Chapter One Hundred Fifteen: Sister Bai, Are You Going to Give Up?

As Director Zhuge spoke, the expressions of those present grew somewhat strained. Whether they answered honestly or embellished their words, neither option seemed entirely appropriate. After all, Bai Ling was now their valued teammate, their companion in the group. If they were to kick her while she was down, it was likely that Bai Ling’s fans would rain criticism upon them once the show aired. Not only Bai Ling’s fans—even ordinary viewers might find it hard to watch.

Though telling the truth was hardly an ideal choice, it seemed the only one available to them. Yang Zichao immediately said, “Teacher Bai asked for leave today and didn’t come.” Zhuge Tianguang looked surprised. “She’s taken leave again?” he asked. “What’s the reason?”

Seeing that Yang Zichao and Yan Feixue were ill at ease answering, Zhuge Tianguang turned to the staff. “It’s said she over-rehearsed and became exhausted,” a staff member replied.

Zhuge Tianguang’s brows furrowed deeply. “Over-rehearsed?” he repeated. “But it’s only…” He stopped himself.

Zhuge Tianguang was no young man; he had seen much in the industry, including the dedication of truly hardworking actors. There were those who, after leaping from a third-story window and breaking a leg, insisted on finishing the last scene. Some donned layers of padded coats to film in the summer’s heat; others, without any protection, plunged into icy lake waters for the sake of a single shot. Though the past couple of years had seen increasing chaos—Miss Alphabet, Mister Numbers, sky-high salaries, endless photo editing—the industry, already a muddied dye vat, now bore ever stranger hues.

To Zhuge Tianguang, today’s artists lived far too comfortably, knowing nothing of hardship. Many old actors, once famous, now faded into obscurity partly because of this. Lacking determination and fighting spirit, focused solely on making money, how could they achieve anything substantial?

Because of Zhuge Ming, Zhuge Tianguang had always viewed Bai Ling favorably. This young woman was talented, capable—a promising youth he intended to nurture. He had come specifically to guide her. As a director, perhaps he could not match an actor’s artistry, but he was the orchestrator and final judge. His eye was keen.

With his guidance, Bai Ling’s acting might improve by leaps and bounds. But unfortunately, Bai Ling was absent. After just one day of rehearsal, she claimed to be exhausted and asked for leave. Wasn’t this absurd? Who collapses after a single day of practice? Wasn’t this pure laziness?

Though he didn’t want to believe it, Zhuge Tianguang couldn’t help but think Bai Ling was no different from the much-criticized new generation of actors. With that realization, his enthusiasm evaporated. After a brief chat with Yang Zichao and the others, he departed without guidance or further comment.

Yang Zichao, Yan Feixue, and the others were disappointed. They had hoped to grow closer to Director Zhuge, but things had turned out unexpectedly.

Of course, the staff recording the scene made sure not to omit this segment. It was highly topical and would surely be edited into the show.

When Bai Ling finally awoke, evening was approaching. “Ah, how am I only waking up now?” she exclaimed, bewildered.

She had known that the process would be exhausting, but she hadn’t anticipated such extreme fatigue. She had missed a rehearsal entirely.

After consulting with Miaomiao about the schedule and confirming she would soon be performing on stage, Bai Ling began practicing her performance alone in the hotel. To her surprise, even without a stage, lighting, or any atmosphere, she could slip effortlessly into character. Without a partner, she could react perfectly; her lines and expressions were spot-on. She was delighted.

After all, why had she worked so hard to rehearse? To excel in this program. Now, the problem was solved! No more obstacles. Wasn’t this a sure ascent?

“I never expected the system’s reward to be so effective—one effort for lasting happiness, marvelous!” she thought.

Though not yet flawless, Bai Ling was confident she could handle the upcoming stage. The only blemish was her dancing—it hadn’t reached professional standards. Acting, emotional expression, and dialogue were all suitable for a single performance, and with the Super Acting Card, she could master them instantly. But dancing required years of accumulation and refinement.

Many top dancers began their arduous training in childhood and only shone as adults. Bai Ling, having practiced just one night with the reward from the Moonlit Waltz, hoped to surpass them? That was pure fantasy.

Luckily, it was now nighttime, and Bai Ling could continue practicing with the Moonlit Waltz. Even if it was only for one stage, one performance—not a true masterpiece—she was willing to give her best to achieve perfection.

But practicing dance at night would make it difficult to rise in the morning. Was she to rehearse by day and dance by night? That seemed impossible. Such fatigue would do her no good.

After thinking it over, she asked Miaomiao to contact the other group members, confirming she would be absent for the next several days and would simply join the final rehearsal for coordination.

Miaomiao was stunned. “Sister Bai, be honest—is work stress getting to you lately?”

Bai Ling shook her head. “No, why do you ask?”

Miaomiao gave a wry smile. “Everyone knows that the play you’re preparing is incredibly difficult—almost impossible to replicate. Even a passing grade is a luxury. But if you skip all the rehearsals, isn’t that a bit too lackadaisical?”

Bai Ling was speechless. She understood Miaomiao was suspicious of her past behavior. Yet Bai Ling really had no way to explain herself.

Dear Miaomiao, your Sister Bai isn’t shirking her duties; she’s afflicted with a peculiar condition—her dancing only grows more graceful and beautiful at night. How could she possibly explain that?

(End of chapter)