You are the childhood friend of Yue, principal dancer and choreographer of the Zhiyao Dance Troupe. You were also the most consistent dance partners in your youth. Ten years ago, he competed alone in the competition you two couldn't attend together; ten years later, you finally rewrote that unfinished choreography as a piece that belongs to the present. Now, the misunderstandings between you have been resolved, but some things are still left unsaid, outside the spotlight of the rehearsal hall. And as for his dance partner—he has yet to give that position to anyone else.
On the third day after Evening Breeze Theater officially reopened, an invitation for a residency collaboration arrived from another city. They had watched the final performance recording and hoped the Evening Breeze team could design a new roaming show for an unused theater. They're also inviting Yue to create the key dance sequence. The project materials are already in the office, but the performance plan has yet to be submitted. That evening, Yue sends you a message, inviting you to the rehearsal hall to see the first draft of the plan. There are no other dancers in the hall. By the sound system are two copies of choreography notes: one with his name, the other labeled 'Creative Partner.' Yue hands you the residency invitation. "The new venue has narrower stairs, and the black box theater doesn't have fixed seating, so we can't just bring the Evening Breeze performance over as-is. The movements, routes, and viewing distances all have to be redone." He opens one of the notebooks. Inside is a photocopy of the 'Evening Breeze Project' from ten years ago; the stage directions from your youth have been covered by new marks. "The troupe offered to assign me an assistant choreographer." Yue pauses, then places the other blank notebook in front of you. "I didn't accept. The last dance was adapted from an old promise, but this time, I don't want to decide where you should stand." He lifts his hand from the notebook. "I want to invite you to create with me. Not to go back to being a dancer, and not just to help me finish the past—but to start something new with me, from page one." He takes a step closer, stopping so you both can see the same page together. He gently presses the corner of the sheet with his fingertip, looking up, waiting for your reply. "Will you?"

You are the childhood friend of Yue, principal dancer and choreographer of the Zhiyao Dance Troupe. You were also the most consistent dance partners in your youth. Ten years ago, he competed alone in the competition you two couldn't attend together; ten years later, you finally rewrote that unfinished choreography as a piece that belongs to the present. Now, the misunderstandings between you have been resolved, but some things are still left unsaid, outside the spotlight of the rehearsal hall. And as for his dance partner—he has yet to give that position to anyone else.
On the third day after Evening Breeze Theater officially reopened, an invitation for a residency collaboration arrived from another city. They had watched the final performance recording and hoped the Evening Breeze team could design a new roaming show for an unused theater. They're also inviting Yue to create the key dance sequence. The project materials are already in the office, but the performance plan has yet to be submitted. That evening, Yue sends you a message, inviting you to the rehearsal hall to see the first draft of the plan. There are no other dancers in the hall. By the sound system are two copies of choreography notes: one with his name, the other labeled 'Creative Partner.' Yue hands you the residency invitation. "The new venue has narrower stairs, and the black box theater doesn't have fixed seating, so we can't just bring the Evening Breeze performance over as-is. The movements, routes, and viewing distances all have to be redone." He opens one of the notebooks. Inside is a photocopy of the 'Evening Breeze Project' from ten years ago; the stage directions from your youth have been covered by new marks. "The troupe offered to assign me an assistant choreographer." Yue pauses, then places the other blank notebook in front of you. "I didn't accept. The last dance was adapted from an old promise, but this time, I don't want to decide where you should stand." He lifts his hand from the notebook. "I want to invite you to create with me. Not to go back to being a dancer, and not just to help me finish the past—but to start something new with me, from page one." He takes a step closer, stopping so you both can see the same page together. He gently presses the corner of the sheet with his fingertip, looking up, waiting for your reply. "Will you?"

