A Cat

“What are you doing here?”

Outside the practice room, Yuan Li walked over and looked at Yu Mao, who was practically plastered to the door, and couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of her eye.

It was a question with an obvious answer, but besides that, she really couldn’t think of a better opener that would make things less awkward.

The moment Yu Mao heard her voice, it was as if she’d touched a nerve; she dropped into a crouch and vanished from the window in an instant.

Half-hidden in a sneaky squat, she turned back and gave Yuan Li a faintly aggrieved look.

She raised one finger to her lips, signaling for her to be quiet.

“Don’t disturb her.” Her voice was kept very low, more than half of it dissolving into breath.

But it was still a little too late.

The practice room was better soundproofed than the dorms, but only by a little.

The people inside had already noticed the noise outside the door; one contestant looked toward the entrance and called out, “Is someone out there?”

Yuan Li froze. Her gaze flicked between the door and Yu Mao, and for a moment she didn’t know whether she should answer.

Yu Mao reacted even faster than she did. Before the voice inside had even faded, that slight figure shot off and disappeared around the corner of the corridor in the blink of an eye.

Yuan Li’s eyes followed her, and it took her a while to come back to herself, mouth half-open in dumbfounded silence.

The girl looked frail and weak, yet when she ran, she was unbelievably fast.

And while running, she was actually on tiptoe; her posture was light and catlike, agile and swift, with her heavy-looking long hair streaming behind her. Her toes touched the floor like a leaf skimming water, soundless.

In the space of a breath, she was gone like the wind.

While Yuan Li was still dazed, and having gotten no answer from outside, Nan Changgeng came over to open the door. She only saw Yuan Li standing there, staring down the corridor in a trance.

“Need something?”

Nan Changgeng sounded a little puzzled. She followed Yuan Li’s line of sight, but there was only a straight corridor, empty of people.

Coming back to herself and realizing what the scene looked like, Yuan Li:

“……”

This was bad.

Near tears, she nervously tugged at the hem of her pants. “N-no, nothing.”

Damn, should she tell the truth or not!

Yu Mao had slipped away so fast; anyone could tell she didn’t want to be exposed. Snitching on her didn’t seem very nice. So how was she supposed to explain standing outside someone else’s practice room…

The two of them stared at each other; one forced a smile, the other looked completely baffled, and the atmosphere gradually turned awkward.

[Hahaha what kind of development is this, are we really doing this again? She just walked in on Xu Yang’s embarrassing scene, and now Yu Mao has screwed her over too]

[Does Yuan Li come with some kind of built-in disaster aura?]

[It’s Yuan Li who screwed over Yu Mao, actually. Yu Mao was stealthily peeking just fine, then Yuan Li came along and got her found out]

[It’s fine, Yu Mao just took revenge and screwed her back over]

Li-zi, look up quick; the pot’s about to come crashing down on your head

After several seconds of silence, Yuan Li couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Actually… I was just passing by.”

Nan Changgeng opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something, then silently closed it again.

Their practice room was at the very end of the corridor, with only one window beside it. Passing by here meant going somewhere else—

Were they heading downstairs, but neither using the stairs nor the elevator?

The other party was clearly not telling the truth. Nan Changgeng didn’t plan to press further and changed the subject. “What were you looking at just now?”

This time, Yuan Li didn’t hesitate. She forced out a smile, with a hint of gritted-teeth irritation hidden beneath it. “I saw a cat run past.”

Nan Changgeng paused. “A cat? How would there be a cat here?”

“Did some staff member keep one and it escaped?” she guessed, her eyes brightening a little. “Is it still outside? Or has it already been taken away?”

Yuan Li was left speechless by the string of questions. She scratched her head and gave an awkward laugh. “I was kidding. There isn’t any cat. Then… I’ll be going now, okay…”

With her head down, she took a step and left, even breaking into a jog; her back looked distinctly guilty.

“……”

Nan Changgeng watched her run off in confusion and frowned, feeling oddly baffled.

What was wrong with this kid?

Suppressing her thoughts, she turned and closed the door, then went back to her seat and continued class.

The team members were all very serious and eager to learn. Though not everyone could quickly grasp what she taught, their respectful attitude toward her made her feel very comfortable.

The guidance session took another half hour before it finally ended.

The contestants dispersed to practice on their own and digest what they’d learned, each of them clearly working hard for points.

Nan Changgeng, having temporarily fulfilled her duty, moved her chair to the window and sat down. The dusky yellow light of the early spring evening was warm and bright in a way that made people relax. She leaned against the windowsill, propped her chin on her left hand, yawned, and practiced singing with the lyric sheet in her hands.

The sunlight drew a small halo over the top of her black hair. The woman’s somewhat sharp facial lines were softened to the fullest by the gentle light; paired with her warm pink clothes, she looked nothing like the aloof, untouchable image she usually gave off.

Growing up in a multilingual environment, foreign languages held no national barrier for her. She learned the lyrics easily enough; all she needed was to keep singing and build muscle memory, so she wouldn’t make mistakes later.

She hummed softly, keeping time against her leg, eyelids lowered over a stretch of gray-blue sea.

At such a moment, it was almost pleasantly leisurely.

With its strong computing support, the little flying assistant found the most suitable angle, and the image and atmosphere were beautiful enough to look like a film shot.

[...I’m crying. Suddenly this feels so moving. I finally see her again; she’s finally back]

[What’s the point of coming back now? The day she makes enough money and disappears without a trace again, you’ll all behave yourselves]

[Those people who’ve unfollowed and turned on her are really too much. Sister Nan never owed us anything, okay? If you don’t like her anymore, part ways peacefully. People who either want her to live or want her dead are honestly terrifying]

[Whatever reason she came back for, I’m just grateful I can see her again. I should be thanking heaven and burning incense]

[Yu Mao lost out big time. When she realizes she missed such a beautiful scene, she’ll probably die of regret]

Whether Yu Mao regretted it or not was unknown, but the contestants inside the practice room were pretty happy.

They’d just finished one-on-one professional guidance, and now they could practice singing while admiring their teacher’s beauty, glancing over at her from time to time as they memorized the lyrics.

Only Chen You remained serenely unmoved by the scene; in fact, she was a little anxious.

She was a B-class contestant, but in truth she had benefited from the bonus for original work. Her actual singing skills weren’t outstanding. For this mini-assessment, everyone was fired up and striving for first place, and she was afraid she’d go from being an honor student to a failing one and become the drag on the team.

So after practicing for a long time and finding she still couldn’t get into the right state, she shamelessly went to ask Nan Changgeng for advice again.

She pulled a chair over and sat beside Nan Changgeng.

“Captain, I keep feeling like something’s wrong with my singing, but I can’t tell where the problem is. Can you listen again?”

“Sure.” Nan Changgeng agreed readily with a smile.

She turned back; sunlight shifted across her face, and her features grew even deeper in the backlight. The corners of her lips lifted into a gentle curve, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if divinity and compassion from mountain ranges and ravines had been cast beneath a blood-red setting sun.

Etched into a stretch of gray-blue sky.

Chen You went momentarily dazed, almost as though she’d been bewitched.

But her anxious mood quickly dispelled that brief trance. She smiled gratefully at the woman, then picked up the lyric sheet and seriously sang the song again.

Nan Changgeng listened attentively with her chin propped on her hand and considered it carefully. “I think there’s basically nothing wrong with how you’re singing. Your pitch is mostly accurate, and your breath control is much stronger than the first time. You’ve taken in the techniques I mentioned before; if you keep practicing, you’ll only get better and better.”

“Really?” Chen You frowned and lowered her head to stare at the lyric sheet. “But I… always feel like something isn’t good enough. It sounds so far from the original.”

Nan Changgeng raised an eyebrow, somewhat understanding. “Are you comparing yourself to the original all the time? But singing ability isn’t something that can improve dramatically overnight. They’re a professional singer; they’ve been singing for so many years. It’s not something you can catch up to just by working hard for a short while.”

If this had been a stricter teacher, hearing that would have earned her a lecture about aiming too high.

Chen You nodded in agreement, though her face still looked pained. “I know, but I just can’t help comparing myself. It feels like I’m too far behind.”

“Are you feeling a bit of anxiety caused by perfectionism? Relax. You’re still young; doing the best you can right now is enough.”

Nan Changgeng patted her shoulder, gentle as an elder.

Chen You had her condition laid bare in a single sentence. Surprise showed on her face, and she bit her lip awkwardly. “Captain, you’re amazing. You figured it out so quickly.”

“Because I went through this state before too.” Nan Changgeng smiled, a shadow flickering briefly in her eyes; she didn’t say more on that and instead asked, “Did your family, or someone else, put a lot of pressure on you?”

Chen You froze. After a long moment, she gave a small nod, her expression somewhat strained.

“I’m going back to practice. Thanks, Captain.”

She stood up, took her chair with her, and left again. Her attitude carried a trace of evasion, as if she had brushed against something she didn’t want to discuss.

Nan Changgeng watched her. After a moment, she lowered her head, pinched the tip of her finger, and let out a soft sigh.

It seemed like she saw a little of her own past in Chen You.

Once, she had also been burdened with many pressures and expectations. Foolishly, she had thought that was love.

So even when the anxiety of having to be perfect had crushed her breathless and left her sleepless through the night, she had never complained even once about how hard it was.

For so many years, she had been proud to be their most dazzling, most outstanding child.

But…

It was all fake.

…

Yu Mao, who had missed far too much of Nan Changgeng, had already returned to the dorm by this point.

She didn’t look worried at all about the assessment four days later. Aside from the one run-through she’d done in the practice room at the beginning, she hadn’t touched her lyric sheet again, nor had she practiced singing even once.

There was no one else in the dorm besides her. Yuan Li had already gone back to the practice room and was grinding herself down with the others; for the time being, she probably didn’t want to come back and see Yu Mao.

Yu Mao didn’t feel anything about that.

And she had absolutely no awareness that she might be dragging the team down.

Curled up on the bed with her eyes closed to rest, familiar singing drifted through her headphones as she calculated how long it would be after this unexpected interruption before she could go back and keep secretly watching Nan Changgeng.

Coming to this program, of course she had business to take care of.

But Nan Changgeng didn’t need her for the time being, so naturally she could take advantage of this spare time and secretly satisfy a little of her own selfish desire, letting herself breathe a little easier.

TL Note:

“thanking heaven and burning incense” (谢天谢地烧高香) is an expression of extreme relief and gratitude.