CHAPTER 8

After being corrected by Lu Xiao yet again, Sang Miao was starting to feel deflated. She hated how her body’s conditioned reflexes, molded by years of dance, kept interfering.

She straightened her shoulders and neck with force, trying to stand as rigid and upright as a steel post.

Suddenly, she felt a firm chest press lightly against her back. Lu Xiao stepped in close from behind and gently took her fist on his own.

“Clench your fist,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t tense your shoulders so much. Imagine you’re being attacked from behind and need to fight back.”

His sudden action made Sang Miao jolt. Instinctively, she launched into a move she’d practiced dozens of times—her elbow striking backward toward the person behind her.

Lu Xiao nimbly dodged her thin arm and immediately stepped forward again to attack. Sang Miao hurriedly lifted a leg to counter, her flexibility making it possible to kick almost straight up toward his head.

Lu Xiao hadn’t expected her body to be so agile. She hadn’t kicked anywhere near that high during earlier practice. Caught slightly off guard, he reacted quickly, grabbing her ankle mid-kick to block the blow.

The hem of her pants rode up slightly, revealing her slender, fair ankle. Lu Xiao’s large hand wrapped firmly around it, the grip so tight it almost turned red. With one foot lifted, Sang Miao couldn’t keep her balance and had to lean against Lu Xiao to keep from falling.

They ended up in an overly intimate position—Sang Miao’s long leg pressed tightly against Lu Xiao’s shoulder.

It was a bold and abrupt kind of closeness.

Lu Xiao was momentarily dazed by the soft, porcelain-like ankle in his grasp. But he quickly snapped out of it, let go of her foot, and took a step back.

In the army, young men were full of blood and energy. Scenes like that were bound to make anyone momentarily lose focus. Lu Xiao pressed down the dark gleam in his eyes and said in a deep voice, “Much better. Just now, when you struck back, your movements were quick and strong. That’s exactly how it should be.”

Sang Miao, too, had just realized that during that rapid back-and-forth, something had clicked for her. When performing a move, she couldn’t just focus on looking good—she needed to think like she was really attacking an enemy. She felt it, just now.

Hearing Lu Xiao’s affirmation, she beamed. “I think I finally got it, Captain Lu! Let’s keep going!”

She was bursting with excitement from that small breakthrough and eager to strike while the iron was hot.

Lu Xiao interrupted her and said, “That’s enough for today. Haste makes waste. You’ve practiced enough for now.”

Sang Miao heard him and shook out her arms, only to realize the sun was already setting. The orange glow bathed the training field in warm light.

She hadn’t expected to have practiced for that long. Her urge to keep going finally died down.

Only after letting her mind rest did Sang Miao realize how sore and weak her whole body felt. That last strike just now had been fueled by pure willpower. After an entire afternoon under the scorching sun repeating the moves dozens of times, she was completely drained. Her face was flushed red from the heat.

The original owner of this body had cared deeply about her looks. Her skin had been well-maintained—fair and pink, soft and delicate. Now, after being exposed to the blazing sun for so long, there was no doubt she’d end up sunburned. She could already feel the sting and heat radiating from her skin.

She touched her face with her hand and let out a hiss. “Tss…”

Lu Xiao asked, “What’s wrong?”

Sang Miao lowered her hand and replied casually, “It’s nothing, Captain Lu.” She didn’t want to seem too delicate in front of him—especially after insisting earlier that she could handle hardship.

It was only then that Lu Xiao noticed her face, reddened from the sun. It wasn’t surprising he hadn’t realized it sooner—he was used to training soldiers under the blazing sun, all of whom endured harsh conditions. But he wasn’t rigid or heartless. For an art troupe performer, appearance mattered, and there was no need to push a young girl too hard.

Lu Xiao said, “We’ll train under a tree tomorrow.”

Sang Miao’s eyes widened in surprise as she looked at him. Then she realized he’d noticed her condition. She couldn’t help but smile and say, “Yes, thank you, Captain Lu.”

At that moment, the military bugle suddenly rang from the loudspeaker at the training ground—it was the dinner call.

“Let’s go,” Lu Xiao said.

Huh? Go where? Sang Miao blinked, momentarily confused as she stared at Lu Xiao.

He caught the look in her eyes, a faint smile flickering across his face before quickly vanishing. He asked in return, “You’re not going to eat?”

That snapped her back to her senses. She suddenly realized how hungry she was—her stomach was practically sticking to her back. She quickly followed behind Lu Xiao, who had already started walking, and the two headed together to the art troupe’s cafeteria.

Lu Xiao didn’t walk fast—it was as if he was deliberately waiting for her until they were walking side by side.

Sang Miao caught up and flashed a sweet smile. “Captain Lu, you’re really amazing. Thanks to your guidance today, I was able to find the rhythm so quickly. You’re so kind.”

Lu Xiao, who had just been handed a “nice guy” card, looked at her smiling face and suddenly asked an odd question, “Does eating across from me affect your appetite?”

Right after he said it, he seemed to realize how strange the question was. He frowned slightly and looked away, as if he didn’t expect an answer.

Sang Miao was a little baffled. What’s that supposed to mean?

Still, her mouth moved faster than her brain. “Of course not. Captain Lu, you’re so good-looking—just seeing you makes me want to eat two more bowls.”

Aside from being pretty and a good dancer, Sang Miao’s other advantage was her sweet mouth. That’s why the older brothers and sisters in the dance troupe had doted on her so much. After all, who wouldn’t like a cute, pretty little junior who always knew the right things to say?

So even though she didn’t fully understand what Lu Xiao meant, she instinctively gave him an answer he’d like.

Whether Lu Xiao actually believed it or not, Sang Miao didn’t know. But when she tilted her head slightly to study his expression, it seemed he wasn’t quite as cold as he’d been earlier.

They walked into the cafeteria side by side—one handsome man and one pretty woman—drawing a few glances, but neither of them paid it any mind. They were used to attracting attention.

As usual, Sang Miao had Lu Xiao sit down first while she went to get food for them. Though he was a strong man, he had an injured arm. Besides, she still needed his help.

This time, they didn’t run into Zhao Weiwei again. Sang Miao brought back their food, helped Lu Xiao open his lunch box, and handed him a spoon with care. Then she sat across from him and began eating quietly.

The cafeteria tables weren’t very high, just low benches on either side. Lu Xiao, tall and broad-shouldered, had nowhere to place his long legs. They nearly reached the tabletop, and under the table, their legs were so close they were practically touching.

Sang Miao could almost feel the heat radiating from Lu Xiao’s body. The two of them, not very familiar with each other, sat silently eating across from one another. The atmosphere started to feel awkward.

Unable to stand it, Sang Miao broke the silence. “Captain Lu, how did your arm get hurt?”

Lu Xiao swallowed his food and replied calmly, “Got injured during a mission.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know much about Lu Xiao, and with his serious demeanor, she couldn’t think of much to say. The meal was starting to feel painfully long.

She thought, once he finished eating and left, it’d be less awkward eating alone. Lu Xiao usually ate quickly, after all.

But surprisingly, today he seemed like he was waiting for her. Unlike lunchtime, when he had scarfed down his food and left in minutes, he was now slowly sipping his soup.

Sang Miao’s mind began to drift again. She absentmindedly poked her chopsticks into her rice, poking little dents into it one by one.

Suddenly, she heard Lu Xiao’s deep, magnetic voice remind her, “Don’t play with your food.”

Snapping out of it, Sang Miao quickly put down her chopsticks, embarrassed. “Oh… okay.” Then she hurriedly shoveled a couple of spoonfuls of rice into her mouth.

Lu Xiao’s reminder reminded her of her father, who used to scold her the same way when she wasn’t focused during meals. The thought made Sang Miao even more embarrassed. She was a grown woman, yet here she was, being scolded like a kid.

She quickly bowed her head and sped up her eating.

Lu Xiao watched leisurely as she lowered her head, nibbling on her food like a little kitten. Only after she was done did he slowly set down his soup bowl and help her tidy up the trays.

Once again, the two of them left the cafeteria side by side.

Many members of the art troupe were still eating at that time. Watching Lu Xiao and Sang Miao come and go together, whispers started to spread.

A freckled girl gossiped, “Sang Miao and Captain Lu had lunch together, and now dinner too. Could it be… they’ve taken a liking to each other?”

A male soldier said sourly, “Well, you never know. Teacher Yang might’ve just asked her to show Captain Lu around because she didn’t want to turn her down.”

“But I saw Zhao Weiwei from the dance team eating with Captain Lu at lunch. How come she’s not here now?”

“You guys don’t know this, huh? She never eats dinner. I always see her secretly practicing dance in the rehearsal hall at this time. One time I caught her doing some kind of secret routine—she stopped as soon as she saw me.”

“Huh? No wonder Teacher Yang made her the understudy for the lead not long after she joined. Turns out she’s been doing extra practice every day.”

“I still say Sang Miao and Captain Lu look the best together. They’re a perfect match—handsome man, beautiful woman.”

“Zhao Weiwei’s not bad either, okay? She’s been throwing herself into her dancing. Even Teacher Yang said she’s very talented. She might become the lead one day. Sang Miao, though? Not so sure. She’s all delicate and pampered. Aside from her face, there’s not much to her. I doubt someone like Captain Lu would be into her,” another long-faced female soldier chimed in with jealous speculation.

…

The group gossiped, each person with their own opinion.

Meanwhile, Sang Miao and Lu Xiao had already left the cafeteria and naturally didn’t hear the speculation or know that they’d become the center of post-meal gossip.

After parting with Lu Xiao, Sang Miao returned to the rehearsal hall. She needed to integrate the moves she’d learned from Lu Xiao with her ballet choreography and refine the piece even more.

She usually practiced in the main hall on the first floor, though the rehearsal hall had two floors. The second floor consisted of smaller, individual practice rooms.

During the day, most people preferred the open space of the first-floor rehearsal hall. But at night, there were no mandatory practice requirements—art soldiers had a relatively free schedule. Some chose to sneak upstairs to those private rooms for extra practice.

Right now, the lights were still on in several of the small rooms upstairs.

Zhao Weiwei was inside one of them.

Anyone from the Red Detachment of Women cast who happened to peek in would have realized something surprising: Zhao Weiwei wasn’t practicing her own role of the messenger, Xiao Pang, but the much more difficult lead role—Qiong Hua.

That was Sang Miao’s role.

Zhao Weiwei had almost completely mastered the dance choreography that Sang Miao had created and refined—moves that Sang Miao had never hidden and had openly rehearsed and performed with the group multiple times.

No one knew exactly when Zhao Weiwei had secretly started practicing this part as well.

Compared to Sang Miao’s lead role, Zhao Weiwei’s part as the messenger girl had far less dance content. That gave her more time to study the lead’s choreography.

At this point, her performance was about 70 to 80 percent similar to Sang Miao’s. To an untrained eye, it would look practically flawless.

Sang Miao had taken modern ballet elements and refined the original choreography into something sharper and more dynamic. By current standards in the troupe, it was practically ahead of its time.

So when someone like Zhao Weiwei—who had a strong dance foundation from her previous life—performed it, the effect was naturally excellent.

But Sang Miao was still unaware of this.

Back in the main hall, she was working through the latter half of the dance, incorporating the combat-style moves she had picked up from Lu Xiao.

And sure enough, the new version had a clearer impact. Compared to the original, the moves felt sharper, more powerful, and full of momentum.

She still hadn’t mastered some of the movements, and she’d need to spend more time with Lu Xiao to fully capture the essence of them—but overall, she was quite pleased.

It seemed she had finally pinpointed the root of her earlier dissatisfaction.