SBAB Chapter 8

Cheng Shiyin obediently stood there waiting for Gu Nian, just as Lin Xin’s performance in Swan Lake quietly began.

Gu Nian had mentioned to Cheng Shiyin that he had hired a novice to play the Black Swan, and the training wasn’t very effective. So, he advised not to delve too deeply—just enjoy it as a comedic adaptation, and who knows, there might be some clumsy mishaps, forgotten lines, or similar moments.

But a slapstick version of the villainous Black Swan was quite creative, so Cheng Shiyin watched more intently, frequently glancing toward the backstage, eager to get a sneak peek at this unique Black Swan.

Lin Xin was already quite nervous, her heart pounding harder as some hidden nerves flared up, making movements like a grand leap nearly impossible—they might end up tearing something. Actions where someone lifts her high up were even riskier, given how close they came to each other’s faces.

As it approached her turn to perform, Lin Xin suddenly noticed that demonic maidservant eyeing her with evident interest. Lin Xin acted as if she hadn’t noticed, casting a glance out of the corner of her eye. The maid’s gaze was no longer on her, yet Lin Xin felt a vague sense of disappointment that she hadn’t been the center of attention.

The demonic maidservant seemed to sense Lin Xin’s look and casually returned her gaze. Seeing the maid’s slowly turning red eyes, Lin Xin’s heart skipped a beat as if it was ready to run away. Lin Xin dared not meet her gaze again, dropping her head but then spotting the “abyss of hell” that had tormented her.

“As a man, I’ve still got it,” Lin Xin thought to himself, reacting a second time after the initial jolt.

However, after a brief joke, he knew he needed a solution—he couldn’t afford to appear abnormal when he took the stage.

Lin Xin’s three roommates, seeing him head for the stage, all anxiously clenched their fists, fearing he might fall if he made a misstep. After all, he was just a freshman; if he messed up, they’d be laughing at him for four years. But reality was about to surprise them.

The Black Swan entrance was a highlight of the performance, yet no one could see Lin Xin’s true expression. It was just too fast.

Human potential is limitless when faced with danger, and that was exactly Lin Xin’s situation now. Whether it was divine intervention or sheer survival instinct, Lin Xin’s performance wasn’t the simplified, cautious moves others had concocted for her—it was a series of dazzling, high-speed spins. The audience might not have seen his acting, but they were awestruck by his sheer skill and speed.

Only after Lin Xin finished and exited did Gu Nian manage to make his way to Cheng Shiyin’s side, pulling her to a seat in the second row near the back door.

Cheng Shiyin whispered in Gu Nian’s ear, “You said the Black Swan was a novice? I thought she was pretty good.”

Gu Nian replied, “I was busy and didn’t catch the performance, but when I watched the rehearsal yesterday, she couldn’t even hold her foot up for long.” Gu Nian’s impression of Lin Xin was just that of a slightly more attractive younger student who had a bit of a crush on him—not someone who compared to his girlfriend. But what he appreciated most about Lin Xin was that she didn’t overtly express her feelings, which allowed him to continue depending on her for student council duties without feeling awkward.

Hearing Cheng Shiyin’s comment, Gu Nian suddenly grew curious about Lin Xin. Someone who could change so much overnight was certainly worth knowing more about. He playfully teased Cheng Shiyin, “Well, I’ll take you back to meet her backstage later, but she might not be too happy about it.” Lin Xin could probably roll her eyes at that, thinking there could be even bigger changes overnight.

Gu Nian’s words were quite clear—Lin Xin was probably a lovestruck, naive girl with a crush on Gu Nian, though he hadn’t caught on yet. But as Gu Nian’s girlfriend, there wasn’t a reason not to go along with it, so Cheng Shiyin nodded in agreement.

Unexpectedly, the worst performer, in the end, was The Prince of Robots by Ying Lun—his cold, emotionless lines led the audience to believe that the Prince was already dead, leaving only an empty human shell, which suddenly made the whole plot feel ambiguous.

After Ying Lun’s performance concluded, the show finally ended.

As everyone happily exited the stage, Ying Lun suddenly walked quickly, weaving through layer after layer of people to find Lin Xin, who had wrapped up early. He asked in a stiff tone, “If you have such skills, why did you mess up during rehearsals? Was it deliberate?”

Lin Xin found Ying Lun’s questioning both irritating and amusing—being praised for overshooting could imply hidden talents. If he had such skills, he wouldn’t have to work so hard every day. Ying Lun’s robotic logic combined with his usual monotone was amusing, and Lin Xin simply shook his head, laughing quietly.

Even though the performance was over, no one was taking off their costumes. Dressing as a swan felt like eating hot pot in summer—it was unbearably hot. Yet, taking it off would be like plunging into the pot.

Backstage, Lin Xin, the only Black Swan, stood out among the flock of White Swans, naturally becoming the center of attention. However, Lin Xin wasn’t particularly engaged in the conversation; he was physically tired, but more than that, he felt a bit empty inside.

He recalled his view from the stage during the performance:

Lin Xin was spinning so fast that he shouldn’t have been able to see the expressions of the audience. Yet, he caught glimpses of every move the “demon” made—like on a night, catching a glimpse of a hanging figure through a flash of lightning.

What he saw was bound to play a crucial role in the future storyline.

She seemed to be searching for someone, and then she seemed to find the person she was looking for, waving and walking towards them. She reached his side, and patted his shoulder, and whatever she said brought a fleeting smile to her lips.

Lin Xin imagined a scene where an ice mountain melts, and the earth comes to life, all because of that momentary smile.

Lin Xin wondered who could be so fortunate as to elicit such an expression from her, who could casually chat and joke with her in everyday life. Up until now, Lin Xin still saw her as a true demonic beauty, one whose allure would drag a person willingly into the depths of hell.

After another spin, Lin Xin finally saw who that lucky person was.

It was Gu Nian.

Senior Gu Nian.

Lin Xin’s missing puzzle piece finally clicked into place—the demonic theory was just a far-fetched fantasy. The only logical answer was that she was Gu Nian’s girlfriend.

Despite years of secret admiration, Lin Xin was now experiencing the bittersweet pangs of love for the first time.

It was as if adding four spoonfuls of coffee without a drop of milk—a bitter kick. Or adding four spoonfuls of salt, mistaking it for sugar, and shaking it into coffee. Bitter and sharp.

Lin Xin sidled over to Ying Lun’s side, lowering his voice to ask, “Do you know Gu Nian’s girlfriend?”

Ying Lun glanced at Lin Xin but didn’t answer, then patted Lin Xin’s shoulder.

Lin Xin looked up, meeting the piercingly white eyes that had tempted him twice today. This time, he wasn’t drawn to them. Instead, he looked at the hand Gu Nian was holding with Cheng Shiyin’s.

Too hot.

Lin Xin wasn’t sure whether to stand or sit, so he kept his head high, meeting Cheng Shiyin’s gaze.

Cheng Shiyin’s lips curled slightly in a small, amused smile as she said, “Hi, I’m Cheng Shiyin. You were great today.”

“Lin Xin,” he replied, returning a smile.

The air froze, Lin Xin desperately trying to suppress his nerves, unable to speak another word. Cheng Shiyin was also at a loss for words, staring at him the same way Lin Xin had earlier.

Lin Xin’s Black Swan makeup was still visible—black eyeshadow extending from the corners of his eyes to his temples, covering his pale skin, lips colored like oxidized blood. His hair was pulled high, crowned with a symbol of darkness.

The Black Swan was also a princess, just as noble and untouchable. But Lin Xin smiled—a smile that was almost reserved, yet still betraying a hint of shyness.

Even though his entire being seemed shrouded in coldness, a hint of pink showed through the blackness.