Chapter Forty: Late Arrival

Outside the corridor, several photographers squatted by the windows, exchanging glances as they struggled to hold back their laughter. No one knew what was going on inside—over twenty people were all dancing a move that looked utterly ridiculous, with Chen Siyang even helping to film with her phone.

Before long, Chen Siyang herself couldn’t take it anymore and collapsed onto the floor, clutching her stomach as she burst into laughter.

The whole scene was simply too absurd—bold and comical at the same time.

Even the photographers’ camera lenses began to tremble from their suppressed giggles.

Only the lead dancer remained spirited and focused.

“Hey, I’m talking to you! Poise—do you know what that is? Look at the guy next to you with the crooked smile. That’s right, just like that—crooked mouth, eyes on the sky, defying everyone…” Tang Zhichu called out loudly.

Tang Zhichu, as the lead, had managed to bring out even Chen Siyang’s unique flair.

After another round, Tang Zhichu gave them all a thumbs-up, then made his exit, leaving behind a group of people exchanging glances and mocking laughter.

“You looked so ugly when you danced!”

“No, you were uglier!”

“I felt so silly, but I was so happy!”

“I can’t stop laughing. Why does Tang seem to actually look cool when he dances?”

Soon, everyone was searching for their phones, asking their friends to record them too.

Tang Zhichu returned to his original seat and picked up the bottle of water someone had given him earlier.

“You all look ridiculous—I can’t stop laughing!” Chen Siyang crawled over, still giggling.

Tang Zhichu shrugged. “We were being serious about it. What? You don’t appreciate my dancing?”

“Haha, I give up, you’re amazing. How did you even come up with that?”

“I just made it up myself.”

After a good laugh, Chen Siyang considered having the trainees keep dancing, but then decided against it. Everyone was having too much fun, filming videos and comparing them, breaking into laughter all over again.

“Come on, let’s go get some coffee,” Chen Siyang said, getting to her feet, deciding the lesson had probably come to an end.

Tang Zhichu nodded and stood as well.

Not far away, someone noticed the two of them leaving through the back door and wanted to say hello, but was held back by a friend.

“What are you doing, trying to be a third wheel?”

“Is Tang really Ms. Chen’s boyfriend?”

“I never said that, and don’t go spreading rumors.”

A girl, about fifteen or sixteen, nodded, watching Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang’s departing figures. Suddenly, she said, “I actually kind of like him.”

Her friend stared, “Like who?”

“Oh, not that kind of like—more like respect.”

“Why? Because he taught us that dance?”

“No…” The girl thought for a moment, then replied, “It’s what he said. Dreams are important, but happiness is more important.”

Her friend fell silent. This was a star-making factory, where everyone fought for their dreams. Yet, out of so many, how many would actually become real artists?

The café was on the second floor, right next to the canteen. Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang sat across from each other.

Neither spoke. Chen Siyang stirred her coffee with a spoon, while Tang Zhichu gazed out at the traffic below.

If he hadn’t disrupted things, this date would probably have been an inspirational one.

“I didn’t expect you to be so funny,” Chen Siyang said suddenly.

Tang Zhichu snapped out of his thoughts and smiled. “How was I funny? I call it happiness. When I’m bored, I just find ways to have fun.”

Chen Siyang widened her eyes. “So you’re saying I bored you?”

“No, I was worried you’d be bored.”

“You looked like you were having a great time yourself.”

Tang Zhichu didn’t argue. He took out his phone and opened DY.

Curious, Chen Siyang asked, “What are you doing?”

Tang Zhichu waved his phone at her, motioning for her to come over.

She got up and sat beside him. Tang Zhichu scrolled through DY, then opened the nearby videos. After a few swipes, he found videos of the trainees dancing the “Orange Memory” routine.

“See? Quite a few likes already!” Tang Zhichu grinned.

Chen Siyang leaned in to look, and immediately burst out laughing.

The dance was indeed addictive. To someone as skilled as Chen Siyang, she could tell—it might actually go viral.

Tang Zhichu scrolled through several more similar videos, all posted within the last twenty minutes, some already with over a thousand likes.

These trainees had a natural advantage—they were all good-looking, with small fanbases. They were also professionals, mindful not to reveal any program secrets; neither Tang Zhichu nor Chen Siyang appeared in the videos.

Tang Zhichu nodded in satisfaction. In his previous life, he had worked deeply with DY, well aware of its power. In his professional terms, this was called building your own traffic pool.

“So, what’s next?” Tang Zhichu asked Chen Siyang.

She looked at him curiously. “Are you sure you still need me to make plans for you?”

Uh…

Clearly, Chen Siyang knew Tang Zhichu had another date coming up.

Tang Zhichu straightened his back. “Just make the plans! Whoever backs out is a coward!”

Chen Siyang laughed. “Fine, then come with me to the acting class.”

After the acting class ended, it was four in the afternoon.

Tang Zhichu left the Tianhe branch office.

He didn’t dwell on Chen Siyang’s feelings; their dynamic was clear enough. He made no attempt to hide his partiality toward her.

They were all adults—whatever happened in the future could be dealt with then.

By the time Tang Zhichu arrived at Zhou Yun’s gym, it was after five.

The gym was on the second floor of a shopping street. Zhou Yun met him downstairs.

She didn’t look pleased to see him. Their meeting was originally set for four, and though she’d allowed extra time, it was now five-thirty.

In the elevator, Zhou Yun stood by the doors, with Tang Zhichu behind her.

Zhou Yun’s outfits were always bold—Tang Zhichu almost didn’t dare look at her. She wore a sports bra on top and yoga pants below.

To put it simply, her curves were barely concealed, and her exposed skin was dazzlingly fair.

As the elevator doors opened, Zhou Yun said suddenly, “You know, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Tang Zhichu paused, surprised—this didn’t sound like something Zhou Yun would say. It was too emotional.

Nevertheless, he followed her.

The receptionist was also a young woman, very pretty. She prepared to greet them cheerfully but stopped short, noticing the boss’s sour expression.

At this hour, the gym was busy, but spacious enough to accommodate everyone.

There were two main zones: an ordinary area, where people worked out on their own—mostly running, with treadmills facing large screens for watching shows—and a VIP area, which had even more equipment but fewer people, each with a personal trainer, both men and women.

Zhou Yun’s authority in the gym was even greater than Tang Zhichu had expected; he could sense the nervousness among the trainers when she appeared.

Zhou Yun led Tang Zhichu to the locker room and handed him a set of workout clothes.

Tang Zhichu thought to himself that his legs were in for another round of pain.

Zhou Yun was meticulous—the clothes fit perfectly, just like last time.

When he stepped out, changed, Zhou Yun was leaning against the door, lost in thought.

Tang Zhichu took the initiative. “Sorry,” he said.

He felt he owed her an apology; he truly hadn’t been punctual.

Zhou Yun waved it off. “Forget it. I’ve made a detailed fitness plan for you based on your condition. If you want to train, come with me.”

“Of course I want to train—you lead the way.”