The performance kicked off at 1:00 p.m. sharp, the auditorium's chandeliers dimming to a soft gold glow.
Lila had bombarded Vice with texts all from the back stage
~ Lila: I'm dying,
~ Lila: What if I trip?
~ Lila: Tell Mom to stop staring at Yuna!!
Each text buzzing his phone like a frantic heartbeat.
He'd glanced at Mei after the final text, and sure enough, she was ogling Yuna like a young boy in love with his new beautiful foreign English teacher.
Her tennis whistle glinted as she leaned over to whisper something.
Vice's cheeks burned, but before he could sink into full embarrassment, the house lights dropped, plunging the room into a hush.
The curtain rose, and Lila was magic.
The orchestra swelled, strings and woodwinds weaving a melody that tugged at the soul, but the ballet owned the stage.
Dancers glided across the polished wood, their movements sharp yet fluid, like calligraphy brought to life.
Lila, the lead ballerina, was the heart of it all – a comet in white tulle, her every leap defying gravity, her spins so precise they seemed to pause time.
Her shoes whispered against the floor, each step a testament to years of bruised toes and midnight rehearsals.
Sweat gleamed on her brow under the spotlight, but her smile held steady, radiant, as if she'd been born for this moment.
Vice watched, chest tight, seeing the Lila who'd practiced in their courtyard until her feet bled, who'd cried into her pillow when she thought no one heard.
'She's incredible,' he thought, a lump rising in his throat.
The audience was spellbound, even Han's usual scowl softening as Lila twirled, her silhouette a fleeting poem against the velvet backdrop.
Beside him, Yuna shifted, her ponytail brushing his shoulder as she leaned in, voice a whisper. "You ever seen Black Swan?"
"Uh, no?" Vice kept his eyes on Lila, half-afraid to miss a second.
"Oh! It's about this ballerina who—" Yuna dove into a recap, her eyes sparkling like the stage lights. "She trains until she's perfect, but it's all about the pressure, you know? Like, the symbolism of the mirrored psyche." She gestured animatedly, her ticket stub crinkling in her hand.
Vice nodded, trying to keep up. "Yeah, like… dissociative identity disorder? Trauma-induced psychosis?" He ventured a guess, thinking of psych rotations.
Yuna's smile froze, her cheeks paling. "...I meant the metaphor." Her voice flattened, and she blinked at him like he'd just diagnosed the stage itself.
The conversation flatlined.
The air between them turning thick.
'Nice going, moron,' Vice thought, wincing as Yuna turned back to the stage, her shoulders stiff.
The silence was louder than the orchestra's crescendo, and he slouched deeper into his seat, his worn sneakers scuffing the floor.
Lila's final pose held the audience captive—a delicate arch, one leg extended impossibly high, her face serene yet fierce.
The music faded, and applause erupted, a tidal wave of cheers and whistles that shook the hall.
Lila took her bows with the other dancers, her grin so wide it looked like it might split her face, her chest heaving from exertion but her eyes alight with triumph.
Vice clapped until his palms stung, pride swelling as he saw Lila soak it in, bowing again to a standing ovation.
Backstage, the air smelled of hairspray and sweat, dancers milling about in a flurry of tulle and chatter.
Lila spotted them and launched herself at Vice, crushing him in a hug that nearly knocked him over.
"Thank you for showing up, once again! And you brought—" She pulled back, spotting Yuna lingering awkwardly behind Kai.
"Ooooh," she singsonged, her smirk loud enough to scream matchmaking in Vice's head.
Her energy was electric, success radiating off her like heat, though her hands still trembled faintly from the high.
Mei swooped in, relentless as ever, her floral scarf flapping.
"Yuna, dear, you must join us for dinner! We're having pork roast, and I won't take no for an answer!"
Yuna backed toward the exit, clutching her bag like a shield.
"I—I have a prior commitment! Teeth. To study. Gotta… floss the night away!" She tripped over a folding chair, yelping, "Bye!" as she stumbled out, her ponytail bouncing like a distress signal.
The door swung shut behind her, leaving a ripple of laughter in her wake.
Kai snorted, elbowing Vice hard enough to jostle his jacket. "Wow, bro. Smooth as sandpaper."
Vice groaned, rubbing his side. "Shut it."
***
Dinner was chaos at the Xong house, the air thick with the scent of Mei's cooking.
The low wooden table was a battlefield of dishes: roast pork glazed with soy and honey, sticky rice flecked with scallions, pickled radish that crunched like a challenge, and a golden custard pie that smelled like childhood summers.
They crammed around it, knees bumping under the scratched surface, chopsticks clashing as Lila's cracked phone flickered beside her plate, barely clinging to life.
"If I get in," Lila declared, stealing a mound of Vice's rice, "I'm getting a phone that doesn't die mid-reel. No more budget life for me!" Her eyes gleamed, but her fingers twitched, still waiting for the orchestra's call.
Han snorted, carving the pork with a knife he'd sharpened himself, his calloused hands steady.
"Don't spend it all, kid. This heap—" he jerked a thumb at the SUV outside, its sagging bumper visible through the window—"needs more than spit to keep running."
"Don't worry about that, Dad," Lila said, grinning as she leaned toward Vice. "Vice's got you covered, right? I bet he's raking in a fortune at that hospital."
"Yeah," Kai jumped in, smirking across the table. "I checked online—junior doctors at Bao? Pure modern gold. No wonder he won't spill his paycheck details."
"Hear that, Dad?" Lila said sagely, popping a radish in her mouth. "Put the bills on Vice. Full gas tank, new tools for the workshop."
Han's eyes flicked up, his gruff face unreadable.
He nodded slowly, like he was actually considering it, but Vice knew better – everyone at the table did.
Han Xong would sooner carve a new table than ask his kids for cash. "I'll certainly do that," Han said, his tone dry as sawdust, before his gaze shifted to Mei across the low table.
The whole family turned to her, sensing a storm. Mei, two cups of jasmine tea deep, pointed a chopstick at Vice, her bracelets jangling.
"I'm gonna die without a grandchild! Han! Why didn't you teach him your old charm? That smolder you used on me back when you had game?"
Han choked on his rice, coughing so hard his glasses slid down his nose. "What smolder? I tripped into you at the market, and you yelled at me for squashing your cabbages!"
Kai and Lila howled, their laughter bouncing off the shoji screens. "Dad had game?!" Lila wheezed, nearly toppling her chair, her hair slipping from its bun. "What, did you wink with sawdust in your eye?"
"More like he sanded her down with compliments," Kai cackled, ducking Mei's playful swat, his hoodie sleeve catching a splash of soy sauce.
"You're lucky I don't have my tennis bat, child!" Mei huffed, mock-dismayed. "What are they teaching you at that university these days? No respect!"
Vice kept quiet at the table's edge, picking at his pork, his lips twitching as he fought a grin. He let the chaos swirl around him, content to stay out of Mei's crosshairs.
His eyes wandered to the window, catching a sleek delivery van rolling down the street, its chrome glinting under Feng Mo's neon haze.
'Dad's workshop could use that,' he thought, picturing Han's gruff nod of approval, maybe even a rare smile.
The SUV was on its last legs, and Vice's paycheck—still modest, system or not—itched to fix it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, probably a message from Lisa, but Lila stole his dumpling before he could check, her grin impish.
"Hey. Thanks for being there," she said, softer now, her voice cutting through the din.
Her eyes held his, warm with gratitude, and for a moment, the table's noise faded.
Vice stole the dumpling back, smirking. "Wouldn't miss it."
Across the table, Mei fake-sobbed into her tea, her scarf dipping into the cup. "My son loves his cousin more than me!" she wailed, flinging her arms dramatically as Kai snorted rice out his nose.
The night dissolved into laughter, the Xong family's voices tangling together—loud, warm, and home.
Lila still waited on the orchestra's call, her phone silent beside her plate, but for now, she glowed, her triumph lighting the cramped dining room. Vice felt the week's weight lift, just a fraction, as Han's gruff chuckle joined the fray, the house creaking around them like it was laughing too.