Butterflies Fly Over Winter Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Sheng, Dan, Jing, and Chou

Zhou Yangxi stammered for a moment and said, “Uh… it’s that kind of, you know, Alpha vibe?”

Xi Ai’s smile became more pronounced. For some reason, she glanced at Zhou Qingxi. The latter looked at her younger sister helplessly before changing the subject. “Then how would you describe Chu Yiqi?”

Zhou Yangxi looked like she was about to cry. She said, “How can you guys be like this? But seriously, you can tell just by listening to Yiqi’s voice that she is especially, especially gentle!”

After some lighthearted teasing, Chu Yiqi became a bit more familiar with the two sisters, though she still didn’t say much. Even though Xi Ai and Chu Yiqi were in bunk beds facing each other, there seemed to be an invisible barrier between them.

Xi Ai had no intention of trying to close that distance.

Her social style had always been like this: she wouldn’t deliberately trip someone up just because she disliked them, nor would she force herself to get close to someone for the sake of the “bigger picture.” She would simply maintain her distance.

After all, those on different paths cannot make plans together. People who aren’t cut from the same cloth will eventually part ways; she could just endure it until then.

However, Xi Ai was still quite curious as to why Chu Yiqi harbored a natural hostility toward her.

I was so low-profile before. In my final year of university, I met that Asian director who loves using newcomers. After winning an award, I behaved myself and wrote my graduation thesis, did my defense, returned to the country, and went to work…

I haven’t even had time to attract any haters…

This train of thought didn’t last long. It was soon time for lights out, and Xi Ai, having organized her things early, went to sleep.

“Goodnight, friends.”

“Mhm.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Perhaps because the last person to respond was Chu Yiqi, Xi Ai remained silent for a short moment. After a while, she gave a very soft reply: “Mhm…”

A night of sweet dreams followed. Before Xi Ai drifted off, her last memory was of a conversation in F Country several months ago.

It was graduation season, the day after an exam.

A blonde, blue-eyed male student walked over and stared at Xi Ai with ill intent. He said, “You drama students shouldn’t come here to meddle in music…”

Xi Ai couldn’t remember the rest, but the tone was filled with contempt and doubt.

Xi Ai glanced at him, picked up two books from the side, and stood up to size him up—he was someone she had never gotten along with.

Xi Ai spoke in a deliberate, rhythmic French: “Do you even understand how to play the piano before you start blathering here, 1.3?”

At that time, the perfect score for the final exam was 1.0—Xi Ai had received a 1.1, ranking third in the entire department.

Having said her piece, Xi Ai was about to leave when she suddenly remembered something and turned back. “Oh right, I forgot the invitation to the final showcase.”

Xi Ai looked at him and said, “Why are you looking at me? Don’t you have one? Oh, you really don’t. You didn’t make the top five.”

Watching the man’s face turn green, Xi Ai happily went to discuss the repertoire for the showcase with the French girl who had taken first place.

That being said, as soon as Xi Ai returned to the country, she signed up for this program—if you say I can’t do it, then I will insist on choosing this path.

The next morning, Xi Ai woke up naturally at 6:30 AM. Realizing the required time was 7:00 AM, she suddenly felt a pang of annoyance toward the past few months where she had woken up at 6:30 AM every day for work without fail.

At 8:00 AM sharp, the initial group competition began.

The performance order was drawn randomly, and the first person chosen was Nie Chuiying.

Some say that people in the rap scene always speak with a certain cadence, but this didn’t seem particularly obvious with Nie Chuiying.

Xi Ai leaned back slightly and spoke to Zhou Yangxi. “Even so, why does she seem a bit… well-behaved?”

“To you Aiyes, everyone looks well-behaved.”

“Can we just forget that part?” Xi Ai looked straight ahead, appearing focused as she waited for Nie Chuiying to begin her performance.

Zhou Yangxi clearly wasn’t as good at acting as Xi Ai; one look and you could tell she was whispering to her. “Is this allowed to be broadcast?”

“Of course!”

While one side was pretending to be focused and the other was failing to pretend, a little further away, Zhou Qingxi and Chu Yiqi didn’t bother pretending at all. They tilted their heads toward each other to talk.

“Everyone seems really strong this time.”

“You’re very talented too.”

“Yiqi, have you heard her songs before?”

Chu Yiqi didn’t actually listen to much rap. In fact, her circle could be described as closed; unless she was interested in something and learned it herself, she rarely dabbled in other areas.

So she said, “No.”

“Alright.” Zhou Qingxi failed to find a topic and chose to watch the stage quietly with Chu Yiqi—luckily, she wasn’t as talkative as her younger sister.

On stage.

Nie Chuiying had her hair tied up, and her entire outfit followed a national style.

The lights flared to life. Nie Chuiying stood in the center with her back to the audience, holding a microphone.

The audience members were all natural hype-men. Amidst a few cheers, the music began.

“Tang poetry and Song lyrics are the treasures of the years, the fragrance of ink from brushes and paper scatters to distant lands.”

Yu Nianxi actually pulled out a lightstick from beside her and waved it to the beat. Xi Ai, after being poked on the arm by Zhou Yangxi, looked over and smiled. “Then go ask her for a lightstick.”

Zhou Yangxi shook her head like a rattle and turned back to watch the performance next to her sister. She quietly practiced her movements and the opening introduction lines.

Nie Chuiying swept open a folding fan, and the music blended with the sound of ringing bells. “The clear sounds of mountains and rivers flow through China’s landscapes, the camel bells of the Silk Road echo…”

The dance movements Nie Chuiying choreographed incorporated elements of ethnic dance, yet the transitions were exceptionally tight. Aside from her highly expressive dancing, her voice was the most important element, sounding as if it had a built-in reverb.

“Sheng, Dan, Jing, and Chou; singing, reciting, acting, and fighting. Martial arts and Tai Chi, a blend of strength and grace. Xiao, flute, xun, and sheng; pipa, qin, and se. Flowing sleeves and magnificent robes, immortal skirts fluttering…”

Xi Ai watched intently, her movements almost in sync with Chu Yiqi—both were tapping out the rhythm with their hands and humming softly along with the tune.

Chu Yiqi had always been like this. Although she had forcibly shrunk her social circle to a small portion, whenever she encountered other fields, she usually watched with an appreciative attitude, focusing very seriously.

Some called this being a “people pleaser,” while others called it “inclusivity.”

But that didn’t matter. Even if she cared about others’ opinions, she couldn’t control them.

Fortunately, this time, Xi Ai was the same type of person.

So Xi Ai only turned her head to look at Chu Yiqi before pulling her gaze back.

To be honest, she was quite looking forward to Chu Yiqi’s stage and had a slight preference in her expectations.

If she was willing to try a new style, that would be good, but subjectively, Xi Ai was still looking forward to a national-style song.

Nie Chuiying soon finished her performance, and Xi Ai heard a very familiar voice speak.

“In all fairness, I really like your stage presence. Among my students, this would definitely be at a very high level.”

With that specific cadence of speaking Chinese and that slow tempo, who else could it be but the teacher who had taught her for a period of time?

Xi Ai actually knew she would appear here, but perhaps because the last two days had been quite happy, she was momentarily stunned.

She silently calculated the probability of being placed in Group B or C… it was quite high.

This teacher had excellent skills herself and was even stricter with her students. Although Xi Ai wasn’t technically her formal student—the teacher just liked some of Xi Ai’s creative styles after hearing her compositions—she had once tried to get Xi Ai to study singing systematically.

But strangely enough, Xi Ai’s first reaction wasn’t to worry about herself. She suddenly wondered if this teacher would like Chu Yiqi’s style.

Xi Ai’s inexplicable and wandering worry didn’t last long, because she heard Anniella say, “But perhaps… from my perspective, your arrangement has a bit too many elements. It sounds a bit… messy, or rather, tiring.”

Nie Chuiying nodded and received the final result—A.

As soon as the result came out, the people sitting below were somewhat surprised. This was the first person, and also the first A.

Xi Ai merely nodded, looking at the stage with eyes that held both congratulations and a lack of surprise.

To be honest, if it were a layman, they wouldn’t be able to hear anything wrong with the arrangement of Nie Chuiying’s song—not after the “interference” or “neutralization” of her stage presence.

Chu Yiqi pursed her lips. She was still congratulatory, but when Xi Ai glanced over, she noticed that Chu Yiqi seemed a bit nervous.

Among the six members of For 8 who followed, Meng Yike was the second to take the stage.

Meng Yike’s song was also self-written. The theme was “Dreams and Journeys,” but she tried to ground it in the frustration and wavering felt while on the road—waking up while sinking, standing up once more; even if one dies ten thousand times, one still walks, still stands…

Chu Yiqi rested her hand on her knee, looking thoughtful throughout the entire song.

It wasn’t for any other reason; she just suddenly remembered the road she had taken to get here…

She also suddenly realized the true reason for her rejection of Xi Ai.

Perhaps looking at their names, they were destined to be in conflict. One person’s name emphasized being loved, while the other was the resentment and unwillingness of love that was never fulfilled, like a certain kind of curse.

Perhaps human nature is inherently evil, and people are born with baseness. Those who have always struggled in the night without being able to escape are bound to hate those who are bright and brilliant.

Chu Yiqi’s expression darkened, and she only looked up when the rating was being determined.

The four people sitting on the judging panel also had a disagreement at this time.

“You gave a B?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

In the brief silence, Meng Yike held her breath, waiting for the final moment the clock would strike.

“We are giving you Group B.”

“My focus is different from the others, so I care more about your performance. But just now on stage, you started to panic after you missed a beat, right?”

Unavoidably, Meng Yike nodded.

She valued this stage highly, so from the moment her center of gravity became unstable, the rest was a bit messy. Even though she corrected it later, the completeness of the performance was still lacking.

Xi Ai pursed her lips as she saw the name on the screen finally settle on her own.

She let out a soft breath, her gaze sweeping over the judging panel as she took off the jacket that had been draped over her shoulders.

“Hello, teachers.”

Anniella kept her eyes on her, and Xi Ai suddenly couldn’t feel nervous anymore. Because if she didn’t look at the audience, this scene felt exactly like her old final exams.

“You shouldn’t be that nervous in this kind of situation, right?”

Xi Ai pursed her lips, not knowing whether to say she was nervous or not.

She said, “I’m definitely nervous. After all, there are so many talented friends and teachers here. It would be very embarrassing to lose face.”

The judges looked at each other and smiled. One of them joked, “We’ve all heard about you from Anniella.”

“Now, let’s begin.”

Two seconds of darkness, then the stage lights hit the center, illuminating Xi Ai’s face.

The person on stage wore a Tang-style outfit with a clash of red, green, and white. Under the dim yellow light, she slowly raised her eyes, and at that moment, a faint sound of Buddhist chanting echoed.

Perhaps the light was just right, or perhaps it was a deliberate arrangement by someone who studied acting, but as Chu Yiqi looked at Xi Ai, she suddenly felt that it might be the expression of a deity observing all living beings.

Indifferent, yet compassionate.

Compared to those before her, Xi Ai’s dance appeared to lack foundation.

Although no mistakes could be found, the movements were relatively basic, without any showy techniques.

To put it bluntly, the main issue was a lack of competitiveness.

Chu Yiqi evaluated it, shifting her focus to Xi Ai’s song itself.

Once the focus moved to the song, Chu Yiqi discovered that Xi Ai’s creation was truly a perfect match for her.

In the first segment, Xi Ai focused on a divine perspective, depicting people who were helpless in the face of suffering—they could only look up and ask the ethereal gods for an answer.

This was a section about “not knowing suffering, and thus not believing in gods.”

But in the second segment, she shifted to write about the deeper pain and hopelessness of the gods themselves amidst suffering.

This was the divine restraint and self-restraint under feudal concepts.