(This is the second update. Click on the latest update, little one. You may have missed the previous update.)
Fang Juexia suddenly woke up and immediately let go of her hand.
“Everyone at Caledo, hurry back! Hey, you over there! Quickly bring the props over!”
“Okay!”
“Is this the prop?”
The members hurriedly evacuated the lift platform. The chaotic environment caused Fang Juexia’s heart to pound violently in his chest.
He had been holding Pei Tingsong’s hand the entire time.
Realizing this, Fang Juexia hurriedly took a few steps forward to leave the lift platform, but accidentally tripped over a pipe on the ground and fell to the ground without warning.
“Hey, Fang Juexia, are you okay?”
This wasn’t the first time. He tried to calm himself down.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. He reached out and felt around on the ground, touching the pipe in front of him, and carefully tried to stand up. After steadying himself, Fang Juexia squinted his eyes, and many black shadows flashed back and forth in front of him, but he couldn’t see anything else clearly.
“What’s wrong with you?” Pei Tingsong immediately noticed that something was wrong with Fang Juexia and found it strange. He looked like…
The word that flashed unconsciously through his mind made him pause abruptly.
Pei Tingsong stepped forward and grabbed Fang Juexia’s arm. “Do you have night blindness?”
For some reason, as soon as he asked that question, Pei Tingsong immediately recalled that sleepless early morning when he accidentally knocked over the stack of books that Fang Juexia was holding.
How could he have knocked them over? Even without the lights on, the room wasn’t completely dark.
If he hadn’t been holding onto the wall, he wouldn’t have bumped into them at all.
Right.
All the unreasonable details had explanations.
The scene of them being locked in the wardrobe together also resurfaced in his mind at that moment. At the time, he had forced Fang Juexia to look at him, but all he got was one sentence.
“I can’t see.”
He wasn’t lying; he really couldn’t see.
“Right,” Fang Juexia admitted in a calm and composed tone. His emotions gradually subsided, even though he still couldn’t see clearly.
The team members had already moved far ahead. The dimly lit, crisscrossing corridors and the staff’s urgent prompts caused everyone to instinctively focus only on the path ahead, making it difficult to notice anyone lagging behind. Pei Tingsong was quite surprised. Thinking about how he had just fallen, he even felt a bit angry for no reason, and couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you say you have night blindness?”
As soon as he asked, he regretted it. Given his and Fang Juexia’s cold relationship over the past two years, there was no way this already cold person would tell him such a private matter. Even a fool would know that.
Their relationship had never reached the point of being completely honest with each other.
“What’s wrong?” Hearing the voices of other staff members behind him, Fang Juexia tried to break free from Pei Tingsong’s grip and pretend nothing had happened.
His reaction gave Pei Tingsong a hint.
“Nothing.” Pei Tingsong gripped her tighter, even reaching out with his other hand to wrap around Fang Juexia’s waist. “I was just looking for something and tripped. You go ahead, I’ll help him along.”
“Is that so? Be careful, it’s a bit messy down there.”
Watching the staff leave, Pei Tingsong supported Fang Juexia and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
“You’re really unwilling to ask me for help?”
A warm breath fell on him, and Fang Juexia smiled bitterly in the darkness.
Knowing he wouldn’t say anything else, Pei Tingsong never expected a response anyway. He supported Fang Juexia step by step, quietly guiding him to avoid various obstacles. Just as he thought this guy had finally let go of his hard shell in the darkness and was slowly compromising to move forward, Pei Tingsong suddenly heard his voice.
“That’s strange.”
The two stopped, one in front of the other.
“Why is it always you?”
They fell into a brief silence.
Fang Juexia’s smile was grim. Perhaps Pei Tingsong also thought he was a disaster, forced to be tied to him, witnessing him being threatened with unwritten rules, and even exposing his night blindness, which he had been carefully hiding.
Why? He had always managed to hide it well before, and he had grown accustomed to the darkness.
If only he had been holding onto the other hand instead…
He traced the vague cause-and-effect of the butterfly effect until everything was interrupted by Pei Tingsong’s voice.
“Maybe it’s because I boasted on the phone last time that you and I are bound together now.”
“God heard it and thought it made sense, so he really tied us together.” Pei Tingsong’s voice carried a hint of laughter, “Maybe God is into CP too.”
Fang Juexia suddenly froze.
What God, what God…
“Stop joking around.” He still tried to escape from his grip, but Pei Tingsong’s hand on his waist tightened even more, his tone serious, “I’m not joking. I usually like to tease you, but I have my limits.”
Fang Juexia glanced at him. “Your bottom line is in the third quadrant.”
Upon hearing this, Pei Tingsong paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, sounding like a high school student.
Fang Juexia’s ears were filled with Pei Tingsong’s bright laughter. Strangely enough, the tension he had felt earlier seemed to ease suddenly.
On an emotional level, he began to harbor a sense of optimism, perhaps he could truly trust this troublemaker who had just repaired their broken relationship, even if he revealed his greatest secret to him.
But reason cautioned him not to easily give up what he had always held dear.
“Well, so be it,” Fang Juexia comforted himself. After all, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do” had always been his survival strategy.
By now, he was finding it increasingly difficult to think calmly.
“The third quadrant it is, then,” Pei Tingsong tilted his head at him. “Better than nothing.”
With his support, Fang Juexia took small steps forward. His toes occasionally bumped into pipes on the ground, stumbling and tripping, just like the path he had walked all these years—feeling his way in the darkness.
Pei Tingsong’s body temperature was high, and his arm wrapped around Fang Juexia’s back to support him, making him feel a bit uncomfortable. In the darkness, he heard Pei Tingsong’s voice, “You… really can’t see at all?” He quickly added, “I mean, after your vision darkens.”
He rarely heard Pei Tingsong speak with such hesitation. This boy, three years his junior, was always decisive and bold, as if there was nothing in life worth fearing.
“Basically,” Fang Juexia added a relatively precise figure, “eighty percent.”
Pei Tingsong nodded and repeated his words in a low voice, “Eighty percent…”
The narrow passage compressed the air into a slow-moving viscous fluid. Fang Juexia felt a faint breeze in front of his face, and the trajectory of the fluid seemed to have changed.
He raised his hand and reached into the darkness.
Pei Tingsong was startled and stopped in his tracks. The hand he had just stretched out in front of Fang Juexia to shake and test was caught by Fang Juexia.
“Didn’t you say you couldn’t see?” Pei Tingsong’s tone was a little surprised, unexpectedly childish, like a little kid who had been caught doing something naughty.
A smile once again appeared on Fang Juexia’s lips.
He wrapped his arm around Fang Juexia and continued walking forward, “So you’ve been hiding for so long relying on your foresight?”
Before Fang Juexia could answer, Pei Tingsong asked again, “Why did you hide it from everyone? It’s not a very special illness, and it doesn’t affect other people.”
Fang Juexia knew he wouldn’t understand, which was normal.
He could only explain the reason through his own experience.
“In the final round of the audition, we had to perform on a real stage, which was different from the previous ones—it was large and dark, with only a single spotlight.”
Pei Tingsong quickly understood, and he could even picture the scene in his mind.
A small boy stood on the pitch-black stage, confused and helpless.
“You… didn’t make it?”
“You must have been disappointed at the time,” Pei Tingsong asked.
“Not really. As soon as I woke up, I asked my mother what the result was. She told me they would let me know later. But there was no follow-up.” Fang Juexia sighed helplessly, “Maybe in adults’ minds, children don’t remember things and will forget after a while. But I have a good memory. I ate my meals diligently, took care of my health, and was very obedient, thinking that once my leg healed, I could join the dance troupe and become a dancer.”
In the dim light, Pei Tingsong looked at him. His精致 face showed little emotion, hardly resembling someone recalling a regrettable past. But he was Fang Juexia, so it all made sense.
But as he listened, an image of a well-behaved child recovering from illness flashed through his mind.
When he was a child… he must have been quite handsome.
“What happened afterward?” Pei Tingsong asked.
“There was no afterward,” Fang Juexia said coldly. “My grandfather told me about the night blindness. What was there to look forward to? How could someone with a high probability of going blind on stage become a dancer?”
“It’s not a pity,” Fang Juexia said. “I accidentally overheard the adults talking later and realized that even if I didn’t have night blindness, I still wouldn’t have been selected.”
Pei Tingsong was puzzled. “Why?”
Fang Juexia turned her head and glanced at Pei Tingsong in the darkness, pointing to the corner of her eye. “Because of this.”
“A dancer’s face cannot have any obvious marks.”
Unlike idols, they don’t need to be recognizable.
No matter how beautiful they are.
That glance of his had shaken Pei Tingsong’s heart, leaving him speechless. He could only silently help him walk through the last dim section of the passageway.
Their stage wasn’t always bright, even though most of it was lit. He couldn’t imagine how Fang Juexia managed to never make a mistake, never letting anyone notice that he was different.
Pei Tingsong remembered the first internal rumor he heard when he first joined the company, which was about Fang Juexia. Everyone said, don’t underestimate Star Map for being a small company, because it has a god among trainees.
Fang Juexia’s negative news was directly proportional to his well-known dedication. Everyone knew he practically lived in the practice room. No matter when you went to the company’s practice room, you could always find him there. He was always dancing.
At the time, Pei Tingsong found it exaggerated. He didn’t understand why someone already defined by everyone as having rare talent would push himself to such an almost self-destructive level of practice.
Now he understood.
On the path to pursuing his dreams, he was someone who had already failed once.
He finally understood why Fang Juexia was moved by the opening of that documentary.
In every sense, he was in the dark. And in that dark little room, Fang Juexia had no way out.
The end of the corridor led to the underground hall of the stage. The gradually intensifying light caused Fang Juexia to instinctively retreat to a safe distance. He seemed to be stepping out of the deep sea, dragging his heavy footsteps back to land.
“Aren’t you afraid that one day you might fall off the stage like you did when you were a child?”
Hearing Pei Tingsong’s question, Fang Juexia replied calmly, “I am afraid. That’s why I must ensure every movement is precise, with no margin for error in distance.”
The dim light fell on his face, elongating the shadows of his eyelashes, which settled like butterflies on his cheeks.
“The margin for error in this circle is nearly zero, but unfortunately, I was born with a flaw, and I’m naturally prone to making mistakes.”
He gave Pei Tingsong a faint smile. “I can only try my best to pretend that I don’t make mistakes.”
“Jue Xia! Little Pei!”
Cheng Qiang ran over from a short distance away, panting heavily, as if he had been searching for them for a long time. His appearance interrupted Fang Juexia’s self-reflection, and he composed himself, turning to face Cheng Qiang.
He didn’t quite understand why he had said so much to Pei Tingsong; he never understood it.
He thought to himself that perhaps Pei Tingsong also felt confused about why he was sharing so much about his past and inner thoughts. In his view, this might seem like a weak attempt to curry favor. It was like those contestants on talent shows who tearfully recounted their tragic pasts, using these tear-jerking stories to flesh out their characters.
How would Pei Tingsong view him?
“What are you guys doing? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Cheng Qiang was getting closer, and Fang Juexia was considering whether to use the same excuse Pei Tingsong had used to deal with the staff earlier. Suddenly, he heard a whisper from someone nearby.
“I’ll ask you one last question.”
He looked at Pei Tingsong, feeling puzzled.
Pei Tingsong’s gaze was sincere, “How many people know your secret?”
Fang Juexia swallowed hard, staring at the person in front of him. But it seemed like there wasn’t enough time, so Pei Tingsong spoke again before Cheng Qiang reached them, “Never mind, let’s start over.”
Fang Juexia raised his eyebrows slightly, indicating his confusion.
“I’ll say the last sentence again.”
The face of this young man, always sharp and assertive, looked at him, reflecting the soft light from the basement in his eyes.
“Your mark is not a mistake; it is beautiful.”
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