CHAPTER 15 

Many people had the day off, but Zhao Weiwei wasn’t among them. That morning, after washing up and passing by Sang Miao’s dorm, she saw the girls dressed up in bright, flowery dresses, arms linked as they chatted and laughed about what they planned to buy during their outing.

Hearing their conversation made Zhao Weiwei inwardly rejoice. Out on the town?

Heaven was on her side—Sang Miao and her dorm mates were actually leaving the compound today.

Zhao Weiwei carried her washbasin back to her dorm, not rushing into action right away. It wasn’t the right time yet.

She changed into her dance practice clothes and, as usual, headed up to the small studio above the rehearsal hall. There, she began practicing based on the segments of Sang Miao’s dancing she had observed.

The revised choreography was even harder. The moves demanded a lot of strength and precision from the dancer. After just a few repetitions, Zhao Weiwei was already exhausted, sweat pouring down her face, and looking a far cry from Sang Miao’s graceful ease.

Gritting her teeth and thinking of her plan, she pushed herself up and continued dancing. In the cramped studio, she repeated the routine again and again.

As the sun rose higher, noon soon arrived, and the canteen’s lunch bell rang across the compound.

Meanwhile, in another studio, the door opened, and a tall girl with a freckled face stepped out. It was Wang Yao, a member of Sang Miao’s dance team who also participated in the Red Detachment of Women production.

She played the role of the company commander, Qionghua’s superior. Although the part didn’t have many scenes, there was a particularly difficult dance segment requiring a rapid whip turn on one leg, immediately followed by a grand jeté.

These two moves were already difficult on their own, and doing them in succession was even more challenging. Wang Yao wasn’t as well-trained as some of the others, and she’d only been chosen for this performance because of her perseverance. So even on a rest day, while the others were relaxing, she was still practicing hard.

Wang Yao didn’t leave the dance studio until the mealtime bugle sounded.

As she turned a corner, she noticed someone still inside the dance room. There was a small glass window on the door, through which she could see who was inside.

Curious, Wang Yao glanced in—and saw it was Zhao Weiwei.

Wang Yao often ran into Zhao Weiwei during her own extra practice sessions. Zhao Weiwei trained hard, and Wang Yao had a lot of respect for her. Back when they’d first joined the art troupe, Director Yang Xin had already been very impressed with Zhao Weiwei, which said a lot about her capabilities. Wang Yao hadn’t expected her to be this dedicated on top of it.

But the longer she watched, the more something seemed off.

…Wasn’t this segment of the dance meant for the lead, Sang Miao?

Why was Zhao Weiwei practicing that?

…Maybe Zhao Weiwei was simply pushing herself, challenging the more difficult lead choreography. With her skills, she could probably handle it.

That would explain why she was practicing so intensely even though her own segment wasn’t too demanding.

Wang Yao shook her head, dismissing the thought, and turned to leave.

Some time later, after the remaining people in the second-floor studio had trickled out, the door to Zhao Weiwei’s room finally opened.

She circled the corridor, double-checking that no one was left. Then she leaned over the railing to glance down at the first-floor rehearsal hall—also empty. Everyone had gone to lunch.

Only then did she let out a breath of relief.

Zhao Weiwei returned to the studio and picked up a Phillips-head screwdriver she had left on the side. She’d borrowed it from the supply room, saying the cabinet in her dorm had a loose screw.

Now she carefully tucked the screwdriver into her sleeve and stepped out again.

After once more confirming the area was clear, she made her way toward the rehearsal stage outside the hall.

The stage was set up directly in front of the flag platform and was about as tall as a person. Iron frame staircases were attached to either side—dancers ascended from the left during performances and exited down the right after the curtain call.

Each side had a single bolt anchoring the stairs in place. Because it was a temporary stage, the staircases were quite basic. If even one bolt was loosened, that section would become unstable.

Although Sang Miao wasn’t the first to appear during the performance, she was slated to lead the curtain call.

All Zhao Weiwei needed was for her to step on that stair…

She walked over to the right staircase and stared at it, a flicker of hesitation and doubt flashing in her eyes. Would anyone get hurt?

But the memories of her past life—of Sang Miao rallying others against her, of the sweat she had poured into that dance studio—made her eyes harden with resentment.

Why shouldn’t the lead role go to her? Just loosening one bolt… at worst, Sang Miao might suffer a minor injury.

Resolute, Zhao Weiwei reached into her sleeve for the screwdriver.

Even after she had finished, her heart was pounding. She glanced around nervously, then quickly left the area once she confirmed no one had seen her.

It was, after all, a rest day—and lunchtime to boot. The rehearsal hall was completely deserted. No one had witnessed her little maneuver.

Still rattled, Zhao Weiwei forced herself to stay calm and act natural. She stashed the screwdriver and headed to the cafeteria for lunch.

—

At that moment, Sang Miao was just stepping into a state-run restaurant on the town’s main street with Xiao Honghong and the others, ready to eat.

As soon as she walked in, she was struck by the retro decor—though old-fashioned, the place was clearly more upscale than the average food stalls outside. The walls were painted with a distinct blue-and-white color scheme, and a bold slogan hung overhead: “Develop the Economy, Ensure Supply.”

In the middle of the hall stood a dozen or so wooden tables and long benches. There were large round tables for family gatherings and small square ones for groups of friends. The kitchen was visible in the southeast corner, where the chefs were busy cooking. Dishes of meat and vegetables had already been plated and were ready to serve.

The rich aroma of food hit Sang Miao the moment she walked in.

Xiao Honghong, familiar with the place, immediately came alive. She was a local, and this restaurant was one she frequented. She knew what was good, what to avoid, and exactly which dishes were the house specialties.

The four of them chose a small square table, and before long a server brought over the menu. Xiao Honghong, like a seasoned regular, took it confidently.

“Sangsang, the crispy-skinned roast duck here is amazing. And the red bean rice balls with soft tofu—you’ve got to try it!”

Sang Miao had never been here before, so she nodded without hesitation. If Xiao Honghong recommended it, she was willing to trust her judgment.