On Stage

Yu Mao was very straightforward. “Earphones.”

“...” A numb look entered Nan Changgeng’s eyes, but she still instinctively drew in a light breath. After a beat, she let it out in a sigh.

“Fine.”

She lifted her eyes and glanced at the audience below, where calls kept rising from the stands, then withdrew her hand. “If you always wear earphones like this, can you even hear what everyone’s saying?”

“If I don’t wear them, I still won’t hear clearly.” Yu Mao blinked, her tone sincere. “As long as I can hear what you’re saying, that’s enough.”

Nan Changgeng froze for a moment, then pressed her lips together. She couldn’t help feeling a trace of pity for the fans shouting themselves hoarse.

And yet this time, she could no longer ignore the secret thrill rising from deep inside her; it was as if something precious had drifted right up to her, something she needed, already within reach. It mingled with the emotions on the surface like heat shimmering up from a flame.

There was something visually scorching about it, and dangerous too.

The introductions onstage had ended. The two of them had been a little rude, drifting through the whole thing in a daze; it was only when the musical prelude began that Nan Changgeng jolted back to herself.

Halfway celebrations were a taboo. Before everything was truly settled, that uneasy sense of floating would never leave her.

She pulled her mind back to the stage before her and buried the inappropriate pleasure in the music, keeping it from showing too clearly at a time like this.

The singing order Yu Mao and Nan Changgeng drew both landed near the end; one was third from last, the other sixth from last.

For Yu Mao, the long wait was somewhat agonizing.

After so many days together, her appetite had been thoroughly fed, and now, though Nan Changgeng was clearly very close, there was no sign of her within sight. That made Yu Mao extremely unaccustomed to it.

Since she couldn’t turn around, she unconsciously leaned back. The chair scraped backward until it pressed against the stair riser; with a slight turn of her head, she could just make out the tip of a woman’s shoe.

Black ankle boots, with some dust rubbed onto the side from somewhere. Yu Mao stared for two seconds, then couldn’t resist reaching out to wipe it away with her palm. She left behind a wet mark from her sweaty hand, shining faintly against the black leather.

She actually had a handkerchief with her; it was Nan Changgeng’s. She had washed it and wanted to return it that day, but Nan Changgeng hadn’t taken it back and had told her to keep it.

Something so precious, of course she wouldn’t use it carelessly.

Nan Changgeng sensed her touch and unconsciously swung her foot a little. A second later, she lowered her gaze from the stage and looked down lazily, only to see the wet handprint; for a moment, she didn’t quite react.

“?”

Her eyes moved to Yu Mao’s hand, and not seeing any tissue or the like, a trace of confusion surfaced in her gaze. But because of the stage performance and the noise all around her, she didn’t have time to think it through; the doubt vanished almost at once, and she continued watching the show.

Yu Mao, bored, watched the wet mark slowly dry. Then she extended her hand again and pinched the woman’s ankle.

The feel of cotton socks; beneath her palm was a hard bone. There wasn’t much flesh in her own hand either, so it felt a little rough.

Yu Mao looked at the ankle bone jutting out from under the sock, then at the length of the ankle boot; understanding dawned.

Oh, she was wearing height insoles.

She’d never noticed Changgeng’s height changing. Probably she had never taken them out on the show.

The instant her own ankle was grabbed, Nan Changgeng looked down. She saw the entire process of the girl’s expression shifting from confusion and curiosity to sudden realization in complete detail.

“...”

“What are you doing?”

There was a hint of embarrassment and annoyance in Nan Changgeng’s voice as she shook her ankle, trying to jostle Yu Mao’s hand off.

Yu Mao obediently let go. Then she tilted her head, cupped one hand beside her mouth, and asked in a whisper as if sharing a secret, “Changgeng, why do you still want to make yourself taller when you’re already so tall?”

If the two of them hadn’t been so close, Nan Changgeng might not have heard her clearly.

Even the two contestants sitting behind and beside Yu Mao heard it. They kept getting distracted by the two of them; they couldn’t properly watch the stage, and for some reason they had the eerie feeling that they had become part of the background props in some two-person play.

A little troubled, but still honestly pricking up their ears.

“It makes it easier for you to look up at me.” Nan Changgeng had long since noticed the girl’s little habit, and her joke carried a faint cold laugh as she punctured the unspeakable little thoughts underneath.

She didn’t know whether the habit carried some cat-like instinct, but it really did have the effect of softening people’s hearts and lowering their guard.

Yu Mao seemed to have been snapped by a rubber band; her back straightened, and her eyes widened slightly.

She took one second to determine that Changgeng was joking, but her thoughts still failed to restart from the freeze. Her expression remained fixed in a dazed blankness.

The woman was amused by her reaction. The smile at the corner of her lips widened, but she still gave Yu Mao’s face a rather unsparing push, forcing her head back around.

“Watch the performance properly.”

Yu Mao had no choice but to settle down. Her posture was no longer as neat as before; she shrank into a small, dejected little ball. Her gaze seemed to rest on the stage, but if one looked closely, there was nothing in her eyes at all.

During the gaps between contestants’ performances, the host, whether under the director’s cue or simply having seen through her distraction, turned his attention to her.

After staring for two seconds, he suddenly called out, “Hey, Comrade Yu Mao, you on standby?”

Yu Mao hadn’t reacted yet, but everyone else burst into laughter first, loud enough to practically lift the roof of the set.

But the host wasn’t wrong.

Yu Mao slowly raised her eyes. Her face was blank, expressionless, and her mind was still in a low-speed standby state.

Fortunately, the host knew her well. He understood that if he made a joke at Yu Mao’s expense, there was no point expecting an immediate variety-show-worthy response. He didn’t leave the moment hanging and smoothly moved on, as if he had simply noticed a child spacing out and casually called her name to avoid awkward silence.

The competition carried on lively and bustling.

Actually, the contestants all had plenty of interesting stories. Each person had her own camera time; even those who weren’t good at performing for the lens still got a fair, complete record. Since they had the courage to come on this show, none of them was destined to be thin or hollow.

It hadn’t been very long since the program started, but many little stories had already happened.

After Chen You talked with Nan Changgeng, her change from anxiety to calmness became a favorite among viewers and sparked a round of discussion about her family of origin.

Amid all that busyness, Deng Cheng still didn’t forget to work out. Every night she was in the dorm lifting weights, even treating the skinny Wei Zhiyu from her dorm as exercise equipment; whenever she passed by, she’d casually scoop her up and hold her overhead a couple of times, leaving people unable to withstand her excessive enthusiasm.

Wei Zhiyu was gentle and good-tempered. She could even tolerate and try to understand her roommate’s absurd behavior; at first she resisted but felt too embarrassed to refuse, and by now she had gone completely numb. On one day when the dorm light broke, Deng Cheng even held her up to fix it.

The twin duo, Nai Lin and Nai Ye, had an uncanny level of tacit understanding. They only needed a single syllable to immediately grasp each other’s meaning, and when talking to others they often said the exact same sentence at the same time, so alike it was like one person split into two.

After Yirui An completely “broke up,” she shifted her target. There were too many people on the show; each one was different and had enough fascinating depth inside. She started making friends with every human who piqued her curiosity and could satisfy part of her fantasies. Although her way of speaking was a little chuunibyou at times, she had never run into trouble, relying on enthusiasm and friendliness.

Bai Manwen’s classical dance was excellent. Every day she was busy like a spinning top, and on top of that she had to practice in the rehearsal room all day, spinning around in circles. Rumor had it her dance teacher was strict and watched her practice through the livestream; if she didn’t practice properly, she’d be beaten after leaving.

Lin Baiyu, the righteous champion of justice, was shocked to hear that. She couldn’t understand why corporal punishment still existed nowadays and was just about to stand up for her when she noticed Bai Manwen’s expression held not the slightest trace of misery or worry; instead, there was even a hint of sweetness.

She froze, as if realizing something, and the light in her eyes vanished in an instant.

For some unknown reason, Chen Xia deliberately asked whether her dance teacher was a woman or a man. Bai Manwen answered brightly, “A woman!”

Lin Baiyu fell silent and stayed silent. Chen Xia revealed a mysterious smile.

Xu Yang was publicly crowned the contestants’ emotional lowland. She sought no improvement and only wanted to act cool and handsome, like she’d never outgrown her cringe phase; she was very concerned about saving face. Whoever dared bring up the night of the “ghost encounter” in front of her, she could chase them for five full trips up and down the entire building.

Yuan Li’s mom-friend persona grew ever more solid. She shuttled around between the overworked contestants from time to time, urging people to rest, handing out hot water, reminding them to eat. Her deep, rough voice had become even more hoarse and weathered; her favorite line was, “If only Yu Mao listened as well as you lot and ate properly too.”

And so on and so on, not to recount them one by one. All of it happened in places Yu Mao could neither see nor hear. Her world was unusually quiet, always drifting outside everyone else’s bustle.

Even now, though the performance onstage was right in front of her, it seemed to be swallowed and erased by the emptiness in her eyes before it could reach her mind.

It was only when the host called Nan Changgeng’s name that a sliver of light entered her gaze.

Nan Changgeng walked onto the stage as if she were simply walking a very ordinary stretch of road.

For a stage performer, what she wore wasn’t extravagant at all; it even lacked any visual brilliance. The lighting swallowed her up. She was quiet, ordinary, and every step forward was no different from the past, neither stirring nor hesitant.

But for every fan who had followed her for many years, this moment held an extraordinarily special meaning. Someone in the audience was crying.

Yu Mao gazed at the woman’s back and suddenly seemed to see countless past years quietly piled up, trailing behind the invisible shadow at her back and merging into it the moment she came to a stop.

“Hey, the moment Changgeng goes onstage, our Yu Mao perks right up.”

The host turned to look at her again, smiling as he teased her.

Yu Mao looked dumbly at Nan Changgeng, who had turned her head at the remark and met her eyes. She saw a faint smile appear on the woman’s face; Nan Changgeng said nothing more and simply turned back around.

As the person involved, Nan Changgeng wasn’t in a position to comment on it. Giving a response to others’ affection had never been a strength for people like her; the more lacking they were, the more sensitive they became. If they showed even a little too much, it would seem excessive, as if they were getting carried away and eager to perform; if they were too restrained, they’d be seen as cold.

The best way was to remain silent. Smiling would never go wrong.

The host only said that much. Naturally, the real focus afterward was still Nan Changgeng herself.

“Changgeng, it’s been many years since you stood on a stage like this, hasn’t it? How do you feel? Nervous?”

Nan Changgeng smiled and lowered her gaze to the audience seats; instantly, a wave of cheers and shouts erupted. The fans waved light signs and glow sticks, doing everything they could to send the force of their presence into her eyes and ears.

“Beforehand, I was somewhat unsure; I didn’t know whether I could still adapt to singing on a stage with so many viewers. But once I really stepped up here, I actually felt much more at ease.”