CHAPTER 3  

The Red Detachment of Women wasn’t purely Western ballet. It was a fusion of Western ballet techniques and traditional Chinese dance expressions—a classic blend of Eastern and Western artistic cultures. Sang Miao had watched the performance before; it was an outstanding and iconic piece.

Although trained as a ballet dancer, Sang Miao also had a solid foundation in folk dance. In her era, ballet was no longer an art form exclusive to the West. After being introduced to China, it had undergone many localized adaptations and was often merged with traditional Chinese dance.

She hadn’t performed this particular ballet before, but her troupe had staged other classics like Xi Shi and Hua Mulan, which also featured captivating female leads similar to The Red Detachment of Women.

Once Sang Miao began rehearsing, she immersed herself completely. Her mind filled with thoughts of how to design the stage, how to arrange the positions, how to express each movement. It was precisely this kind of obsession and wholehearted dedication that allowed her to progress faster than others in her craft.

Early the next morning, Sang Miao headed back to the rehearsal hall. She hadn’t had time to properly take in the space the day before.

Because she hadn’t slept well in this unfamiliar world, she arrived especially early. The rehearsal room was still empty.

Yesterday, with everyone watching, she had been extremely cautious and didn’t dare take in her surroundings too much, afraid she’d give herself away. Now that she was alone, she carefully studied the area around her, memorizing the layout in detail.

The entire rehearsal hall was large. Though the capital’s military cultural troupe had a long history and looked a little worn on the outside, the facilities and buildings were still grand. The rehearsal hall alone was over a thousand square meters. Not only did the dance team practice here, but the vocal and instrumental departments also shared the space.

Outside the rehearsal hall was an open square with a flag platform. In front of it stood a built stage.

Once the cultural troupe finished rehearsing their programs, they would usually do a trial performance on this stage. It was similar to the mobile stages used during military tribute and exchange performances. Once things were finalized here, they could take the show on the road.

Seeing such a well-equipped venue made Sang Miao feel a lot more at ease. For the 1970s, having these kinds of facilities for artistic performance was really quite impressive.

After familiarizing herself with her future living and dancing environment, Sang Miao brought her practice outfit to the dressing room inside the rehearsal hall to change. Dancewear was always made of lightweight, form-fitting material, allowing dancers and choreographers to clearly observe every movement and muscle.

Dressed in a light purple practice suit, Sang Miao’s slender and graceful figure, with its beautiful lines, was perfectly accentuated.

Scattered throughout the rehearsal hall, a few art soldiers from the vocal department couldn’t help but be drawn in by her striking figure.

“Isn’t that Sang Miao? First time I’ve seen her come this early,” remarked Wang Lu from the vocal team.

“Right? Didn’t she usually show up last minute?” another male soldier from the same team replied.

Sang Miao, the subject of their direct stares and comments, didn’t mind. She was used to being the center of attention. Whether for her looks or her dance skills, she always drew eyes.

Truthfully, the original Sang Miao had been a standout beauty as well—always the focus wherever she went. But it was rare to see her around this early. At the moment, the rehearsal hall was nearly empty, and she was the only female dancer there. Dressed in a fitted warm-up outfit, she was impossible to miss.

Sang Miao gently closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the rhythm of her breath as she slowly raised both arms and began her stretching routine.

Her wrists moved with precision, fingers softly curling and extending. Her waist bent with fluid grace. Every movement expressed a quiet elegance and rhythmic beauty.

Each stretch pushed her body’s flexibility to the edge, and Sang Miao was testing the limits of this new body.

By the end of her warm-up, she was slightly out of breath, but there was a glint of excitement on her face.

This body was incredible—like it had been born for dance. Once it was further trained and honed, it would be even better.

Just as she was feeling satisfied, Zhao Weiwei walked in through the main doors—and immediately felt a wave of discomfort wash over her at the sight in front of her.

She saw Sang Miao already in the rehearsal hall practicing.

Since her rebirth, Zhao Weiwei had always been the most diligent among the dance team, arriving the earliest every morning. Through constant practice, the dance experience from her past life had gradually integrated into her reborn body, and she had started to regain her rhythm.

It was something she took great pride in—and something that had allowed her to look down on “slackers” like Sang Miao. In her eyes, Sang Miao was just a showpiece, a pretty face who didn’t put in real effort.

But now, after what she saw yesterday, and again this morning—Zhao Weiwei was having a hard time accepting it.

She forced herself to believe that Sang Miao was just the type to be inconsistent. Maybe she was only pretending to be hardworking for a few days and would give up soon. Yesterday must’ve been a fluke.

Besides, Zhao Weiwei had been hiding some of her own skill in front of the others. After all, it was Yang Xin who had initially auditioned her. If her progress was too fast, she might draw suspicion. Still, with years of dance experience under her belt, there was no way she’d fall behind Sang Miao.

With that in mind, she made up her mind to shine in the next performance and steal the lead role away from Sang Miao. Quietly, she chose a spot for herself and began her own practice.

Sang Miao, unaware of her scheming thoughts, was getting more and more into the groove of her rehearsal. She was completely immersed in The Red Detachment of Women, channeling Qiong Hua’s emotional journey—transforming from sorrow and rage to resolve and bravery. Her every movement conveyed those emotions vividly.

All morning, Zhao Weiwei was distracted—watching Sang Miao’s every move. Part of her had to admit that Sang Miao danced beautifully, while another part tried desperately to convince herself it was just temporary. Surely, Sang Miao would return to her old, lazy ways in a few days.

Perhaps spurred on by this inner frustration, Zhao Weiwei started arriving even earlier in the following days. Eventually, she no longer found Sang Miao there before her. The sight of an empty rehearsal hall finally made her breathe a sigh of relief and focus on her own dancing again.

—

At dawn, Sang Miao got out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Xiao Honghong and Liang Xiaoling, who were still asleep.

One benefit of living in a military base in the 1970s was that there wasn’t much nightlife. Once lights-out sounded, everyone went to bed early. Sang Miao’s schedule became more regular—early to bed and early to rise.

In her past life, she’d been a night owl, like many artists who found inspiration in the quiet of the night. Sang Miao had loved practicing alone in the dance studio late at night. It wasn’t a healthy habit, and now that she was in a new world, adjusting her routine was actually a good thing.

There were fewer distractions here.

Over the next few weeks, Sang Miao kept to a regular morning rehearsal routine. She didn’t stop until she had fully absorbed the style and music of the Qiong Hua role in The Red Detachment of Women.

Once everyone in the dance team had more or less gotten a feel for the solo parts of the piece, Yang Xin finally made time to visit the dance department and check on their progress.

When Yang Xin entered the rehearsal hall, Liu Feng was holding Sang Miao by the waist for a lift.

Her slim and flexible waist was held firmly in both his hands, creating a striking contrast of strength and grace.

Sang Miao and Liu Feng were rehearsing a partnered section of the performance, working to synchronize their movements and improve their coordination.

Wang Yao, Li Lan, and some of the other supporting dancers were also rehearsing movements nearby.

Yang Xin’s eyes were immediately drawn to Sang Miao. Seeing the smooth, emotionally charged movements she performed, she couldn’t help but silently praise her in her heart: Good.

It was obvious she had put in the effort. Her movements were expansive yet controlled, detailed and precise. She portrayed the grief and rage of a peasant girl exceptionally well. Liu Feng’s performance, on the other hand, still lacked a bit of fire.

Yang Xin didn’t interrupt their dancing. She waited until both had finished before speaking. She first gave Liu Feng some guidance on his movements, pointing out several areas that needed improvement. She went on for so long that Liu Feng lowered his head in embarrassment. Only then did she slowly turn her attention to Sang Miao.

Clearing her throat, Yang Xin gave her a small nod. “Sang Miao, you did very well this time. Do you have a background in folk dance?”

Sang Miao hadn’t expected her to pick up on that. Actually, in the dance department, most people had at least dabbled in different dance styles. Xiao Honghong, for instance, had studied Tibetan dance. But Yang Xin’s question was really asking whether she’d received formal training from a young age.

Sang Miao wasn’t sure if the original host had, but she herself definitely had. So she replied a bit nervously, “When I was little… my family made me learn.”

Yang Xin looked at her with a hint of admiration. She hadn’t known Sang Miao had such skills.

Yang Xin wasn’t just the instructor for the dance department—strictly speaking, she was the overall performance director of the cultural troupe, holding the position of Arts Minister. She was responsible not only for dance but also for the instrumental and vocal departments.

She knew a little about each person, but not too deeply. Sang Miao hadn’t been in the troupe for very long—just over a year and a half. Zhao Weiwei had joined only half a year ago.

So Yang Xin wasn’t too surprised by the discovery.

Zhao Weiwei stood right next to Sang Miao and felt increasingly unsettled.

This wasn’t how it had gone in her previous life! There was no such scene. Yang Xin had never praised Sang Miao—in fact, just before the actual performance, she had even reprimanded her for not meeting expectations.

Zhao Weiwei stared at Sang Miao, as if trying to bore a hole through her, trying to figure out what had changed.

Even after Yang Xin called her name twice, she didn’t respond.

“Zhao Weiwei. Zhao Weiwei?” Yang Xin called her again, and only when everyone’s eyes turned to her did she snap out of it.

Yang Xin frowned slightly.

Zhao Weiwei quickly said, “Sorry, Teacher Yang. I was just thinking about my movements—there are still some parts I haven’t practiced well.”

Yang Xin’s frown eased slightly at that explanation. “How’s your section coming along? Show me the opening pose.”

Zhao Weiwei calmed herself, took a deep breath, and pushed aside the distracting thoughts.

With toes pointed, she began dancing under the gaze of the entire room.

When she finished, Yang Xin nodded in acknowledgment.

Her rhythm was a bit off, though—it seemed like nerves. After all, she hadn’t been with the troupe long and had no experience with formal stage performances yet. Still, Yang Xin hadn’t misjudged her. She was a promising talent.

But Zhao Weiwei felt even more uneasy after dancing. A deep sense of frustration and regret weighed on her. Her performance had been too weak—she was nowhere near Sang Miao’s level.

Her gaze toward Sang Miao, who stood at the center of the crowd, became filled with resentment. It was as if Sang Miao were mocking her. An uncontrollable bitterness began to stir in Zhao Weiwei’s already prideful heart.

To be fair, Zhao Weiwei’s dancing was already very polished. Her experience from her past life had helped her tremendously, allowing her to reach a high standard at a young age.

In terms of technique, she was certainly excellent.

But Sang Miao’s unexpected improvement had thrown her off, disrupting her usual pace. Otherwise, she could have performed even better.

Still, in Yang Xin’s heart, she was quite satisfied with both girls. She valued them equally. Having two potential stars in the troupe was the best outcome—it was never ideal to have just one, too hard to manage.

Besides, Sang Miao’s attitude wasn’t entirely stable yet. She’d need to keep observing.

Yang Xin then addressed the group again, emphasizing the importance of the upcoming performance. Time was tight. Next week, they’d be holding the full dress rehearsal on the outdoor stage near the rehearsal hall, and everyone needed to be ready. After that, she left. Dance progress ultimately depended on individual effort—she couldn’t watch over them constantly.

Once Yang Xin was gone, everyone relaxed. Xiao Honghong came alive again, grinning. “Sangsang, you’re amazing now! Teacher Yang actually praised you—we usually only get scolded!”

Sang Miao half-joked, half-serious, “I’ve recently fallen in love with dancing. I’m dedicating myself to the art now.”

Everyone laughed at that. Zhou Qin teased, “Then sign your name for us now, so when you get famous, we won’t lose touch!”

—

Under the night sky, hundreds of kilometers away in the mountainous forests near the military base, everything was quiet—only the occasional call of a night owl could be heard.

Hidden within a dense patch of wild grass, Lu Xiao lay flat on his stomach, motionless. His hawk-like eyes were fixed on the scope of his sniper rifle.

Not far ahead was the enemy’s command post. Lu Xiao had been lying in wait for seven to eight hours already. This military district’s large-scale drill was extremely important. Held once every three years, it served to select the most outstanding soldiers. Each regiment in the division was allowed only two spots.

Their Division A represented the Red Team, going head-to-head against the Blue Team.

The Blue Team’s equipment was far superior. This exercise had been an uphill battle from the start.

Suddenly, Lu Xiao’s gaze sharpened—Someone’s coming out!