As the cheers erupted, the air itself seemed to ripple with excitement.
The wave of sound, formed by countless ordinary individuals, surged forward like a tidal wave crashing ashore.
The moment Su Yao stepped out, she felt as if she were facing a tsunami head-on.
Instinctively, she wanted to retreat, but a stubborn resolve in her heart kept her from turning back.
She took a moment to adjust.
Glancing around, the venue was nearly packed to capacity, the sheer number of people pressing down heavily on her.
Just one look was enough to make Su Yao afraid to look again, so she quickly lowered her gaze toward the stage.
Since the event had taken over a football field, a temporary stage was set up atop it.
The space was already vast, so the stage itself was especially spacious and stood two meters tall.
Su Yao had to stand on tiptoe and stretch her hand to just barely reach two meters…
Lifting the camera in her arms, Su Yao took a deep breath.
She walked slowly along the edge of the stage, moving toward a spot slightly more frontal.
The stage was semi-circular, and Su Yao walked along roughly a ten-degree arc of the curve—this spot was about right.
At the edge of the stage was a roughly two-meter-wide “moat,” used for cameramen to move around and to hold some equipment.
Beyond that was a barrier about one and a half meters high, a little closer to Su Yao’s side.
Thanks to this barrier, it blocked some of the gazes from nearby, though those farther away likely wouldn’t bother looking at her specifically.
Most people here were either sitting idly, playing with their phones to pass time, or gathered with friends to enjoy the lively atmosphere and watch the performance.
Su Yao found a plastic stool and climbed on it.
Only then could she barely see the stage situation.
Even so, only a small portion of her head was visible, and to take photos, she had to raise the camera above her head.
She tested it out just now and found it was workable.
Just as Su Yao was about to step down, someone called out to her.
“Hey, which department are you from, girl?”
Su Yao turned her head to see a girl standing right beside her, also carrying a camera.
But this girl’s camera was clearly more professional than the one Su Yao held. The girl glanced over at Su Yao and her camera, scrutinizing her for a moment, then smiled and said,
“You’re taking pictures? If not, could I borrow the stool for a bit?”
Su Yao nodded, though she didn’t like being looked over head to toe, especially in a situation like this.
She carefully jumped down from the stool and moved aside.
The photography girl climbed up onto the stool and started shooting.
She leaned slightly against the barrier, glanced at the crowd, then looked down at her phone.
There was still a long wait ahead…
Looking beyond the barrier, not far off sat a group of young men and women—students from this school.
They all seemed excited; some were focused on the stage, while others laughed and chatted with each other.
In any case, they looked happy.
Sensing someone’s gaze, Su Yao quickly shrank down, avoiding the stares.
She crouched in a corner, glanced once at the girl enthusiastically taking photos on the stool, then let her eyes follow the edge of the stage forward.
There seemed to be many people there, along with dedicated spots for standing and filming—unlike Su Yao’s current corner, where she could only wait for a chance.
Fortunately, Su Yao only wanted to photograph Mu Nanqiu; she wasn’t interested in anything else.
Her current position wasn’t ideal—she couldn’t see what was happening on stage, only hear the sounds.
Whenever the host announced a performance’s name, Su Yao would listen carefully, and if it wasn’t a piece involving Mu Nanqiu, she would zone out again.
The more one anticipates a moment, the slower time seems to pass.
Su Yao kept staring at the clock, watching the numbers tick second by second. It was hot inside the venue; she had broken out in a slight sweat and had to unzip her jacket, even lifting her shirt a little to let air in.
The place was indoors, equipped with an active ventilation system that continuously circulated air, but with so many people, heat accumulated over time. Su Yao felt it was probably at least one or two degrees warmer inside than outside.
The enthusiasm was truly intense.
“Phew, it should be soon, right?”
She glanced at the time again, growing anxious.
Originally, she had planned to contact Mu Nanqiu directly on QQ. Even if they couldn’t meet, at least chatting online would be something. But she felt that doing so would betray the growing anticipation she held inside.
Su Yao wanted to wait until tonight’s private time together before reaching out, so she decided not to contact Mu Nanqiu just yet.
If she couldn’t contact Mu Nanqiu, at least she could talk to Oyster-chan!
Earlier, she had told Oyster-chan a bit about today’s events, and Oyster-chan replied that she was on a three-day holiday, out playing. She asked how Su Yao was doing and if there were any new developments.
The question caught Su Yao off guard, so she switched topics, talking about running into her little sister-in-law.
Oyster-chan was silent for a moment, then sent a smiling yellow soybean emoji…
Su Yao didn’t understand what that meant and was about to ask, but Oyster-chan changed the subject.
She said things were progressing rapidly on her side and offered to teach Su Yao how to “speedrun at the base!”
Would Su Yao learn? Of course not!
Oyster-chan had come to her first with emotional problems, and now she was the one being outpaced.
Su Yao was a little unwilling.
Though annoyed, she only grumbled quietly inside, feeling genuinely happy that Oyster-chan had found something that could make her forget the past love.
Time passed as they chatted until Oyster-chan suddenly said she had to go. Su Yao was left alone, bored and dazed.
When she glanced at the clock again, Mu Nanqiu’s turn to take the stage was almost upon her.
Su Yao hurriedly stood up, but suddenly her vision darkened, and she nearly collapsed.
Damn, her legs had gone numb…
Frowning in frustration, she lightly pounded her thighs with clenched fists.
When the numbness subsided a little, Su Yao’s gaze shifted to the girl still standing nearby and then glanced down at the stool beneath her.
Su Yao looked serious, wondering how best to ask her.
While she hesitated, the sound system near her suddenly played the host’s introduction.
“……………Up next, please enjoy a performance brought to you by the Dance Club……………”
At this, Su Yao’s heart tightened.
She hurried over to the girl, poked her waist.
The first poke was too light—no response.
Su Yao tried again with a bit more force.
The girl, slightly annoyed by being poked, turned her head and looked down to find the flustered, anxious junior looking up at her.
Her mood immediately brightened.
From her slightly downward angle, she looked like a fluffy cat; her angry expression was not scary at all—in fact, it was quite cute.
“Is that okay?”
Su Yao pouted slightly.
She had tried to control her impatience, but clearly lacked experience; her emotions showed plainly on her face.
The girl smiled at her, took a piece of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to Su Yao.
At this moment, the lights dimmed, and the stage quieted.
Su Yao’s heart skipped a beat.
She couldn’t see the stage clearly, but she sensed the performance had begun.
Without thinking, she accepted the slip of paper, hoping this person would quickly return the stool.
“What’s your name? Let’s do photography together sometime.”
Su Yao stuffed the paper into her pocket and said quietly,
“Yao Su.”
“Yao junior, nice to meet you! Thanks for lending me the spot.
You looked pretty eager, so I’m giving it back to you now.”
The girl smiled again.
After learning Su Yao’s name, she jumped down from the stool.
Su Yao had no time to respond and hurriedly climbed up.
This piano was the newest model in the school.
To achieve the best sound effect during performances, it had been moved here.
To Mu Nanqiu, this piano felt far better than the old one in the Third Conference Room, but in her heart, it still didn’t give her the same feelings as playing the old piano.
She raised her eyes and scanned the crowd, but did not see the figure of her beloved Yao Yao anywhere.
Mu Nanqiu felt angry.
She was certain Su Yao would come.
If she didn’t, she would be furious, and she would take her frustration out on Su Yao, bullying her harshly for yet another disappointment…
Pulling back her gaze, Mu Nanqiu closed her eyes.
She had learned piano when she graduated from high school, and only later began to study dance.
Her teacher had said she was a fast learner technically, but her performance lacked emotion.
At that time, Mu Nanqiu had just emerged from the “Life Goal,” the cage of the heart her parents had imposed on her, and she felt like she had lost everything—an empty shell.
No attachments, nothing in her heart.
Emotion was too distant for her then.
Mu Nanqiu hadn’t never stopped trying to rekindle her interest, but all efforts were futile—she seemed to have no feelings at all.
It wasn’t until two years ago, her freshman year of college, when she met Su Yao in an online game.
Perhaps it was a “try and see” approach that made her wrest Su Yao away from Huaming Ye, leading to today.
During the restrained solo, the piano strings suddenly soared higher, like a storm brewing for long moments finally unleashed in a downpour.
The prologue opened; the elegantly dressed girl stood poised, waiting for this moment. With a key change, the dance and performance truly began.
At that moment, Su Yao peeked her head out and looked toward the stage.