Liang Jin had chosen an excerpt from the third act.
She descended the stairs cradling her costume when a staff member approached to remind her, “Miss Liang, Director Zheng is calling for you.”
Liang Jin nodded.
The performance was about to begin soon. She had heard of this Mr. Shen before—he was a former soldier who had returned to Hong Kong after being injured on duty. The man was upright and ruthless in his methods; even the slightest move from him could send ripples through the Hong Kong entertainment circle, let alone investing in a small film like this.
The staff member chose their words carefully. “There’s just been a little mishap…”
“A mishap?”
The staff member hesitated before relaying the message. “Director Zheng said he wanted to give you a heads-up. Mr. Shen has agreed to invest, but he might want to replace the female lead…”
Liang Jin’s eyelashes fluttered lightly as her gaze drifted to the audience seats shrouded in darkness nearby.
Director Zheng was arguing his case. “Mr. Shen, I don’t agree with changing the lead actress. The script was written based on the mother of our current female lead…”
A female voice cut him off. “What? Director Zheng, does that mean the king’s children are destined to be nobles, and a beggar’s kids are doomed to beg? If ballet followed some ‘like father, like son’ inheritance rule, it wouldn’t be interesting at all.”
“This—”
“Director, you need to understand—we’re only investing because the script fits. We’re not at the point where we have no choice but to fund it.”
The unfamiliar girl looked proud and haughty.
Liang Jin halted in her tracks. In that instant, she caught a faint whiff of an aquatic perfume note—sharp and assertive. On instinct, her eyes shifted, her mind identifying the source even before her body fully reacted.
How could it be him?
Wasn’t it supposed to be Mr. Shen?
Jiang Manyu turned to the boy propping his chin beside her, her tone much softer. “Ah-Ye, what do you think?”
Shen Keye showed no expression, the dappled light and shadow playing across his straight nose bridge. With his slightly long, messy hair, he tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the two arguing parties.
Everyone was waiting for him to speak. He smiled faintly and said, “How should I know?”
In front of him, Jiang Manyu’s voice turned unintentionally soft and pleading. “Ah-Ye, Uncle said it was a done deal.”
Shen Keye seemed not to take her words to heart as his gaze shifted.
He spoke slowly, “What the investor means is—”
“Replace her.”
The verdict fell like a hammer.
Jiang Manyu beamed with delight.
But Liang Jin’s heart sank into silence.
The staff member came up to remind her, “Miss Liang, should we go say hello?”
Liang Jin knew Shen Keye had seen her. She replied, “No need.”
Outside the theater restroom, Liang Jin leaned against the corridor wall, smoking. She was only seventeen, the kind of “other people’s child” that outsiders praised from a young age, but Liang Jin had never been truly obedient.
She was fiercely competitive, having won numerous ballet awards back home. She dared to do things those goody-two-shoes girls wouldn’t dream of—like at fifteen, when she’d stomped on the face of a thug trying to extort protection money for a friend’s sake.
She’d only picked up the bad habit of smoking recently, around the time her father had his affair.
Liang Jin stared at the silver lighter in her palm, the initials “Liang Jin” engraved in the bottom left corner—her name in Pinyin.
A gift from her mother.
The flame lit up the girl’s face, unable to hide the loneliness in her eyes. Her mouth and throat burned, her eyes growing hot. She was certain that Shen Keye had only said “replace her” after spotting her.
She really had offended him.
The nearby phone call ended.
Footsteps faded into the distance. Liang Jin suddenly spoke up, her gaze directed further away.
“Shen Keye.”
Her clear voice echoed through the dimly lit corridor.
Shen Keye was dressed in loose white long sleeves paired with pure black cargo pants. As he turned, the fabric accentuated his powerful, well-proportioned waist. The young man seemed surprised, his eyes landing on the slim cigarette extinguished in her left hand. In a lazy drawl, he asked, “Something you need?”
Liang Jin had just checked the campus rumors. They all said Shen Keye was the cream of the crop among the favored sons of heaven—excellent family background, exceptional talent, adored by countless girls. Yet he was mysterious enough that real information about him seemed buried amid a sea of gossip.
Liang Jin tossed away her cigarette butt and brushed off the scent clinging to her clothes. “Mr. Shen, I’m the lead actress in this film. I’m here to recommend myself to you.”
What had happened yesterday made her a bit embarrassed, but in this world, there were plenty of shameless things to do. She continued, “I believe you’ve looked into this film already. It has huge potential—it’s the story of Zeng Zhi, a national first-class ballet dancer and former principal of the Central Ballet Troupe. If you’re investing, I’m truly grateful.”
“But—”
The young man before her lowered his eyes, looking utterly uninterested. Liang Jin said earnestly, “It features a total of twenty minutes of ballet techniques, extremely difficult ones. I won’t hesitate to boast—among girls around eighteen, I’m the best at them. The finale features my performance, showcasing these skills. So… please pay attention to me.”
Shen Keye’s gaze stilled for a moment. The girl stood before him in a black feathered ballet tutu, her profound yet youthful features conveying both earnestness and a cool detachment. She stared right at him—her posture one of supplication, yet radiating utter confidence and bold flair.
Shen Keye fixed her with a cold stare, the ballet dancer girl, and called out her name. “Liang Jin.”
Unlike the first time he’d said it, this carried far more of an air of lofty authority. The young man flashed a wicked smirk. “If memory serves, you just offended me.”
Shen Keye let out a scoffing laugh and shot back, “Why on earth do you think I’d give you a shot?”
That aura of decadent mischief lurked beneath his smile, which abruptly chilled. He gave her one last piercing look before turning on his heel and walking away.
~~~
“Jinjin, are you still going to perform?”
Faced with such a massive influx of investment, Zheng Yunzhi wouldn’t have believed himself if he’d claimed it didn’t tempt him.
He’d called Liang Jin to check, worried she’d throw a fit once she found out. To his surprise, she’d replied, “I’ll give it my all.”
Zheng Yunzhi hesitated. “The investment this time… it’ll be even bigger…”
He skirted around mentioning the potential swap for the lead role. Liang Jin lowered her eyes. “Uncle Zheng, you can count on me.”
The substitute gig had originally called for just a routine segment of standard difficulty, but Liang Jin had switched it up.
She didn’t have full confidence in pulling it off.
Truth be told, from the time her father cheated until the script read-through, there’d been over a year when Liang Jin hadn’t touched ballet.
As a little girl, she’d trailed after her mother with stiff, clumsy limbs, waddling like a penguin.
Zeng Zhi was with the Central Ballet Troupe, away from home most of the year, but she remained Liang Jin’s greatest pride. Liang Jin had always declared she wanted to grow up to be a dancer just like her mom. The young Zeng Zhi would scoop her up, booping her nose with her own, and coo affectionately, “Does my Jinjin have such big dreams?”
Little Liang Jin would widen her eyes, clap her hands to her cheeks in shy delight, and beam, “Because Mommy shines so bright!”
She was the principal dancer who’d risen above a billion souls—her pristine white tutu aglow under the spotlights, her pointed toes feather-light, her extensions graceful and ethereal, beauty untouched by the mortal realm.
Now, Liang Jin was fighting tooth and nail for her mother, too.
The theater staff had already rehearsed the lighting for the original segment, so this last-minute change sparked murmurs all around.
“What’s going on here?”
Liang Jin took the stage in a different position than planned, leaving the visitors in the audience seats and the Director Team momentarily stunned.
“Has Liang Jin lost her mind?”
“Did she find out about the lead actress switch and decide to tank the show on purpose?”
“What piece is this? The lights can’t keep up.”
The spotlights locked onto the center of the stage.
There stood the girl in her black ballet costume, her skin dazzlingly pale under the harsh glare. She rose onto one pointe, flowed through a lyrical passage, then abruptly flung out an arm and launched into a flurry of spins.
The orchestra swelled with an exuberant, driving melody. Her movements were feather-light and relentless, like a Black Swan swaying hypnotically at the heart of the stage.
Bit by bit, the crowd’s whispers died away, supplanted by raw visual awe.
One or two spectators found themselves numbly counting her revolutions.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Thirty-two.”
Thirty seconds that stretched into eternity.
Such a flawless, masterful one-footed spin—even those who didn’t know ballet from baseball could feel its fierce, vibrant intensity.
Jiang Manyu sat in the front row, her heart clenching. She’d been all set to proudly announce to Director Zheng that she was “professionally trained,” her skills polished enough to step in and do the crew a solid. But now? Could she pull off anything close to this? Silence was her only answer.
“She’s gorgeous.”
Whispers rose from behind her. Anxious, Jiang Manyu glanced sidelong at Shen Keye. He sat watching with his usual impassive expression, clearly unmoved.
Jiang Manyu exhaled in relief and turned to the director. “Who’s the one on stage?”
Zheng Yunzhi watched Liang Jin, emotion flickering in his eyes. “My original female lead.”
He sketched out the backstory, but his gaze never strayed from her. “There was an accident today—the theater’s regular ballet dancer took a tumble from the props during rehearsal. She’s stepping in to save the day.”
A last-minute savior!
Zheng Yunzhi felt a pang of alarm and blurted, “What’s her name?”
“Liang Jin.”
It wasn’t Director Zheng who answered—much to Jiang Manyu’s surprise.
Shen Keye’s eyes settled on that slender silhouette.
He propped his chin on his hand, the picture of nonchalance, but his typically flat black gaze now burned with profound intensity, something predatory lurking beneath.
Slowly, he repeated the name.
His tone laced with dark amusement.
“Liang Jin.”
~~~
The performance wrapped without a hitch, and Liang Jin let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
They called her off to remove her makeup. By the time she hurriedly changed back into her street clothes, Shen Keye and his group had already left.
The rain outside had picked up again at some point—a savage, unrelenting torrent, mirroring the fate she shared with her mother: adrift like duckweed, tossed endlessly by the storm.
She hadn’t expected the person handling this investment to be Shen Keye. Nor did she know if her own modest efforts had made even the slightest difference.
Liang Jin called the director, but no one answered. The spot was close to the school dorms, so she couldn’t bring herself to spend money on a ride-share. Instead, she waited under the eaves for the rain to let up.
Wu Lin knew she was out performing and grew worried, so she checked in.
Wu Lin: 【Jinjin, the rain’s coming down hard. Did you bring an umbrella? Can you get back okay?】
Jin: 【I did. Don’t worry—I’m safe.】
That word “safe” seemed to carry a double meaning.
Wu Lin was cramming in the library while the downpour outside threatened to flood the world.
A little anxious about Liang Jin, she sent a reminder.
Wu Lin: 【Song Youhuai handed out gifts to a bunch of people today. Probably trying to smooth things over after you tore into him last night.】
Wu Lin: 【It’d actually be for the best if you went back to the Mainland. At least there wouldn’t be annoying types like Song Youhuai hounding you.】
Liang Jin replied: 【Don’t worry. There’s still a chance.】
Wu Lin knew Liang Jin always shared the good news and kept the bad to herself, so she didn’t press. She just said: 【Actually, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you. If—and I mean if.】
Wu Lin: 【If Song Youhuai wasn’t such a jerk, or rather… if there was a guy who’d spend money on you, who’s actually decent, someone you like, who pursued you and helped cover auntie’s medical bills—would you go for it?】
Liang Jin’s breath caught.
The sharp, cloying scent of that aquatic perfume still haunted her from the day she opened her parents’ bedroom door. And the image of her father’s affair, witnessed with her own eyes, refused to fade.
Liang Wenbin had conned so much money out of Zeng Zhi on the pretense of starting a business. They’d been a young couple deeply in love back then. Yet today, he refused to pay for her treatment.
She replied in a flash.
Short. Abrupt. A single word.
Jin: 【No.】
In her seventeen years, Liang Jin’s firmest conviction was her distrust of men and love.
She would never accept charity disguised as romance. And she would never fall for anyone.