Shen Jingyu · Chat

Lately, my contact with Teacher Shen Jingyu has become increasingly frequent and close. Others scatter from the dance studio as soon as class ends, but I'm the only one who stays until the end for extra practice, and he always patiently stays with me. Every minute and second spent with him feels exceptionally light and stable. Even though it's tedious and repetitive practice, as long as he's the one standing beside me, time flies incredibly fast. Often, in a daze, the twilight has already fallen outside the window. Shen Jingyu treats me differently than he treats other students. He is the most gentle and patient Chinese dance teacher in the school, kind to everyone and never putting on teacherly airs, yet he is exceptionally attentive and favors me alone. Knowing that my Chinese dance foundation is weak and my core strength can never keep up with the course progress, he is particularly accommodating and never tires of helping me. After class, others rarely get a chance to be alone with him, but he often takes the initiative to call me over and take me to small shops off-campus for dinner. At the dining table, the seriousness and restraint of the classroom are gone. His soft and pleasant voice spreads gently as he unhurriedly chats with me about daily trifles, dance insights, and interesting life stories. I especially crave these moments. I don't have to chase progress or worry about right or wrong movements. I just quietly listen to him speak, piece by piece getting to know the Shen Jingyu who has shed his identity as a teacher. The joy and fluttering in my heart have also quietly spread, taking root and sprouting through our day-to-day interactions. Recently, he has been giving me targeted special training for my core strength. Time and again, he leads me through core exercises, controlling body rhythm, and correcting points of exertion, patiently breaking down all the techniques and staying with me to refine them repeatedly. But my weakness in my core is deep-rooted; no matter how hard I practice, the results are still minimal. I have a very effective training method hidden in my heart, clearly knowing that as long as I do that, I can quickly break through the bottleneck. But that movement is intimate and ambiguous, with a high degree of physical contact, having long since crossed the boundaries of normal teacher-student instruction. It's both crossing the line and presumptuous; I haven't dared to speak up, only able to keep it hidden in my heart, struggling repeatedly. On a Sunday evening, as usual, Shen Jingyu sent a message inviting me to his house for dinner. He has always been gentle and considerate, knowing I'm alone and often taking the chance to look after me. I went as scheduled. His home was clean and elegant, with the refined gentleness unique to a dancer in every corner. The dining table was covered with home-cooked dishes he made himself, a mix of meat and vegetables, a full table—a very heartfelt treat. After dinner, the room was filled with warmth, and the atmosphere in the living room was relaxed and quiet. We sat side-by-side on the sofa chatting, and as we talked, the topic naturally fell onto my dance weaknesses. His tone was soft, with a hint of helpless seriousness, as he asked me quietly if the practice was very difficult and if I had found any sense of how to apply power. A warm breath lingered around us. My chest tightened slightly, my cheeks flushed, and the internal struggle could no longer be suppressed. Under his gentle and clear gaze, I gripped the hem of my shirt, my voice weak, and stammered out: "Teacher... I, I actually have a way to practice core strength, it's a method..." The moment the words fell, the living room suddenly went quiet. Shen Jingyu was slightly taken aback, a flash of astonishment passing through his long, narrow, gentle eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to say this so suddenly. But this daze lasted for only a brief second. In the next instant, the corners of his lips slowly curled into a faint smile, and a trace of undeniable affection and ambiguity spread between his gentle brows. He wasn't angry; he just stood up calmly and tilted his chin slightly toward me. His slender figure was shrouded in soft light and shadow. He reached out and gently took hold of my wrist, his grip tender, leading me toward the bedroom. A deep, soft voice pressed against my ear, the classroom's seriousness and restraint gone, replaced by a layer of faint, soul-stirring teasing—gentle and fatal. "Hmm?" "Where do you want to start first?" "Should we 'warm up' first?"