Overdo

After a few days of recuperation, his youth and the fact that his injuries hadn’t reached the bones allowed him to recover quickly. By this day, he was already able to come downstairs. Having been cooped up for several days, even his steps felt lighter. But when he walked down to the small living room, he stopped obediently at the doorway. Madam Murong looked up and saw him, smiling as she said, “Why don’t you come in?” Murong Feng also raised his head, and upon seeing him, merely frowned. Murong Qingyi had no choice but to approach and call out, “Father.”

Murong Feng said, “I see your frivolous habits haven’t changed one bit. I wasted my effort placing you in the military, hoping discipline would correct you, but it’s been utterly useless.” Madam Murong, afraid he would get angry again, quickly interjected, “I’ve already spoken with Third Brother about studying abroad, and he’s willing to go.”

Murong Feng snorted and said, “These next few days, you’ll stay home and review your English. As for your usual entourage, I’ll have Jin Yongren reassign them. If you dare cause any more trouble outside, I’ll break your legs!”

Seeing Murong Qingyi looking utterly dejected, Madam Murong said to her husband, “Enough, Third Brother is already injured like this—do you really think he’ll go out?” Then, turning to Murong Qingyi, she said, “Your father only wants what’s best for you. Settle down these next few days and review your English—it will be useful when you go abroad.”

Murong Qingyi had no choice but to agree. From then on, it was as if he were under house arrest, with all his usual attendants reassigned. He spent his days at home, gloomy and discontent. Once he had fully recovered, Madam Murong personally saw him off to study abroad.

Autumn gave way to winter, winter to spring—time slipped away like an arrow, never to return. The days flowed by like hibiscus flowers, first budding, then blooming in full splendor, only to wither and bloom again. In the blink of an eye, four years had passed.

Rain began to fall again, the soft sound outside the window making the autumn night feel as cool as water. In the dressing room, several girls chatted and laughed noisily, like a nest of little birds. Susu sat alone, tying the laces of her dance shoes. Mulan came over and said to her, “Susu, my heart is so unsettled.” Susu smiled slightly and said, “You’re a big star now—are you still nervous about performing?” Mulan replied, “It’s not stage fright. I just heard that Madam is coming, and my heart immediately started racing.” At these words, Susu froze for some reason. Mulan continued, “I’ve heard Madam Murong is an expert in ballet. I’m really afraid of embarrassing myself in front of a master.” After a long pause, Susu comforted her, “It’s alright. You dance so well—you’re a sensation. That’s why she’s coming to see you.”

The stage manager came looking for her. “Miss Fang, the makeup artist is waiting for you.” Mulan smiled at Susu and went to her private dressing room. Susu lowered her head and continued tying her shoelaces, but her hands trembled slightly. Pulling the thin satin ribbons felt like plucking an overly taut string. It took her a long time to finally tie them properly. One by one, the others in the dressing room headed to the stage, leaving her alone, hugging her knees as she sat. The sky gradually darkened, and the rain outside grew heavier and more urgent. In the distance, the music from the stage drifted in—the poignant and sorrowful melody of The Butterfly Lovers, the scene of the eighteen-mile farewell, where Yingtai’s heart fluttered between alarm and delight. In the world of the stage, even in tragedy, there were moments of happiness. But in reality, even a fleeting moment of joy felt like an impossible luxury.The vanity table was littered haphazardly with rouge, face powder, eyebrow pencils, and lipstick... She stared blankly into the mirror, her reflection as still as a statue. Her feet had gone numb, yet she felt nothing. Two fine needles seemed to prick her temples, each jab sending her blood vessels throbbing. Clad only in a thin dance costume, she felt cold—waves of cold that seemed to freeze the very blood in her veins. She sat there, biting her lower lip so hard it bled, never thinking to fetch a garment to drape over herself.

Suddenly, commotion erupted in the corridor outside. Someone burst in, calling her name: "Susu!" The voice grew increasingly urgent, yet she didn't think to respond. Only when the person entered and called again did she lift her head in a daze.

It was the flustered stage manager. "Susu, quick! Mulan has sprained her ankle! You'll dance the role of Zhu Yingtai for the final act."

A buzzing filled her ears, and heaven and earth seemed to spin. She heard her own small voice say, "No."

The stage manager stared at her for a long moment. "Are you insane? You've been the understudy for years. Why would you refuse such an opportunity?"

She shrank back weakly, like an exhausted snail. "I can't—I stopped dancing for two years in between. I've never performed as the lead."

The stage manager grew frantic. "You've always been Miss Fang's understudy! Saving the show is like putting out a fire—there's only this last act left. If you won't dance, who will? What airs are you putting on at a time like this?"

She wasn't putting on airs; her head felt as if it were splitting open. She just kept shaking her head. "I can't." The director and her teacher arrived, all three pleading with her, but she shook her head desperately. Time was running out. Without another word, the stage manager and director pushed and shoved her onto the stage. The grand crimson curtain, sprinkled with gold, began to rise. It was too late.

Too late. Music flooded the theater. Her eyes swept over the oppressive, dark mass of the audience. Almost by mechanical instinct, her toe slid into the first rond de jambe. Years of practice had honed an unconscious reflex—arabesques, fouettés, jetés... fluid and graceful. Fine beads of sweat dampened her forehead; her arms swept like wings, lightly extended. The lights and music consumed everything. Her mind emptied, leaving only automated movements. Time became an endless ocean, her spinning body a drifting puppet. The act lasted only forty minutes, yet it felt like forty years, four hundred years... It was pure torment. She felt like a fish out of water, slowly roasting over a fire—her skin tightening inch by inch, her breath growing more frantic by the second, yet she couldn't break free or escape. The end was a distant, unattainable luxury. She remembered, recalling that terrifying nightmare, as if being torn apart all over again. Each time her taut toes touched the ground, it felt like stepping on knife tips, slicing her heart to pieces, slowly and excruciatingly.

As the final tremolo of the music faded, silence engulfed the theater. She could hear her own ragged breaths. She didn't dare look toward the audience. The stage lights blazed like a setting sun behind her, and sweat dripped slowly down.

Then, thunderous applause erupted. She had forgotten to take a bow. In her haste, she turned away, leaving Zhuang Chengzhi, who had danced Liang Shanbo, stranded at center stage. The stage manager stood at the wings, his face pale with panic. Only then did she remember. She turned back and bowed together with Zhuang Chengzhi.After the performance, everyone crowded around her like stars surrounding the moon, chattering with praise: "Susu, you danced wonderfully today." She was on the verge of collapse, letting others drag her back to the dressing room. Someone handed her a towel, and she weakly pressed it against her face. She had to leave, to get away from here. Someone in the dark sea of spectators filled her with a fear so intense it bordered on despair—she just wanted to escape.

The director approached excitedly, "Madam Murong is here."

The towel fell to the floor. She slowly bent down to pick it up, but someone swiftly retrieved it for her. She gradually lifted her head and rose to her feet. Madam Murong was walking over with a smile, and they heard her say to those beside her, "Look at how lovely this child is. Her dance is beautiful, but she herself is even more beautiful."

She clung tightly to the corner of the dressing table, as if letting go would cause her to collapse. Madam Murong took her hand and said with a laugh, "Truly adorable." The director introduced from the side, "Madam, her name is Ren Susu." As he spoke, he gave her a gentle push from behind.