So, surrounded by so many professional dancers, Song Jialin—who had only studied ballet to get through the arts entrance exam—was tragically reduced to an ugly duckling.
After another NG, Dong Jiaqing did not say a single unnecessary word. He merely coldly ordered them to do it again.
The immense pressure, along with the scorching scrutiny of the many crew members and extras below the stage, made Song Jialin feel unbearably embarrassed once more. She took a deep breath, feeling somewhat wronged. After all, among the top ten contestants of Dance Miracle, many were king-level dancers who had won international awards, or were like Su Minghe, the lead dancer of some national troupe, or else professional dancers who had been dancing for over a decade. Every one of them was undoubtedly far more skilled than an actress like her, only half-trained and long out of practice because of acting.
With all of them around, Song Jialin truly could not think of any way to perform better. Yet the more anxious she became, the more mistakes she made. During another take, she accidentally twisted her ankle, hit the ground with a smack, and cried out in pain.
The set fell silent for a moment. The next second, Song Jialin's assistant Xiaolin shouted in panic, "Oh no, Jialin is hurt!"
Only then did the crew come to their senses. They hurried onto the stage and carried down the immobile Song Jialin. The production doctor stepped forward to examine her, only to find that her ankle had swollen larger than an ordinary man's fist. Her skin was bruised purple and swollen, a frightening sight.
The doctor touched Song Jialin's ankle, and she could not help crying out again. Seeing this, the doctor could only shake his head regretfully before turning to Dong Jiaqing. "No