CHAPTER 55: I GIVE UP!

Her sleeves swished elegantly, her footwork crisp.

People clapped and gasped.

"She’s so good!"

"She’s like a fairy!"

"It’s over for that little girl Huaijin..."

But Huaijin just watched, arms crossed, expression calm.

Then the music shifted, light, playful, almost mischievous.

Huaijin took one step, then another.

Not like a child trying to copy adults or Yuanying, who seemed stiffly glued to tradition.

She danced like the wind.

Her posture was free, smooth, and alive.

Her steps were light and soft, her arms waving naturally, her sleeves billowing like clouds. She spun once, and the audience bloomed into applause.

"Waaahhh!! She’s adorable!"

"She moves so well!"

"How is she this good?!"

Song Jue nearly dropped his sugar haw stick. "She’s... she’s amazing!"

Yun Jue’s serious expression softened, his eyes widening just a bit. "...Beautiful."

Liang Lingzhi slammed her palm against her forehead. "Are you kidding me?! She’s so good! Haha! Yuanying is in trouble!"

Even the teachers were whispering in awe.

But Yuanying?

Yuanying’s smile cracked. Her steps faltered.

She hadn’t expected this.

Huaijin wasn’t just good; she was better than all the little girls she competed with before.

And Huaijin wasn’t done.

She added a little hop, then a twirl, a cheeky wink at the audience, making them squeal.

She finished her segment with a playful flourish, stepping directly in front of Yuanying with a daring grin.

"Your turn, cousin," she said sweetly.

Yuanying’s face turned red.

She jumped into her next movement, desperate to regain control, only to stumble slightly. Her fan slipped, making the audience gasp.

Huaijin caught it midair.

And handed it back to her. "Oops. Careful."

Yuanying’s eye twitched.

Then she danced again, but every mistake got worse. Her tempo slipped, her steps lost sync with the music, her frustration showing clearly.

While Huaijin followed every movement with fluid ease, copying Yuanying’s practiced routine and executing it better than the original.

By the time the final note rang out, Yuanying was panting, sweating, glaring at Huaijin. When Huaijin, by contrast, stood calm and bright, breathing evenly.

A teacher raised her hand.

"Winner—Chi Huaij—"

"I GIVE UP!!" Yuanying suddenly yelled.

The crowd gasped again.

Yuanying threw her fan down, stomping her foot like an angry peacock.

"I—I can’t beat her!" she shouted. "She’s too fast, too flexible, and too annoying!"

The audience burst into laughter.

Chi Huaijin shrugged innocently. "You challenged me."

Yuanying’s face turned beet-red. "I didn’t expect you to—"

"To win?" Huaijin completed gently. "Next time, think before dragging innocent people into your drama."

Yuanying let out an inarticulate scream and stormed off the stage.

Liang Lingzhi clapped loudly from the audience. "HAH! That’s what you get!"

Song Jue looked between them, completely stunned, his view of his classmates forever changed.

Yun Jue’s tall figure walked to the front of the stage and looked up at her with quiet admiration. "...Sis won."

Huaijin hopped down from the stage and patted his head. "Of course I did."

Yuanfeng let out a long, suffering sigh, one of exasperation and pride.

"You gave me a heart attack," he muttered, scooping her into his arms.

Huaijin hugged him back. "But I won!"

"Yes," Yuanfeng said helplessly. "You won. And caused a scene."

She grinned. "A fun scene!"

All around them, applause thundered.

The festival lanterns glowed brighter than ever.

And little Chi Huaijin had accidentally become the star of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

***

Chi Huaijin had always known, from the very first moment she opened her eyes in this world, that many things in this so-called "destined plot" were already crooked long before she ever entered the stage.

Not because she interfered. Not because she tried to change fate.

But because fate was always unfair to someone.

And one of those "someones" was Chi Yuanying.

Even if the original script of this world wanted to write Chi Yuanying as a future villainess with an inevitable tragic end, in front of Huaijin’s eyes stood no villainess, only a little girl with too much pride, too much insecurity, and too much fear wrapped up in a shell of arrogance.

Yuanying was only eight years old.

Eight-year-olds did not know how to be evil. They only knew how to protect what they believed belonged to them.

Huaijin quietly looked at the girl in front of her, the same girl who had stormed off the stage in humiliation earlier, the same girl whose eyes had gone red not because of pain from her twisted ankle but because her pride had shattered in front of the boy she liked.

She was crying silently, hunched over on a folding metal chair backstage, the glitter still clinging to her hair from her performance.

Her stage costume, so carefully prepared, now had dust smeared across it. Her ankle was scraped.

And on her palms were red marks from catching herself too harshly when she tripped.

"Yuanying," Huaijin called softly.

The older girl jolted faintly. At first, she tried to mask her expression, but she was only eight. Her acting skills were not polished enough to hide the raw woundedness simmering beneath.

"What are you doing here?" Yuanying snapped, not truly angry, only defensive. "Did you come to laugh at me? Or did you come to—"

"To check if you broke anything," Huaijin interrupted flatly.

The simple, dry tone stunned Yuanying.

Huaijin did not bother waiting for her permission.

She dragged a small stool over with her tiny foot, climbed onto it with practiced ease, and plopped a first-aid kit onto her lap.

Yuanying’s brows twisted.

"Who told you to steal that?" she demanded. "It’s backstage property—"

"It’s for emergencies." Huaijin shrugged lightly. "You’re the emergency."

The older girl’s mouth fell open, speechless.

And Huaijin, without wasting any more time, reached for one of Yuanying’s hands, pulling it gently toward her.

"Don’t touch me!" Yuanying yanked back instantly like a startled cat.

"Sit still," Huaijin said.

"I said don’t touch—!"

Huaijin looked up.

A silent stare.

It was a stare that most children could not understand, but adults knew well.