Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

The first time, the rotation was too slow.

"Let's start over." He Xu's voice came from the corner of the wall.

The second time, I was off-center.

"Let's start over."

On the third try, my positioning went astray again.

"Let's start over."

Fourth time, fifth time, sixth time—

Shen Yiheng's sweat had soaked through the front of his T-shirt, and his wet hair clung to his brow bone.

His breathing became heavy, and his knees began to tremble slightly.

Each "starting over" is like a knife, precisely cutting into his weakest point.

He Xu didn't scold him, didn't say "you're no good", and didn't say "you've regressed".

He just sat there, saying "start over" over and over again.

On the seventh time, Shen Yiheng's knee buckled when he landed after the turn, and he staggered half a step to the side.

He braced himself against the floor with his hand to prevent himself from falling, but the stumble was quite noticeable.

He Xu's voice came from the corner of the wall, still calm: "...If you're tired, you can say so."

Shen Yiheng gritted his teeth and stood up: "...Not tired."

Eighth time.

Ninth time.

On the tenth take, Shen Yiheng finally broke down.

When he landed on the floor during the third line of the chorus, he lost control of his body and fell face-first to the ground.

His elbow hit the floor with a dull thud.

He tried to stand up, but his knees wouldn't obey him, and he collapsed back down.

He lay face down on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold wooden floor, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his chin and spreading a small dark stain on the floor.

My shoulders are shaking.

He Xu initially thought he was tired, so he stood up from his chair, walked over to him, and squatted down.

I just realized—

He was crying.

Shen Yiheng lay on the floor, his shoulders heaving, tears falling onto the floor, mingling with his sweat, making it impossible to distinguish which was sweat and which was tears.

He cried silently, but his trembling appearance was more pathetic than any wailing.

He glanced at Shen Yiheng's elbow, which had hit the floor—it was scraped and a faint bloodstain was seeping out.

He Xu was silent for two seconds, then sighed.

He reached out and patted Shen Yiheng on the back of the head, the force neither too strong nor too weak.

"stand up."

Shen Yiheng didn't move, his shoulders were still trembling, and his voice squeezed out from between the floor and his arms, nasal and tearful: "...Don't worry about me."

"I don't care about you, you'll be lying on the floor until tomorrow morning." He Xu's voice finally lost its emotionless indifference.

His tone was soft with a hint of helplessness, like he was coaxing a large dog whose toy had been taken away: "Get up."

Shen Yiheng still didn't move.

He Xu waited two seconds, then reached under his arm and scooped the man up from the floor.

Shen Yiheng stumbled as he was pulled, leaning towards He Xu. He quickly braced himself against the floor to regain his balance.

He kept his head down, his wet hair hanging down to cover his eyes, and tears were still falling.

He Xu looked at his disheveled appearance, remained silent for two seconds, then reached out and pulled the towel off the mirror bar and threw it at his face.

"Wipe it off."

Shen Yiheng took the towel, but didn't wipe himself. He just held it in his hand, head down, standing in front of He Xu.

Seeing his expression, He Xu took a half step back and put both hands into his pockets.

The practice room was so quiet that only the hum of the air conditioner and Shen Yiheng's still-panting breaths could be heard.

"...Why are you crying?" He Xu spoke first. "Did I scold you?"

Shen Yiheng did not look up.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the towel, and his voice came through in a muffled tone: "...It hurts more than if you hadn't scolded me."

He Xu paused for a moment, then his lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile: "What, you like me scolding you now? Didn't the PD say I was too harsh with my insults?"

Shen Yiheng's ears turned red again, and he twisted his fingers, which were gripping the towel, on the fabric a couple of times: "...That's not what I meant."

"So what do you mean?" He Xu's voice remained indifferent.

But he didn't leave, nor did he urge him to answer; he just stood there a step away, waiting.

Shen Yiheng was silent for several seconds: "I mean... when you used to scold me, I knew it was for my own good. But now that you've stopped, I don't know if you genuinely think I dance well, or..."

"Or what?"

"...Are you still telling me in this way that you think I'm not worth teaching anymore?"

He Xu was stunned for a moment, then laughed.

The laughter was soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet practice room.

He shook his head, with an expression that was hard to tell whether it was helplessness or amusement: "Shen Yiheng, you're twenty-three, how come your brain is still like a seventeen-year-old's?"

Shen Yiheng looked at him blankly, not understanding what he meant.

"I'm not angry."

"...You call that not being angry, considering how you acted at noon?"

"That's called sulking," He Xu corrected him. "Being angry and sulking are two different things. Being angry means I genuinely think you're wrong, while sulking means—I know you're not wrong, but I just want to make you uncomfortable."

He spoke with such conviction, as if there was no difference between them.

Shen Yiheng opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

Looking at his expression, He Xu finally sighed, took a half step back, leaned against the mirror, and put his hands in his pockets.

"...You're right, I did use too much harsh language."

Shen Yiheng was stunned for a moment, clearly not expecting He Xu to say that.

"I thought about Liu Xinyang's situation later, and he really isn't like you guys." He Xu's gaze fell on the opposite wall. "You guys can take it after being scolded, and you can get up and keep practicing. But he can't; he can't take it."

He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips, tinged with self-deprecation: "When I was teaching you guys at Banxing, I thought swearing was the most effective way to get things done—it was quick and direct."

"I scolded you until you cried, and after you finished crying you practiced, and after you practiced you improved, how convenient! But later I realized that not everyone can do what you guys do."

Shen Yiheng's grip on the towel loosened slightly: "...Then why are you still sulking?"

"I'm sulking because you're right, but what you said was too harsh." He Xu tilted his head to look at him. "You said, 'You can't expect everyone to be like you just because you can handle it.' That's true, but it sounds like you're saying I'm cold-blooded."

Shen Yiheng wanted to refute, but found that he had indeed said those words.

He Xu straightened up from the mirror, walked up to him, and stared into his eyes: "You're my student, don't I know what kind of person you are? You didn't mean to hurt me with those words, you were just in a hurry and didn't think it through."

Shen Yiheng lowered his head: "...Yes."

He Xu reached out and patted him on the back of the head: "So I'm not angry with you."

"I was just being stubborn—I wanted to show you what it feels like to be told 'wrong'." He withdrew his hand, took half a step back, and said, "Alright, we're even."

"Don't say I'm too harsh with my insults anymore. I'll try to tone it down in the future—but if some people really do want to curse, don't stop me."

Shen Yiheng's expression finally relaxed, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly: "...Okay."

He Xu looked at his expression, nodded, turned around and walked towards the door: "Let's go, I'm going back to take a shower, I'm all sweaty."

Shen Yiheng stood there, watching He Xu's back, and suddenly called out to him, "He Xu."

He Xu turned his head away.

"sorry."

He Xu paused for a second, then waved his hand: "Pretentious."