Qiao Fei looked at Ye Xiaoxiao's tearful face and finally let out a long sigh.
"Forget it... this is too much to ask of you." She rubbed her temples, her voice softening for the first time. "Go and put some music on for me. I... haven't danced in a long time. I want to do it right, just once."
Feeling as though she had been granted a divine pardon, Xiaoxiao nodded frantically. "Okay, okay!" She ran to the sound system—an expensive piece of technology that looked like a work of art—and stared at the rows of shiny buttons.
Five seconds later: "Um... how do you turn this on?"
Qiao Fei's soul: "..."
Rolling her eyes for the eight-hundredth time in her life, she floated over and taught her step by step. "Power. Play. Volume... No, not that one, that's the switch... Hey—don't press that!"
Xiaoxiao was clumsy and nervous, handling the buttons like she was trying to disarm a nuclear warhead. Finally, the music began to play. It was the ending theme of White Feather, the melody Qiao Fei knew best. The moment the soft, clear notes flowed out, her soul seemed to awaken.
Qiao Fei straightened her posture, tipped her toes, and glided gracefully in front of the mirrors. In the next second, she flew. It wasn't an exaggerated flight, but the kind of pure, beautiful dance where the ground seemed to glow wherever her toes touched. Her movements were as clean as ink writing on the air.
Xiaoxiao watched, forgetting to breathe. "So beautiful..."
But as the words left her mouth, a sudden tingling sensation spread from the base of her legs upward. In the next second, her body moved. It wasn't Xiaoxiao's will. It was Qiao Fei's body—hearing the familiar melody, its "muscle memory" was triggered, and it automatically activated "Ballet Mode."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait!?" Xiaoxiao panicked. "I didn't do it on purpose! It's moving on its own!!"
Her legs naturally rose onto her toes; her arms unfolded softly with the rhythm. Her mind was in a panic, but her body was saying, I've got this; I'm a professional.
In front of the mirror, there were two Qiao Feis. One was translucent, a shadow carved out of moonlight; the other was controlled by Xiaoxiao, but her movements were flawless. They lifted their arms, raised their legs, spun, and leaped in perfect unison—a dance of a soul and a body reunited after a long parting.
When the final pose was struck and the music faded, the two shadows merged into one. Xiaoxiao leaned over, gasping for air. "Whew... whew..."
Qiao Fei's soul stood before her, perfectly calm and not even slightly out of breath. They locked eyes and suddenly burst into laughter together. It was a laugh of relief, of sincerity, and for the first time, a feeling that they weren't opposites, but connected.
Xiaoxiao looked up, face covered in sweat but eyes sparkling. "That's great... your body... it remembers how to dance." She smiled as if she had found a treasure. "This way... this way I can really help you!"
Qiao Fei froze. She thought Xiaoxiao would find it a chore, be scared, or try to run away. But her first thought was about "helping" her.
Something in Qiao Fei's chest was nudged gently. She looked down and whispered, "...You idiot." But her tone was wrapped in a newfound warmth. She had thought Ye Xiaoxiao was a nuisance. But now... she realized this clumsy little assistant was slowly pulling out the thorns in her heart.
[The Hospital]
With his new drama airing, Qin Mu's popularity had skyrocketed. He was trending on Weibo three times a day, and his fan club was gaining tens of thousands of followers. At a time like this, he couldn't afford to be caught at the hospital.
Yet, whenever he wasn't filming, whenever he could steal a fragment of time, he would come quietly. Disguised in a hat and a mask, he walked down the hospital corridors like a fleeing shadow.
When he pushed open the door, Ye Xiaoxiao was still lying there quietly. Mrs. Ye stood up politely. "Mr. Qin is here again... I'm so sorry to keep making you make the trip."
Qin Mu shook his head quickly, his voice muffled by the mask. "It's... it's fine. I was just... passing by..." The lie caught in his throat.
The room was silent enough to hear the dripping of the IV. Mrs. Ye suddenly spoke up, "Wayne... he's really helped us so much lately. He found the caregivers and even paid the fees in advance." Her eyes reddened. "I told him we'd pay him back when she wakes up, but he said there was no need. That boy... he's truly wonderful."
Qin Mu's fingertips tightened. His chest felt heavy—a mix of bitterness and suffocation. Everything Wayne could do, he could do too. He could even do more.
But he couldn't. He couldn't stand up as openly as Wayne because he had no "status." He hadn't even been recognized as a "friend." To an outsider, he was just a colleague—an acquaintance from the same set with no real connection.
So on what grounds could he pay for her? On what grounds could he arrange her care? It wasn't that he didn't want to—it was that he had no identity in her life. He could only stand by her bed, looking at her pale face, his heart sinking further with every second.
Mrs. Ye added, "I'm so grateful you're willing to visit her so often as a colleague..."
Qin Mu's throat tightened. He took a deep breath and said hoarsely, "Auntie, I have to go... call me if you need anything." He left his number and turned to leave.
The moment he stepped out, it felt like something had clawed at his heart. Wayne was by her side. Mrs. Ye was grateful to Wayne. The one doing everything for her was Wayne.
And what about him? He could only stand outside the door. He couldn't even say the words "I like her."
He walked out with his head down, admitting to himself in a quiet, agonizingly painful realization: I am the one who wants to take care of her most. But I have no right.