Chapter 43
The winter in Country J is cold and dry, with an unfamiliar chill. Ling Yao's trainee career began in this vast, star-making factory, operating like a precision instrument. There's no warmth here, only brutal competition and ironclad discipline.
The so-called "senior culture" dealt him his first heavy blow. The trainees who had arrived a few months before him became little tycoons. They deliberately knocked his water bottle out of his hand, left dirty footprints on the practice room floor he had painstakingly cleaned, mocked his poorly pronounced slang with slang, and even deliberately tripped him up during practice... These became a daily occurrence. At first, Ling Yao's impulsive temper had him resisting, but every conflict resulted in the management imposing even harsher punishments for "disrespecting seniors" and "damaging unity": extra practice until the early hours and deductions from his already meager living allowance.
He finally realized that here, so-called "fairness" and "reason" were the least valuable things. The edges and corners were forcibly smoothed out, replaced by a silent forbearance and growing repression.
The company's management system was suffocatingly strict. Beyond the restroom stalls, the entire training center—the hallways, the practice rooms, even the corners of the rest area—was covered in surveillance cameras. The ubiquitous red dots, like countless cold eyes, constantly scrutinized their every move.
The daily schedule was packed with classes: vocal music, dance, physical training, language... like a spinning top, from dawn to dusk. The intense dance practice was particularly grueling, requiring utmost precision in every movement, from strength to angle to expression. While Ling Yao possessed talent, he hadn't practiced from a young age, and developing flexibility and muscle memory required considerable effort.
Sometimes, simply because he was exhausted and leaned against the wall to catch his breath, or because he was thirsty and left the practice room to get a glass of water, a text message from the supervisor would almost immediately arrive on his phone, the words cold and emotionless: [One warning. No slacking during practice time.] [Leaving the practice area without permission will result in a point deduction.]
What he found most unbearable was the corporal punishment. The dance teacher's slender whip was merciless. If a move wasn't perfect, a lash of the whip would lash his calf, instantly leaving a red, swollen ridge; if the rhythm went wrong, the whip would strike his back, burning with pain. That wasn't education; it was pure humiliation and domestication driven by pain. He gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with the occasional tears that forced their way back into his eyes, falling onto the smooth floor.
Late at night, when the other trainees in the dormitory had already fallen into a deep sleep, Ling Yao often lay awake in the darkness, his body aching as if it were falling apart, his mind riven by intense stress and tension. The day's humiliation, the physical exhaustion, the uncertainty about the future, and the complex hatred he felt for that cold family... weighed on him like a heavy rock, suffocating him.
At such times, his only salvation was to take out the old mobile phone with the SIM card hidden inside - the company did not allow private communication devices, so he had secretly hidden it - the dim light from the screen illuminated his haggard but still handsome face.
He repeatedly looked at the text messages from Su Rui. They were usually simple, even trivial: [It's raining in South City. Is it cold there? Wear more clothes.] [My professional class teacher praised me today.] [Grandma is in good health, don't worry.] [Ling Yao, I miss you so much.]
The words were clumsy, but full of the mundane aspects of daily life and unreserved concern. Each word was like a tiny, weak flame, warming his nearly frozen heart bit by bit.
During the few moments of rest each day, he would hide in the stairwell or the bathroom, racing against time to call Su Rui. The international long-distance signal was sometimes unstable, but as long as he could hear Su Rui's gentle "Hello?" on the other end of the line, and hear his soft, concerned southern accent, Ling Yao felt his tense nerves relax a little.
He never told Su Rui in detail about the hardships and grievances here, but only vaguely said "very tired", "okay", "used to it". He listened to Su Rui nagging about trivial matters at school, her grandmother's condition, and what photos she had taken.
Those few brief minutes became the only light and oxygen in his gray, depressing days. After hanging up the phone, he often needed to lean against the cold wall for a long time before gathering the strength to return to the cage filled with surveillance and pressure.
Su Rui's voice and her text messages became the only sweet yet poignant comfort that kept him going in this harsh, foreign world. He knew someone was waiting for him in the distant South City. This was the only reason he dared not give up and had to fight with all his might.
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