After the Soul Swap Between Love Rival AO - Chapter 11

Cheng Luanxin stepped forward to take the uniforms and exclaimed in surprise, “Wow, these really are the uniforms from our year!”

After all, Mingxin Private High School changed the color of their uniforms every academic year to distinguish between different grades. The year Cheng Luanxin and Song Qiuchi attended, the uniforms happened to be a soft lavender shade.

The two of them exchanged glances before Cheng Luanxin spoke up first, “Shall we put them on?”

Song Qiuchi nodded.

They went into the bathroom stalls to change, finally getting a chance to escape the cameras.

Cheng Luanxin let out a long sigh of relief. “Finally, no one’s watching. For the first time, I feel like filming a show is as stifling as being in prison.”

Song Qiuchi: “…Keep your voice down. The cameraman is right outside.”

Cheng Luanxin: “What kind of mini-games do you think they’ll have us do later? Do you think we can handle it?”

Song Qiuchi thought for a moment. “I’m guessing either a short skit or a compatibility quiz. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Cheng Luanxin: “…Then let’s hope it’s the skit. The quiz sounds too hard—I never want to answer questions for you again.”

Cheng Luanxin was slow to get ready. By the time she finished tying her necktie and smoothing out her skirt, Song Qiuchi had been waiting for her for a while.

Dressed in the familiar school uniforms, the two of them looked a little more youthful. Standing face to face like this, it almost felt as if their past selves had traveled through time to stand before them.

Song Qiuchi sighed. “After all this time, you still can’t get your clothes straightened out properly.”

She stepped forward and retied Cheng Luanxin’s necktie, then flipped her collar down.

They were standing so close that they could feel each other’s breath. Cheng Luanxin felt a little embarrassed and scrambled for something to say. “What perfume are you wearing? It smells amazing.”

Song Qiuchi gave her a deadpan look. “You’re the one who packed it in my suitcase.”

Cheng Luanxin flushed. “Well, I have excellent taste then.”

The two of them walked out of the bathroom one after the other and returned to the classroom. The staff had already prepared the answer boards, neatly placed on their desks.

Cheng Luanxin: “…So we really are doing a quiz?”

The director smiled. “Just a few simple questions to test how well you know each other. Shall we begin?”

They exchanged a glance and obediently took their seats, just like they would have in high school.

First Question: What is Cheng Luanxin’s best subject?

Live Comments:

“Isn’t it obvious? Definitely music!”

“Yeah, Cheng Luanxin is a singer, after all.”

In truth, Cheng Luanxin had excelled in every subject during her school days, making it hard to pinpoint a single best one. Song Qiuchi had initially planned to write “music,” but then she recalled what Du Zhiruo had said and instead wrote “art” on her answer board.

Time was up, and the two of them revealed their boards simultaneously—both of them had “art” written in bold letters.

Cheng Luanxin’s eyes widened in shock. “You actually—no, I actually got it right?”

Song Qiuchi countered, “Were you aiming to get it wrong?”

Cheng Luanxin was genuinely surprised. After all, she was a singer, and most people would assume she was good at music. She had even considered changing her answer to “music” to cater to Song Qiuchi but ultimately decided to stick to her original thought.

To her astonishment, Song Qiuchi actually knew.

This revelation made Cheng Luanxin reassess her opinion of Song Qiuchi slightly.

Second question: What is Song Qiuchi’s favorite dish in the cafeteria?

Both of them knew the answer to this one—the cafeteria’s braised beef with potatoes was legendary, and the two of them queued up every day to get it.

Third question: What is Cheng Luanxin’s most guarded secret?

Cheng Luanxin: “……If it’s something I don’t want others to know, why are you making me write it down?”

Song Qiuchi: “Ahem…”

Only then did Cheng Luanxin realize she had slipped back into her own perspective and quickly backtracked to cover it up: “How would I know what she doesn’t want others to find out…”

Live comments:

“Song Qiuchi is a certified wife-protector, confirmed.”

“I know the answer to this one—saying ‘I don’t know’ means she definitely knows.”

Cheng Luanxin racked her brain but couldn’t think of any deep, dark secrets—she prided herself on being open and honest. In the end, she wrote: Cheng Luanxin is afraid of dogs.

When the answer boards were revealed, Song Qiuchi had written: Failed her PE exam, tore up the report card, and buried the pieces in the school flowerbed.

Cheng Luanxin: “?!?!?!”

A long-buried memory resurfaced, and Cheng Luanxin’s face instantly flushed bright red.

This had indeed happened. Due to her poor coordination, Cheng Luanxin always performed terribly in PE exams. Once, during a basketball shooting test, she failed to make a single shot out of twenty attempts.

Too embarrassed to let anyone see her score, she tore up the report card and secretly buried the pieces somewhere.

But how on earth did Song Qiuchi know about this?!

Song Qiuchi glanced at Cheng Luanxin’s answer and nodded knowingly. “Oh… I thought what I wrote was more embarrassing.”

Cheng Luanxin: “……”

Yours is absolutely more embarrassing?!

Live comments were in hysterics:

“In ancient times, Lin Daiyu buried flowers—today, Luanxin buries report cards.”

“Luanbao is so funny, acting all nonchalant about something so embarrassing.”

“Qiuchi is even funnier—her expression is priceless. Was she really that shocked?”

Fourth question: What is Song Qiuchi’s proudest achievement?

Cheng Luanxin: “……”

When it was about her, it was a secret she didn’t want revealed. But when it was about Song Qiuchi, it was her proudest moment? Was the production team seriously this biased?

She scribbled down a vague answer and waited for the reveal.

Song Qiuchi wrote earnestly: Fluent in six lesser-known languages. Her parents had hoped she would pursue a career in politics, so they had guided her in that direction. But because she loved acting, she ended up in the entertainment industry instead.

She waited calmly for Cheng Luanxin to reveal her answer. This question was friendly—surely the response wouldn’t be too bad.

But then—

Cheng Luanxin’s board read in bold letters: Legs two meters eight long.

Cheng Luanxin even defended herself: “Okay, mine is obviously a bit exaggerated, but I genuinely think long legs are an innate advantage. It really comes in handy when filming certain scenes…”

The more she spoke, the darker Song Qiuchi’s expression grew.

Indeed, she should never have held any expectations for Cheng Luanxin.

And so, the two of them took turns stabbing each other with their answers, emerging from the game battered and bruised.

Live comments couldn’t stop laughing:

“These two are absolutely ruthless when playing games—I’m dying of laughter.”

“Daily Tips for Teasing My Wife wwwww”

“Sisters, the love-hate dynamic between them has me completely hooked!”

“These two are absolutely hilarious!!”

Finally, they reached the last question.

Tenth question: Write down the most unresolved regret from your high school years.

The producer explained, “Youth is always filled with regrets. If you could go back in time, what’s the one thing you’d most want to change? Please think carefully before answering.”

Cheng Luanxin and Song Qiuchi exchanged a glance. Both understood that this question was placed last to evoke emotion—it wouldn’t be appropriate to joke around now.

There were indeed many unresolved regrets from high school… but if it had to be the most significant one…

It would probably be the choir competition during their senior year.

It was close to the college entrance exams, the last class activity before graduation. Everyone took it seriously and spent a lot of time practicing.

Cheng Luanxin was the lead singer for the first time and naturally didn’t dare slack off. She practiced late into the night every day in the music room with Du Zhiruo, who was in charge of the accompaniment, hoping to give their youth a perfect ending.

But in the end, they only came in second place.

The reason was a small mistake Du Zhiruo made during the accompaniment, which affected their overall score.

After the competition, Du Zhiruo disappeared for two whole class periods, only returning to the classroom during evening self-study, her eyes still red.

Cheng Luanxin saw it all and ached for her. She wanted to comfort Du Zhiruo but was afraid her clumsy words might make her cry again.

She believed Song Qiuchi’s biggest regret was probably the same thing.

Cheng Luanxin steadied herself and wrote “Choir Competition” on the answer board.

Song Qiuchi was indeed thinking about the choir competition too, but it had nothing to do with Du Zhiruo.

If anything, the unresolved regret was because of Cheng Luanxin.

The two had been rivals countless times in high school, and Song Qiuchi had to admit that Cheng Luanxin was a worthy opponent. She gave her all in every competition, and facing her was actually an exhilarating experience.

In fact, there were many competitions Song Qiuchi only joined because she saw Cheng Luanxin participating—just for fun.

But there was one competition where Song Qiuchi didn’t give her all: the choir competition in their senior year.

The reason was simple—Song Qiuchi was tone-deaf. She could only lip-sync the entire time. If she had actually tried, the results would have been even worse.

That competition ended with them losing by just a fraction of a point, a heartbreaking defeat.

After returning, Cheng Luanxin was utterly despondent and didn’t speak for a long time.

As a musical idiot, Song Qiuchi couldn’t hear Du Zhiruo’s mistake in the accompaniment. All she could see was Cheng Luanxin’s sorrow. In her memory, Cheng Luanxin had always been vibrant and radiant, quickly bouncing back even after setbacks.

Only that day, Cheng Luanxin remained silent for a long, long time.

Throughout her life, Song Qiuchi had coasted through every music class and competition. But that one time, seeing Cheng Luanxin so heartbroken, she suddenly felt disgusted with her own lack of effort.

That was the unresolved regret she could think of from high school.

Song Qiuchi paused, then wrote “Choir Competition” on her board.

Time was up. The two flipped their boards together.

The director exclaimed in surprise, “Both of you wrote about the choir competition! So what exactly happened that day to leave such a lasting impression on you two?”

Cheng Luanxin smiled faintly. “Nothing particularly special. We just barely missed winning, which was a bit of a regret.”

Song Qiuchi added, “Same here. I regret not seeing her win.”

Cheng Luanxin gave Song Qiuchi a puzzled look but quickly realized that the “her” Song Qiuchi referred to was undoubtedly Du Zhiruo, and her expression softened.

The barrage of comments exploded with excitement:

Ahhhhhhh this is killing me, they’re so adorable when they’re being serious like this!

‘I regret not seeing her win’—ugh, my nose is tingling now.

If these two aren’t meant to be together, then who is?!