Late spring in Beijing is always tinged with a touch of lingering romance and a hint of enchantment. Through the gaps between the red walls and black tiles, wisteria blossoms peek out, their purple petals cascading down like a misty brocade, turning the cobblestone paths into a tapestry of poetry. In the rehearsal hall of the National Theatre, gilded chandeliers cast a warm glow, reflecting on the mirror-like floor and imprinting the graceful figures of young men and women into a flowing painting.
Shen Nianxi stood in the center of the rehearsal hall, her moon-white practice uniform accentuating her slender figure. Her long, ink-black hair was loosely tied into a bun, a few strands damp with sweat clinging to her smooth forehead, fluttering gently with each turn. Her toes touched the floor like a narcissus by the water, each leap carrying the gentle grace unique to the Jiangnan water towns, each gesture imbued with the subtle charm of classical Eastern dance. Her fingertips danced through the air like fireflies; her waist spun lightly, like a willow swaying in the breeze. This dance skill was the culmination of over a decade of dedicated practice, and the result of her mother Lin Wanqiu's tireless cultivation—modern dance charts unearthed from her spatial storage, the body movements and steps taught to her step by step, and the secret ointment for treating bruises and sprains—all were the most solid foundation for her pursuit of her dreams.
This trip to Paris to participate in an overseas arts festival marked her first time setting foot on foreign soil and her first time representing her country to showcase the beauty of Eastern dance on the world stage. Her mother had packed a suitcase full of things in her luggage: vacuum-packed osmanthus cakes, soft and sweet lotus seed soup, and the warm, lustrous ancestral jade pendant—the night before her departure, her mother held her hand, placed the pendant in her palm, and her eyes were filled with unwavering concern: "This jade pendant is a spatial dimension; it contains some commonly used medicines and dry rations. If you suffer any injustices outside, don't be afraid; with it here, it's like Mom is by your side."
Thinking of this, a warm feeling washed over Shen Nianxi, and her spinning steps became even lighter. As the music faded, she stopped dancing, slightly out of breath, beads of sweat sliding down her chin and dripping onto her practice clothes, spreading into a small, dark stain.
"Nianxi, take a break!" Zhou Weiwei, a dancer from the same team, ran over with two bottles of soda, her face beaming with a bright smile. "I just bought these from the supply and marketing cooperative. They're orange-flavored, to cool you down."
Shen Nianxi took the soda, the cool touch of the glass bottle spreading through her palm and dispelling some of the heat. She unscrewed the cap, and a sweet orange scent wafted out. She took a sip, the refreshing taste melting on her tongue, and her eyes curved into crescents: "Thank you, Sister Weiwei."
Zhou Weiwei sat down next to her on the floor, her gaze falling on the handkerchief tied around her waist. Her eyes suddenly lit up: "Wow, this handkerchief is so exquisitely embroidered! Pink peach blossoms, and pearl trim, your mother embroidered it, right?"
Shen Nianxi raised her hand to stroke the lifelike peach blossoms on the handkerchief, her eyes filled with pride: "Yes, my mother is very skillful. She can not only embroider, but also make all kinds of delicious food, especially osmanthus cake, which is sweet but not greasy, and its fragrance is so enticing."
"Oh my god, I'm so envious of you!" Zhou Weiwei said, resting her chin on her hand with longing. "My mom only forces me to practice dancing; she can't even make a decent outfit. By the way, Nianxi, have you heard? This time we're performing on the same stage as the Paris Ballet, and they have a Chinese dancer in their company named Gu Yanchen. He's practically a god! Not only is his ballet dancing the best in Europe, but he can also choreograph. Last year, his choreography, 'Oriental Dream,' won a gold medal at an international dance competition! I heard he's also a top student, fluent in Chinese, French, and English, and incredibly handsome!"
Gu Yanchen.
These three words were like a pebble, creating ripples in Shen Nianxi's heart. She had always been obsessed with dance, and anyone with exceptional skill in this field could ignite her innate curiosity. She turned her head and looked towards another corner of the rehearsal hall, where a group of blonde, blue-eyed dancers were gathered, and melodious ballet music was flowing from there.
Time flew by, and the day of departure arrived in the blink of an eye. The group boarded the silver-winged plane, soaring through clouds and mist, traversing thousands of mountains and rivers. Outside the window, the sea of clouds surged like cotton wool, and the setting sun dyed the clouds into a golden-red brocade, a breathtakingly beautiful sight. Chen Nianxi leaned against the window, her fingertips caressing the jade pendant in her palm, her heart filled with both anticipation for the unknown land and a touch of trepidation at leaving her homeland.
A dozen hours later, the plane landed at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. The moment I stepped off the plane, a warm breeze carrying the scent of plane tree leaves greeted me, carrying a touch of languid romance. Along the streets, the spires of Gothic buildings pierced the sky, roses climbed stone walls, and on the outdoor seating of cafes, people leisurely sipped tea, the melodious sound of an accordion flowing through the air—everywhere exuded an exotic charm completely different from Beijing.
The theater where the performance took place is located on the banks of the Seine, in an old building with a history of over a century. On the dome, the Renaissance frescoes are lifelike, and the wings of angels seem ready to take flight; crystal chandeliers hang down, their dazzling light like a shower of stars; the heavy red velvet curtains exude an atmosphere of solemn elegance.
When Shen Nianxi first stepped into the theater's rehearsal hall, her steps involuntarily slowed. Sunlight streamed through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows into the spacious hall, casting dappled shadows on the floor. A group of dancers in black practice clothes swayed gracefully to the music, their toes lightly touching the ground, their skirts fluttering, their elegant movements like butterflies among flowers.
In the center of the group of dancers, one figure stood out.
He was a tall, handsome young man, his well-fitting black leotard accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was slightly turned to the side, his profile sharp and angular, his thin lips pressed tightly together beneath his high, straight nose, exuding a focused, aloof air. Sunlight fell on the ends of his dark hair, gilding them with a soft golden glow, making him look like a nobleman straight out of a classical oil painting. He was reaching out, gently correcting the dancer's gestures beside him; his long, clean fingertips moved with a gentle yet undeniable professionalism. His deep, melodious voice, carrying the characteristic lingering sweetness of French, drifted into Shen Nianxi's ears. Even though she couldn't understand it, she could sense the patience and meticulousness in his words.
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