novelraw Chapter 64: Cloud-like Hair, Flower-like Face, Golden Hairpin
Chapter 64: Cloud-like Hair, Flower-like Face, Golden Hairpin
Ding Heng went to the hotel reception: "Have all my requests been arranged?"
The receptionist smiled slightly and handed over the room key with both hands: "Everything is arranged, sir. The 27th floor, please go up."
Ding Heng took the room key and turned to look at Hua Qing.
Hua Qing stood a few steps away, her hands hanging at her sides, standing ramrod straight.
But Ding Heng could see that she was trembling slightly.
"Let's go."
He waved the room key in his hand, signaling Hua Qing to follow him, and entered the private elevator of the presidential suite.
The enclosed space, the soft lighting, and the mirrored walls reflected the figures of the two people.
Hua Qing stared at the numbers constantly changing on the elevator door.
1, 2, 3, 4...
Her heart pounded.
Each beat is faster than the last.
It was so fast it almost popped out of my throat.
"Would you like to eat something first?"
Ding Heng's voice suddenly rang out.
Hua Qing was taken aback and turned to look at him.
Ding Heng leaned against the elevator wall, speaking casually, "Senior, you haven't had dinner yet, have you? Want to grab something to eat?"
"Need not……"
Hua Qing's voice was dry and hoarse.
Ding Heng nodded: "Okay, then let me know when you get tired and I'll have them bring it up."
累？
Hua Qing's heart skipped a beat again.
What does it mean to be tired?
Does it mean it will last a long time?
She didn't dare to think any further.
The elevator stopped on the 27th floor.
The door opened to reveal a wide corridor, at the end of which stood a heavy, double-leafed, ornately carved door.
The moment Ding Heng swiped his card and pushed open the door, Hua Qing was suddenly stunned.
It wasn't because of the luxury of the presidential suite.
Rather, it's because—
In the center of the living room, in the open space in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, stands a clothes rack.
A dance dress hung on the clothes rack.
Hua Qing seemed to be nailed to the spot, and it took her a while before she slowly walked over, step by step.
The pupils are dilating.
My breathing is becoming shallow.
It was a Tang Dynasty-style dance dress.
The color scheme is an extremely gorgeous interweaving of crimson and gold, and the skirt is composed of a large-sleeved shirt, a hem skirt, and a shawl, forming a standard style.
The outer layer of the long-sleeved shirt is a semi-transparent, purplish-red gauze, as thin as a cicada's wing, with gold thread embroidered with intertwined peonies along the edges. Each petal is embroidered so vividly that the gold thread shimmers with tiny sparkles in the light.
The inner skirt is a deep pomegranate red, and the embroidery on the chest is the most intricate, with large blooming peonies surrounding a phoenix with outstretched wings, interwoven with gold, silver, and colorful silk threads, and tiny pearls adorning the flower stamens.
The skirt flares out from below the chest, with fine pleats, each pleat concealing a hidden pattern that shimmers with light as you walk.
The most eye-catching item is the shawl.
A length of crimson gauze, about ten feet long, with gold-threaded peonies embroidered at both ends, was hanging down from the hanger like a frozen sunset.
The accessories were neatly arranged on the low table next to it.
Golden floral ornaments, hairpins, and earrings.
There was also a pair of satin shoes with upturned toes, the tips adorned with pom-poms.
Hua Qing walked to the clothes rack and stretched out her hand.
Her fingers touched the thin veil.
Soft, cool, and smooth to the touch.
It was like touching a long-forgotten corner of my memory.
For Hua Qing, there are two most important performances in her life so far: one is "Asking the Sword Across Heaven and Earth" selected for the Lotus Award.
Another one...
When she was twelve years old, she participated in her first formal competition, dancing "The Drunken Beauty of Yu Huan".
The dance dresses from ten years ago weren't this gorgeous; the material was ordinary, and the embroidery was rough.
But she still remembers the day of the competition.
The backstage area was chaotic, with young girls huddled together doing makeup, stretching their legs, and memorizing choreography; some were so nervous they were crying.
She wasn't nervous.
She just stood there, looking at herself in the mirror.
She wore a not-so-glamorous dance dress, and her hair was styled in an ancient-style bun by her mother, adorned with cheap plastic hair ornaments.
As she stepped onto the stage and the music began, she completely emptied her mind.
Only actions.
Only rhythm.
Only what flows in the body, something hotter than blood.
The dance is over.
There was a two-second silence in the audience.
Then applause broke out.
The judges looked at him as if he were a monster, utterly shocked.
Her mother rushed onto the stage and hugged her, crying so hard that her makeup was ruined.
"Hua Qing! You are your mother's pride!"
That was the first time in her life that she found meaning.
It's not as simple as "I want to dance".
Rather—I was born to dance!
Hua Qing's fingertips tightened slightly, gripping the thin veil.
My eyes feel a little hot.
She took a deep breath and turned her head.
Ding Heng stood not far away, looking down and fiddling with the camera in his hand.
She opened her mouth, but after a long pause, she managed to utter, "You... why did you prepare this dress?"
Ding Heng raised his camera and gestured to her at the right angle: "Senior, do you still remember how to jump?"
Hua Qing was stunned.
Do you remember?
How could I not remember?
Those movements are etched into her bones; she can't forget them even if she doesn't dance them for ten years.
but……
Ding Heng didn't urge her, and waited quietly.
Hua Qing turned back to look at the dancing dress.
The light fell on the skirt, making the gold threads flow and the peonies bloom.
It's so much prettier than the one she wore when she was twelve.
It's as beautiful as a dream.
So beautiful that she...
Suddenly I feel like crying.
It wasn't because I was moved.
It's because she knows that the moment she puts on this dress, the meaning of this dance will be completely changed for her.
What will it become?
She became a tool to please men.
To become a commodity in this transaction.
It became her bargaining chip in exchange for the ointment.
"Ding Heng".
She spoke, her voice a little hoarse: "Could we change the dance?"
Ding Heng looked at her without saying a word.
Hua Qing pursed her lips, and for the first time, she pleaded, "I'll dance something else for you, or whatever else you want to see—classical dance, folk dance, modern dance… I can do any of the popular dances to songs on Douyin!"
She paused, almost humbled to the point of being insignificant.
"Can we skip this part?"
Ding Heng smiled knowingly, as if he were looking at something interesting, then raised his camera again, pointing the lens at Hua Qing.
"Sorry, senior, this is what I want to see."
Three days after the mission was announced, Ding Heng began preparing for today.
Because of his True Sight Eyes, he could read all of Hua Qing's information at will, including the most precious parts of her heart.
Many people have covered or danced the same routine, and videos of it can be found online.
As for clothes, she could still ask Hua Yue for them. She didn't even realize that Ding Heng had given her cousin's body measurements, and just assumed that he had hooked up with some new girl again.
Hua Qing stood still, motionless.
one second.
two seconds.
Five seconds.
ten seconds.
Then she walked to the dance dress, reached out, and took it off the hanger.
Ding Heng reminded him, "The dressing room is over there."
"Need not."
Hua Qing shook her head, her voice soft and filled with despair.
"You'll see it sooner or later anyway."
After saying that, he began to take off his clothes.
First, there was that wooden hairpin.
Hua Qing raised her hand and pulled out the wooden hairpin.
Her long hair, now unbound, cascaded down like a black silk ribbon, reaching her waist.
Then came the palace sash.
The dark blue silk ribbon was wrapped around her waist twice and tied in an exquisite knot.
Her fingers were slender, and her movements were so slow that every detail was clearly visible.
The knot is untied.
The silk ribbon slipped off.
She untied the side ties and slipped the pale yellow chiffon blouse off her shoulders.
clavicle.
Shoulder.
Arm.
It was revealed inch by inch.
Her skin is very fair.
It wasn't a pale white, but a white like mutton fat jade, with a warm and lustrous sheen.
Her body, honed through years of dance training, has not an ounce of excess fat.
Straight shoulders, distinct collarbones, slender arms with smooth muscle lines.
The shirt slipped down to her feet.
She stood there, wearing only a moon-white bodice on her upper body.
The color is pure white, with delicate orchids embroidered along the edges.
The fabric is so thin that you can vaguely see the contours of the fabric underneath.
She kept her head down and didn't look at Ding Heng.
But she knew he was watching.
Because the shutter clicked.
"Click."
A very soft sound.
Her fingers paused for a moment, then continued.
The belt of her horse-face skirt was tied at her waist, and she fumbled to untie it.
The navy blue skirt slipped down and piled up at her feet, revealing a matching moon-white underpants underneath.
The trousers were wide-legged, reaching just below the knees, revealing a section of smooth calves.
She was only wearing a bodice and underpants.
Her long hair was draped down, covering half of her face.
The light shone down from above, casting a soft silhouette on her.
"Click."
Another shutter click.
Her eyelashes trembled.
Then he bent down to pick up the Tang-style dance skirt.
When she bends over, her long hair slips down from her shoulders and falls to her chest.
The fabric of the bellyband was slightly stretched, outlining the curve of the back.
The spine groove is deep, running down from the shoulder blade and disappearing into the edge of the underwear.
She straightened up and unfurled her purplish-red and golden-gold dance skirt.
She wore a pomegranate-red herringbone skirt with intricate embroidery on the chest.
She held the skirt close to her body and checked its position.
Then, reach your fingers behind your back and begin tying the strap.
When tying the straps, she had to stretch her arms backward.
Her waist was so slender it could be grasped in one hand.
The shoulder blades sway slightly with the movement, and the curve of the back is more pronounced because of this posture, like a butterfly flapping its wings.
After fastening her kimono skirt, she picked up the deep purple wide-sleeved blouse and draped it over her shoulders.
The sheer fabric fell over her shoulders, its semi-transparent texture revealing glimpses of the moon-white bodice beneath.
The wide sleeves hung down, covering the arms and only revealing a slender wrist.
Finally, there is the shawl.
She draped the ten-foot-long crimson gauze over her arm, the ends hanging down like a wisp of sunset.
She bent down and put on the pointed-toe shoes.
The satin shoes, adorned with pom-poms at the toes, made the ankles appear even more slender.
As she straightened up, she looked up at the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside the window is the night view of Changsha, with thousands of lights shining like a starry river.
Her reflection was shown in the windowpane.
Her hair was a mix of crimson and gold, her long hair was loose, and her eyes were lowered.
Like someone who stepped out of an ancient painting.
It's like when I was twelve years old, standing in front of the mirror.
She stared blankly at the reflection, motionless for several seconds.
Then she remembered something, turned around, picked up the tube of ointment, bent down, and carefully applied it to her left ankle.
The transparent paste melted, felt cool, then heated up, and sensation gradually returned.
She straightened up and took a deep breath.
"That's fine."
Ding Heng remained silent.
He simply took out his phone and connected it to the speaker in the living room.
A few seconds later, the music started.
That was a melody she knew all too well.
Ten years ago, she listened to this music and won her first major award.
The guzheng begins, the pipa is gently plucked, and the xiao follows softly.
Hua Qing closed her eyes.
one second.
two seconds.
She opened her eyes.
The moment she raised her arm, she was no longer Hua Qing.
She was Yang Yuhuan.
Yang Yuhuan, drunk.
The initial momentum.
The wide sleeves slid down her forearms, revealing half of her fair wrist.
Her eyes became hazy, as if she had just drunk some wine, her mind hazy, yet carrying a hint of languor and a touch of coquettishness.
They moved with light steps.
The upturned shoes glided almost silently across the solid wood floor.
Her skirt swayed gently with her steps, and beneath the golden-red hem skirt, her deep purple wide-sleeved blouse fluttered like clouds.
She began to spin.
The spinning was very slow, as if the person was drunk and unsteady on their feet, yet every step was perfectly in time with the beat.
The shawl billowed as she spun around, forming a purple ring around her.
She raised her hand and gently touched her cheek with her fingertips.
Her eyes held a touch of innocent charm.
It's as if they're asking the Tang Emperor, "Your Majesty, do I look beautiful?"
Then she laughed.
A very light and shallow smile, with the corners of her mouth slightly upturned and her eyes sparkling.
But that smile carried a hint of drunkenness, a touch of self-mockery, and the loneliness of a favored concubine who ultimately had to drink alone.
He stumbled a little.
She leaned back as if she was about to fall.
But at the last moment, he was pulled back by his own shawl, and spun around to his feet.
The skirt swirls open like a blooming peony.
Ding Heng held up his camera, the lens following her figure.
From the front to the side, from the side to the back.
The sound of camera shutters clicking could be heard from time to time.
But she can't hear.
She can't hear anything.
Only music.
Only the rhythm flowing through my body.
She started to speed up.
Her steps quickened, her spins accelerated, her skirt billowed, her shawl danced, and her long hair scattered and fell in the air.
Her arms were outstretched, her waist twisted, every movement was precise to the extreme, yet it revealed the casualness and languor of being drunk.
Her head was tilted back slightly, revealing her slender neck.
His gaze was fixed on the void, both hazy and clear.
It's like looking at someone who doesn't exist.
It's like watching one's own destined loneliness unfold.
The music reached its climax.
She began her final spin.
a circle.
Two laps.
Three laps.
The skirt spun out completely, like a flower in full bloom.
Crimson and gold intertwine, with silver threads flowing in the light.
She closed her eyes, letting the spinning motion create a breeze that ruffled the stray hairs at her temples.
then.
The music stopped abruptly.
She froze.
At the last moment, she leaned back slightly, stretched out her arms, and let the shawl slip from her arms, drawing an arc in the air before slowly falling.
Lower your head.
Eyes closed.
Her eyelashes trembled slightly.
She just stood there, motionless.
Like a sculpture.
Like a flower in full bloom.
Like myself when I was twelve years old, dancing my last dance.
The room was extremely quiet.
The lights outside the window flowed silently.
long time.
Maybe it will only last a little while.
"You've worked hard, wipe your sweat."
A voice pulled her back to reality.
Hua Qing opened her eyes and saw Ding Heng standing in front of her, holding a neatly folded towel in his hand.
His expression was calm, without the greedy, burning gaze she had imagined.
"Go wash up first, I'll have them bring some food up."
Hua Qing took the towel, paused for a moment, and then nodded.
"Um."
Hua Qing turned and walked towards the bathroom.
After taking a few steps, she suddenly paused.
She had thought Ding Heng would come in and force her to play in the water with him.
But Ding Heng didn't; he just stood there looking through the photos.
The bathroom door closed gently behind her, and Hua Qing began to fill the bathtub with water, taking off her clothes as she did so; the sound of the fabric slipping off was particularly clear.
Then lift your legs, step into the bathtub, and slowly sink into the water, letting the warm water lift your body and moisturize your skin.
She closed her eyes.
In a daze, Hua Qing felt that she was still immersed in the role of the dancer.
Waiting...
The hot spring water smooths and cleanses the skin.
It was at the beginning of the new imperial favor.