Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

For the first two days after He Xu finished filming, he returned to his leisurely life.

On the first day, he slept for a full twelve hours. When he woke up, the sunlight filtering through the curtains had moved from the east to the west.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes, then turned over and slept for another two hours.

The next day, he managed to get up at ten o'clock in the morning, washed up and went downstairs. Marco had already put breakfast on the table—porridge, fried eggs, and a plate of cut fruit.

He sat at the table and slowly finished his meal, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the palm tree outside the window, his mind blank.

He glanced down at his phone—no new messages.

Jen hasn't sent out any new work assignments, and the production team hasn't given any notice about reshoots.

He scrolled through NOVA's group chat and saw that Jiang Yang had posted a selfie in the rehearsal room with the caption "Exhausted but happy." Li Bufan replied with a string of "hahahahaha" below.

He didn't reply and put his phone down.

Then he picked it up again, unlocked it, swiped twice, and locked the screen again.

boring.

On the third morning, he stood in the living room, his gaze sweeping over the sofa, coffee table, television, and the swimming pool outside the floor-to-ceiling windows—

Everything remained quietly in its proper place; nothing required his intervention.

He stood there for about ten seconds, then turned around, walked back to the entrance, changed his shoes, picked up his coat, and went out.

He hailed a taxi and gave them the address of the dance studio.

When I pushed open the door, the air was still filled with that familiar scent of sweat, anti-slip powder, and sports spray, which made me feel at ease.

Sunlight streamed in obliquely through the high windows, tracing parallel streaks of light on the dark wooden floor.

There was no one in the dance studio.

It was a weekday morning, and most dancers were at work or in class. The space was so quiet that you could hear the echo of your own footsteps.

He Xu walked to the wall, took off his coat and draped it over the chair, bent down to tie his shoelaces, and then stood in front of the mirror.

He didn't play any music; he just stretched his shoulders and wrists, and then started with the most basic rhythms—stepping in place, shifting his weight, and slowly opening his body to a silent beat.

The movements were slow, as if the body was re-familiarizing itself with the space.

After jumping for about ten minutes, he stopped to drink some water and then stood in front of the mirror again.

This time he played a piece of music—a slow-paced electronic track with a steady bass drum and wide gaps between the beats.

He followed the song's theme and improvised a bit; the movements weren't complicated, but rather focused on feeling the flow of his body.

Sweat slowly seeped out, trickling down his forehead. He raised his hand and wiped it with the back of his hand, then continued jumping.

After dancing for nearly an hour, he stopped, turned off the music, bent over, and took a couple of breaths while supporting himself on his knees.

Then he heard a rustling sound coming from the doorway.

He Xu straightened up, turned his head, and looked towards the crack in the door.

There was a pair of eyes peeking through the crack in the door.

It was very quiet; there was no dodging or panic at being discovered.

She stared at him intently through that narrow gap, barely the width of a hand.

He Xu paused for a moment.

He has seen many kinds of gazes that "he was being watched"—from students, fans, staff, and passersby.

But this pair is different.

The look in those eyes was more like a pure, unadulterated focus, as if he were looking at something he didn't understand but was fascinated by.

He Xu straightened up, took the towel off his neck, and tilted his head towards the door: "Who are you looking for?"

The eyes outside the door blinked, but the person neither spoke nor left.

He Xu was silent for two seconds, then walked over and opened the door.

A boy was standing in the hallway outside the door.

She was sixteen or seventeen years old, with black hair cut very short, and wisps of hair falling slightly over her brow bone.

Her skin was very fair, her features were so delicate they were almost transparent, and the curve of her jawline was very thin and delicate. She looked like a piece of porcelain that had been displayed in a shop window for too long and had accumulated a thin layer of dust.

He was wearing a loose gray sweatshirt with sleeves so long they covered half a finger and the hem reaching mid-thigh.

He wasn't holding a phone or carrying a backpack; he just stood there quietly, silent and dazed like a plant.

He Xu looked down at him, confirming that he did not recognize the face.

"...What are you doing here?" He Xu asked again, this time speaking more slowly.

The boy did not answer.

Looking into his overly quiet eyes, He Xu suddenly noticed a detail—although the man's gaze was on him, it did not actually meet his eyes.

It was as if they were looking at his shoulder, or at the mirror behind him, always avoiding direct eye contact.

Something doesn't seem right?

He Xu's heart stirred slightly.

He glanced at the face again—the arch of the brow bone, the shape of the corners of the eyes, the bone structure beneath the skin—an Asian face, but clearly not Chinese or Japanese.

"...한국사람이에요? (Are you Korean?)" He switched to Korean and tentatively asked in a low voice.

The boy's eyelashes finally twitched.

He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to decipher the meaning of the string of syllables.

Then his lips moved, and a soft voice squeezed out from his throat, with an unskilled, awkward quality, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time: "...Yes."

He Xu leaned against the doorframe, looking at the overly quiet boy, and slowed down his Korean: "이름이뭐에요? 혼자오셨어요? (What's your name? Did you come alone?)"

The boy hesitated for a moment, then said, "...Ian."

He Xu nodded, took a half step back, and moved aside to clear the doorway: "Do you want to come in?"

Ian looked at him, as if trying to discern the meaning behind his words.

Then he lifted his foot, stepped over the threshold, and came in.

He walks with his center of gravity slightly forward, taking small steps, and his gait is a bit awkward.

He walked to the center of the dance studio, sat down on the floor in front of the mirror, hugged his knees, and looked up at He Xu, waiting quietly.

He Xu stood next to him, looking down at the boy whose behavior was somewhat strange.

He didn't rush to speak again, but instead walked back to the wall, picked up the water bottle, took a sip, and then stood in front of the mirror again, glancing at Ian sideways: "너나춤추는걸보고있어? (Are you watching me dance?)"

Ian nodded.