Chapter 4: The Cultural Performance

“Sign up?” Shen Nanqing was puzzled. “Sign up for what?”

She clearly remembered everything that had happened, as if she’d experienced it firsthand, and she was sure there was no such thing as a sign-up in her memory.

Song Huaizhi then explained that the entire army was organizing a large-scale cultural performance. The General Political Department would be selecting individuals from various art troupes, and the spots were limited. Those interested had to register and attend a preliminary audition that very day. The competition was fierce.

So that’s what it was!

Shen Nanqing suddenly understood. Given Xu Ruyan’s personality, she wouldn’t have let go of her so easily unless she’d already squeezed all the value out of her.

Previously, despite all the little tricks Xu Ruyan had pulled, she’d simply brushed them off and never exposed her. At most, she’d gone to complain to Li Haoxuan, then continued to act like nothing happened, as if they were still close sisters.

This time, she had taken real action—clearly treating Shen Nanqing as an obstacle on her road to success.

Shen Nanqing sneered inwardly. Their troupe was under the Yandu Military District, a united unit with several regimental-level troupes above them, and ultimately the General Political Department at the top. Talents were everywhere. What counted as impressive in their small circle might not mean anything once outside.

“Actually, it’s not a big deal to miss this chance,” Song Huaizhi said, seeing Shen Nanqing in a daze and assuming she was upset about the lost opportunity. She patted her on the shoulder, comforting her. “With your abilities, it wouldn’t be hard for you to move up another level.”

“Mhm.” Shen Nanqing smiled faintly. “Tuan Zhang, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head back to training.”

That evening, the commissar returned with the group who had participated in the preliminary audition. Some were smiling, others disappointed. Commissar Zheng looked particularly pleased—seems they’d done quite well.

Everyone rushed over to surround them, all talking at once, eager to know the results.

This was the first time the General Political Department was personally selecting individuals, and excitement ran high. If not for their own limitations, many would’ve signed up in a heartbeat.

“Everyone quiet down,” Commissar Zheng said, beaming with pride and a booming voice. “We especially need to commend Xu Ruyan, Li Zhen, Su Xiangqin, and Liu Anhe. The four of them stood out from the crowd and brought honor to our troupe—well done!”

In this era, collective honor was a big deal. Everyone clapped enthusiastically at those words, the applause ringing loud and clear.

Commissar Zheng gestured for silence again, his words firm and clear: “There’ll be a second round in a few days. I hope you all stay humble and keep striving.”

After the meeting, Song Huaizhi and Commissar Zheng left together. Without the leadership around, everyone relaxed and started chatting and gossiping in groups.

In her past life, Shen Nanqing had stood on the world stage accepting awards. A cultural performance like this didn’t even make it onto her radar. After a whole afternoon of rehearsals, she was covered in sweat and feeling sticky. All she wanted was to get back quickly and take a shower.

Xu Ruyan was surrounded by admirers. She loved this kind of attention, and it only made her more certain that her decision had been the right one. In her heart, she vowed to climb even higher and crush Shen Nanqing beneath her feet.

While she exchanged humble pleasantries with the others, her gaze never left Shen Nanqing. Seeing her calm face and how she was getting ready to leave, Xu Ruyan wasn’t willing to let her go so easily. She deliberately stepped forward to provoke her.

“Nanqing, I really have to thank you for helping me make it to the finals,” Xu Ruyan said, smiling with gratitude and speaking softly. “Won’t you… wish me luck?”

“Heh.”

Shen Nanqing once again marveled at how thick-skinned Xu Ruyan was. She didn’t want to waste a word on this green tea bimbo, and brushed past her without a word.

Being completely ignored, Xu Ruyan lowered her eyes slightly, a trace of gloom flickering through them. When she looked up again, she wore that same delicate and innocent expression. She turned to the onlookers and explained gently, “Maybe Nanqing is a little upset about missing the opportunity.”

The others didn’t overthink it and quickly came to understand—after all, this was a rare chance to rise in one leap. With Song Nanqing’s skills, she was practically guaranteed to be selected. What a shame she missed it.

Li Zhen couldn’t stand Xu Ruyan’s fake act and gave a cold snort before walking off as well.

The gossip lingered long after. People came and went in waves at their dormitory. Shen Nanqing couldn’t stand the endless chatter and the probing looks, so she decided to hide out in the rehearsal hall for some peace and quiet.

It was early July, and the evening air was heavy and warm. Even the wind blowing through carried a hint of heat.

The lights in the rehearsal hall were bright. With summer arriving, there weren’t many people coming for training at night. Shen Nanqing thought she’d have the place to herself—only to find Su Xiangqin from the neighboring dormitory already there.

Under the lights, she danced gracefully. Her serious expression, each spin and leap, wove a dream of youth that was uniquely hers.

Among those selected this time, Li Zhen came from an arts academy and had years of foundational training. Xu Ruyan had benefited from Shen Nanqing’s private coaching. Su Xiangqin’s selection, however, had caught Shen Nanqing off guard.

She had such a low presence—so low that no one ever paid her any attention. Looking at her now, it was clear her selection came entirely from hard work behind the scenes.

“Your flexibility is good,” Shen Nanqing offered a reminder. “But your rhythm and muscle control still need work.”

Shen Nanqing wasn’t someone who liked to meddle. She had always been a bit of a calculated individualist. To survive, she had to juggle school and part-time jobs to support herself. She’d learned early on how to read people and disguise her true self, always prioritizing her own interests.

Maybe it was because she saw a reflection of her younger self in Su Xiangqin.

When it came to learning dance, talent was important—and so was the guidance of good teachers. As her skills grew, Teacher Li no longer had much to teach her. During competitions, others could afford elite tutors for one-on-one coaching. She, on the other hand, had nothing—just herself, fumbling through trial and error. She’d taken the long way, suffered countless setbacks. All she had over others was sheer effort.

But in the end, she had carved her way through the thorn-covered path.

Lost in her own dance world, Su Xiangqin was startled back to reality by the voice. She stopped and looked at Shen Nanqing in confusion.

This was the first time Shen Nanqing had ever spoken to her—and in such a calm tone, with none of the usual arrogance or disdain.

Su Xiangqin pressed her lips together, stared at her for a moment, and tentatively asked, “Could… could you teach me?”

She truly cherished this opportunity. If she could pass this round and perform in the cultural showcase, she might be promoted. Then she wouldn’t have to be discharged—wouldn’t have to go back to that home.

Shen Nanqing could see the cautious hope in her eyes. Since the daily training was easy for her anyway, sparing a little time to help didn’t cost her much.

For the rest of the evening, Su Xiangqin danced while Shen Nanqing gave corrections and guidance. She even generously shared techniques and insights she’d gathered over the years.

Sure enough, with expert instruction, Su Xiangqin’s dance became noticeably smoother, and her rhythm much sharper.

Before they realized it, the lights-out bugle sounded. Su Xiangqin tugged at the hem of her shirt, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

Shen Nanqing smiled. “It’s fine. Comrades should help each other out.”

Time was ticking, and the rehearsal hall was a bit of a distance from the dorms. If they didn’t hurry, they’d have to run back in the dark.

The two of them turned off the lights and stepped out of the hall—only to be startled by a shadowy figure standing at the door. Neither of them had noticed the person there, but judging by the expression full of resentment in their eyes, they had been standing there for quite some time.