Chapter 50: Second Performance (5)
The content of the daily “off-work diary” was the whole group reciting the punishment for being late in unison, then waving to the camera and saying, “Good night.” The live chat ridiculed them for being too energetic and suggested they practice another two hours.
To be honest, Lai Yudong wasn’t nearly as exhausted as Jin Xiheng. Based on his past training schedule, going to bed three hours later than usual didn’t count as staying up all night—it was just pulling a late night.
He was even planning to grab breakfast before sleeping.
Amid fans’ camera shutters and cheers, the Bloody group finished their “after-work walk” back to the dorm. Lai Yudong took the elevator up to the seventh floor along with Su Junzhe and Jin Xiheng from Room 706 next door.
In the hallway, they ran into a bleary-eyed Liang Zhisheng, who was carrying a transparent cup stuffed with a disposable towel and dragging his lead-heavy feet toward the washroom.
Lai Yudong greeted him: “Good morning.”
“Morning. Heading to the practice room already?” Liang Zhisheng rubbed his eyes, his drowsy brain failing to notice they were actually headed toward the dorms. “When did you guys get back? When I returned to the room at three a.m., the bottom bunk was still empty. You’re cutting your sleep a little short, aren’t you?”
“Just now,” Lai Yudong replied.
“We only just got back,” Su Junzhe added with a grin.
Liang Zhisheng: “?”
Liang Zhisheng: “Do you guys even know what time it is?”
[Their sleep time isn’t short—because they didn’t sleep at all]
[LOL, finally someone understands Teacher Jin]
[Every time Liang Zhisheng tries to struggle, Yuzu always struggles harder hahaha]
[Liang Zhisheng: Absurd.]
…
For the next two days, the Bloody group kept repeating the same mistake of “promising not to stay up but fighting until dawn.” They pushed Jin Xiheng to the brink—he swore that the very first thing he’d do after the show was get a full medical check-up.
Lai Yudong quickly expressed his concern to his teammate: “If you can’t handle it, maybe take a break?”
Jin Xiheng stared at him for a few seconds before saying seriously: “Yuki, don’t say provocative things with such a sincere expression.”
[A man can’t say he “can’t”]
[Teacher Jin: I can say I can’t, but no one else can!]
[Yu-baby not making any expression really feels like mockery hahaha]
Lai Yudong: “…”
He realized he hadn’t thought this through.
Fortunately, sacrificing Jin Xiheng’s sleep schedule paid off. On evaluation day, when faced with the teachers’ strict standards, their group turned out to be the only dance group to receive praise.
Since this class focused on dance, three instructors came: host Fu Hanyu, mentor-actor Zhu Xiuming, and professional teacher Cao Yan.
“Very mature choreography. The dance style shifts a lot, but the transitions aren’t stiff. Each person has a memorable part, and the integration is excellent.” Cao Yan’s brow finally relaxed. After the shaky performances of the first two groups, his frown had been tight enough to crush a fly between his brows—but at last, here was a group he thought was good.
“Su Junzhe—surprisingly well-suited to this song. Looks like it’s not just the cute style; you can handle other vibes too.”
“Zhang Mingche—still a bit restrained. If you let go more, it’ll be better.”
“Bai Xuanhe—very distinctive personal style…”
Cao Yan went down the line giving feedback to each member. Most were praises, with the occasional small suggestion.
“Miura Yuki.”
Lai Yudong’s body tensed. “Here.”
Cao Yan said evenly, “You’re your group’s center, right?”
“Yes.”
Lai Yudong’s reply was short and firm. He tried to put as much confidence into his voice as possible, so he wouldn’t sound too weak.
What he feared most was that the next sentence would be a suggestion to change the center.
“Pretty good.” Cao Yan nodded in approval. “Even though you’re the only rookie in this group, you weren’t overshadowed too much. The opening was stunning. To a large extent, you should thank your teammates—the choreography and formations were cleverly arranged to cover up some of your weaknesses. Of course, that’s only part of it. The main credit still goes to yourself.”
He rarely showed such a gentle smile: “Every time in class, I can see your progress. I’m really looking forward to what kind of surprise you’ll bring next time.”
Lai Yudong let out a breath of relief. “Thank you, teacher. Thank you, everyone.”
Hearing such warm, positive feedback from Cao Yan calmed the uneasiness in his heart a little, making him more certain that all his efforts weren’t in vain.
Hard work might not yield instant rewards, but it would never be wasted.
The surprise was not only something to show others, but also a gift to himself.
[Congrats to Yuzu for the first time not being told his dance was too stiff! He actually listened to Teacher Jin’s advice!]
[Yuki’s learning ability is amazing]
[Honestly I don’t see much difference, his teammates dance better]
[+1, I don’t get what the fans are hyping]
[Are you guys joking?]
[This group’s dance level (even with Yuzu pulling down the average) is the strongest in the dance team. How could Yuzu possibly compare to his teammates? By that logic, why don’t you compare his teammates with professional dancers who’ve trained for decades?]
[Say what you want, but Yuzu still danced better than some trainees in the first two groups]
[All I know is, Yuzu doesn’t need my coddling anymore]
The live chat buzzed with debate.
Lai Yudong thought helplessly—one of those comments basically said what he himself wanted to say.
Not that he intended to defend himself—he knew it was simply the truth.
Setting himself aside, the shortest dance experience in their group was four years, and the longest was thirteen. If he could just casually catch up to the sweat and effort his teammates had put in, then as a “dance prodigy” he ought to be competing in the Olympic breakdancing event to win glory for the country.
Step by step, laying down a solid foundation—just being able to do that already put him ahead of many others.
After all, you can’t eat hot tofu in a hurry.
“Since even the professional teacher, Cao Yan, gave you positive feedback, I won’t go repeating the praise. Instead, let me nitpick a little.” Zhu Xiuming spoke slowly and steadily. “Although I don’t fully understand the kind of dance you young people do, art is universal. I could feel the theme you were trying to express through your performance—the vampire luring its prey into the trap.”
[This explanation sounds way more normal than the extra meal metaphor]
[Sorry, but the only thing I think of when I see this group is vampires eating dinner]
Captain Zhang Mingche took the initiative to communicate with the mentor: “Yes, teacher.”
“If you don’t show the shift from process to result, audiences might interpret it on first viewing as just an interspecies romance. And since the lyrics happen to be in English—which can’t be instantly understood—not everyone has the time, like fans do, to watch it two, three times, digging into details and translating lyrics to interpret the dance.”
Zhang Mingche thought for a moment: “So what you mean is, we could add some sort of reveal at the end?”
“That’s one possible approach. The specifics are for you to discuss after class.”
“Understood.”
“And one more thing—though your facial expressions are already well-managed, I’d like to see more refinement. Right now they feel too straightforward. What’s needed is a stronger sense of ambiguity.” Zhu Xiuming pointed the direction. “You should be seducing the prey step by step until it willingly falls into the trap—not snatching it up with a net from the start.”
“Yes.”
[LOL, Teacher Zhu really knows how to use metaphors]
[No wonder he’s an actor, his grasp of this is spot on]
[But it’s hard to pull off—easy to overdo it and end up looking greasy, which might be worse than how it is now]
[That’s why it’s called striving for perfection—high skill, high standards]
“Miura Yuki.” Zhu Xiuming suddenly called out.
Being singled out again, Lai Yudong jolted in shock: “Here.”
“You’re responsible for the opening and you’re the center. You could say the entire stage style essentially depends on your performance. You must keep that in mind.” Zhu Xiuming’s gaze was burning. “I’m looking forward to what you’ll bring on stage.”
Lai Yudong froze for a moment. He hadn’t expected his role to be elevated from “mascot” to something close to the backbone of the group. The pressure that was already weighing on him like a mountain suddenly doubled.
He took a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”
His firm tone carried no hint of retreat.
…
After class, the six of them sat in a circle on the practice room floor.
The challenge given by the mentor didn’t throw the Bloody group into confusion—instead, it fired them up like they’d been injected with adrenaline.
The past few days had gone too smoothly. Finally, they had a real challenge.
“Regarding Teacher Zhu’s suggestion, does anyone have ideas?” Captain Zhang Mingche naturally took the lead in the discussion.
“The act of biting can be expressed through dance or partner interaction. If we just tweak the ending choreography and formations, that part isn’t hard.” Jin Xiheng tapped the bottom of the lyric sheet. “The real problem is that the last section of lyrics doesn’t match. And since the performance ends right after the final line without any instrumental outro, we can’t just tack on another dance segment.”
Zhang Mingche asked, “So you mean either we change the lyrics, or we add another piece of music?”
“We could also do a segment without music,” Jin Xiheng shifted gears, “but my advice is not to add it. The choreography is already packed, and dancing without music is difficult—we might end up overdoing it and ruining the effect.”
“Changing the lyrics isn’t suitable either.” Mo Li picked up the thread and shot down the other option. “Not to mention we’d need English lyrics—the song’s verses are progressive and logical. If we alter the final section, the emotional flow will feel unnatural. Unless we do a major overhaul—rewrite the lyrics and re-compose.”
“That’s rap group and vocal group’s assessment task, and we might not have enough time.” Bai Xuanhe sighed deeply. “But since Teacher Zhu specifically told us, we can’t just submit the exact same thing for the second performance, right? Unless the editors cut that part from the broadcast.”
Seeing the atmosphere turn heavy, Lai Yudong joked: “It’s a livestream—the whole country would see it.”
Bai Xuanhe’s face turned tragic. “You’re right.”
[Exactly, the internet never forgets /doge]
[I’m willing to pretend to have selective amnesia for them]
“Actually, do we really need to add an entire extra section?” Su Junzhe propped up his chin. “After the backing track stops, we could use just one or two seconds of movement to show the plot twist. Like putting the finishing touch on a dragon painting—it only takes that one ‘dot.’”
Jin Xiheng shook his head. “Without lyrics, one or two seconds of dance can’t possibly convey that much information—both ‘It’s a trap’ and the biting. If we can’t condense it, then we’d have to extend it. Which brings us back to square one—adding a section of dance without music.”
Su Junzhe dragged out his words, sounding almost like he was acting cute: “Hard to cover doesn’t mean impossible. Let’s just brainstorm together, yeah?”
Jin Xiheng brought up the original idea: “The simplest way is partner interaction—have one person act as the human being bitten.”
“But without lyrics to guide the context, the audience might interpret it as vampires killing each other.” Mo Li raised an objection. “It’s still the same problem—the information load is too little.”
“Um…”
Amid the heated, professional discussion, a faint voice suddenly slipped out, almost overlooked.
The one who spoke was Lai Yudong. Under the weight of five pairs of eyes all turning to him at once, he cautiously ventured:
“Fake blood?”