Chi Yan smiled and replied with a clasped-fist emoji.
The show’s production team had informed the contestants that for the final performance, they could each invite two family members or friends to watch in person. Chi Yan planned to give one ticket to her mom, but hadn’t yet decided who to give the second one to. Since Shen Chen had just reached out, he naturally came to mind.
Thinking back to her suspicions earlier, she quickly typed a message to Shen Chen.
Chi Yan: Can I ask you for a favor?
Shen Chen: Go ahead.
She shared her suspicions that someone had deliberately leaked negative rumors about her and asked if he could help her find out who was behind it.
Shen Chen replied with an “OK” emoji.
Not long after her conversation with Shen Chen, Wang Ying reached out to her.
Wang Ying: “Chi Yan, something so big happened and you didn’t come to us? Bole could’ve helped you sort it out. Is there some reason you didn’t want to come to me?”
Chi Yan responded politely: Thank you, Sister Ying. I was busy revising my script when Ye Jiawen suddenly told me about it. I was caught off guard and had no choice but to ask my dad for help.
Wang Ying: I see. Well, once you’ve signed the contract, you don’t need to worry—just come to us directly and we’ll handle things for you.
Then she added: Honestly, I was worried that Qianmeng or Xinggui might’ve contacted you first. Gave me quite the scare. By the way, if you don’t mind me asking—who’s your father?
Chi Yan: I don’t mind at all. Chi Hongzheng.
Wang Ying went quiet for a moment, and Chi Yan knew she was probably doing a background check. It was normal for management companies to investigate an artist’s family background and personal life—they had to be prepared in case any scandals broke.
Chi Hongzheng’s name carried some weight. He was relatively well-known locally, and sure enough, when Wang Ying messaged her again, her tone was noticeably more cautious.
Wang Ying: Your dad’s that wealthy? You’re not just playing around in showbiz for fun, right? Aren’t you Mr. Chi’s only daughter? Will you eventually go back and inherit the family business?
Chi Yan knew a lot of rich kids entered the entertainment industry just to play around, which was likely why Wang Ying was asking.
Chi Yan: No, I want to make a career out of this. Don’t worry, Sister Ying—my dad definitely won’t let me inherit anything.
Wang Ying: Good. Just don’t pull one of those ‘quit acting to inherit the family fortune’ stunts on me later.
Chi Yan sincerely promised she wouldn’t. Until she officially signed the contract, she still had to keep her acting career a secret from her father.
Once all that was settled, Chi Yan turned her attention back to her script. The past few days of brainstorming for her performance had left her mentally exhausted.
For her final performance, she wanted to portray a female secret agent in the Republican era of China—flirting with high-ranking figures by day to gather intel, and by night, working as the top performer in a cabaret to get close to enemy officials.
Her favorite part was a dance scene. But since solo performance time was limited, she worried that including a dance might make the segment too long.
To dance, or not to dance—that was the question.
In the end, she decided to go for it. But the choreography would need to be trimmed down and the timing made as tight as possible.
She figured it was time to find a dance coach. Chi Yan remembered seeing Qiu Sisi post on her Moments feed, complaining that her manager had already hired a dance teacher for her next role. She could ask her about it.
Opening her chat with Qiu Sisi, Chi Yan typed: What kind of dance is your teacher good at? I might need to dance for my final performance and would like some guidance.
Qiu Sisi was busy and only replied the next afternoon.
She sent over the dance coach’s WeChat contact and left a message: I already told the teacher about you—just add her directly. Director Yu is back and breathing down our necks, so we’re rushing to catch up and don’t have much time.
Chi Yan thanked her and suggested they go shopping together sometime.
She also added: Next time we see each other will probably be at your wrap party. If you want anything, let me know ahead of time.
Qiu Sisi hadn’t replied yet—likely off filming again, Chi Yan figured.
She quickly added the dance teacher, and since Qiu Sisi had already given her a heads-up, the teacher accepted her request almost immediately.
Chi Yan arranged to meet her an hour later near the contestants’ apartment complex for The Actor’s Path.
Chi Yan: I don’t know if you’re okay with being filmed, but just a heads-up—the production team might want a cameraman to follow me.
Dance Teacher: No problem.
Relieved by the teacher’s easygoing attitude, Chi Yan confirmed the meeting time and place. Then she explained the situation to the show’s staff.
Chi Yan: “I need to step out for a bit,” she said. “I probably won’t be back today.”
The staff looked hesitant. Although the directors had mentioned that contestants would have more freedom of movement during the final three weeks, none had actually left the apartment complex yet.
Staff: “I’ll have to check with the director.”
Chi Yan: “I’ll come with you.”
The head director listened to Chi Yan’s request and hesitated.
Director: “But if you leave, your fans might get upset. You haven’t had any screen time lately.”
Chi Yan: “I’ll handle it quickly,” she promised. “I’ll have a cameraman come with me to film the meeting with the dance teacher.”
Since she already had a solution in mind, the director agreed to let her go.
Director: “It’s fine this time since it’s nearby. But don’t make a habit of it.”
Chi Yan: “Understood. I’ll coordinate with the teacher and do video lessons from now on.”
Satisfied, the director gave her the green light.
Chi Yan took the car provided by the production team and headed to a nearby teahouse.
The program staff helped reserve a private room at the teahouse. Chi Yan sent the room number to the dance teacher and waited for her arrival.
Not long after, a waiter knocked on the door.
“Hello, your guest has arrived.”
“Let her in,” Chi Yan said as she picked up a white porcelain cup, poured some tea, and placed it on the seat across from her.
“Hello, Teacher Zhang,” Chi Yan greeted. “Thank you for coming.”
Zhang Danqin smiled. “It’s nothing. Sisi recommended you to me. When I heard you were a contestant on Path of an Actor, I agreed right away.”
She took a sip of tea and asked, “So, what kind of dance are you looking to adapt? I’m not very familiar with modern dance, but I do have some experience with traditional and classical styles.”
“It’s classical,” Chi Yan replied as she handed over her tablet. “Teacher, could you help simplify this a little?”
The video playing on the tablet showed the scene of her character, a secret agent, performing a dance.
After watching, Zhang Danqin asked, “It can be simplified. How long do you want it to be?”
“One minute.”
“One minute?” Zhang Danqin was surprised—the video was ten minutes long, but Chi Yan only wanted to perform thirty seconds of it.
“That’s right,” Chi Yan explained. “Our performance time is really limited, so I want to reduce the dance duration while still presenting this scene effectively.”
Zhang Danqin paused to think, then nodded. “It’s quite a challenge, but I’ll look into it.”
“Teacher Zhang, Sisi didn’t tell me what your fee would be. How much should I pay you?”
Zhang Danqin chuckled. “You just need to sign a few autographs for me. I’m a fan of yours.”
Right after their conversation, the cameraman gestured for them to prepare for livestreaming, and the moment was broadcast on the program’s platform.
Many fans of Chi Yan—called “Smoke and Fire”—were overwhelmed with envy. Some viewers immediately recognized Zhang Danqin as a dance teacher who had worked as a choreographer on various TV dramas.
“I only regret quitting dance after a year. If I knew this day would come!”
“She’s so lucky! If I could help my idol and even get her autograph… I can’t even dream of that. [drooling emoji]”
“I’m on-site. I’m the teacup.”
Once again, Chi Yan unexpectedly trended on social media.
The hashtag #IfIWereTheDanceTeacher confused many at first, but clicking through led them to yet another incident involving Chi Yan.
As viewers watched, they finally pieced it together.
“Chi Yan is going to dance in her final performance? I’m actually kind of looking forward to it.”
“She probably hasn’t danced much before. Otherwise, she wouldn’t need a teacher. Maybe the moves are just too complex.”
“Is no one going to talk about her silver hair? I’m surprised that hasn’t gone viral yet—it’s so eye-catching.”
Some netizens guessed she’d be playing a cool street-dance girl.
“That has to be it. She mentioned wanting to play a badass role—this totally fits.”
“Why am I kind of excited? Street dance is awesome. I hope she doesn’t disappoint.”
“She’s probably just playing herself… Last time she deleted that video without hesitation. I didn’t believe it at first, but now I do.”
On screen, Chi Yan hesitated as she held a T-shirt and the pen that Zhang Danqin gave her.
“Are you sure you want me to sign this? Shouldn’t I use a notebook instead?”
Zhang Danqin waved it off. “It’s fine. This is my daughter’s. She really likes you. Just sign this and one more in a notebook. How about that?”
Chi Yan agreed without hesitation. Since Zhang Danqin didn’t even charge her, she was happy to meet this small request.
Once she got confirmation, she signed her name on the T-shirt.
“Should I write something on the notebook one too?” Chi Yan asked.
“Just a little blessing is fine,” Zhang Danqin replied, beaming like a sunflower. She hadn’t expected Chi Yan to be this easygoing.
Before meeting her, she had seen Chi Yan’s million-dollar bet with Yang Yueyi and assumed she was as arrogant as the heiress from Bole Entertainment. But after watching Chi Yan’s performance and the sacrifices she made for her craft, Zhang Danqin came to admire her deeply and became a fan.
Still, she hadn’t expected Chi Yan to be this kind in person.
After thinking for a moment, Chi Yan asked, “Teacher, could you tell me how to write your name?”
“Zhang with a bow radical, Dan as in ‘sincere heart,’ and Qin as in ‘zither.’”
“Got it.” Chi Yan wrote her a note.
To Teacher Zhang Danqin:
May you always do what you love and have all your wishes fulfilled.
Reading the note, Zhang Danqin smiled brightly. “Thank you, Yanyan! I’ll start working on your choreography as soon as I get home!”
The meeting ended on a cheerful note, and Chi Yan returned to the dorm with the program staff.
The first thing she did was check the official Path of an Actor account to view the popularity rankings. Seeing her spot back at third place, she didn’t dare get complacent.
She logged into Weibo to reassure her fans and rally votes.
Chi Yan V:
I’ve been busy with the script lately, but I’m hopping on to ask for your support. Please cast your precious votes for me. Whether I stay in the top five depends on all of you! [rose] [rose]
Her fan group, Smoke and Fire, were instantly energized. They spread the message in fan forums and supertopics, voting with their main accounts—and even bringing in their alt accounts to help.
Watching her fans work so hard, Chi Yan felt genuinely happy.
People often say idols give strength to their fans—but fans are just as much the foundation that keeps idols going.
Even though she saw herself as an “actress,” she thought this saying still applied to her.
If not for the few loyal fans who had supported her acting career in her past life, she might have already been scolded out of the industry.
