Chapter 3

The air in the sophomore science class was thick with the scent of chalk dust and sun-warmed dirt. On the blackboard, a physics competition question about fluid mechanics and aircraft stability had just been explained, its complex formulas covering the dark green surface like a spiderweb.

Ling Peng's right hand unconsciously twirled his pen, his gaze fixed on the spread-out competition paper. The answer to the final question was written fluently and logically, with only a small, extremely concise sketch of an aircraft tail stabilization structure in the blank margin. Sunlight filtered through the window, catching the white silicone bracelet on his wrist, its edges slightly worn and yellowed.

The bell sounded like a resounding relief. The homeroom teacher knocked on the podium, drowning out the sudden uproar. "I need to emphasize again the party! Senior year has a heavy workload, so the sophomores will fill it up this year! Each class will have a performance, and we'll have a show before New Year's Day." Suddenly, there were wails and whispers from the audience.

"Ling Peng," the homeroom teacher said, his gaze fixed on her with precision, "you're in charge of organizing the boys' street dance program. The school takes this joint performance very seriously, so we need to come up with something innovative."

Ling Peng's pen spinning stopped abruptly, his brows furrowed unconsciously. "Teacher Wang, me? Dancing?" His voice was filled with obvious surprise and resistance. "My coordination is only passable for basketball, and dancing... is almost like doing radio gymnastics..." Zhang Hao, who was standing beside him, couldn't hold back his laughter anymore and clapped his hands, cheering, "Brother Peng is going to do street dance! Wonderful!"

The head teacher pushed his glasses and remained unmoved: "Those with poor coordination need to practice more! This is a collective task, so it's settled. Please wait for notification on the specific rehearsal arrangements. I heard that Teacher Chen from the art group has found a coach for you from the talented students in the junior high school." After that, he left with the lesson plan, leaving Ling Peng to warn Zhang Hao, "Don't even think about running away."

The basketball court in the afternoon was a battlefield in a different sense. Sweat stained the plastic floor, leaving dark marks. The clatter of sneakers, shouts, and the thud of the ball hitting the backboard and rim blended into a vibrant background. Ling Peng had shed his school uniform jacket, leaving only a dark sports T-shirt. He dribbled through the defense, faked a move, and rose to shoot a beautiful jump shot, the ball arcing beautifully into the net.

"Beautiful!" Zhang Hao ran over and bumped his shoulder. "Brother Peng, it seems that dancing didn't scare you off."

Ling Peng exhaled, pulled off his wristband, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Stop talking nonsense and focus on defense!" He put the wristband back on, regaining his focus and sharpness on the court.

Running, jumping, passing, cooperating, here, everything has clear rules and definite goals. It is more intuitive than fluid mechanics and a hundred times simpler and more enjoyable than asking him to dance.

After the game, the sky was already tinged with yellow. Ling Peng sat on the sidelines, tying his shoes. Zhang Hao was still chattering beside him, imagining and mocking his hip-hop dancing prowess. Ling Peng ignored him, tilting his head back to take a sip of water, his gaze darting over the leafless sycamore trees lining the playground.

Hip-hop? Little teacher? He grabbed the basketball and smacked it twice. The roughness of the ball dissipated the slight irritation he'd felt from the unfamiliar task. Whatever. Things would work out in due time.

He knew nothing about the impending "instruction," and had no idea what he was about to receive. A junior high dance class? It was a completely alien world, separated from him by the school building, the playground, and two full years of high school. He hadn't noticed the unintentional grimace at the Teacher's Day basketball game, or the glances he might have gotten from the audience. His only thought at that moment was: How was he going to get away with this dance?