"It’s almost our turn," Jian Zhiqing picked up Taotao, the little meatball did a good job today, sucking on her little fingers from time to time, with round eyes full of vigor, probably because she was well-fed and had enough sleep.
When they arrived backstage, Jian Zhiqing was like a drill instructor with a group of little turnip heads, lecturing them for a long time. Qin Xiangnuan sometimes felt he was a bit too harsh, but these little turnips really responded to it—they all stood neatly in line and nodded in agreement.
Qin Xiangnuan squatted down and rubbed Taotao’s head.
"Taotao, perform well today, and sister will make you some delicious candied sweet potatoes, okay?"
The little meatball’s eyes lit up, and her head bobbed nonstop like a wave drum.
Qin Xiangnuan knew this trick would work; the little meatball usually was not picky and loved to eat and drink, especially fond of candied sweet potatoes, which she normally limited because it might be hard to digest. The little guy was really craving this dish.
There were three more acts before it was their turn, some dances that seemed average, wearing cheap costumes with ribbons wrapped around their hands and bodies. Qin Xiangnuan really couldn’t understand what the teachers who designed the costumes were thinking.
Were they dressing them up as spider spirits? Why wrap the kids up ? And kids should be innocent and lively—why were they all made up to look so strange? Their mouths were so red as if they’d been drinking blood, and their eyeshadow was as dark as bruises. From a distance, it looked as if they had been punched in the eyes. Regardless of how their dance was, this inappropriate dressing robbed them of their innocence and thus lowered their scores significantly.
Perhaps it was Jian Zhiqing’s rigorous training that made these little turnips neither nervous nor bashful on stage; on the contrary, they were eager and excited, ready to give a good performance.
Qin Xiangnuan wasn’t sure whether she should say this, but the play on ’a newborn calf is not afraid of tigers’ seemed fitting.
"Okay," Qin Xiangnuan clapped her hands, making all the little devils focus their attention on her.
"It’s our turn soon. Just perform like we do in practice. It’s dark below the stage, you can’t see who’s watching you, just imagine them as pumpkins, that’s all."
Jian Zhiqing couldn’t help but gently touch his forehead.
She really knew what to say.
Just at that moment, the host outside announced the next act. The sweet voice made Qin Xiangnuan’s heart race too—telling the children not to be nervous, yet she felt anxious herself.
From the initial teaching of the movements, recording the tape, to making the costumes, she had done it all herself. The children worked hard, but in fact, she was also exhausted. Throughout the many days and nights of the month, there wasn’t a night she fell asleep without thinking about this or that issue.
Today, at last, everything was coming to a close, yet there was an inevitable sense of reluctance in her heart.
"Please welcome the little friends from class two, grade three of Bayi Primary School, to perform the Balabala Sakura Dance for us."
The curtain opened, lively electronic music began to play, its unique electronic arrangement immediately brightened up the whole audience, who had been drowsy. Even some leaders sitting in the front woke up, and some forgot to even drink the water they were holding, maintaining the posture they had just before.