could almost hear the faint friction between the wipe packet and his fingers.
She brushed the hair from her forehead and grabbed some alcohol from her toolbox to disinfect. For some reason, Sun Zhen watched her without blinking.
Even the cold wipe couldn’t ease the heat rising to her cheeks.
It was as if the flames from that burnt-out room had reached her flesh-and-blood mind.
Zhou Meng sat into the car, gently pulled the door shut, and leaned back in the passenger seat.
Sun Zhen waited patiently.
She stared ahead at the road disappearing into the darkness of night, flanked by streetlights.
The atmosphere was intoxicating, clouding her mind.
Sun Zhen’s gaze met hers in the rearview mirror, a faint smile on his lips.
He asked, “Where to?”
“…Hmm…” Zhou Meng was quiet for a moment, then tilted her head slightly.
Her expression didn’t change much. Her youthful face looked a little distracted from fatigue, and her pale pink lips slowly curved into a smile.
“…The dance studio.”
She said, “I’m going to the dance studio.”
…
Alcohol.
In that dizzying, spinning haze, swaying unsteadily, as the fiery liquid slid down her throat, everything suppressed in her stomach ignited.
Back when she was working, Zhou Meng would go drinking from time to time.
The emotions that accumulated slowly, bit by bit, would all pour out in that burning vertigo.
Whether it was stress or excitement, it was always the same.
She couldn’t consume alcohol now, but other methods worked just as well.
The early morning was quiet.
Once the speakers were connected, soft music soon filled the room. In the spacious, empty space, the air itself seemed to pulse with drumbeats and piano notes.
The tall, wide room was bathed in silver moonlight streaming across the floor. Aside from the sheer curtains, the full-length mirrors lining three walls, and the ballet barre, the dance studio was completely empty.
Zhou Meng sat on the floor and put on her Latin dance shoes.
They were the common tan-yellow style, with 5cm heels.
Once the shoes were on, her body seemed to grow taller with the added height. Her field of vision rose, her legs instinctively pressed together, toes turned outward, shoulders settled as her shoulder blades lowered, neck lengthened—her posture became tall and poised.
In the mirror, the dark figure blurred with the movement, and the unremarkable image from before seemed to undergo a subtle transformation.
It was as if some kind of covering was being peeled away, and something was beginning to emerge from beneath her skin.
Zhou Meng looked at the dark room and took a soft breath.
She loved the smell of this open space.
It was as if a vast breath slowly filled her lungs, making her body, her mind, and her cheeks grow slightly warm, and her legs began to itch.
Yes.
This was the feeling of wanting to take a step.
One, two, three, four—
She lowered her eyelashes slightly, stepped sideways, and slowly rotated her hips with the beat, shifting her weight. After four counts, her pelvis had traced a complete figure-eight.
That was the cucaracha—the figure-eight hip movement of the rumba.
Then, on the next beat, she drew her leg in, settled her left hip, and lifted her right hip in tandem. Her left knee bent with toes pointed, forming a bowstring-like arc against her straightened right leg.
As her raised right hand came down, her bent left foot brushed across the floor and stepped forward with force, while her right foot rose onto its toes, twisting slightly to drive her hips into a turn.
“Tap.”
One step.
Her body’s lines stretched into a soft curve as she took a graceful step forward.
No matter how complex the dance, it always began with polishing the simplest basic steps.
In the darkness, Zhou Meng gazed at the mirror, at the silhouette that seemed to dissolve into shadow, merging with the night.
There would be no extra people or objects in the dance studio. No matter where she stepped or how she moved her limbs, she didn’t have to worry about bumping into anything.
The low-density space amplified the sense of freedom, so much so that something buried beneath her skin evaporated with her heated body temperature, seeping out bit by bit.
One, two, three… four.
“Swish—”
Spin.
Slowly extend arms and legs.
The gentle rumba, amidst the seductive music, seemed to melt even her entire mind.
Soft breaths, the opposing force between toes and the floor, and the tautness of twisting limbs.
The mellow male bass in the music slowly spread with the melody of the cello and saxophone.
She spun one last time, stepping on the sweat-dampened floor, and stopped by the window.
Zhou Meng gently rested her hands on the ballet barre, gazing outside.
The morning light at the horizon dyed the blue-black clouds into complex colors—crimson, purple, gray-blue, and orange interwoven together.
It was beautiful.
…
At six o’clock, Zhou Meng came out of the dance studio carrying her bag, covering her mouth with a weary hand as she yawned. She walked down the stairs, ready to find Sun Zhen’s car, when she heard a discordant voice.
“Huh? I told you I’m looking for someone!”
Zhou Meng: “.”
She widened her eyes slightly, walked around the entrance, and saw two people arguing.
A girl with beautiful long curly hair, whose voice sounded quite imposing, but whose figure was surprisingly petite, wearing the uniform of a prestigious private school.
Zhou Meng recognized this person.
It was Meike.
She was a fairly well-known junior division competitor… Why was she here? And being stopped by the police.
“Your uniform isn’t from around here, is it? Did you run away from home? Don’t try to brush me off—this is for your own good.”
Meike’s face scrunched up.
As her shoulders tensed up, clearly agitated, Zhou Meng silently closed in and suddenly spoke: “Tutoring class, you’re going to be late.”
“Ah—!”
Both of them flinched, clearly having no idea when she had gotten so close, startled by her sudden appearance.
The police officer tilted her head, surprised: “And where did you come from?”
That’s right.
That’s just how it was with a passerby’s low presence.
Unlike the police officer’s reaction, Meike, after snapping back to her senses, immediately stomped her foot and stared at her: “Ah, you!!”
Zhou Meng slumped her shoulders, holding her bag, her pale face—after working until dawn and dancing all night—expressionless, with “about to die” written all over it.
Her black eyes blinked as she looked at Meike:
“Aren’t you leaving?”
Meike paused, then caught on, stepping forward two paces to hide behind her: “Let’s go!”
“Wait,” the police officer hadn’t let down her guard yet: “What’s the relationship between you two?”
“I—we—”
Meike wasn’t the type who was good at lying; she got stuck as soon as she started. She put on a stern face: “It’s a secret.”
Zhou Meng lowered her head: “Actually, she’s been stalking me.”
Both of them: “…Huh?!”
Zhou Meng kept a straight face, pretending not to feel Meike clutching the back of her clothes, and opened her bag to show the Latin dance shoes inside.
“The national championship registration just started recently. We promised each other not to secretly practice… She caught me sneaking into the dance studio last night to practice and forgetting to head back early in the morning.”
“…”
The police officer looked at the worn dance shoes in her bag, glanced at the dark circles under her eyes, and her expression gradually grew complicated.
The police officer: “…Don’t secretly work so hard next time. It’s easy to ruin a friendship, you know.” Actually, the officer wanted to say it might become a social news story, but she said tactfully instead: “Besides, this area isn’t safe. Don’t come here at night.”
“That’s true.” Zhou Meng nodded: “I’ve learned my lesson. Thank you, miss. Then we’ll be off to class now.”
The police officer waved her hand: “Go on, go on.”
Meike immediately clung tightly to Zhou Meng’s clothes and walked off with her.
The police officer watched the two girls stuck together and couldn’t help but smile: “Ah, young friendship.”
…
Zhou Meng, followed by Meike, was troubled.
“You can let go now.” She reminded her tactfully: “That officer is already gone.”
“Hm? It’s not because of her that I’m following you.”
“Oh.”
Zhou Meng stopped at a pancake stall, scanned the code to pay, and asked politely:
“Is it because of me?”
Meike let out a soft “hmph,” and said somewhat awkwardly:
“That’s right. I’m Meike. Thanks for earlier.”
“You’re welcome. I’m Zhou Meng.” Zhou Meng watched the vendor add an egg to her pancake and asked: “Do you know me?”
“I saw you last month, at the self-service dance studio.”
Self-service dance studio…
Ah, that was the night she had just rolled back.
After cleaning up the crime scene, she was so overwhelmed by the stimulation and stress that she danced wildly at the self-service dance studio all night.
So Meike had seen her venting?
Her reputation had taken a hit…
…Whatever.
It didn’t matter anymore. Back in her past life, when she’d gotten drunk at a KTV with her juniors, she’d already stopped caring about people seeing her in an unstable state.
Learning to accept your own messiness—that was part of growing up.
Zhou Meng: “So you were looking for me specifically?”
The curly-haired girl in the apricot-colored school uniform lifted her chin slightly, as if trying to look smug, but the dark circles under her makeup-free eyes were visible:
“I just checked the dance studios every morning at five. Found you within a month—not that hard to find, really… Though you really do practice in the middle of the night? I initially thought it was just a coincidence.”
“You thought it was a coincidence, but you still got up at dawn every day to check dance studios?” Zhou Meng smiled. “Pretty strong execution.”
Meike was just the same as always.
Even after being teased like that, the curly-haired girl didn’t get upset. Instead, she brushed her hair aside and said matter-of-factly: “I found you, didn’t I? That’s what matters.”
She tried to act like she didn’t care, but her eyes kept drifting toward Zhou Meng: “So which club are you with? How many years have you been training?”
“No fixed club. Sixteen years.”
“Six—…sixteen years…?” Meike froze. “You look so young…” Could she be a professional dancer in her twenties with a baby face?
Zhou Meng took the jianbing from the stall owner and took a bite: “Yeah, because I’m eighteen.”
“…Oh… then weren’t you dancing since you were a baby?!” I’ve been tricked! Not a single word of truth!
Meike stared wide-eyed at Zhou Meng, but the black-haired girl showed no guilt whatsoever for deceiving someone. She naturally handed her a jianbing: “That’s just how it is.”
Meike took it instinctively and took a bite.
“…It’s good… you added two eggs?”
“Yeah.”
Zhou Meng glanced into the distance. Because she hadn’t come over, Sun Zhen seemed to have gotten out of the car. He stood under the streetlight at the alley entrance, his long trench coat billowing in the wind, seemingly watching her.
She took out her phone and typed a few words.
[Xiao Meng: Almost done.]
[Sun Zhen: Okay.]
Zhou Meng looked down to finish reading the message, then turned to Meike, who seemed to be wrestling with something.
“I have to go.”
Although she didn’t have much information about the dance anime, Zhou Meng could roughly guess that Meike was one of the characters in the manga.
In every competition before, Meike could never beat her at first, but two years later, Meike would surge in strength and become a seeded contender for the Latin singles championship.
Zhou Meng wasn’t close to her, and from what she remembered, Meike hadn’t shown much interest in her either…
She asked: “Why did you want to find me?”
“Uh…”
Under her calm gaze, the curly-haired girl stumbled over her words, and her face slowly turned red.
“…Do you… do you like dancing?”
Zhou Meng: “…Huh?”
They stood in the warm sunlight of sunrise. Meike looked at Zhou Meng intently, her eyes sparkling, as if carrying some emotion Zhou Meng couldn’t quite identify—something like anticipation:
“Do you like dancing?”
Meike’s reasoning was simple. She thought Zhou Meng practiced at the dance studio in the middle of the night only because she didn’t like sharing a room with others.
“My home dance studio is big, with lots of rooms… I can let you use one exclusively.”
“…Do you want to come?”