Chapter 51: Second Performance (6)
When the topic of vampires came up, Lai Yudong suddenly remembered the haunted house prank from a few days ago. Since dance alone couldn’t concisely convey the concept, why not use props to add more information?
Fake blood was a great choice.
Jin Xiheng’s eyes lit up. “That could work!”
“I think it’s good,” Su Junzhe agreed. “It’s vampires, of course there has to be blood.”
“But how do we arrange it reasonably?” Mo Li followed the idea further. “If the blood only appears at the end of the music, it’ll feel too abrupt. Without buildup, the final twist might come off as a sloppy ending. Should it be part of the entrance styling, or applied two-thirds of the way through? If it’s applied mid-performance, we’ll need to adjust the choreography. But once the blood is smeared on, it’s sticky and troublesome to handle.”
Seeing his suggestion was being accepted, Lai Yudong spoke more confidently: “For makeup, we can use a dark brown shade, and at the end, switch to dark red to represent different states of blood.”
“I get it now.” Mo Li suddenly realized. “You mean using coagulated blood in the styling as a foreshadowing, hinting at a past incident, and then liquid blood at the end to show that he’s successfully fed again this time.”
Lai Yudong nodded. “One, it won’t feel abrupt. Two, applying it at the end won’t affect the performance.”
[Yuzu is so smart!]
[As expected of Yuzu, who predicted all seven winners in the visual vote]
[Yu-baby is so suited for stage design]
[I really like Yuki’s plan]
Jin Xiheng immediately began arranging things: “Then we just need to add a gesture after the dance ends, like wiping or licking the corner of the mouth as if just after feeding.”
“At the ending, we can add a line in English—not sung, just spoken, preferably in a low voice. For example…” Lai Yudong thought for a moment, then demonstrated: “Thank you for your hospitality?”
“What does that mean?” Jin Xiheng, who hadn’t touched English in years, asked in confusion.
“‘Thank you for your hospitality,’” Lai Yudong provided the translation.
Bai Xuanhe raised his hand with a question: “How are we supposed to carry the fake blood?”
Lai Yudong answered instantly: “Blood capsules—keep them in the mouth and bite them open.”
“You even know that?” Bai Xuanhe asked in surprise.
[Yuzu: knows everything except singing, dancing, and rap]
[Correction: Yuzu is about to evolve into someone who knows everything except rap]
[Off-topic, but that English line just now sounded so good]
Lai Yudong’s suggestion received unanimous approval from the group. During the vote, everyone raised their hand in agreement, and they decided to send Captain Zhang Mingche to communicate their styling ideas to the production team.
“What if the directors don’t agree?” Jin Xiheng asked worriedly.
“They won’t,” Lai Yudong replied calmly. “Our team’s popular, and the haunted house segment already used it.”
Jin Xiheng: “…True.”
[Why are you spitting out harsh truths like that]
[If they don’t agree, fans will riot hhhh]
[Honestly, the idea is solid—there’s no reason to reject it]
[Lmao, the show’s props should be used if they exist]
Sure enough, the director team readily agreed to the request, promising that for the second performance they would coordinate with the stylists in advance according to their ideas.
Lai Yudong quietly let out a breath of relief—he’d finally proven useful within the team.
With the first task assigned by mentor Zhu Xiuming settled, one more major challenge still awaited the Bloody group.
That was—expression management.
To more clearly identify the issues, they first recorded a group version on a tablet, then went through one-by-one individual recordings.
Even before Zhu Xiuming had emphasized it, they had already listed expression management as a key focus. Each member had even designed micro-expressions based on their personal stage persona—for example, Su Junzhe’s character was a yandere shota, Bai Xuanhe’s emphasized maturity, while Lai Yudong leaned into a sense of detachment.
That was why their concept had been described as an interracial romance, with the vibe of an otome game where multiple male leads are romanceable.
Fortunately, thanks to Lai Yudong’s suggestion, they’d already steered things back on track.
Back to expression management.
Everyone in the Bloody group thought this was their strong suit. During mirror practice, they had been quite satisfied with their results.
They had guessed that the mentor might disapprove of their stage being more relay-style instead of highlighting a single center. They had also guessed the mentor might feel the choreography leaned too much on atmosphere instead of flashy techniques. But none of them expected the one thing singled out would be the very skill they were most proud of.
Yet after carefully rewatching the recorded video, they realized Zhu Xiuming was right—their emotions weren’t subtle enough. It was practically written on their faces: “I’m the villain.”
“Oh!” Mo Li slapped his thigh as understanding dawned. “It’s that thing… three parts cold indifference, three parts wicked charm, and four parts longing!”
Bai Xuanhe’s mouth twitched. “Say it in human language.”
[Classic Mo-language]
[Somebody’s read too many domineering-CEO novels hahaha]
[Can’t believe I actually understood that]
Lai Yudong prided himself on his comprehension, and he thought he more or less understood Mo Li’s meaning too. He tried to rephrase it, half translating: “Something like a convincing kind of… PUA?”
Mo Li was startled.
The wording was spot on, but his years of boy group experience had trained him to be cautious—terrified that rival fans might seize on certain terms as blackmail material. Even if it wasn’t him who coined the phrase, but it was basically what he meant, in those people’s ears, there’d be no difference.
So he hurriedly brushed it off with a joke: “Right, right, CPU.”
[Are you guys trying to form KTV Starseekers?]
[No PPT allowed!]
“It’s basically a push-and-pull kind of seduction—leaning toward desire, toward sensuality—and then show a bad-boy side at the end,” Su Junzhe casually voiced a dangerously suggestive line, pushing the livestream right to the edge of being shut down. “Actually, Teacher Zhu’s explanation was already very accurate, and Mo Li and Yuki’s additions were spot-on.”
He playfully winked. “Instead of racking our brains here trying to describe it in words, why don’t we just practice directly?”
“Xiao Su is right.” Zhang Mingche was the first to stand up. “We already have the direction, so let’s just train.”
He glanced at the wall clock. “Today we must strictly follow the plan—no more messy schedules like the past few days. It’s 3 p.m. now. From now until 9 p.m. it’s free practice, then group practice until midnight. After that, everyone can arrange their own time. Tomorrow morning, we gather at 10 a.m. sharp.”
[That’s exactly what you said yesterday]
[They say every morning that tomorrow they definitely won’t stay up all night /smoke]
[The Bloody group’s mouths are full of lies]
[This group has too many grind kings, the study atmosphere is contagious—no one wants to be the first to call it a day]
[Can you believe Bai Xuanhe once muttered to the camera that he felt lazy for wanting to leave? Like bro, practicing until 5 a.m. is “lazy”?]
[I remember that—at the end Brother Bai and Yuzu stayed up until 8 a.m. and literally ran into the Stolen Fire group on their way to work hahahaha]
Speak of the devil, and he appears.
The very Bai Xuanhe mentioned in the barrage walked straight over to Lai Yudong and familiarly pulled him aside. “Finally my turn.”
The words sounded ambiguous, but there was no hidden meaning.
It was simply group arrangement.
The Bloody team had a 5-to-1 setup—so many skilled dancers they could double as private instructors at a training academy. As a result, Zhang Mingche had suggested that each of them take a day to mentor Lai Yudong, with the more experienced Jin Xiheng covering an extra day.
The six-day schedule was neatly arranged, so the pressure wouldn’t all fall on one person.
Today, it just happened to be Bai Xuanhe’s turn.
“This is my first time teaching someone to dance—feels pretty novel,” Bai Xuanhe said eagerly, his bright eyes looking like a mad scientist who’d just caught a little lab mouse. “At the first performance, all the choreography was handled by Jin Xiheng, so I finally get a chance this time.”
He proved with both words and actions that he was a rookie teacher: “So, what do you want to learn? How far have you gotten? How did they teach you? Did they only go over their own center parts?”
It was obvious he looked even more lost than the student.
Luckily, Lai Yudong wasn’t the passive type who just followed blindly. Usually, he absorbed whatever the teacher taught, but if the teacher didn’t have a clear plan, he could map things out proactively based on his own needs.
“All of it—but mostly the center parts. The focus has been on consolidation and corrections,” Lai Yudong first pointed out the objective issues related to his current progress, then answered the more subjective question. “I want to refine your part, and also work on expression management.”
Ever since the recording of the first performance, Lai Yudong had listed Bai Xuanhe—on a completely different track than Su Junzhe—as one of the top-level expression masters. Capturing equally striking close-ups was one of his goals.
And now that they’d been assigned to the same group, he was seizing the opportunity to learn from him.
Bai Xuanhe had a handsome, slightly roguish face, but his personality wasn’t explosive and prickly like Li Xu’s “walking dynamite” temper. Instead, he was frank, cheerful, and easy to get along with. After hearing Lai Yudong’s request, he readily agreed.
Dance practice itself wasn’t a problem. Lai Yudong’s learning curve had skyrocketed—he was no longer the newbie from the theme song days, when Su Junzhe had to repeat one move dozens of times before it looked halfway decent.
With Bai Xuanhe, who doubled as a choreographer, helping him fix his frame and polish the finer details, one or two hours were enough to thoroughly perfect that part.
The real challenge was expression management.
“Let me share my personal impression.” After watching Lai Yudong’s demonstration of the intro section, Bai Xuanhe pinched his chin and searched through his lifetime vocabulary for the right words. “Your expression looks a little too… righteous? Uh, no, maybe too innocent? Kind of like a lost boy who’s accidentally strayed down the wrong path?”
Lai Yudong: “……”
What kind of description was that?
“Your current expression management works perfectly for a clean, refreshing style like the first performance. Here, it still looks nice, but it doesn’t really match the theme—especially when you smile, it completely loses the vibe.” Bai Xuanhe thought for a moment and gave a suggestion. “Try making your eyes a little colder when you smile.”
Lai Yudong adjusted. “Like this?”
“Hmm…” Bai Xuanhe said seriously, “Now it feels like you’re mocking me.”
Lai Yudong choked.
All he’d done was tone down the warmth in his eyes—he hadn’t mixed in any weird personal emotions!
Bai Xuanhe continued, “Try it without smiling.”
Lai Yudong obeyed.
Bai Xuanhe studied him for a while, then shook his hand. “No, doesn’t work. It’s like your initial evaluation, when you didn’t want to talk to anyone—too aloof.”
“…Like this?”
Although Lai Yudong felt a sense of frustration, he couldn’t help but catch the undertone of that remark.
Could it be that everyone really thought he’d gotten more lively lately?
He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
“Don’t limit your expressions to just the two extremes of smiling or not smiling. Smiling doesn’t always mean positive emotions, not smiling doesn’t always mean a cold gaze. And even if your gaze is cold, that doesn’t mean it’s emotionless.”
After finishing, Bai Xuanhe asked worriedly, “Do you understand?”
Lai Yudong hesitated, then nodded. “I… think so?”
[Yuzu’s expression management just hit an epic Waterloo]
[Forgive the silly kid, he just can’t pull off all that adult stuff 5555]
[Wait, isn’t Yuzu nineteen?]
[The problem is that Bai Xuanhe can’t teach—he knows how to do it, but his wording is a mess]
[Brother Bai, borrow Su Su’s mouth, please]
Just as the barrage said, Bai Xuanhe’s phrasing was a bit awkward—like a tongue twister that left people dizzy, hard to grasp the key point.
Lai Yudong quickly replayed that explanation in his mind, spending a few seconds to sort it out.
If he hadn’t misunderstood, what the other meant was that emotions, eyes, and expressions were not the same thing. But he had been lumping them together, failing to find the right balance.
There was no helping it—this style simply wasn’t in his comfort zone.
Lai Yudong rubbed his temple with his fingertip, and sincerely asked, “Can you demonstrate it for me?”
Since he couldn’t find his own positioning, he might as well start by imitating someone else.