After the Soul Swap Between Love Rival AO - Chapter 3

Before long, Cheng Luanxin’s livestream came to an end. She bid farewell to the staff and walked out of the studio with light steps, radiating the high spirits of someone who had just encountered good fortune.

Song Qiuchi: “…”

She couldn’t understand how Cheng Luanxin could still be so at ease.

Cheng Luanxin: “So, did you watch it? How was my performance?”

Song Qiuchi: “…How do you define ‘alright’?”

Cheng Luanxin replied matter-of-factly, “The only requirement you gave me was to be poised and graceful. I think I did an excellent job at that! I answered most of the questions, smoothly dodged the ones I couldn’t answer, and even managed to promote my new song in the process. Isn’t that perfect?”

Song Qiuchi: “…”

You might think it’s perfect.

Cheng Luanxin was still basking in self-admiration: “How am I such a good actress? I’m practically an award-winning star! You don’t have any other work today, right? If not, let’s go home and pack.”

Song Qiuchi suppressed a sigh: “…Let’s go.”

The two first headed to Cheng Luanxin’s place, which was closer.

Cheng Luanxin had grown up in an ordinary family and had only officially entered the entertainment industry last year. Without much savings, she rented a small apartment in the downtown Yunsong Apartments, which served as both her living space and her studio.

However, this “studio” rarely had visitors—even if someone did come, there was hardly any space to stand. The room was already cramped, filled with recording equipment. On top of that, Cheng Luanxin wasn’t the tidiest person, leaving everything in disarray. The fact that the place remained free of unpleasant odors was already a miracle.

Cheng Luanxin stepped inside with practiced ease, tiptoeing around the clutter on the floor as she made her way to the bedroom.

She glanced back at Song Qiuchi: “Aren’t you coming in?”

Song Qiuchi frowned: “How am I supposed to get in?”

Cheng Luanxin: “The same way you got out. It’s not like you flew out of my place this morning.”

Song Qiuchi took a deep breath and stiffly entered the room.

Cheng Luanxin shrugged: “See? You walked in just fine. Stop being so fussy.”

Song Qiuchi: “…”

She scanned the chaotic room: “How can you live in an environment like this every day and not feel uncomfortable?”

Cheng Luanxin looked baffled: “Why would I feel uncomfortable? Isn’t being at ease the most important thing at home?”

She opened the wardrobe, picked out a few brightly colored outfits, and started stuffing them into her suitcase.

Song Qiuchi stopped her, eyeing the flashy clothes with dismay: “You don’t need to bring these. The show will provide outfits…”

“How can the show’s outfits showcase my personal style? There must be days when we wear our own clothes, right?”

Song Qiuchi really didn’t want to showcase that kind of style and said bluntly, “I can’t wear these.”

“Why not? They fit perfectly…” Cheng Luanxin finally caught her meaning and widened her almond-shaped eyes. “Song Qiuchi, are you looking down on my taste?”

Song Qiuchi: “…They don’t suit me.”

“Who cares if they suit you? Right now, you are Cheng Luanxin. They just need to suit me.” Cheng Luanxin packed the clothes, then grabbed a red guitar from the corner and shoved it into Song Qiuchi’s arms. “This has to come too. Wherever Cheng Luanxin goes, this guitar follows.”

Song Qiuchi: “…I don’t know how to play. What if I get exposed?”

Cheng Luanxin retorted, “I don’t care about that. You have to maintain my persona, just like what I did for you today.”

Song Qiuchi was too exhausted to argue. She took a deep breath and picked up the guitar.

Cheng Luanxin glanced at her. “That’s not how you hold a guitar. Don’t break it—this is my beloved ‘Little Tomato.'”

Song Qiuchi froze as Cheng Luanxin adjusted her posture, finally helping her properly cradle “Little Tomato.”

Satisfied, Cheng Luanxin nodded and began packing various makeup products. Song Qiuchi was nearly blinded by the sheer number of items and absentmindedly picked up a nearby folder.

Inside were sheet music and lyrics. Flipping through casually, she spotted a recently popular love song, Nowhere to Lure Her. The original singer was the famous pop star Bai Xin, known for her emotional delivery and beautiful melodies. The song had gone viral on short-video platforms, inspiring countless covers.

The composer and lyricist were the same person—Luan Tu.

Song Qiuchi blinked. “Luan Tu is you?”

Cheng Luanxin glanced over. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Song Qiuchi flipped further. “Spring and Clear Skies is also yours?”

Cheng Luanxin nodded. “Yep, that’s me too.”

Song Qiuchi continued. “Cetus is also you?”

Cheng Luanxin shrugged. “Everything in that folder is my work—unpublished stuff, ghostwriting for others. Keep it to yourself, don’t tell anyone.”

Song Qiuchi was somewhat impressed. “I didn’t expect your style to be so diverse.”

Cheng Luanxin smirked. “Of course. Don’t underestimate your Sis Luanxin.”

Song Qiuchi closed the folder. “Something this important should be stored properly.”

Cheng Luanxin waved it off. “Just leave it there. No one comes here anyway. If it gets stolen, I’m blaming you.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Song Qiuchi sighed, placing the folder on the highest shelf.

After packing at Cheng Luanxin’s place, the two headed to Song Qiuchi’s home.

Unlike Cheng Luanxin’s rented apartment, Song Qiuchi lived alone in a spacious two-story villa, meticulously clean and organized.

Now it was Song Qiuchi’s turn to lay down the rules. “There’s a vacuum and a robot cleaner here. You just need to tidy up lightly. A cleaning lady comes every Wednesday and Friday at 8 a.m., so don’t sleep in.”

Cheng Luanxin frowned. “Why can’t I sleep in? Will she wake me up?”

Song Qiuchi: “…It’ll ruin my personal image.”

Cheng Luanxin rolled her eyes in disdain.

Song Qiuchi efficiently packed her clothes—elegant, refined pieces, the polar opposite of Cheng Luanxin’s choices. Though swift, she was thorough, packing a variety of items. By the time she finished, Cheng Luanxin was already asleep on the sofa.

She lay in a twisted position, arms wrapped around herself, head on a pillow, legs slightly curled—yet still too long, dangling off the sofa with her slippers barely hanging on.

Song Qiuchi took a deep breath. The sight was utterly bizarre. She had never in her life lain on a sofa with shoes on.

At that moment, there was a soft “plop” as a slipper fell to the floor.

Cheng Luanxin retracted her leg, slowly turned over, and opened her bleary eyes: “Are you all packed?”

Song Qiuchi nodded: “I’ve written down the usage and dosage for the skincare products. Do you know how to operate all the household appliances? If not, I can teach you.”

She suspected Cheng Luanxin probably wouldn’t know how to use most of the appliances, especially since just an hour ago, she had witnessed Cheng Luanxin throwing away a pile of takeout containers.

Sure enough, Cheng Luanxin replied, “I just checked the food delivery app. There are so many delicious options here—enough to keep me fed for a while.”

Song Qiuchi: “That stuff isn’t healthy.”

“A little dirt never hurt. Let me eat it for you for a while, and I guarantee you won’t have any issues.”

Song Qiuchi: “…”

Song Qiuchi figured even if she taught Cheng Luanxin how to cook, the latter would likely stick to takeout. She decided to drop the subject and sat down across from Cheng Luanxin: “Cheng Luanxin, my rut is from the 16th to the 20th of every month. Remember to take an inhibitor a day in advance—one dose is enough. If you feel unwell during the rut, you can take an extra dose. What about you?”

Cheng Luanxin frowned: “Mine isn’t regular every month. I always carry meds with me and take them when I feel it coming. Can’t you just take pills too? I’m scared of giving myself shots.”

Song Qiuchi said, “Injections are safer and more stable. You’ll get used to it. Injecting into the deltoid muscle doesn’t hurt, and you can do it yourself.”

Cheng Luanxin disagreed: “No way. Just hearing about it scares me. Switch to pills.”

Song Qiuchi: “…I don’t take pills. If you’re afraid, I’ll do it for you.”

Cheng Luanxin: “Isn’t that still sticking a needle in me? No.”

Song Qiuchi corrected her: “To be precise, this is my body. I have absolute control over it.”

Cheng Luanxin: “But I’m the one who’ll feel the pain, not you!”

Song Qiuchi ignored her: “Then it’s settled. On the evening of the 15th every month, I’ll give you the inhibitor injection.”

Cheng Luanxin grumbled angrily, “Song Qiuchi, you’re so selfish. Swapping bodies with you is the worst luck in eight lifetimes.”

Song Qiuchi’s patience was wearing thin: “You’re no better.”

“I won’t do it. I refuse. I’ll make sure you can’t find me on the 15th.” Cheng Luanxin muttered discontentedly as she pulled out her phone and opened Weibo.

As she scrolled, her expression gradually froze.

“Why did I suddenly gain so many followers? And what the hell is ‘ChiXinAnXu’?!”