Chapter 67: Risqué Banter
The competition progressed match after match, with the stadium lights and music constantly shifting, completely separating the world inside the venue from the one outside.
One remained calm as usual, while the other pulsed with fervent excitement.
After the semifinalists were decided, the battle for the top four commenced seamlessly.
Teng Yi took the stage once more.
As he stood up, a gust of wind followed him, still carrying the unsettling scent of Yunnan Baiyao.
Ruan Yu frowned, her gaze fixed on Teng Yi’s retreating figure.
After a few steps, he suddenly turned around and flashed her a bright smile—one brimming with confidence and a reassuring calm.
Instantly, Ruan Yu’s furrowed brow relaxed.
He would win.
He had to.
The four dancers battled fiercely through a round of performances, leaving only Teng Yi and Bi Chengjie to vie for the championship.
A clash of titans sent sparks flying across the stage.
In every previous round, Teng Yi had performed with effortless ease, always giving the impression that he still had cards up his sleeve. But now, in the final moments, he revealed his full intensity, executing one high-difficulty powermove after another.
The explosive moves were relentless—if mishandled, they could come off as reckless bravado, like Nino’s performance. Yet even as Teng Yi blatantly showcased his skills, it felt like a meticulously planned chess game.
Countless days and nights in the practice room, years of unwavering dedication, had forged his body into an inexhaustible wellspring of power.
The entire audience was mesmerized by his dance, as he transformed street dance into a dazzling spectacle of art.
Ruan Yu’s heart was tied to Teng Yi’s every move—each slide, each leap sent ripples through her soul. When he launched into a headspin, her blood rushed to her temples as if she were the one spinning with such desperate intensity.
“That’s so dangerous,” she murmured.
“Relax, my brother’s technique is rock-solid. No question about it,” Teng Hao boasted proudly.
Xiao Qing shot him a sideways glance. “Kid, what kind of risqué talk is that? What do you know about your brother’s technique ?”
Ruan Yu: “…”
Teng Hao: “…”
The stands erupted in a frenzy. Fang Wan, who had been sitting cross-legged, was now half-kneeling, screaming Teng Yi’s name in exhilaration.
Facing such an opponent, Bi Chengjie naturally felt immense pressure. He tried to steady himself, but his stamina betrayed him first.
The consequences of neglecting practice were now painfully clear.
Time was fair to everyone—effort and dedication never lied.
As his mind grew hazy and his strength waned, Bi Chengjie’s moves became repetitive. Some were even direct copies of earlier dancers.
The street dance world was vast, with countless styles and schools, yet also small—everyone knew who pioneered which moves and which dancers led their respective genres.
For a dancer, innovation was true strength. Mimicry, no matter how polished, could never elevate one to the top.
Disapproving murmurs spread through the crowd.
At this point, the outcome seemed all but decided.
Teng Yi, having finished his performance, remained composed. He could have easily called out Bi Chengjie’s flaws with street dance gestures, humiliating him like Da Hua had done. But Teng Yi didn’t. Instead, he gave Bi Chengjie space and respect.
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