In late autumn Beijing, the chill had permeated the streets and alleys, but it couldn't extinguish the sweltering heat inside the rehearsal hall of the Central Song and Dance Troupe. The seven-o'clock morning sunlight streamed through the double-glazed windows, casting dappled shadows on the walnut floor and illuminating the gilded slogan on the wall: "Nurture the soul with art, educate people with beauty." This mingled with the pervasive scent of sweat and turpentine, creating a unique atmosphere reserved for dreamers. Shen Nianxi, dressed in a tailor-made black corset that accentuated her slender yet upright figure, stood out. The delicate silver embroidery on the hem shimmered in the light, like stars twinkling in the night, making her features appear even more refined and gentle.

This was her first week officially at the Central Song and Dance Troupe, a period of grueling training. As the youngest newcomer in the troupe, she knew how hard-won this opportunity was—hundreds of thousands of dancers nationwide applied, but only twenty-seven were ultimately accepted. Her journey from a small children's dance class in her county to this highest hall of Chinese dance art was the result of over a decade of unwavering dedication and hard work. At this moment, she stood in a corner of the rehearsal hall, repeating basic training with veteran dancers. The satin of her pointe shoes made a soft sound as she rose on her toes, a testament to her perseverance on her journey to her dream.

"Straighten your leg lines a bit more! Shen Nianxi, pay attention to using your hips, don't compensate with your waist!" Dance director Li Man's voice was clear and stern. She was wearing a smart navy blue practice uniform, and her sharp eyes swept across the line. When she landed on Shen Nianxi, her brows furrowed slightly.

Nianxi's heart tightened, and she quickly adjusted her posture. She could feel her thigh muscles trembling violently, sweat trickling down her forehead and dripping into her eyelashes, stinging her eyes, yet she dared not relax for a moment. The hard soles of her pointe shoes were already soaked with sweat, and her blistered heels throbbed with pain; each rise and fall felt like dancing on a knife's edge. But looking at the graceful figures and fluid movements of her seniors in the mirror, her stubbornness was completely ignited—she couldn't lose, and she couldn't let her family down.

Three months ago, on the day she received her acceptance letter from the Central Song and Dance Troupe, the osmanthus flowers in her home were in full bloom. Her mother hugged her, crying and laughing, her eyes red as she packed her luggage, filling her suitcase with carefully prepared angelica paste and goji berry and mulberry paste, repeatedly telling her, "Practicing is hard work, you must take good care of your health." Her father, though not a man of many words, quietly found her a reliable place to stay in Beijing and personally took her to the train station, patting her on the shoulder before she boarded, saying, "Take care of yourself, the family will always be your support." Her brother even worked through the night to make portable nutritional cakes, vacuum-packed them, and stuffed them into her bag, smiling as he said, "Dancing takes a lot of energy, eat this when you're hungry, it'll replenish your energy and won't stick to your teeth." Those warm moments have now become the strength that supports her, allowing her to grit her teeth and persevere through pain and exhaustion.

The training days were monotonous and tedious. Every morning, we would get up at six o'clock and start basic skills training at seven o'clock, practicing leg presses, back bends, splits, and spins for four hours straight. After the intense training in the morning, we would quickly eat lunch and then devote ourselves to rehearsals for the play. The troupe was preparing a new large-scale ethnic dance drama, "Silk Road Flower Rain," and Nianxi was assigned to a group dance role. Although her role was small, she needed to accurately grasp the rhythm and charm of every movement.

"Silk Road Flower Rain emphasizes 'the combination of form and spirit, strength and gentleness.' You are not just simple background figures, but transmitters of Silk Road culture." The director stood in the center of the rehearsal hall, holding a baton, guiding everyone's movements in rhythm with the music. "The wrists should rotate gently, as smooth as flowing water; the steps should move steadily, as firm as a rock; the eyes should be bright, conveying the ethereal and sacred feeling of the flying apsaras in the Dunhuang murals."

Nianxi listened intently, trying her best to imitate her seniors' postures. Knowing that her foundation wasn't as strong as her peers who had grown up in professional schools, she used all her spare time to work overtime. During lunch breaks, while others rested and chatted, she stayed in the rehearsal hall, repeatedly practicing a single spinning move in front of the mirror until she felt dizzy before finally sitting down to catch her breath. Back in her dormitory at night, she would take out the nutritional cakes her brother had sent, eat them with warm water, and then lie in bed recalling the day's rehearsal content, mentally rehearsing the transitions between movements over and over again.

The four girls in the dormitory came from all over the country, each with their own strengths, and the atmosphere at first carried a subtle sense of competition. One of them, Lin Weiwei, came from a family of dancers and had solid basic skills, but she was a bit arrogant and often said coldly when Nianxi was practicing: "People from the county are different. They have to practice such basic movements for so long. It's a waste of everyone's time."

These words pierced Nianxi's heart like needles, leaving her feeling both wronged and resentful. She didn't argue, but instead channeled all her emotions into motivation. That night, she practiced late into the night in the rehearsal hall. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a long, narrow band of light on the floor, accompanying her as she practiced her backbends, spins, and jumps. Sweat soaked her calisthenics clothes, clinging to her back. A cold wind blew, sending a shiver down her spine, but a fire burned within her. She remembered her mother's words: "Instead of caring about what others think, prove yourself with your abilities."

The turning point came during an improvisation class. The director asked everyone to improvise based on a melodious guzheng piece, expressing their understanding of "hometown." The other girls' dances were beautiful and skillful, but lacked genuine emotion. When it was Nianxi's turn, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and images of her hometown's osmanthus grove, the stream in Qingshi Mountain, her parents admiring the moon in the yard, and her brother working hard in the planting base came to mind.

As the music began, her body slowly stretched out. When she raised her arms, they swayed like osmanthus branches in the wind; when she moved lightly, they resembled pebbles rolling on the bottom of a stream; when she twirled, her skirt fluttered, like the smoke from her hometown cooking fires drifting in the twilight. Her movements may not have been perfect, her technique perhaps not skillful enough, but they carried a simple and sincere emotion. The longing and yearning in her eyes deeply moved everyone present.

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